Made Up Mind, the forthcoming studio album by Tedeschi Trucks Band, isn't slated for release until August 20, but its lead single, “Part of Me,” is available now to stream or as a free download.
The follow-up to the group’s 2011 GRAMMY©-winning debut, Revelator—a live album, Everybody’s Talkin’, was released last year—Made Up Mind was produced by Jim Scott (Wilco, Chuck Prophet) and Derek Trucks, and features contributions from such guest artists as Sonya Kitchell and Doyle Bramhall II, among others.
Stream or download “Part of Me”:
Further Reading:
It’s always inspiring to see artists engage the promise of their talent, challenging themselves and exploring their creative curiosities. Over the past four years since her critically acclaimed folk/pop debut, Words Came Back To Me, Sonya Kitchell has reflected an exploratory, progressive approach toward her craft. She emphasized as much with her 2008 LP, This Storm, on which she broadened the scope of her aesthetic with an eclectic set of folk, pop and jazz.
Kitchell has experimented even more now on her latest release, an EP entitled Convict of Conviction, forgoing much of the eclecticism that shaped her previous works in favor of something more concentrated and decidedly austere. She’s further refined her jazz sensibilities, employing them here on “Mr. Suicidal” to striking effect through rhythmic, tension-and-release progressions and abrupt tempo shifts. More pronounced, though, is a classical disposition that Kitchell cultivates, her voice — a thing of beauty in itself, imbued with depth and warm, lilting inflection — exquisitely suiting the nuances yielded by these arrangements. Foremost in this vein is “Sinks Like A Stone,” a sparse and sprawling ballad guided by Kitchell’s discreet piano playing and the subtle accompaniment of an upright bass. Comparably, “Lighthouse” and “Snowing,” the latter featuring a vocal so pristine it reaches near-operatic distinction, are evocative highlights as well.
Kitchell is a bold, gifted artist with the potential of developing into a significant one over time. That Convict of Conviction is but her third release (even at its abbreviated length) is, in all honesty, mind-boggling. At a stage in her career when other artists would sooner nurture an established style or sound lest they alienate listeners, she instead has taken no small risk here. And it’s a risk that has paid off, culminating in music that is sophisticated and, at the same time, deeply moving.
Only when the topic turns to guys and their heartbreaking ways does Sonya Kitchell sound like any other nineteen-year-old girl. In all other respects, the Massachusetts-native singer/songwriter conveys a sense of purpose and self-awareness that belies her youth.
She evoked aspects of that sophistication on her eloquent 2006 debut, Words Came Back To Me. Yet, as illustrated on her current sophomore effort, This Storm, Kitchell has broadened her creative canvas to explore a wellspring of sound and substance. “I wanted to make a record that felt more expansive,” she says, “and more interesting musically and [one which] had a little more depth politically.”
Her versatile talent and fortitude resonated early on with Herbie Hancock, in whom she found an invaluable source of insight and assurance. “He’s been a really big mentor and person in my life in the last year or so,” Kitchell says. She’s toured at length with the jazz legend as well as having worked with him on River: The Joni Letters, his 2008 Grammy-winning Album of the Year.
Presently headlining her own tour, Kitchell discussed This Storm, expounding on the craft and conviction with which she invested the work.
This being your second album, how do you measure your progress as a songwriter?
A lot has changed. And one of the more obvious changes is that when I wrote my first record, a lot of the songs I hadn’t yet experienced. There were life things that I was writing about—from and about the people around me or things I projected or things I imagined or things I’d seen—[but] hadn’t lived myself. As two or three years went by, I started to live all of those songs and understand them more deeply. And then on this record, it was more from personal experience.
Also, it’s very important for me that songs make people feel and that there’s a political element in records, because I feel there is a lot that needs to be touched upon right now and a lot that’s going on that needs attention. That’s always been a desire of mine to focus on. And I think on this record, moreso than on the last one, that’s present. Hopefully, on the next record, it’ll be even more present. But as a writer I’ve been able to incorporate that a little more this time.
You recruited Malcolm Burn (Peter Gabriel, Emmylou Harris, John Mellencamp) to produce the album. What did he bring to help facilitate your creativity?
He brought a huge amount to the table. He has a way—I wouldn’t say he has no patience for things—but, [more like he believes] you just do it. Whether it was getting a take or anything, it was all about the raw emotion rather than the perfection. We didn’t fuss around with things forever. The vocal take, I was singing it the same time that the band was playing. And it was fun working with someone who’s just such a mad scientist, who pushes you in a great way.
There seems to be an underlying theme of impermanence, fleeting love as well as the shortness of life. Was that a theme you consciously wanted to write about or is that something that just came out?
That just came out. I did not consciously mean to do that, and you’re absolutely right that that’s something I tend to focus on. But no, I didn’t mean to do that.
In songs in which the lyrics don’t explicitly convey a sadness or melancholy, your vocal often does.
That’s unintentional, too. Yeah, that’s just there.
Even on songs like “Here To There,” songs that aren’t necessarily sad…
Well, even that song is sad, actually [Laughs]. It’s about a lover who’s far away and it’s like, you’re here and I’m there or I’m here and you’re there. Who knows what’s gonna happen and how it’s gonna work out?
“Robin in the Snow,” with its imagery and the sentiment—“Who will miss you when you’re gone?”—is quite evocative.
I was sitting in the kitchen, looking outside. It was February, I think, and it was snowing, freezing cold. I saw this bright red robin and it was really beautiful. Then I realized it was going to die… because it was February and cold. How could it possibly survive? So that was the trigger for the song, the idea [of] who will miss you and who will miss me? It’s definitely a question we ask.
How has working with Herbie Hancock affected you?
He always encouraged freedom and freedom of expression. He would say to me, “That’s what I love the most about your singing is that you’re not afraid to experiment and you’re not afraid to fall on your ass, even though you don’t.” That’s the way he plays and that’s what he really loves in other people’s playing: that abandon and trying and not being afraid. To have someone like him tell you that you can do that and you’re good at it is huge and very liberating.
It’s got to be encouraging.
Very encouraging. He gave me a lot of confidence. When I started working with Herbie was when I went into the studio [for This Storm]. And even though I made a rock ‘n’ roll record, I was getting from the jazz end of things that if it was good music and you’re true to it and you’re passionate about it and you’re honest with yourself and not afraid, then [the album] will be good. That was really huge for me.
What’s the sentiment behind “Soldier’s Lament?” It’s certainly sympathetic to the soldier.
It’s about the idea that we don’t want to see something that we believe to be glorious fail. We only want to think about the accolades and wonder that goes with winning battles and fighting wars. When someone falls, we look the other way because it’s a reality we don’t want to accept.
In “Borderline,” you seem to be dissuading against apathy. Is that a fair analysis?
Sure, yeah.
Do you think that that mood is changing—in the context of the election?
I hope it’s changing; it’s hard to say. Elsewhere in the world, I think people are almost more excited for Obama to be president than they are here. I hope that’s not true, but you do get the feeling.
Is there a particular story behind “Fire?”
I was on a really terrible tour and I was really mad. [Laughs]
It comes across.
It’s about a few people rolled up into one, really. I wrote that song about those kinds of guy musicians who go around breaking hearts. And I always like to warn my friends who aren’t musicians and don’t know them and don’t know what they’re in for: Watch out!
Dates and venues for Sonya Kitchell’s current tour can be found at the artist’s official website. This Storm is available at all retail and online outlets.
Every once in a while, an album comes along that resists and transcends conventional categorizations. Such is the case with Sonya Kitchell’s sophomore effort, This Storm, as it reflects a uniquely exceptional talent operating within a realm entirely of her own making.
Only 16 when she released her debut album, Words Came Back To Me, Kitchell earned recognition as an ingénue with an old soul, her original compositions and thick, silken voice conveying sophistication beyond her years.
Now 19, she exhibits even more refined confidence as a songwriter as well as a resourceful musician. And her voice — warmly enriched by experience and maturation — is nothing short of gorgeous.
Guided more by her own muse rather than any perfunctory approach, Kitchell explores a collage of sounds and styles on This Storm, rendering folk and jazz dynamics with deft flourishes of rock ‘n’ roll.
As such, she attunes and phrases her rich vocals to suit each sonic direction. On tracks like “Effortless” and “For Every Drop,” she croons above a cavalcade of brisk percussion and strings. She descends amid the raw tension and lift of “Borderline” and “Fire,” her voice heaving all feisty and proud. And on “Here To There,” she serenades to a boisterous, rustling arrangement with the spirit of a Cajun jamboree.
Kitchell bears out perhaps the most impressive aspect of her versatility, though, on the album’s ballads. Her womanly yet delicate inflections, the ways in which she draws out certain breaths and syllables to envisage the melancholy mood of such songs are impeccable. She accentuates the contemplative lyrics of “Running” with a poignant tremble; she imparts “So Lonely” in wistful, aching sighs; and on “Robin In The Snow,” she affects a lilting tone that beautifully echoes and bends to the music’s plaintive sway.
With this album, Sonya Kitchell firmly establishes herself as an artist of rare distinction, whose promise is tempered solely by the scope of her creative vision.
Posts
