Recently in Folk Category

Let's get this out of the way up front: I am no great fan of the Christmas season, although that manifests itself less in grinchitude than in mild indifference. (No, Fox News, I am not waging a war on Christmas; I just want to enjoy the ability to indulge or ignore it at my leisure, without being reminded that 'TIS THE SEASON every commercial break and/or city block.) Anyway, the same goes for Christmas music.

Some of that stuff I actually like to hear on, say, December 24 and 25. You can't argue with Irving Berlin's "White Christmas" — that would be like arguing against, I don't know, oxygen. "The Little Drummer Boy" has that Bing Crosby/David Bowie version going for it, of course. And I have fond memories of performing carols in a bell choir at a friend's church when I was a boy. But finding a Christmas recording that doesn't send my kitschometer off the charts — that's a different matter.

Enter John Fahey. Fahey was an eccentric master of fingerpicked guitar — a onetime philosophy student who discovered the blues and never looked back. His early recordings built upon the knowledge of old-time blues and bluegrass he amassed over years of collecting records, folding in elements of European church music and 20th-century classical composers. A champion of American "primitivist" music, he also moved in avant-garde circles: he recorded with the Red Crayola in the late '60s, and in the '90s, linking up with musicians like Jim O'Rourke, he established his legacy for a new generation of listeners.

None of that seems like the pedigree of an avid performer of Christmas music. Nevertheless, Fahey released several Christmas albums in his lifetime, beginning with 1968's The New Possibility: John Fahey's Guitar Soli Christmas Album and continuing through 1975's The John Fahey Christmas Album, 1982's Christmas Guitar Vol. 1 and 1988's Popular Songs of Christmas & New Year's. (Another album in Rhapsody's catalog, John Fahey Live at Studio KAFE, includes four of the Christmas songs he returned to most often.)

I'm particularly fond of the creaky grace of the earlier recordings. The starkness, the twang and the dissonance don't scan as typical "holiday music"; they have an intimacy and even an imperfection that runs counter to the plastic trees and blinding lights of the season at its most commercialized. I've culled some of my favorites from all five aforementioned albums to create a single playlist, A John Fahey Christmas Companion. 'Tis the season!

From the trio's close-harmony work to Mother Maybelle's innovative guitar picking, there's no overestimating The Carter Family's influence on country and folk, as well as American popular music in general. Although this installment of the RCA Country Legends series contains a mere 16 tracks, it makes for the perfect introduction to the Carters' music. If you're not careful, this album will spawn an obsession with Appalachian folk that could last a lifetime. Don't say we didn't warn you. [Justin Farrar] Hear It Now!

The singer-songwriter movement is generally depicted as an outgrowth of the 1960s folk revival. Near decade's end, as the story goes, denim-clad bards and feathery songbirds such as James Taylor, Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne shifted folk music's gaze off the world outside, including all its myriad political and social crises, and cast it upon humanity's inner realms (i.e. questions addressing emotional and psychic health, existential inquiry, love, relationships, even faith). Though these artists pushed folk into an orbit closer to pop's sonic palette, their music remained predominantly acoustic, centering around the solo performer as well.

What this version of history doesn't totally take into account are those who pushed the singer-songwriter archetype far beyond the sonic boundaries of folk music. Some, of course, were hardcore folkies for years before opening up their respective styles to unexpected influences and novel inspirations. Joni Mitchell and the great John Martyn, both of whom explored hybrids of jazz and funk, are perfect examples of this. However, the idea of "the confessional," the aesthetic cornerstone of the singer-songwriter, popped up in genres as distant as soul, progressive rock and symphonic pop. Look at it this way: had Marvin Gaye hung out at David Crosby's house in Laurel Canyon in the early 1970s, he would most certainly go down as one of the decade's great singer-songwriters. Right?

Spanning the late 1960s to the early '90s, the collection of albums below is an attempt to chart just a few of the non-folk musicians who created some of the most deeply confessional music of the last half-century.

Be sure to also check out my Cheat Sheet: The Singer-Songwriter Beyond Folk Music playlist.

Recently Rhapsody teamed up with our friends at Om Records to present Soundcheck, a series of cool after-work shows featuring up-and-coming bands at a swank San Francisco hotel. It seemed like a good idea to interview all those bands on the hotel roof as well. Here, then, is our dispatch with indie-folk titans Thao & Mirah, who hold forth on the importance of beer in cooking, the beauty of San Francisco and how their distinct approaches to songwriting still somehow mesh perfectly (it involves “holding the door for each other”). Please also see our South Park Session on T&M, wherein we convinced them to do a concert for us in a park near our office. Enjoy.

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The power of one woman with a mic and a guitar is a force to be reckoned with. Now double that. Thao Nguyen (of The Get Down Stay Down) and singer-songwriter Mirah do just that on their debut, adding tUnE-yArDs' Merrill Garbus as producer for a trifecta of Bay Area female fierceness. The quirkier spots point to Garbus, like the clickety-clackety punch of opener "Eleven"; her eccentric touches balance beautifully with Thao's subtle grit and Mirah's softer inclinations. Whether they try on waltzing folk, sun-kissed acoustic, loopy pop or big-band jazz, it all fits like a glove. [Stephanie Benson]

"Living in the Shadows" is a deep cut from 1995's When the Circus Comes to Town, one of the very best records of Bert Jansch's long (and at time tumultuous) career, which ended on October 5th, the day lung cancer claimed his life. Augmented by a muted rhythm section and Mark Ramsden's vaporous saxophone, Jansch's thick Scottish accent, all moody and temperamental, garbles most of the lyrics, save cutting little phrases such as "for the whole damn world to see" and "you got to run through the city with your head down, don't be seen."

It's not considered one of his repertoire's finest hours by any means, yet the song's title, as well as those lines I just mentioned, say something about Jansch's stature, or lack thereof, in America. A Scottish-folk legend in the United Kingdom, the singer, songwriter and deeply skilled picker has always been one of these artists we Yanks tie to more familiar names when he pops up during the course of conversation: "Have you heard Bert Jansch?" "No, I don't think so." "Oh, he's great. Neil Young and Eric Clapton totally worshipped him." Then there's Donovan and Led Zeppelin, both of whom apparently worshipped him as well.

South Park Sessions is a new Rhapsody TV project wherein we invite our favorite musicians out to a lovely park near our San Francisco offices for a stripped-down, intimate, (hopefully) sunshine-filled private show. Indie-folk sirens Thao & Mirah were kind enough to take the plunge and go first. And so, live from South Park in SF, here's an exclusive performance of "Hallelujah," a highlight from their self-titled debut album. Enjoy.

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The power of one woman with a mic and a guitar is a force to be reckoned with. Now double that. Thao Nguyen (of The Get Down Stay Down) and singer-songwriter Mirah do just that on their debut, adding tUnE-yArDs' Merrill Garbus as producer for a trifecta of Bay Area female fierceness. The quirkier spots point to Garbus, like the clickety-clackety punch of opener "Eleven"; her eccentric touches balance beautifully with Thao's subtle grit and Mirah's softer inclinations. Whether they try on waltzing folk, sun-kissed acoustic, loopy pop or big-band jazz, it all fits like a glove. [Stephanie Benson]

The recent release of the collection Johnny Boy Would Love This ... A Tribute to John Martyn has me once again obsessing over him. This isn't at all unusual. I'll use just about any excuse to toss everything aside and focus my attention solely on his music. In my opinion, the late John Martyn is the most interesting, accomplished, unique and challenging singer-songwriter to emerge from the British folk-rock boom of the late 1960s. Nick Drake and Sandy Denny may be more mythological, but neither one explored sound-as-emotion with as much sweaty recklessness as their old pal.

The evolution Martyn underwent between 1970 and the early 1980s was profoundly radical. In that time he challenged the popular conception of the singer-songwriter more intensely than even Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell. His early albums, often recorded with then-wife Beverley, are fairly straightforward acoustic affairs. By 1974, however, he had begun to experiment with tape-delay effects, as well as ideas imported from fusion, soul, funk and dub. The albums Solid Air, Inside Out, Sunday's Child, One World and (my personal fave) Grace & Danger — all released consecutively — are wildly progressive. Imagine Astral Weeks meets On the Corner meets Inspiration Information, and you're more or less there. Each one contains stretches that feel as if they could've been recorded only yesterday. Little did Martyn know, he was helping lay the groundwork for the future: electronica, post-rock, trip-hop and most recently, hypnagogic pop and chillwave.

What made Martyn such a powerful artist was his ability to sidestep the "man-machine" myth (see Kraftwerk) that informed pop music throughout the '70s. He loved working with new gear, yet he never relinquished his belief that music was all about what he called the "direct communication of emotion." In other words, he was a die-hard humanist who used technology to investigate the deepest depths of his inner realm, not replace them with circuit boards.

You should definitely check out Johnny Boy Would Love This ..., but if you also want to hear the man himself, then spend some time with my Grace & Danger: The Art of John Martyn playlist as well.

When a creative drought followed 2003's brilliantly tossed off Soul Journey, Gillian Welch spent eight years returning to the fundamental strengths on which she built a career: imagistic, carefully detailed songwriting rooted in deceptively plain-spoken Americana. The result is loaded with heavy-hearted ballads that wrestle with self-doubt and fatalistic inclinations. (It's written all over the titles: "The Way It Will Be," "The Way It Goes," "The Way the Whole Thing Ends."). Every note and lyric seem placed with great intention; the resulting record is one of her best. —Nate Cavalieri Hear It Now!

The power of one woman with a mic and a guitar is a force to be reckoned with. Now double that. Thao Nguyen (of The Get Down Stay Down) and singer-songwriter Mirah do just that on their debut, adding tUnE-yArDs' Merrill Garbus as producer for a trifecta of Bay Area female fierceness. The quirkier spots point to Garbus, like the clickety-clackety punch of opener "Eleven"; her eccentric touches balance beautifully with Thao's subtle grit and Mirah's softer inclinations. Whether they try on waltzing folk, sun-kissed acoustic, loopy pop or big-band jazz, it all fits like a glove. — Stephanie Benson Hear It Now!

Over the last few years, modern folk men have swept the indie landscape with as much reckless abandon as the pelts covering their faces. The bold and oftentimes bearded troubadours have once again made mandolins hip and banjos a trendy accessory. But it's not all about the hair or the gear. There's often something mystical in the folk artist, like he knows something we all don't and this lingering awareness drives a passion that is translated into electrifying music, even if there's little more than the strum of an acoustic guitar to carry it through. Today's folkies all share this trait, and while they are students of the rustic and raw revival scenes of '50s, '60s and '70s America and Britain, they are also revelers in the uninhibited world of indie rock.

Listen to the entire playlist: Cheat Sheet: Modern Men of Indie Folk

All of our life we've been kicked around, we've been put in jail, we've been shot at, we've had dynamite thrown at us. Then, you don't want us to have nothing.
- Miner, Harlan County USA

Oh, the green rolling hills of West Virginia are the nearest thing to heaven that I know. Though the times are sad and drear. And I cannot linger here. They'll keep me and never let me go.
- Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, "The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia"

Right now, as you're reading these words, an entire region, culture and people are dying off because their lands contain rocks and gases that help fuel, "from sea to shining sea," our country's power grid. This is a grim fact. But it's something the late Hazel Dickens --who died in her sleep on Friday, April 22 -- would want us to reflect-on as we mourn her passing. West Virginian to the core and damn proud of it, Dickens, 75, was a courageous and outspoken musician, pro-union activist and feminist who fought for the rights of her fellow Appalachians, from the mountains' coal miners to its disempowered women.

Josh T. Pearson's debut album is an auspicious one. The troubadour creates, much like Lorca-era Tim Buckley and Fred Neil (see Sessions) before him, an expansive interpretation of American folk music. Steeped in space and silence, every track is a quietly sweeping orchestral ballad. Four of them, including the heartbreaking "Sorry With a Song," break the 10-minute barrier. But for all its atmosphere and introspection, Last Of The Country Gentlemen is ultimately a stormy meditation on devastation, loss and suffering. Seriously, folks will be obsessing over this record for years to come. —Justin Farrar Hear It Now!

Time to travel back to the mythical mid-1960s, when the folk revival stumbled into the British Invasion and Phil Spector's wall-of-sound pop, resulting in a three-way collision that produced the now-legendary folk-rock boom.

In addition to collecting the movement's landmark albums — from Bob Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home and The Byrds' Mr. Tambourine Man to The Mamas and The Papas' If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears and Simon & Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence — I've rounded up a short list of artists who exerted a profound influence on the folk-rock sound despite never rising above cult status. I'm referring to under-appreciated visionaries like Fred Neil, Richard & Mimi Fariña, Love, and The Beau Brummels, a quartet from San Francisco who nailed West Coast folk-rock's blend of jangly guitars and tight harmonies in late 1964. That was months before The Byrds entered the studio to record the great "Mr. Tambourine Man" single, the release of which is generally considered folk-rock's birth.

Amos Lee has only grown stronger with each release, quietly and successfully selling his entire catalog year-after-year and earning new fans through his stirring concert appearances. Here, Lee keeps his soul-folk style intact while branching out into the kind of expansive bluesy rock music that Dave Matthews and Ray LaMontagne do so well. Completely sincere, Lee shows off his talents through pointed "good people in peril" lyrics and knowing exactly when to let the full power of his majestic voice loose. — Nick Dedina Hear It Now!

The monsters: Jim James, M. Ward, Conor Oberst, producer Mike Mogis. The folk: indie rock's retro-adorin' interpretation of it, meaning a few dashes of twang here, a mandolin there and even a nod to Johnny Cash ("Man Named Truth"). Each member can harmonize and pick a six-string with the best of them, so they're going to get CSNY and Traveling Wilburys comparisons, but it's about time a new generation got itself a folk-rockin' supergroup. Mutual respect and spotlight time keep the vibe smooth and carefree. Highlights: "Dear God," "Say Please," "Temazcal," "Baby Boomer," "Slow Down Jo." — Stephanie Benson Hear It Now!

Van Morrison, Horslips and every other artist mentioned here are yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

Van Morrison and Rory Gallagher started Ireland rocking with their respective bands, Them and Taste, back in the '60s, and the nation has kept it up through almost 50 St. Patrick's Days since. And while songs by the Cranberries and Snow Patrol that might as well be sung by actual leprechauns are obviously not unheard of, and there are occasional Bonos who'd prefer to be the Pope, the Emerald Isle's specialty is rowdier stuff that tends to go quite well with green beer. A brief primer is below; a longer playlist can be found here.

Tons of country-rock artists — my Top 10, those on my exclusion list and countless others — are yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. If you don't have one, click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

The country-rock canon is like an incestuous mafia family. The overwhelming majority of its classic albums, from the Burritos' Gilded Palace of Sin to Neil's Harvest to the Eagles' masterful debut album (and yes, it is masterful), can be linked to just five artists: the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, the Band, Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead.

Now that's one hell of a denim-clad oligarchy, ain't it?

This got the Crate Digger thinking: Is it possible to tear down and rebuild the country-rock canon — let's say the genre's 10 all-time best albums — without including these five core artists, as well as the myriad groups and musicians with significant ties to them?

This, of course, means I can't include albums from the following:

Crosby, Stills and Nash
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
New Riders of the Purple Sage
Gene Clark
Dillard & Clark
Muleskinner
Old & In the Way
The Dillards
Gram Parsons
Emmylou Harris
The Gosdin Brothers
Poco
Linda Ronstadt
Manassas*

Well, below is what I came up with. And despite the self-imposed handicap, it's pretty sweet as far as alternate Top 10s go. Now mind you: some of the albums on the list were most definitely made with help from session musicians, engineers, producers and composers who also worked with the artists and groups mentioned above. To exclude a record based on these non-core role players, however talented, would've made the exercise too hard and most of all totally unfun. A guy like pedal-steel maestro Orville "Red" Rhodes played with just about every hippie cowboy in Los Angeles between the years 1968 and '75. So yeah, hired guns didn't count. But hey, if you discover a significant connection that I missed, then by all means post a comment. Hell, post a comment, regardless. We love hearing from our readers! In fact, my challenge to each and every one of you is to post your own Top 10s that adhere to identical criteria. I'd love to see what you come up with.

By the way, if you find yourself wanting to listen to all the music I freak out about week in and week out, then simply use your Rhapsody subscription! Don't have one?

Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we're all about.

Now on to my (alternate) Top 10 ...

Over the last couple weeks we here at Rhapsody HQ have been talking about our favorite covers albums. And whenever we start obsessing over a particular kind of record or even a genre we do what we always do: tally a list! Of course, the list below is by no means definitive, but after much discussion we managed to put together a collection of 20 records that does a great job of covering our editors' diverse interests: glam, Tuvan throat singing, indie pop, jazz-funk, honky-tonk, pop metal, progressive rock, contemporary country, baroque pop, Americana etc. There's something here for everyone, so do dig in.

Don't forget: Every artist mentioned below, from Macca to Elvis Costello to Rush, is yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription.

Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we're all about.

I’ve seen Don’t Look Back numerous times over the years, and I still don’t see the “Dylan is making Donovan look like a fool” meme that has become rock 'n' roll mythology since the documentary’s release in 1967. You know what I’m talking about: the legendary, or as some would have us believe, infamous hotel scene when Donnie croons “To Sing for You,” then passes the guitar to the Mighty Quinn, who offers up “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.” It’s a cool slice of history for sure, one of the 1960s' great songwriters hanging with one of the century’s great songwriters. Yet more than a few folks out there — and you know who you are — have transformed this scene into one of Western civilization’s classic beat downs. Here’s their interpretation: poor British Donovan, looking all awkward and sheepish, is auditioning for the Man, who is loud and obnoxious and who eventually interrupts him. Dylan then snatches the guitar from Donovan — still looking all awkward and sheepish — and proceeds to intentionally blow him out of the water with a cocky and brazen version of one of folk rock’s most famous songs.

I’m utterly incapable of wrapping my head around the fact that Jack Rose is gone. The guitarist passed away -- at his home in Philadelphia, from an apparent heart attack -- on the very day I was putting together Rhapsody’s Best Roots Albums of the Decade list. Rose is, of course, on it. His 2005 masterwork, Kensington Blues, sits at No. 5. This was not even two weeks ago: Saturday, December 5, 2009. In that time, Rose’s music has laid claim to my ears almost exclusively. Then again, it's not as if I just discovered Jack Rose. I’ve been obsessing over his music for most of the decade. In addition to spinning Kensington Blues and a slew of other solo joints, there’s his work with underground drone-masters Pelt (the version of “Calais to Dover” on Bestio Tergum Degero is such a mind-bending opus) and the brand-new Jack Rose & the Black Twig Pickers album, the exquisite offspring of his collaboration with one of southwest Virginia’s finest old-time revival acts.

Rose wasn’t famous. He was revered, yes. But famous? No. Chances are a lot folks reading this blog have never even heard of the guy. For the uninitiated, he was -- and I’m not being overly dramatic when I say this -- one of the greatest American instrumentalists of the modern era. His masterful fingerpicking built upon the progressive-folk tradition that heavies like John Fahey, Robbie Basho, Sandy Bull, Davy Graham, Peter Walker and even a young Leo Kottke originally established in the 1960s and ’70s. We’re talking about a single man, climbing onstage with just his guitar and nothing else, and creating glorious, richly textured compositions that you wouldn’t even think possible from such a stripped-down setup.

If you're a purist, then many of the jams you're about to encounter are going to confound, maybe even offend, you. And that's because I have a very liberal (some would say skewed) definition what constitutes roots music. Fellow Rhapsody scribe Chuck Eddy once used the phrase "art country" to describe my aesthetic sensibilities. And he's right. I love rootsy stuff, but I also love psychedelic weirdness and underground-bred eccentricities. The aughts were a pretty darn good decade for the intersection of these various proclivities. With the alt-country movement fragmenting and thus relinquishing its grip on the basic concept of a non-mainstream folk-based genre (however nebulous), the playing field opened up for a new breed of earthy oddball. A lot of these youngbloods — more influenced by the progressive folk of John Fahey and classic British folk-rock than, say, anybody from the Uncle Tupelo camp — belonged to the "freak-folk" and "new weird America" trends. Yet there were just as many who had no hip affiliation, who weren't freakers at all. Groups like the Moondoggies, D. Charles Speer & the Helix and Flying Canyon emerged and simply used ancient threads to weave something new and really quite edgy.

One major influence on 21st-century "art country" that cannot be ignored is the emergence of the reissue. Dozens upon dozens of artists lost to history for one reason or another were unearthed and embraced by young peeps who liked the idea of vintage hippie and folk music but who had long ago grown tired of hearing from the usual suspects. Nowadays, if you ask some alternative/indie type who their fave old-school songbirds are, he or she just might rattle off the names Vashti Bunyan, Karen Dalton and Judee Sill before even mentioning Joni Mitchell, who used to totally own the hippie-songstress archetype. What's remarkable about Vashti's case in particular is how the reissue of her 1970 album, Just Another Diamond Day, actually led to her collaborating with those furry little creatures in Animal Collective (whose Campfire Songs looks out over "art country" from a rocky bluff -- in sight, but distant). In a sense the reissue revolution of this decade played a similar role to that of Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music in that both retrieved forgotten history and reinterpreted it for a new generation of musicians. Deeply inspired, they used this information to spawn new sounds, new ideas -- and new jams!

Of course, there's no denying the classics when you hear them, which is why my list is also home to Chatham County Line, Charlie Parr, the Black Twig Pickers and even bluegrass icon (and all-around god) Del McCoury. These are artists who make excellent American folk music that hovers just outside time.

Now my list of the 25 best "art country" albums of decade is down below. But before taking a look, I need to tell you something. And yes, I sound like a corporate drone. However, what I dig about Rhapsody (I'm both customer and employee) is that I've consumed very nearly every single artist, album and song you're reading about simply by using our service. I think that's super cool. Not to sound crass and commercial, but hell, you should check out our free trial. Seriously.

One more thing: Here's my Roots' Best Albums of the Decade playlist. Dig it!  

25. Songs: Ohia
Ghost Tropic, 2000
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Ghost Tropic is a particularly stark affair, even for Jason Molina (aka Songs: Ohia), a Neil Young-inspired singer-songwriter known for crafting emotionally naked folk ballads. If just a single instrument were removed from, say, "The Body Burned Away" or "Not Just a Ghost's Heart," there would be no song. So yeah, Molina is a master of rural minimalism. In fact, the 11-minute "Incantation" is nothing save his wavering croon and an atmospheric hum.

24. Maplewood
Maplewood, 2004
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Maplewood hails from that asphalt desert known as New York City, but the group is pure California — with a detour through Scotland. Much like Glasgow's Teenage Fanclub, the quartet mixes vintage power pop and West Coast country rock. As you'd expect, their harmonies are light, tight and airy, while the guitars do lots of chiming and jangling. Maplewood's pastoral vibe might feel a tad too precious for some, but not for those who worship early Poco, America and even Bread. Mellow my mind, yo.

23. Chatham County Line
Speed of the Whippoorwill, 2006
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The title track could be the most soulful tune Chatham County Line has put on tape in its short recording history. But Speed of the Whippoorwill is more than just a testament to the group's rapid evolution. It's about a bluegrass sound that's both a product and a reflection of modern America. Sure, it exudes that old-time feel, but narrative-heavy tunes like "They Were Just Children" and "Coming Home" are filled with populist characters who are probably carrying the same celly as you.

22. Espers
Espers, 2004
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More than any other first-tier freak-folk group (Devendra, Joanna, Vetiver, etc.), it’s Philadelphia’s Espers who sound the most like real-deal musicians committed to folk music as craft. Deeply inspired by the magical forest vibes of both the Incredible String Band and Fairport Convention, the band’s debut is a stunningly mature effort. Greg Weeks, Meg Baird and company have definitely done their homework, creating a sound that’s both old school and stridently modern in its attention to the details.

21. Vashti Bunyan
Just Another Diamond Day, 2004 (reissue)
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Just Another Day was originally released in 1970. However, the aughts have been the decade of the reissue. Undiscovered in its time, Bunyan’s debut album helped spark the freak-folk movement three decades later. In this sense the whimsical Brit-folk songstress has more in common with Animal Collective, with whom she has collaborated, and Joanna Newsom than all them smelly old hippies from back in the day. One more thing: Just Another Diamond Day is the ultimate soundtrack for dawn.

20. Heartless Bastards
The Mountain, 2009
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Before The Mountain, a Heartless Bastards album was more or less the band setting up its gear in the studio and rocking out. The Mountain is different. While "Early in the Morning" and "Nothing Seems the Same" prove the band still drops the (indie) blues-rock hammer, the rest of this killer album finds the Heartless Bastards exploring Crazy Horse-brand country rock, acoustic blues and even some moody folk-rock. As always, the star of the show is Erika Wennerstrom's voice, a gnarly chunk of contorted beauty.

19. Vetiver
Tight Knit, 2009
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On previous records, Vetiver's Andy Cabic was a freak-folkie who obviously owns a fat stack of awesome albums — not bad, but not great either. With the release of Tight Knit, however, the dude is no longer a collector-nerd. This is profound landscape music, a misty coastal piedmont thoughtfully carved from the singer-songwriter's twin loves: vintage British folk and West Coast soft rock. Everything here works perfectly, from the compositions to Cabic's elegant whisper to his band's patient gait.

18. The Del McCoury Band
Family Circle, 2009
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To say Del McCoury is one of bluegrass' last great practitioners is to seriously undervalue the man. Del is one of music's great singers and stylists, period. He has found a way to make traditional bluegrass sound contemporary without falling into the typical aesthetic pitfalls (too progressive, too retro, etc.). Family Circle is a stone-cold classic, and that's all there is to it. Tunes like "Hello Lonely" and "Bad Day for Love" stand alongside anything from Bill Monroe or the Stanley Brothers.

17. Kurt Vile
God Is Saying This to You?, 2009
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Vile sounds depressed. After dropping a debut bursting with sing-along pop anthems, he gives us this moody nosedive into fingerpicked folk-blues and hazy psychedelia. You really couldn't ask for a better candlelight-at-3 A.M. listening experience than God Is Saying This to You? The first lines of the opener, "My Sympathy," encapsulate what's to come: "So you want to marry me/ Well, you got my sympathy." About 30 seconds later he croaks, "So you want a baby/ Well, it's got my sympathy."

16. Charlie Parr
1922, 2003
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Charlie Parr is an independent folk artist, but he’s not an indie-folk artist. There’s a difference. 1922 feels like a folk-revival album from the early 1960s. Parr’s husky voice and country-blues fingerpicking recall Dave Van Ronk, as well as pre-Bringing It All Back Home Dylan. It’s really quite astounding America can still produce an artist who sounds like this. Though “Migrant Boxcar Train” stands third in line, bump it to the front; it’s one of the saddest folk ballads of the decade.

15. Maquiladora
A House All on Fire, 2005
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Previous indie bands have hinted at a fusion of post-rock/slowcore and the kind of cosmic rural jamming the Dead mastered in 1972 and '73, but only Maquiladora have truly explored the concept. A House All on Fire is both spacey and earthy; it's the product of both desert nomads and barroom habitues. This creeping music could only have come out of three guys who live in Southern California, by the border, near vast expanses of sun, ocean and desert. This is a record to get utterly lost inside of.

14. The War on Drugs
Wagonwheel Blues, 2008
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If Dr. Dog are the Beach Boys of Philadelphia, then the War on Drugs are the city's Byrds, a jangle pop band fusing Americana and mild psychedelia. But unlike the Dog, T.W.O.D. aren't exclusively committed to the retro mission. Wagonwheel Blues opens with an anthemic homage to Dylan, but soon veers through ambient drones that would sound right at home on an Animal Collective/Dodos playlist. Although the young band hasn't figured out how to totally fuse these two streams, it's well on its way.

13. Greensky Bluegrass
Five Interstates, 2008
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When playing live, which they do a lot, Greensky Bluegrass are a new-grass beast capable of picking some heady jams. On record, however, the Midwest group is driven by well-crafted tunes, smart lyrics and tight harmonies. In this sense, Greensky Bluegrass have more in common with alt-country dudes like the Jayhawks and Son Volt than Leftover Salmon. Outside a few instrumentals and a cover of the standard "Freeborn Man," Five Interstates is all about earnest meditations upon love, roots and rambling.

12. The Sadies
New Season, 2007
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Before you listen to anything else on the Sadies' seventh studio album, play "A Simple Aspiration," a blissed-out earful of ringing guitars, trippy lyrics and transcendental vocals, framed in the echoing production of hazy, hallucinatory '60s rock. It's unlike anything else on the album, which is otherwise occupied by a lot of darn fine alt-country. But like a fine wine, if you take a whiff of that expertly executed psychedelic rock first, you'll hear its influence in the other tracks. The Sadies aren't necessarily more rock than country, but they are expert craftsmen of subtle layers.

11. The Moondoggies
Don’t Be a Stranger, 2008
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Too many modern rural folk-rock bands slip into the "country life is good" schtick. But the Moondoggies are different. A fusion of Crazy Horse crunch and the Grateful Dead's hippie gospel, the band is detached, desperate and too preoccupied with their own demons to ever enjoy the so-called simple life. There are light moments for sure. But more times than not, they give way to darkness. "Bogachiel Rain Blues," for example, is a barroom raver whose primary hook is the line "I'm going down to die."

10. The Black Twig Pickers
Hobo Handshake, 2008
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Old-time music suffers from museum syndrome. It’s so revered as an artifact that just about any group that attempts some kind of modern update or innovation almost always screws the pooch. Enter Hobo Handshake. On their best album to date, the Black Twig Pickers, who have studied with authentic mountain musicians in rural southwest Virginia, find that elusive bridge between archaic and modern. In fact, they just might be the most forward-looking old-time revival act since the mighty New Lost City Ramblers. Yowsa.

9. Oakley Hall
I’ll Follow You, 2007
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The chills of Oakley Hall's first two LPs happened when everything came together: singer Pat Sullivan reaching for a reedy harmony with Rachel Cox's sweet alto over a saturation of '60s psyche dusted with just enough wiry twang to evoke '70s C 'n' W. On the band's third LP, these signature combinations are everywhere, making it their most consistent effort to date and yielding keenly tooled singles like "Rue the Blues" and "Marine Life." Knees get weak when Cox takes over for a rare lead vocal, as on "All the Way Down."

8. The Skygreen Leopards
Disciples of California, 2006
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After just a couple spins, Disciples of California will have you rummaging around the attic, looking for your musty copies of American Beauty and New Riders of the Purple Sage. But here’s the thing: the Leopards don’t actually sound like a vintage hippie folk-rock band. They very ingeniously pay tribute to the mythology of a bygone era with a style that has more in common with Television Personalities, the Go-Betweens and other jangle-pop auteurs born and raised in the 1980s. So cool.

7. Beachwood Sparks
Beachwood Sparks, 2000
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Twee-lovin' country rock is what the debut album by this Los Angeles-based group is all about. A well-produced and mixed album filled with songs that take the best elements of psychedelic, country rock and dream pop and toss them together to create a forward-thinking album with feet planted in the past. "Silver Morning After" and "The Reminder" are highlights.

6. Moviola
Dead Knowledge, 2007
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After 15 years and six albums, Ohio's Moviola drop their best record. Growing beyond youthful, lo-fi primitivism, they're now mature folk-rock craftsmen as skilled as Amish carpenters. From rustic country-pop to punchy R&B, Dead Knowledge unfolds like a true American panorama. The quartet even tips its glass to freak-folk with a Celtic drone titled "Black Haired Katherine." But the disc's best track is the piano ballad "Rudy," a melancholic reflection on Midwest boredom.

5. Jack Rose
Kensington Blues, 2005
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Although a long road stretches before guitarist Jack Rose, fans are already calling Kensington Blues his masterwork. Fellow maestro Ben Chasny went so far as to say, "Finally, somebody has something to say on the acoustic guitar that hasn't been said before." Followers of John Fahey will dispute such a claim, but what they can't deny is this record's profound beauty. No matter how far out Rose travels, he never forsakes melody and rhythm. His tightly woven lyricism conjures entire landscapes.

4. D. Charles Speer & The Helix
After Hours, 2007
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After Hours is one of those rare records that cuts across genres like Patton’s tanks plowing through Saharan sands. With their roots in the free improv/drone scene, D. Charles Speer & the Helix take alt-country, country-rock and dusty Americana and filter them through mind-altering psychedelia and fuzzy freakery. But what’s truly amazing is how the group never ditches the tune — or craft for that matter. They love both good songs and wild sounds. All hail a modern classic!

3. Karen Dalton
In My Own Time, 2006 (reissue)
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Much like Vashti Bunyan’s Just Another Diamond Day and Judee Sill’s self-titled debut, In My Own Time feels like a modern record. Sure, it came out in 1971, but listeners are only now coming to terms with Karen Dalton’s sublime and ghostly fusion of folk, blues and soul. The sheer number of imitators this reissue has spawned in the 21st century should give you an idea of just how ahead of her time she really was. And yet, none of them have found a way to capture Dalton’s bruised and breaking croon.

2. The USA Is a Monster
Tasheyana Compost, 2003
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Now we’re totally off the rails! To 99.9% of the world’s population, the USA Is a Monster will sound like ugly noise and heavy metal tossed into an industrial blender. Dig beneath the surface, however, and you’ll hear a band that’s continuing in the tradition of the Meat Puppets. Tasheyana Compost is an underground-rock masterpiece dipped in twang, Native American rhythms and an earnest love for the environment. There exists nothing else like this strange little disc in the entire galaxy.

1. Flying Canyon
Flying Canyon, 2006
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Flying Canyon's sole release burns slowly. The phantom feedback of guitarist and producer Glenn Donaldson haunts Cayce Lindner's rural ballads and brooding dirges. Lindner's roots were planted in the hippie country of Kris Kristofferson, Neil Young and '90s lo-fi: Sebadoh, Red Red Meat. But unlike most indie singer-songwriters, who are forever college kids, Lindner's lumbering sincerity is that of a man, one who believes in the mythology of classic rock 'n' roll. This is heavy folk music, maybe even painful at times — but always great.

Honorable mentions

James Hand, Shadow on the Ground
Campfire Songs (aka Animal Collective), Campfire Songs
The Coydogs, The Coydogs
The Donkeys, Living on the Other Side
Jack Rose, Jack Rose & The Black Twig Pickers
The Felice Brothers, The Felice Brothers
Josephine Foster, All the Leaves are Gone
Dr. Dog, Easy Beat
Tift Merritt, Bramble Rose
TK Webb, Phantom Parade
Michael Hurley, Ancestral Swamp
Turner Cody, First Light
James Blackshaw, Litany of Echoes
Dredd Foole, Daze on the Mounts
Woods, At Rear House
Asian Mae, Collsing
Wovenhand, Blush Music
Don Howland, The Land Beyond the Mountains
South San Gabriel, Welcome, Convalescence
Kath Bloom, Terror
Blitzen Trapper, Wild Mountain Nation
Arbouretum, Rites of Uncovering
No-Neck Blues Band, Qvaris
Giant Sand, Chore of Enchantment
Phosphorescent, To Willie
Joanna Newsom, Ys
Drive-By Truckers, The Dirty South
Glenn Jones, Against Which The Sea Continually Beats
Califone, Roots & Crowns
The Corndawg, Live and In Person
Jolie Holland, Springtime Can Kill You
PG Six, Parlor Tricks And Porch Favorites
Steffen Basho-Junghans, Waters in Azure

Just a minuscule sliver of the killer reissues worth mentioning:

The Beau Brummels, Triangle
Judee Sill, Judee Sill
The New Lost City Ramblers (R.I.P. Mike Seeger), 50 Years: Where Do You Come From? Where Do You Go?
Henry Flynt, Back Porch Hillbilly Blues Volume 1
Tim Buckley, Live at the Folklore Center - March 6th, 1967
Elyse Weinberg, Elyse
Michael Hurley, Blueberry Wine (aka First Songs)
The Lyman Family with Lisa Kindred, American Avatar
The Red Fox Chasers, I'm Going Down to North Carolina: The Complete Recordings of the Red Fox Chasers (1928-31)
John Phillips, John Phillips (a.k.a. John The Wolfking of L.A.)
Sandy Bull, Still Valentines Day, 1969: Live At The Matrix, San Francisco
The Holy Modal Rounders, Live in 65
Bill Fox, Shelter from the Smoke
Jay Bolotin, Jay Bolotin
Iain Matthews, Valley Hi
Red Red Meat, Bunny Gets Paid
Jackson C. Frank, Blues Run the Game

There's a lot of uncertainty out in the world today. Who knows exactly what is going to happen or when it's going to happen or who exactly it's going to happen to?

One thing's for sure, though. If Johnny Cash has recommended a list of essential songs, you sit down, you shut up and you start listening to those songs.

Back in 1973, the Man In Black gave his daughter, Rosanne Cash, a list of 100 songs that he thought she needed to know. Being a smart cookie, Rosanne listened to those songs and studied them over the years.


Now, Rosanne, a fine singer-songwriter in her own right, has whittled that list down to 12 songs and put out what is easily one of the best albums of 2009 -- The List. In her Rhapsody review, Linda Ryan, our country editor, writes, "It's difficult not to fall hard for the Springsteen-featured 'Sea of Heartbreak,' the gentle honky-tonk of 'Miss the Mississippi and You' and the Elvis Costello duet 'Heartaches by the Numbers.'"

One of the great things about Rhapsody is the depth of our catalog -- over 8 million songs strong -- that allows you to not only listen to the latest music, but also virtually any music from every period. Once you sign up for Rhapsody, it is at your fingertips.

And while you should definitely check out Rosanne's album, I went ahead and searched out 12 earlier versions of the songs on Rhapsody. These are tough, timeless songs with a sentimental streak, full of heartbreak, humor and resilience. The list includes rough, raw recordings as well as more polished, radio-ready hits of the past.

Listen in, take notes and either get reacquainted with some old friends or make some new ones. Johnny Cash was right: these are songs that you'll need at some point in your life. Rosanne Cash does the songs -- and her father -- proud.

From left: Mike Mogis, M. Ward, Jim James, Conor Oberst

The concept of the supergroup is older than fishing -- literally! Jesus and his Disciples were certainly a supergroup, and we're pretty sure Jesus invented fishing. Yes, bands of preternaturally talented brothers (and sisters) have been joining forces for millennia. With this week's debut from Monsters of Folk -- a supergroup comprised of Mike Mogis, M. Ward, My Morning Jacket's Jim James and Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst -- we thought we'd reflect upon some of our favorite supergroups of years past. Was the whole greater than the sum of the parts? Read on to find out, and don't forget: if you dig supergroups, regular groups or anything in between, Rhapsody has you covered. Take a free spin to see what unlimited, unfettered music access tastes like (surprisingly unlike chicken, we think you'll be pleased to discover).

America lost a genuine cultural treasure when on August 7, 2009, Mike Seeger succumbed to cancer. Though he lacked the high profile of his half-brother Pete, who is more or less considered the patron saint of the American folk revival, Mike is in many ways the greatest artist and musician to have emerged from the extended Seeger clan.

Seeger’s work as a sound explorer, archivist and music historian forms a large chunk of his reputation. He rediscovered and recorded the work of several obscure Southern and Appalachian troubadours, including the now-legendary Dock Boggs. In the last years of Boggs' life, Seeger had become his booking agent and closest confidante. Seeger also played a pivotal role in the bluegrass revival of the 1960s. Along with fellow folklorist Ralph Rinzler, as well as other East Coast “citybillies” utterly obsessed with the music, Seeger helped resuscitate the careers of both Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers.

Alexisonfire’s latest release Old Crows, Young Cardinals, is a hardcore fan’s wet dream. The songwriting demonstrates exactly what this Canadian quintet has to bring to the table and is Alexisonfire’s most thought out and impressive release to date. Featuring 43 minutes of non-stop, explosive, rock ecstasy, Old Crows may very well be the all-around best release to come out of the hardcore genre this year. Combined with string-bending hammer-ons, backed by raucous drum fills, Dallas Green and George Pettit’s mixture of angelic and demonic vocal styles create an almost perfect collection of tracks that when performed live, will assuredly be fueling circle-pits around the globe. Alexisonfire might possibly be the best band you’ve never heard of. With four full-length releases behind them, two of which went Platinum in Canada, one of which went Gold and Old Crows, Young Cardinals, which peaked at #2 on the Canadian charts, it’s a mystery as to what has kept them from climbing to the top of US rock charts, until now. The guys recently sat down with Rhapsody to discuss the death of punk rock, how Nickelback has influenced their band and exactly what has kept them from exploding onto US rock radio.

The other night I wandered out to the front porch. There, with a sixer of Bell’s Oberon at my feet, I cranked a little New Riders of the Purple Sage and watched the fireflies light up the trees late into the night. It was my own private send-off to John “Marmaduke” Dawson, who died from stomach cancer on July 21 in Mexico. Apparently, the former N.R.P.S. frontman had been living south of the border for quite some time. I always suspected Dawson was battling a serious illness. YouTube footage of a one-off appearance with the New Riders in 2001 shows a tiny man, frail and weak, who looked far older than 56.

Dawson, who co-wrote the American Beauty classic “Friend of the Devil,” was one of the elders of the Grateful Dead tribe. Jerry Garcia, Robert Hunter and he were pals in the mid-1960s, years before Haight-Ashbury and the whole acid rock/hippie thing. Back then, they all hung around Palo Alto and picked old folk music: jug-band tunes, bluegrass, country blues, etc. Another member of the inner circle was guitarist David Nelson, and after the Dead became a national act, Dawson and he began developing a new sound: psychedelic country rock, aka cosmic American music: a mix of hippie vibes, Bakersfield honky-tonk and vintage rockabilly.

Though it's Los Angeles legends like Gram Parsons, the Byrds, Gene Clark and the Flying Burrito Brothers who receive the bulk of the credit for pioneering cosmic American music, the New Riders’ contributions cannot be overlooked. Featuring Garcia on pedal steel and Mickey Hart on drums, 1971’s New Riders of the Purple Sage is every bit as seminal as The Gilded Palace of Sin, Sweetheart of the Rodeo and The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark. In fact, early tunes like “Dirty Business” and “Gypsy Cowboy” find the New Riders diving into the psychedelic void far deeper than their Southern California counterparts.

The 1970s were the age of classic rock, sensitive singer-songwriters and breezy California pop. They were a time when you got up in the afternoon, slipped into your favorite pair of denim shorts and headed down to the beach. There, you tossed a little Frisbee to the sounds of Little Feat, Slowhand, the Dead and Emmylou. And when nightfall came and those soothing waves washed romance upon the shore, you'd woo that special someone to smooth operators like Firefall and Nicolette Larson.

If this sounds like good living to you, then check out our super-sweet discount playlist Smooth Pop and Classic Rock For Cheap.

Elvis Costello and Emmylou Harris will be at the Telluride Bluegrass fest. How 'bout you? Bluegrass is popular all over the United States -- no doubt about it. But historically, it thrives in about three to five regions: Appalachia, the Ohio Valley, eastern Maryland/Pennsylvania, the Ozarks of Missouri and southeastern Kansas and, interestingly enough, Colorado. The Centennial State -- that's Colorado, yo -- is probably the major hub for groups that explore progressive bluegrass (a.k.a. newgrass, jamgrass, hippie bluegrass). I'm talking about bands like Leftover Salmon, Yonder Mountain String Band, The String Cheese Incident and Oakhurst. Colorado is also home to one of genre's more celebrated multi-day festivals, Telluride Bluegrass, which is entering its 36th year. Located in the San Juan Mountains in the southwest corner of the state, there's no beating Telluride when it comes to dreamy settings. Humongous snow-capped peaks and lush, Rocky Mountain flora surround its mainstage. There are workshops for musicians, all night jams, performance competition, camping, hiking and a well-established emphasis on green-conscious business. It's pretty darn amazing. Musically, Telluride has followed Bonnaroo's lead in opening its doors to alt-country types, world musicians and hip indie rockers dabbling in Americana and roots music. For this year's installment (June 18-21), the line-up features everybody from newgrass heavies Railroad Earth to indie dude Conor Oberst to mandolin legend Sam Bush to the luscious Jenny Lewis. And that's just the tip of the iceburg. Here's the complete line-up -- more or less: David Byrne Elvis Costello & The Sugarcanes Emmylou Harris Three Girls & Their Buddy B�la Fleck & Toumani Diabat� The Steeldrivers Todd Snider John Cowan Band Peter Rowan Jerry Douglas Tim O'Brien Yonder Mountain String Band The Punch Brothers The Lovell Sisters The Greencards Crooked Still Greensky Bluegrass Gaelic Storm Zac Brown Band Blue Canyon Boys Kasey Chambers & Shane Nicholson Mike Farris & The Roseland Rhythm Revue This is an insane collection of talent for sure, but if forced to pick three can't-miss performances, I'd go with these: 1) Greensky Bluegrass Not too many folks have heard these upstarts from Kalamazoo, Michigan, but Telluride just loves them. The quintet won the festival's band competition in 2006. In addition to the playlist up above, a great introduction to Greensky Bluegrass is their last full-length, Five Interstates, which has a real Jay-Farrar-meets-Dillard-&-Clark vibe. There's something very early '70s about this Greensky Bluegrass. They're basically classic singer-songwriters playing in a West Coast hippie bluegrass style. 2) The Steeldrivers Much like the Infamous Stringdusters, the SteelDrivers are a pack of hot shot Nashville session cats getting all acoustic. That said, they're totally fiery, playing a brand of Appalachian mountain music that's fortified with brawny, swampy blues-rock. Singer and guitarist Chris Stapleton howls like Bob Seger had he grown up in, say, Bristol, Tennessee, rather than Detroit. Over the last year or so a Steeldrivers performance has become a pretty hot ticket in the bluegrass scene. So yeah, this will be a killer show. 3) Three Girls & Their Buddy: Emmylou. Patty Griffin. Shawn Colvin. Buddy Miller. Need I say more?

With a new record and a national tour ahead of them, Philadelphia experimental rockers mewithoutYou are geared up to take the college indie scene by storm this summer. Their fourth release, It’s All Crazy! It’s All False! It’s All a Dream! It’s Alright, showcases lyricist Aaron Weiss’ softer side. The choral chants and Dylan-esque acoustic rhythms present an ideal backdrop for Weiss to channel God’s messages through his lyrics. Weiss stepped away from prepping the band’s eco-friendly tour bus and shared some words with me regarding his deep connection to God and what exactly defines his deeply spiritual lifestyle.

Grate news, especially for all you Deadheads: Rhapsody recently scored nearly every volume of tape-vault archivist Dick Latvala's Dick's Picks, a now-legendary series of live two-track concert recordings spanning the band's four-decade career. These things are wonderfully -- some would maddeningly -- raw. Lacking the remix work of the Dead's official live albums, each volume came with a "caveat emptor" warning would-be buyers about its very unpolished sound quality.

Of the 36 Dick's Picks released between 1993 and 2005, Rhapsody, if I counted correctly, offers 33. To celebrate these gnarly acquisitions, I've put together "So You Wanna Be a Deadhead ...", a 30-tracks-from-30-different-volumes playlist. For the uninitiated, this would serve as great primer to Latvala's sprawling work (he left us in 1999).

Though The American Book of the Dead is a regular read in my house, I lack the knowledge of the true Deadhead. Thus, I wasn't able to pay homage to some of the more adventurous tape collectors out there and turn my playlist into the ultimate Dead experience: a simulated concert stitched together from the best Dick's Picks has to offer. However, I did re-create a few of the group's classic segues, including the "Scarlet Begonias" > "Fire on the Mountain" jam. For the former I used the version found on Volume 24 (Cow Palace 3/23/1974), while for the latter I grabbed the version that appears on Volume 6 (Hartford Civic Center 10/14/83).

I also made sure every track I picked is considered, amongst the Deadhead cognoscenti, to be one of the group's very best performances of that particular song. But hey, that's expected from a guy who sits on the bowl reading a 450-page Grateful Dead encyclopedia. Which reminds me...

BTW, the volume I'm most obsessed with these days is No. 23 (Baltimore Civic Center 9/17/1972). This gig captures the Dead making the transition from countrified bar rock to the dreamy, fusion-based psychedelia of the mid-1970s. Good stuff, especially the, uh, 39-minute rendition of "The Other One."

Song: Houses
Album: Elyse
Artist: Elyse Weinberg

Sometime back in 1968, the same year he released his debut album, Neil Young hooked up with an old Canadian pal by the name of Elyse Weinberg. Also in Los Angeles recording her first record, the singer employed Young’s signature guitar squeal on the country-folk ballad “Houses.” This song is a total stunner -- emotionally raw and savagely honest. In a lot of ways its gritty, stripped-down vibe predates Young’s rustic work on After the Gold Rush and Harvest.

The rest of Weinberg's debut -- an eclectic collection of Dylan-inspired folk-rock, Baroque pop and sitar-tinged psychedelia -- is equally good. With the record cracking Billboard's top 50, rock critics were even mentioning the singer alongside the new wave of female singer-songwriters, namely Joni Mitchell and Laura Nyro. But alas, Weinberg's fame was short-lived. She eventually dropped out of the music biz and changed her name to, uh, Cori Bishop.

Elyse, meanwhile, became one of them rarely seen dollar-bin artifacts -- until 2004, that is. That's when Elf Power's Andrew Rieger discovered one of them dusty old copies and flipped out. This led to a wonderful reissue produced by Georgia's Orange Twin, a label and "artist co-op" centered around the Elephant 6 collective. But that's not the end of the story. In 2007 Vetiver contributed to Weinberg's revival by recording a version of “Houses” for his all-covers album Thing of the Past. That’s a good one, too, even if the band turned Young's guitar into more of a George Harrison lick.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Whether you are of Irish heritage or Irish at heart, this playlist is guaranteed to get you into the spirit of St. Patrick's Day. Traditional and contemporary Irish music sit alongside a handful of bands that know how to get the ceili (party) started. U2, Snow Patrol, Flogging Molly, Luka Bloom -- nobody knows how to party like the Irish! La Fheile Padraig!

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to

Many groups can claim to have influenced the revival and flowering of Irish traditional music, but the Dubliners were, in so many ways, the first. This was the group that went to the country and resurrected dying songs -- they copped their major hit, "Seven Drunken Nights," from a little-known sean nos singer named Joe Heaney -- and brought live music (the now indispensible "sessions," or seisiuns) back to bars in Ireland at a time when it was nearly nonexistent.

In this day and age -- and in this country -- it's hard to understand just how revolutionary the group was, and just how repressed Irish culture had been for centuries. The English in Ireland tried out tactics they later used around the world in their colonial endeavors: denying "natives" the right to use their own language in 1387, banning "Irish clothes" and banishing the Irish from walled towns, clearing them off their land, etc . Phrases like "beyond the pale" originated in Ireland, describing the zone outside the "civilized" English-controlled towns. That legacy, coupled with the famine of 1848 and waves of migration and economic stagnation, had left the country decimated, clenching a robust and punitive Catholicism in one fist and a bottle of booze in the other. We've all read the stories: Frank McCourt's litany of hardships in Angela's Ashes, the violence and hard-drinking in books like Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha or The Woman Who Walked Into Doors, or films like The Magdalene Sisters.

Two Days and Counting

What's a St. Patrick's Day celebration without rebel songs? Rebel songs are the oral history of the Irish struggle for freedom from British rule -- set to music. Famously, the Irish rebelled against British rule in 1916 in what's come to be know as the Easter Rising; in 1972, Irish civil rights marchers were cut down on Bloody Sunday. Here are some powerful, fist-pumping anthems guaranteed to get your blood flowing and your Irish up.

Vetiver
Tight Knit

On previous records Vetiver's Andy Cabic was a freak-folkie who obviously owns a fat stack of awesome albums -- not bad, but not great either. With the release of Tight Knit, however, the dude is no longer a talented collector-nerd. He's an artist. This is profound landscape music, a misty coastal piedmont thoughtfully carved from the singer-songwriter's twin loves: vintage British folk and West Coast soft rock. Everything here locks together perfectly, from the elegant compositions to Cabic's phantom whisper to his band's patient gait.

I entertain this theory that Vetiver's recent collaborations with Gary Louris were critical to Tight Knit's success. As his backing band for both 2008's Vagabonds album and the subsequent tour, Vetiver had to learn 25 to 30 of the ex-Jayhawks' songs. This did two things: 1) teach Cabic the nuts and bolts of songwriting as craft (think a young Hunter S. retyping The Great Gatsby) and 2) helped transform his group from a loose recording project into a real-deal touring act. It's kind of like a carpenter who has graduated from apprentice to journeyman: Vetiver now builds better, and more meaningful, folk music.

"Hi, I'm Pete Seeger, and this post is totally sweet. You should read it -- all of it."

I recently received an e-mail from the boss-man. "Do you want to write up a blog post about re-working the folk genre?" he asked. "The approach you take would be up to you, but I figure maybe there's something to say about some of the choices you've been making ... It can be as formal or as informal as you like."

Okay. I choose informal.

Please enjoy the following 1,500-word (and some change) rant on my recent update of Rhapsody's folk music genre hub -- THIS THING HERE -- which is our approximation of a kind of CliffsNotes for all of folk music, in other words a pretty good place to start if you're a folk newbie, and an equally sweet page to check out if you're a folk obsessive, 'cause you're bound to agree and disagree with some of the choices. If the prospect of my rant doesn’t tickle your fancy, try this: Chilly Weather. Hot Women.

Otherwise, take ol' Pete's advice and dive into this sucker.

Nick Drake was a genius. There's no doubt about it. But he was a tad too effete for my taste -- a private school flower sprung from the gardens of classic literature and fine poetry. That’s not my world. I’m a clumsy, sentimental dude who shakes hands firmly with phrases like "Be a man about it” and "You’re my girl." This is why I mourn the death of Brit folk icon John Martyn, who died from pneumonia on January 29, thus joining his old pal Nick. Martyn's was an art that spoke to me: funky blues music for lovers that reeks of sex, booze and tears. Here was a guy who once referred to marijuana as "mary jane" because that’s what he actually called the stuff.

I don’t want to say Martyn sang from the heart; that implies I somehow know his essence. But he definitely sounded as if he did. The man could emote like nobody’s business. And yet Martyn was a profoundly avant garde individual, far more so than just about any singer-songwriter of his generation. Anybody who digs What's Going On?, Astral Weeksand There’s a Riot Goin’ On has to track down cult classics like Solid Air and the harrowing Grace & Danger (recorded while Martyn's marriage to singer and collaborator Beverly Martyn fell apart). Both albums are the creations of an artist dissolving the lines between folk, soul, free jazz, ambient electronic music and even dub.

For a long time it seemed as if the only musicians who understood what Martyn was up to were fellow mavericks like Arthur Russell, Talk Talk and Portishead. Nowadays, however, just about anybody tinkering with acoustic guitars and programmed beats -- and there are a lot -- seem to be nicking tricks from the guy. That's cool and all. But in the end there will only ever be one John Martyn. Rest in peace.

Rhapsody Reviews: Text about music -- remember that?

Mark Olson & Gary Louris
Ready For the Flood

At one time or another there were a dozen-odd musicians who called themselves Jayhawks, but to listen to the early, defining dispatches from the band -- a self-titled 1985 collection that barely saw daylight; another, Blue Earth, which was little more than gussied-up demos -- it's clear that the essence of that band was the partnership of singer-songwriters Mark Olson and Gary Louris. On those early, hasty recordings, the reedy, telepathic harmonies nimbly tumble between melody and harmony so intimately that you lose track of which is which. The Jayhawks -- what the diehards consider the real Jayhawks -- is the sound of that partnership, which goes down to the bones. Even if their testaments to false love and small town funerals were sung by young men who fancied themselves old and wise (the most depressing commonality of the No Depression movement they fathered), the authenticity in their partnership was the genuine article; it kicked up the dust of Gram Parsons to stir what would become the other flannel shirt movement of the '90s: alt country.

        
Joy of Cooking – two rootsy singing-and-songwriting feminist musicians from Berkeley, California, plus a few male fellow travelers providing rhythmic accompaniment, all of whom apparently took their band name from Irma Rombauer’s eternal Depression-era cookbook classic – might have the distinction of being the most critically acclaimed ‘70s rock band that almost no rock critic who graduated high school in the past 35 years has an opinion about. Their self-titled Capitol debut album finished in sixth place in the Village Voice Pazz & Jop Critics poll in 1971; Robert Christgau called it “exciting and amazingly durable” and gave it an “A” grade, praising its rolling piano-and-percussion grooves and lyrics about wives victimized at both ends of the economic spectrum. 

Folk-rock that harkens back to the mid-‘60s isn’t a new direction for music. But Seattle duo, the Dutchess & the Duke, aren’t all that predisposed to the glow of the new. Lifelong friends Jesse Lortz and Kimberly Morrisson lived through their twenties chasing a youthful energy in a long line of surf, garage and punk-rock bands. They have also come out on the other side of 30 with an expertise in two-part harmonies, acoustic guitar- and tambourine-driven songs that bear the tight construction of Stones and Dylan classics, and personal biographies that make for some interesting points and counterpoints. In under 30 relatively lo-fi recorded minutes, their debut, She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke, shows off songwriting chops and an empathetic vision of life gained from experience. And while experience isn’t necessarily a new direction, it’s always worth gaining. This was the undercurrent to the conversation Rhapsody began with Lortz and Morrisson in Seattle and finished in New York, soon after the Dutchess & the Duke played the Rhapsody Rocks NYC party earlier this October.

A few years ago, I interviewed the Dodos, a San Francisco duo who was, at that time, trying to keep their heads during the disorienting situation that befalls a band who's being vigorously courted by record labels. We parked on the sidewalk of a café in the Mission District as the singer, Meric Long, spoke about the most bewildering gig he'd ever played, a few weeks prior, in the board room of a Manhattan skyscraper, to an audience of record industry decision-makers. For a musician of Long's pedigree -- a vet of San Francisco's indie songwriter scene who pens unapologetically nervy, decidedly un-commercial songs -- his obvious discomfort about the situation was evident then, and even more so when they issued their first LP on a reputable small independent label, French Kiss. The situation with the Dodos office gig was on the brain yesterday, sitting in a conference room on the 48th floor of a building near the chaotic center of Times Square (where Rhapsody's New York office makes its home) when Ryan Star strode in, guitar in hand, dressed in faded black, buttressed by a small trio of nervous, doting label operatives.  

Metal in 2008 is a lot of different things to different people. Personally, I'll take the druids-in-the-woods thing over the dorks-playing-Guitar Hero thing. But feel free to differ, of course!

It’s Friday at rush hour, and the show has only begun on the N Judah train line. Regular commuters clutch their briefcases, terrified, as a crowd of rowdy interlopers -- many in cowboy shirts, many in no shirts at all -- pack the car. The route is headed toward Golden Gate Park, where the eighth annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival commenced this afternoon, and two of the car's more enthusiastic riders are stone-giddy about the opening day headliner: "Robert f*ck*ng Plant, man," one says to the other in the blown-mind inflection that's the universal dialect of the three-day event. San Francisco might host a slew other open-air music festivals, but Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, a multi-stage festival of roots rock, country and bluegrass (paid for by San Francisco venture capitalist Warren Hellman) is probably the one that most accurately reflects the eccentricities of its host city. Starting with Robert f*ck*ng Plant.

At a glance, last night's performance by Argentinean/Swede folk phenom Jose Gonzalez wasn't much to see: the final set of a two-day, sold-out stand at Yoshi's in Oakland, CA, mostly featured Gonzalez at center stage, hunched over a nylon-string guitar. Sitting between a heavy red curtain and a curious mix of the jazz club's typical chardonnay-and-maki crowd and reverent doe-eyed fans, he was occasionally buttressed by singer Yukimi Nagamo and percussionist Erik Bodin. There was almost no banter ("This song," he said in the honeyed shush of a yoga instructor, "is about tribalism") and few frills beyond those inherent in Gonzalez's faux-traditional Brazilian finger-picking and melancholic evocation of Joao Gilberto. Even the setlist -- drawn from his similarly elegant, bare pair of albums and scattered with new material -- didn't raise eyebrows, save for a forceful cover of Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" that was trotted out for an encore. But, Gonzalez demonstrated that he's one of the most commanding songwriters of recent years by achieving the difficult task of what architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe called "an interesting plainness." The set also made it plainly apparent, and never more serenely unobjectionable, that Gonzalez, is also someone who thrives in an industry that's seen the death of the album-based career. He could be the poster child of its passing.

by Stephanie Benson

Can you do a Yurchenko two-and-a-half, an Onodi, a Tkatchev, a Gienger, a Pak salto, a Stalder shoot, a triple full -- wait, let’s make this easier -- can you do a cartwheel? We know you’ve been practicing your best “stick-it” moment since watching the one-two winning punch of gymnasts Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson in Beijing. But how about saving yourself a trip to the hospital and impress your friends with some Olympic trivia that has nothing to do with Michael Phelps, or um, Michael Phelps.

Harken yonder ear towards the Northwestern horizon, to where the teen spirit's roar has been replaced by the meditative classic strains of iron and of wine, of horses and of...foxes. Listen closely: it's the sound of a new Sub Pop-blessed vibe, and Lord knows we hear it too. Thus for this latest installment of "John Norris Interviews...," we sent our very own man with a microphone to confront Summer '08's most celebrated purveyors of the Seattle pastoral folk-pop scene, Fleet Foxes. John talks to singer-songwriter Robin Pecknold and his merry band of harmony-and-soul providers about their baby steps out of the coffee-and-Grunge capital, about their recent leap into the indie-rock limelight and their inspirations. Don't wanna hear the chatter? Fast forward to the third part of the video to check out an exclusive acoustic performance of "White Winter Hymnal."

Further Reading:
"The Most Unlikely Breakout Band of the Year" [MTV News]

Further Viewing:
More "John Norris Interviews ..." [PLAY]

by Piotr Orlov

(photo by Kate Glicksberg)

If you want to deconstruct the territory that Jason Pierce probes with his music, look no further than his sometime-sobriquet: J. Spaceman. Exploring the starry, simple, ancient and mysterious has always been his calling -- whether as co-founder with Peter “Sonic Boom” Kember of influential drone-gazers Spacemen 3, or as the principal player in the outward-bound Britpop group Spiritualized. That he’s turned free-jazz-influenced experimental leanings into relatively popular rock is a testament to the breadth of his vision. This vision became physically impaired during the prolonged recording of Spiritualized's eighth album, Songs in A&E, first when Pierce developed a creative block, and then when he was struck by pneumonia which almost killed him in 2006. When he emerged from this experience, he had not only found a new, traditional side of Spiritualized, but had also created music for the Harmony Korine film Mr. Lonely. When Rhapsody spoke to him in May 2008, Pierce was less interested in discussing the specifics of his sickness (full details in another interview here), and more about the creative process that bookended it. Though we, of course, forced the obligatory “Spacemen 3 reunion” question on him as well.

by Angela Bruno

It's safe to say that Devendra's baduizms on girlfriend Natalie Portman are in full effect. In the crackly retro-Bollywood-inspired video for "Carmensita" -- which with its whimsy, chants and fuzzy psychedelic euphoria would sound pretty perfect on The Darjeeling Ltd. soundtrack -- Portman plays the damsel in distress, Devendra the quixotic hero. Clearly dreamt up in a patchouli-induced state while perpetually summering in yonder Topanga (a place immune to the fallout of the Love Guru  -- we hope), the melodrama flows like mango lassi. "Where are you my ratty assed compadre?" she pines (via subtitles). "Fear not my sweet flower, for I have obtained the powers of the Enochian ninth circuit," he answers. But that's probably just pillow talk for those two anyway. 

It's not that he's not Bright Eyes anymore -- it's that ... this one's different. There's a lot about Conor Oberst's new "solo" album that's out of the norm: first off, there's the label (the good people of Merge, rather than his going-steady friends at Saddle Creek), there's the musicians (the newly-honored Mystic Valley Band are here while longtime friends are nowhere in sight), and most significantly, there's the nom d'artiste. But when Conor sat down with John Norris for the latest episode of "JNI..." all was made clear. Or at least, clearer. And after you watch the interview, check out Conor Oberst's self-titled solo album; it may not be available 'til August 5th, but it's streaming exclusively on Rhapsody.

Further Listening:
Conor Oberst, "Conor Oberst" (Rhapsody Premiere)

Further Viewing:
More "John Norris Interviews..." (PLAY)

by Chuck Eddy

So the latest “foxy-librarian coffeehouse folk” hopeful, as Rob Harvilla dubbed the recent spate of Ingrid/Feist/Yael/Colbie/Sara snooze in the Village Voice recently, would seem to be one Charlotte Sometimes—a sing-songy, frequently vibrato-dependent, Jersey-born lounge-shemo chick who shares her name with a 1969 children’s book, a 1981 Cure dirge, and a 2002 indie film, all of which fans enjoy describing as “haunting fantasies.” She’s Vans-Warped-Touring this summer, and her single “How I Could Just Kill A Man” comes complete with a look-ma-I’m-quoting-Cypress-Hill chorus. “Sounds like Twisted Sister Meets Mister Mister,” her MySpace page claims; sadly, a lie. Waves & The Both of Us, assisted by a low list price, is bubbling under some or other chart as we speak. If a licensing deal didn’t happen yet, it should soon. Good for Charlotte (no pop-punk pun intended); I just wish it was happening to Megan McCauley instead.

by Stephanie Benson

(photo by Jeremy Stanifer)

I could throw in a lot of burly Pacific Northwest lumberjack jokes or overgrown face fuzz and flannel/plaid/paisley-wearing cracks here, but that all seems a little too obvious for the Fleet Foxes. The scene at San Francisco’s Bottom of the Hill last night was indeed fairly scruffy -- the exception being guitarist Skye Skjelset, whose clean-cut, skinny jeans-with-vest hipster style gets the most live-review flack according to his bandmates. The mostly hirsute quintet stole the attention of even the most girly chicks and modish boys in the crowd, using “Chill out, dude” poise and a humbled presence, but also nimble guitars, deft mandolin plucks, maraca shakes, tambourines, crashing cymbals and gospel-inspired a capella.

by Chuck Eddy

So I caught 17-year-old New Orleans fiddle prodigy and redheaded potential pop star Amanda Shaw at B.B. King Blues Club in Manhattan last week, playing for a bar full of bridge-and-tunnel Bo Bice fans, more than a few of them wearing mullets, mostly middle-aged couples seated at tables. Weird for me -- the last concert I saw there, by Swedish gloom-metal band Katatonia, sure wasn't a sit-down show -- and weird for Amanda. She and her backing trio the Cute Guys (all of whom clearly have a few decades on her, much of those years spent playing all the rootswise-and-otherwise genres they're now incorporating into her music) are used to people dancing -- doing cajun two-steps, Amanda and her longtime drummer Mike Barras told me backstage after their set, even when they cover the Clash.

In 2000, a couple of friends and I started hosting a not-so-open-mic at San Francisco's Cafe DuNord. It happened every Monday night, so we called it the Monday Night Hoot. At any given Hoot, there'd be 9-15 acts playing three-song sets each. After four years, the venue changed ownership and remodeled the room, making it a lot harder to host a (mostly) acoustic weekly event. So, sadly, we laid the Hoot to rest. But on Monday we unearthed the owl and had a full blown Hoot reunion. I thought maybe we'd just get a few original players to show up and do it for each other and some of our friends, but we totally packed the joint with an appreciative crowd and had ourselves a gathering that was way better than I could have ever expected. A lot of our old school Hoot veterans showed up, including Devendra, who was in town for a performance at the SFMOMA in conjunction with an exhibition entitled Abstract Rhythms: Paul Klee and Devendra Banhart. (More on that in a moment)

Welcome fellow folkies! There were some pretty cool things going on in folk music this year. For starters, six different people portrayed six different phases of Bob Dylan in the film I'm Not There (which also birthed a pretty stellar soundtrack). On a lighter note, the soundtrack to Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, starring John C. Reilly, boasts a near perfect Dylan imitation (more on that later). Oh, let's not forget that Leonard Cohen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And in San Francisco, the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival featured more pickers, players, crooners and attendees than you could shake a dulcimer at. But most importantly, 2007 yielded some truly amazing songs. Here is our top 10 list of folk's greatest triumphs of 2007.