Summer 2018: “OP-ED: SONG OF THE TIMES” – Chloe
Chloe’s Op-Ed, – May 10, 2018 [originally written for The Bluegrass Situation]
“The holiest place on earth is where an ancient hatred has become a current love.” –– A Course in Miracles
“Resilient” was written after the election, during Standing Rock, and while on tour. It came out like a wild horse from our mouths, the kind of song that responds to the times itself before you have much to say about it. I had to get out of its way, really. Song catching, some folks say. To be resilient means to come back to your original shape after being bent, broken, or compressed. I believe everyone can relate to that word in their own way right now, and my prayer is that the song somehow finds the people who need to hear it most. Songs always do that on their own. They live such broad lives, once they leave your throat.
I relate both the word and the song, “Resilient,” to many things — to my time spent in New Orleans after Katrina; to the #MeToo Movement; to my own resurgence after difficult times in our family; to a time in my career when I wasn’t feeling much like singing in the public eye. Right after the 2016 U.S. presidential election, there was so much animosity in the air, from all sides of the spectrum, that most folks I knew wanted to hide out and regroup privately — turning inward to seek quiet amidst all the yelling and celebration. However, we had a tour booked for an entire month — the Resilient Tour — that put us in venues, community centers, and public spaces to share our songs with the people. What happened throughout that month was an incredible weaving of national stories and personal triumph, and it put me right back on track with what my work is meant to serve.
As an artist, sometimes you have to get out of the way of your craft … let it live and breath on its own … being careful not to confine its girth. The Resilient Tour reminded us of the original essence of the troubadour, the griot, the traveling wordsmith. It’s a great honor, service, and privilege to play music for a living, and we have never taken that lightly. The stage is a gathering tool of energy and bodies, of power and communication. It’s like a radio tower emitting information across the world through melody and rhythm. I’ve witnessed songs change the air in a stagnant room and breathe life into a tightened face. In writing “Resilient,” I wanted to speak to that beautiful mystery.
As the song released to the public, we had the great honor to join a 250-mile Ancestral Healing prayer walk that spanned from Rosebud, South Dakota, to Fort Laramie, Wyoming, commemorating the 150th year of the signing of the Fort Laramie treaty. The walk culminated a four-year journey between the direct descendants of both sides of the Blue Water Massacre, retracing the steps of a brutal history in a peaceful way. As allies to our friends (the descendants Paul Soderman and Phil Little Thunder), my sister, our drummer Biko, about 20 other walkers, and I embarked upon this resilient walk to pay homage to the indigenous people of America, as well as witness the destructive legacy of promises unkept by governments both then and now. We joined the final four days of the walk, putting our feet on the pavement for 50 miles and listening to so many beautiful stories along the way from elders in the communities we were passing and other allies throughout our walk. At our sides were horses, prayer bundles, endless jokes and laughter, historical markers, children, old folks wizened by the journey, countless songs to sing, and stories to share. The land was vast in its dryness and enchanting in its huge sky. It took your breath away without much effort, and you could feel the history that has taken place there deep inside your bones.
When we walked our final day into Fort Laramie, there was a palpable emotion in the air. Anger. Resentment. Healing. Connection. Celebration. Commemoration. Protection. Family. In a time of so much national negative discourse and noise, it was our great honor to listen and lean in there. “Resilient” came that much more alive for us.
This song is for the times, for anyone who needs to be reminded of that word right now. It’s not about sides or favorable politics. It’s not about preaching to the choir. Its written to remind ourselves, first and foremost, that our bodies are resilient. Our families are resilient. Our work is resilient. Our pain and our pasts are resilient and, when we come together honestly and with a sense of willingness to listen, barriers break down all across the board.
I am resilient
I trust the movement
I negate the chaos
Uplift the negative
I’ll show up at the table, again and again and again
I’ll close my mouth and learn to listen
These times are poignant
The winds have shifted
It’s all we can do
to stay uplifted
Pipelines through backyards
Wolves howlin’ out front
Yeah I got my crew, but truth is what I want
Realigned and on point
Power to the peaceful
Prayers to the waters
Women at the center
All vessels open, to give and receive
Let’s see this system brought down to its knees
I’m made of thunder, I’m made of lightning
I’m made of dirt, yeah
Made of the fine things
My father taught me that I’m a speck of dust
And this world was made for me
so let’s go and try our luck
I’ve got my roots down down down down down deep
So what are we doing here
What has been done ?
What are you going to do about it?
When the world comes undone ?
My voice feels tiny and im sure so does yours
Put us all together we’ll make a mighty roar
— Chloe Smith of Rising Appalachia
Winter 2017: “ The wildness is in solitude” – Leah song
Lien De Coster – November 27, 2017 [original blog HERE]
PHOTO CHAD HESS
Artist Leah Song just saw a black bear and the red-tailed hawks are soaring. She sits on the porch of one of the places she calls home. In her socks, without make-up. Because today she is still in between tours. Together with her singing sister Chloe Smith, percussionist Biko Casini and bassist David Brown Leah travels the world as part of the folk band Rising Appalachia. Now and then also finding the time to work on her solo project Leah Song. I started and ended my summer with the first and last concerts of Rising Appalachia on their European tour and hosted the band before they flew back to the States. In all of my conversations with Song, be it backstage in Antwerp, on our rooftop terrace in Amsterdam or now over Skype, one theme keeps on coming back: a fierce dedication to grab every chance to speak out about social and environmental justice and to stand with grassroots movements. Together with her sister Leah sang at Standing Rock, where indigenous people were defending their right to water. A few days after the interview she is assisting in firefighting, hosing down the land in California where wildfires have started during the band’s West Coast tour. Wild words from Rising Appalachia’s storm lover, song catcher, walker and talker – Leah Song.
Q: Rising Appalachia is about more than making music. You subscribe yourself to the troubadour tradition, an old way of being and working with music. How would you define a contemporary troubadour?
Leah Song: We started our music because our family played music and we are sisters. It was very natural for us to listen to our family’s versions of music and then change them to stories. We grew up with a really wide variety of musical styles. There was a lot of jazz and soul and folk music in our home. We grew up in a city, Atlanta, and were surrounded by hip hop when it was up and coming and before it was a really commercial. All of those styles of music were storytelling and so is our music. As we started creating our own musical pallet we wanted to do the same. We didn’t want to be driven by what would be commercial or would be catchy or easy to put into a box or a genre. We wanted to create folk music that felt contemporary to us. We also wanted to use that music to travel to places in the troubadour tradition and to offer stories from our home while also learning the stories of the places we were travelling and add that to our songs as well. For me the definition has a lot to do with music being an exchange, not just a performance but being a public service. You are sharing and collecting the stories and keep traveling to the next place where you are telling them again and are collecting more. It has a really living tradition to it.
BALLAD FOR BALLAD
Q: You’ve spent quite some time in Europe last summer. Because of the way you work you’ve been on the ground a lot meeting artists and activists. Having been in that exchange on the European continent what would you say are the stories of our time here?
Leah Song: In a very fundamental way a lot of the frontpage news stories of Europe as a whole are the refugee crisis – although we haven’t been able to work in a refugee community. This is the history of humanity; we have all moved around since the dawn of people, but this is a new big movement of humans from a hostile place to a more friendly territory. We have a song that came out yesterday, it’s not an original song by us but by a friend of ours and it’s called ‘Refugee’. She wrote it after working in a refugee community in northern France. That’s a story that feels really important to be learning about and telling and sharing.
We are also what I would call song catchers: we try to collect music wherever we go and where we can find it. For example in Ireland we were out every night very late in a song session, with a couple of fiddlers, a penny whistle player, poets and magicians. Everywhere we went we were finding new versions of songs, hearing old Gaelic songs and songs about the Irish going across the ocean to the Americas. We were truly swapping songs, singing ballad for ballad. That was amazing and it is a long term goal of ours to learn some songs in Gaelic. I also love to play the bodhran, a big old Gaelic drum. A lot of my ancestry is Irish so to have a relationship with a drum that pre-dates English being spoken in that region and that is very much a pagan and ritualistic drum is very inspiring.
In Austria we found ourselves in a small café up one of the trails in the Alps and there was an elderly couple who sang and played old Austrian harp duets. It’s so amazing when that happens, we will never run out of traditions to stumble upon.
Q: In the States you are also connecting to people with indigenous roots. You and Chloe even sang at Standing Rock. Can you share a bit more about ancestry and indigenousness?
Leah Song: In western cultures there is an interesting relationship towards the indigenous; sometimes it is an obsession, sometimes a guilt complex, sometimes not really being informed and from that place exotifying the indigenous. In the Americas there are strong indigenous roots, languages and communities that are still intact with their own practices. This is different for a lot of people from many different places from around the world and who are a few generations removed from their own ancestral lands. The tendency is to latch on and want to have a relationship with the indigenous. That can often look like people going into the Amazon, trying to learn about practices and shamanism that are accesible. But I believe there is a lot of power in learning about our own indigenous roots. We have access to it even though it may be further back for some of us than others but we all come from people who have relationships with the earth, with traditional medicines, songs, food practices, rituals. There are so many beautiful subtleties to the human story. There is power to learning about the rituals and practices that come from our own bloodlines.
Q: This is also strongly connected to place which seems to be really present in your music. Your band’s name refers to the Appalachian mountains but also to the south as a whole and its flavour is really tangible. When you shared about Georgia and its nature I could really feel the love and connection. How does that connection to place inspire your work?
Leah Song: I am in southern Appalachia right as we speak. I am sitting on the porch of one of my homes. I call it my southern trinity: I spend time here in the countryside in North Carolina, in Atlanta, the big city, and in New Orleans, the crescent swamp. All three are really tied to my sense of place.
It is an interesting and tricky question. We are global people – that is both the plus and the minus of modern times – we are talking across an ocean, across time zones. I am in love with so many different kinds of folkloric music and feel really inspired to study them. At the same time here is something about connection to home, to place, to ancestry, to blood that gives a foundation that so many modern people are lacking and it creates a bedrock for you to know yourself and from there you can be open to knowing the rest of the community, the country, the world.
“I am a walker. It connects me to my breath, to my natural gait. Walking is my favorite daily ritual.”
We grew up in the south and there was something about it that was almost embarrassing, we were ashamed of it in a way. It’s slow and really backwards in a lot of ways and everything takes forever, for example to get to California from the part of the country where we live. All we wanted to do was to get out into the world and as we did we realized how lucky we are to live in this region that so few people even know about. There are some really bad stereotypes – and they have been earned to be fair – but there is also all this beauty and the music that we had around us our whole lives. It’s not a commercial music, very few people have heard traditional Appalachian music; we grew up immersed in it. There is something really charming about the slowness of it. So over time it has become a place of pride.
As Rising Appalachia really got rolling that responsibility to become good spokespeople became more clear to us. We really wanted to be spokespeople for the good part of the south that we came from. There is not enough of that. To be southern and have conversations about dismantling racism and bringing environmental justice to the forefront and speak about the public school system. To have those conversations that are considered progessive, justice-based conversations. But we were born and raised here which feels very important to us. It felt like a role we needed to play, like a place that we need to operate from.
Q: What is the first thing you do when you get back to the south after touring?
Leah Song: Well, I usually have a glass of red wine – Italian red wine at that – I take a lot of walks, I see my family, my mom is an amazing fiddle player. I love to just sit around and hear her fiddle. I rest and I take baths.
Q: You mentioned the slowness of the south as a quality. In 2015 Rising Appalachia also founded the Slow Music Movement for sustainable touring. Which alternative patterns have come up around being outside of the big music industry? Is there a blueprint for other artists to work with?
Leah Song: It is a blueprint in the nature of even naming it. It has created a lot of space for those conversations to be happening.For us it has been really exciting because it has encouraged people to approach us with different ideas. We’ve been on a sailboat tour which was hands down probably one of the most amazing ways of touring I could possibly imagine. We did a train tour. This spring we are going to do a walking tour – well, it’s not even a tour; we are going to do a long distance walk to our dear friends in the Dakotas. We’ll move for two weeks on foot.
We try and get as much local food in our green rooms as possible. That encourages venues to then consider that in the future. We bring a lot of non-profits into our shows, people who work locally. That might even be my favourite part of the whole model. Because of the nature of our work we are moving, whether it is fast or slow we are in transit. So what we do is bring rooted community members that are working in the places where we are playing, who are able to come and speak to the audiences, connect with people about what is happening locally. We can use the stage as a platform to generate those conversations; we can’t offer those answers in a nuanced way related to place but we can call in the elders and the leaders to do that work. That is my favourite blueprint; learning about what is going on locally in all these places and really being fueled by those stories and those relationships.
PHOTO JACQUELINE KORBER
Q: Your new album ‘Alive’ came out at the end of September. What makes you feel alive?
Leah Song: I am very inspired by really cultivated conversations with brilliant creative alternative people. It’s so exciting to me to get together with a group of sharp thinkers and talk about how to make change in the world. It’s fulfilling in an enormous way. I can physically feel it. To get the right people, the right brains together, to really try and dismantle the systems that we’re in and recreate systems that are better functioning, using technology and history and all that we have.
I am also a walker. I walk every day. I cannot imagine what anything would be like if I didn’t have access to walking. I love the pace of walking, observing at the pace of walking and also I can clear my mind a lot through the physical process of walking. It’s my favorite daily ritual. I walked all over Amsterdam. I had no idea where I went. I got lost. I went on for hours and hours. It connects me to my own breath, I catch my natural gait. I’ll start out fast and then go a little slower or vice versa, I’ll start out really slow and as I get my energy things speed up. I love that very simple process.
Q: What does wildness mean to you?
Leah Song: I consider myself wild from the jump. I feel like I came out of the womb wild. I have lived in urban places that I love very much and also in rural areas, needing both of them. I find that for me the wildness is a lot in solitude. I can connect to that sense of very primal animal instinct in the middle of a metropolitan area if I can be very wolf-like and watch, study and observe the way things are moving, the way people are moving, traffic is moving. Just observe the same way a hawk might sit on a perch and watch a field. I find that does the same as if I am barefoot on a trail going straight up into the Alps, the Rockies or the Appalachian mountains. Having a sense of human solitude, checking in with some kind of different energies and different kind of companions has been really valuable to my sense of wellbeing and wildness and self. I feel very quickly domesticated if I don’t get access to that enough. I feel a little bit muted, sedated in a way. So it is a really important part of my process. It is very hard for me to get access to that on tour, it has been a long conversation to figure out how I even can just get moments of that. Just that sense of solo time to explore and witness as opposed to being in it.
February 2017: Resistance Movements In Music: On The Ground At Standing Rock And Beyond With Chloe Smith & Lyla June
With the fierceness and grace befitting a revolutionary empress, Chloe Smith stands firmly with her sisters in resistance, and in solidarity with the movement. Her band Rising Appalachia have long made their voices heard on many matters of social justice, lioness sistren fronting the squad, their siren songs supremely effective in raising the collective awareness, be it about eco-consciousness or human rights. One half of the dynamic sibling duo is the eloquent and affable Ms. Smith. Growing up with sister Leah Song in Atlanta, GA, the pair are daughters to a musical mother and sculptor/painter father. They migrated through halcyon days making tunes by busking and gigging their way through New Orleans, before departing their beloved Crescent City and decamping to the progressive enclave of Asheville, NC.
Chloe became confidently aware during adolescence that her heart and mind were attuned to some critical causes. Over the past decade, she has stepped into the spotlight impassioned by her activism, it’s been a fuel to propel her career as a recording/touring artist. Focusing on alternative touring practices, as well as Prison Yoga Project, and Slow Music Movement, Smith and her cohorts in Rising Appalachia have walked the activist walk from jumpstreet. An anti-establishment vein has always run rampant through folk music’s cultural circuitry. Smith, Song and company are at the forefront of the resistance, and are leaders of this new school of progressive action in the music scene. Keep reading…
November 2016 ~ We continue in motion…
We continue in motion… returning to the rest of the world after 3 days that stood timeless in a land that wakes and breathes in prayer. It will take some time to put into words the beauty and rawness that we witnessed at Standing Rock, North Dakota over the days called Thanksgiving… supporting a living indigenous movement. The communing we shared in, the songs, the chill in the air, the spirit, the military, the fire. I CAN say for now that it is not what the media is telling us. It is a peaceful and prayerful place, one of deep reverence and big big work. To create community against the status-quo and contra to big business is not only absolutely mandatory to our survival as a species, but is also sacred sacrifice. We need new models… and new leaders… and new ways to pray. Thankyou for strengthening the ancient ways and creating the pathway for new ones to emerge. Thankyou for the Standing Rock Syllabus. Thankyou to the International Youth Council and to the song catchers that we rallied with… Thankyou for the invitation.
– Leah Song
📸: Josué Rivas Fotographer
Rising Appalachia Coastline Clean Up Action Day, South Beach State Park, Oregon ~ August 2016.
Today Rising Appalachia joined forces with Clean Oceans International, the Organ State Parks Department, and around 20 volunteers to spend a morning together cleaning up a small bit of South Beach in New Port Oregon. It was foggy and cool as we took shovels, buckets and sifting screens out to the shore line. Ryan Parker, a beach ranger for the Oregon Central Coast District, led us to several areas were debris is deposited by the tide.
25 of us spent the morning out there and only made a small dent in the tiny zone where we were working. The people who showed up were so caring and the energy of the group was so hopeful even though the issue seemed so insurmountable. We were tiny drop in the bucket, working on small beach in a big wide world. A world that is now full of plastic particles. Amazing that one person at a time, one plastic bottle or wrapper or rubber ducky at a time, we have filled the ocean with plastic. I makes sense then that one person at a time, one small place at a time we can also clean that waste.
Reflections on Solitude, Devotion, and Gratitude :: a Winter Retreat – by Biko Casini
Good morning family and friends,
I have just emerged from a 30 day solo winter music retreat in a dome in the mountains around Asheville. During that time I was alone, was not driving, and had a friend drop off greens and vegetables once a week who was my only physical contact with the outside human world.
I want to re-engage, and in doing so, I would like to some how offer a little reflection of the lessons I learned in solitude with the understanding that I am still processing the experience myself and an in depth sharing may come about in other ways.
My intention going into the retreat was to offer devotion to Music in gratitude for the amazing year and with the desire to cultivate new musical seeds for the year to come.
Looking hard at my self I also saw that it was about feeling a need to go beyond my self perceived musical weaknesses and strive for some kind of greatness….as if it was a place I could get to. This was my ego striving to make up for a feeling of not being a good enough musician.
Among the most valuable lessons I learned during the retreat was that greatness and skill are not the same thing. Greatness is a collection of elements, existing in a context of responding to need. One can practice till the cows jump over the moon, building skill out the wazu….but it is the intention behind the effort….and the service rendered the community through that effort that makes the Art great.
I strived to clarify my intentions…and battled with the feeling that I was not doing the service I was capable of in life…battled with feeling worthless….It is a battle I think we all at some point I think. The challenge of realizing our innate value, and finding how the strength of what we ALREADY ARE feeds and strengthens the community of Life.
I turned 36 during this time… an age at which many are holding down partners and families… and i reflected on the freedom from such commitments that allowed me to commit to myself…It is a privilege to be in a place in life where others are not depending on you for their basic needs…. and I also recognized in me a desire to take on more in the way of supporting friends and family physically.
It was cold in the Mountains and with the necessity of harvesting wood from the forest, carrying in all my water from the outside spring tap, cooking, and cleaning up it was very difficult to practice the 12 hours a day I hoped to. On average I was able to practice 5 to 7 hours a day….which sounds good from the outside. From the inside though it felt like I was failing at what I had intended….. again…a universal struggle… is anything we do ever good enough?
Though our ego will tell us we are Successful, or we are failures…we are ALREADY more beautiful that we can ever understand! I worked hard to bring my free ranging mind back to center. In moments I was there.
People often say, Follow your Heart, or Love Yourself….The best advise ever yet so overused it can sound hollow without experience and feeling behind it. To myself I added to that advice; “Know What Your Heart is made of ” and ” Remember what U are Here for” ? It was when I would walk, and sit in the trees, with no buildings in sight that I would experience glimpses of that knowing and remembering. Those were the best moments of the retreat.
One major musical breakthrough I had during all that practice…realizing that practice was boring….but playing was fun! It again is about context…play for your self, play for life, play for others, play for the mountain, play for justice, peace, freedom…. the most powerful tool I have as a musician is my INTENTION. What am I playing to? What am I singing to? That is Groove that is under the music and gives it life and feeling. This helped me to engage in the music i was playing rather than it becoming mechanical. I am not saying that practicing something that is difficult for u is bad… the discomfort in our mind when it is growing new pathways is a good thing… it is just to be clear about that for which we are working.
Remembrances and Intentions… the Songs that were written, the crazy realizations about music and Universal Harmonics, Social Activism and Visionary Communities will have to wait for another time. I look forward to sharing them with u in real time.
I love U all. U were there with me inspiring me to continue(and distracting me) and in this journey of life I am soooo excited to have some NOT alone creative time!!
Untill that time…Keep honoring your gifts. Keep honoring your weaknesses, and may you find joy and purpose in the process.
Love Biko Casini
To all who champion us along the way
the caught eyes on unbridled streets
that beckon with hot cups
and welcoming store front window panes
that glisten like new ice as we pass through.
with immeasurable open arms
that grin and tilt their door open every so gently
so that I may slide through and pass a moment of memory beneath
their lavender sheets
and tea pantries
and empty yoga room pillow stacks.
It can be too much,
the out pouring of kindness that stands to greet
at every alley and side street
I waltz upon,
eventually all leading to the inevitable moment of
that I am passing through
and this world is a large large place.
But I swear,
I wont forget your face
or your outstretched limbs when I needed it most
and even though we both will be flung far fetched into
the inconsistent horizon,
Ill carry your kindness the whole way
am not a stranger
are doing me no favor
and this tiny wink of time is a blessing for us both.
that beneath the waves of unfamiliarity
is the possibility of a grander tribe
And although thank you will never be enough,
I know its all you
would ever ask for.
Rising Appalachia and Winona LaDuke
Being southern : reflections on our Deep South Tour, May 2014.
We love our filthy dirty south. Its not a catch phrase or a joke or a random east coast west coast pride battle. The feeling came from an acceptance of home and ancestry and family despite the fact that we are on the road pretty much all the time. The feeling comes from the cicada night songs and (more…)