There is a train that’s heading straight
To Heaven’s gate, to Heaven’s gate
And on the way, child and man
And woman wait, watch and wait
For Redemption Day
When Sheryl Crow, the subject of this issue’s cover, penned these lines in 1995 in response to her experiences on a USO trip to war-torn Bosnia, most Americans would not have imagined that, nearly 25 years later, they would resonate here at home as precisely as they do. The words are from “Redemption Day,” off Crow’s eponymous second album, which she has now reworked for her latest effort, Threads. On Threads, the song functions as the spiritual lever of the record, offering its prescience to the present with a power and clarity that is intensified with the vocal accompaniment of an American icon, Johnny Cash. Fans will remember that Cash recorded it shortly before his death in 2003, seven years before its posthumous release on Ain’t No Grave: American Recordings VI. This new version features vocals from both artists and the video weaves their images with scenes of human bravery and tragedy with such force that John Carter Cash, Johnny’s son, found it overwhelming.
Threads is a long-gestating effort from the Missouri native that boasts mostly new music, with a few well-placed covers and features collaborations with heavyweights such as Mavis Staples, Keith Richards, Chuck D and Stevie Nicks, as well as younger singer-songwriters Jason Isbell, Chris Stapleton, Margo Price, St. Vincent, and Gary Clark Jr. to name a few. It has been well worth the wait.
Our greatest artists have always chronicled the times, and the best among them today are documenting the present with their music. And still, they are doing it with defiant hope. Merely days after the shootings in Dayton and El Paso, Lana Del Rey posted to Instagram an excerpt from a song she’d written not long after the news of the carnage broke. The tune is called “Looking For America,” and it reads in part: “I’m still looking for my own version of America/ One without the gun, where the flag can freely fly/ No bombs in the sky/ Only fireworks when you and I collide/ It’s just a dream I had in mind.” Let’s hope it finds its way on to Del Rey’s soon-to-be released album, Norman Fucking Rockwell!
Elsewhere in this issue, we profile the Lumineers, whose new album, III, grapples with the plague of addiction. (In 2017, there were 94.4 opioid prescriptions for every 100 persons in Tennessee alone.) One of the band’s principals, Jeremiah Fraites, lost his brother to heroin addiction when he was 13, long before the opioid crisis hit. The album charts the trials of a fictional family but, for Fraites, the writing process was cathartic. “I’d be lying if I didn’t believe maybe some people are going to feel this album is too heavy,” he says, “but I think it’s a very raw, very honest album.”
We also talk to Brittany Howard, the vocal powerhouse for Alabama Shakes, who is about to release her first solo album called Jaime. The record is a tribute to her late sister, who passed away when Brittany was a young teenager, but it also explores in remarkably nuanced fashion issues of race, identity, and religion. Howard is bi-racial and has had romantic relationships with men and women, thus giving her a multiplicity of perspective. One song chronicles a family episode in her childhood when someone put a bloody goat head in her father’s truck, an event that her family believed to be racially motivated. Another song makes the case for unconditional divine love and acceptance, the kind that exists outside the dictates of organized religion.
Sadly, as this issue heads to the print, we say goodbye to David Berman, whom we featured in the last issue for his new project, Purple Mountains. Berman is best known for his work with Silver Jews, and though he is not a household name, his songwriting, along with his published poetry, commands a deep and abiding respect among fans, fellow artists and critics. Berman, who passed away on August 7 at age 52, was open about his struggles with depression and substance abuse. Throughout his life he suffered profoundly, but in the midst of that suffering he managed to carve out a body of work that is redolent with truth and beauty, humor and sadness. It is a body of work that will stand the test of time. We are left with the memory of his life, along with his sublime words and music.
I believe the stars are the headlights of angels
Driving from heaven to save us
To save us
Look in the sky
They’re driving from heaven into our eyes
And though final words are so hard to devise
I promise that I’ll always remember your pretty eyes
Your pretty eyes
— from the song “Pretty Eyes” (1996)