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Five years ago, when her debut album “The Gold Mine” came out, I wrote, “Five years from now, we figure Waldon’s name ought to rank right up there with Kentucky’s greatest - women like Loretta Lynn and Patti Loveless.” So it’s five years later, and I suppose I should declare whether I think she can rub elbows in such company.
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Kelsey Waldon’s pleas were answered this year when Prine signed her to his longstanding independent label, Oh Boy! Prine is picky about who becomes an Oh Boy! artist, and Waldon is his first new signing in 15 years. Home: Nashville.Īny Nashville songwriter would pray fervently for the public blessing of the icon John Prine. It's intense, but song and father both come out of it well. In "Human," Sarlé sings about leaving a romance behind, then wonders, "Well, who hasn't talked to God like a man." Then there's the one inspired by her dad wanting to chat about suicide. A character in "Suddenly" loses her sense of self after giving head, then makes a cheese sandwich to regroup. The knotty folk-rock songs on “Karaoke Angel,” about people who struggle to decode their emotions and relationships, are like poignant, graceful riddles. But Sarlé's musical bugaboo has been uncertainty as much as weird dude energy. Molly Sarlé has her own powerful trio/support group of women, the gloriously harmonizing, mystical folkies Mountain Man.
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At such times, Ronstadt reached out to women musician friends like Emmylou Harris and, later, Dolly Parton. More than once in “The Sound of My Voice, this year's documentary about Linda Ronstadt, when the singer mentions encountering some '70s El Lay beardo guy (likely an Eagles hanger-on) who questioned her validity as a musician because she didn't write her own songs. We welcome you to The Bitter Southerner’s seventh annual list of our region’s best records. For a little of their backstory, see the note at the bottom. He’s been talking music with our editor for 35 years. He’s eminently qualified, having spent more than two decades at SPIN magazine, ultimately becoming its editorial director, before moving home, to the South, three years ago. So please welcome to the fray Charles Aaron. One note: You’ll notice we have help in the writing of this list. You’ll hear things you’ve never heard the likes of before.Īnd maybe you will hear what we did: The South singing and playing toward what we all could be, scrapping to get above where we’ve been. You hear echoes of our deepest musical traditions translated into the now. A year where we heard the voices of the whole South rising up in defiance of whatever forces hold them down. So we’ll just go with that: The Year of Us All. Across these 30 albums, you hear a great chorus of Southern voices, black and white and other, queer and straight and other. To hear the records on this list, though, is to hear something bigger, a sound that seems to rise above the barriers of genre and generation. This is, after all, the time of year when music writers start looking for a variation on the headline: “The Year of INSERT PHRASE HERE.” The year of women, of the Dirty South, of bro-country, of whatever. Something big, we think, but difficult to put a finger on. What did the year in Southern music tell us?