DARK CHAPTERS, SWEET
MEMORIES
COURSE THROUGH CHELLE
ROSE’S BLUE RIDGE BLOOD,
RELEASING AUGUST 5
Nashville royal Buddy
Miller contributes harmonies to title track
on George Reiff-produced follow-up to 2012’s
Ghost of Browder Holler
Expanded Press Release
NASHVILLE, Tenn.
NASHVILLE, Tenn.
If great art
comes from adversity, Nashville singer-songwriter Chelle Rose figured she was ready to
paint her masterpiece when she recorded Blue
Ridge Blood, releasing August 5, 2016 on her
own Lil’
Damsel Records.
She thought she’d weathered some
serious storms before making her last one, 2012’s lauded Ghost of Browder Holler. But it turned out there was still some cleaning up to do, some
history that had to be reckoned with if she was ever going to fix the damage
permanently.
In these 11 tracks, Rose saws
away at a branch or two of her family tree, revealing the most serious sinner
and lamenting the self-destructive streaks others can’t escape. But despite the
darkness in these songs, some of which could fit right in the next
night-stalking supernatural-creature feature, Rose is, in fact, pretty darned
upbeat.
That could be because, after
years of struggling with an undiagnosed thyroid disease, she finally knows what
it is and has figured out how to treat it. Or it could be that she’s newly
engaged, to a man she’s sure she wouldn’t have connected with had the disease
not slowed her down enough to notice him. Or maybe it’s because a Creek Indian
shaman showed her how to find “the gift” in even the most devastating
experiences, then drop their psychic weight like a bag of rocks.
She already knew how to channel
the pain into her songs.
CHELLE ROSE "Blue Ridge Blood" CD and Inlay CLICK to ENLARGE |
Like Southern sisters Shelby Lynne and Mary
Gauthier, Rose balances toughness with
vulnerability, charming us while voicing lyrics of brutal honesty. Sung in her
deep contralto and broad-voweled Appalachian dialect, they tend to carry the
tone of murder ballads — even if she’s singing about the legendary “Southern
4501” train or a lover who’s stuck on someone else (as in “Dammit Darlin”).
She’s maternally rooted on “both
sides of the mountain” — East Tennessee and western North Carolina — but her
talent comes from her paternal side, a long line of South Knoxville musicians.
She played piano in secret while growing up in Lenoir City, Tenn., with her
maternal grandparents, who raised her after her parents split; the woman she
called Momma eventually figured out creativity was the key to Rose’s happiness.
“She got me into music and art
and dance. And changed my life,” Rose recalls.
She was working as an accountant
in her 20s when an unexpected gift of a guitar further changed her life. The
torrent of songs it unleashed was like a wake-up call; she’d let her creative
side wither for too long, and it needed nurturing. Moving to Nashville in 1996,
she immersed herself in the local music scene and studied at the feet of her
songwriting heroes. (Though she was heartbroken to arrive just in time for the
funeral of her greatest hero, Townes
Van Zandt.) In 2000, she released her
debut album, Nanahally
River. Then she
concentrated on motherhood and marriage, but in 2008, the union ended. She fled
to Leiper’s Fork — a period she addresses in “Hidin’ Hole.”
The ache in its lyrics might have drawn a frown from her grandmother; in the sweet closing ballad, “Sing Pretty,” Rose confesses, “Momma always wanted me sing pretty/hurts her to hear the pain that I pour out.”
The ache in its lyrics might have drawn a frown from her grandmother; in the sweet closing ballad, “Sing Pretty,” Rose confesses, “Momma always wanted me sing pretty/hurts her to hear the pain that I pour out.”
The album is dedicated to her
grandmother, who passed away in 2014; that’s her ringleted “little pouty
mountain face” in an album-sleeve baby photo. It’s a reference to the title
song, which features Buddy
Miller’s harmonies over Sergio Webb’s fine dobro work.
“People always tell me I look
pissed off in photos,” Rose explains. “I don’t even know I’m doing it, but I
get a stern look when you put a camera on me. Momma would tell me, ‘Your
mouth’s gonna get stuck like that.’ I didn’t know what she was talkin’ about.”
While perusing old family photos, she realized they all shared that look. “It’s
a mountain thing,” Rose claims. “That’s Blue Ridge blood right there.”
Blue Ridge blood also courses
through the powerful “Mean Grandpappy,” a man whose funeral, she sings, drew
“not a tear in the eye of any of his kin.”
She’s discovering more about that
side of the family now that she’s getting to know her biological father, with
whom she’d had no contact until last year — despite living minutes away. It
wasn’t for lack of trying. In “Daddy, I’m Still Here,” a diatribe on her first
album, she even addresses the unanswered Christmas cards.
Later, she learned just how
complicated his own childhood had been. When his second wife died, she bought a
card, then spent months wondering what to write. During a trip to Lenoir City
to help clean out Momma’s house, she finally mailed it. That very day, he
happened to call — for the first time ever. They spoke for hours, then he said,
“We need to get together.”
“How about in 30 minutes?” she
answered. “I drove straight to his house, knocked on the door, and just ...
tears and hugs.” Last Christmas, instead of a card, he met his grandchildren.
She’s looking forward to having him attend her wedding to Johnathon Hamilton, who plays mandolin on the album. Recorded in Austin with
producer George
Reiff, it also contains contributions
by Rick
Richards, Sergio Webb, Billy Cassis and Bukka Allen.
She met Reiff while recording the Ray Wylie Hubbard-produced Ghost of Browder Holler. On that one, Rose had breathing troubles, which made singing difficult. She thought it was anxiety-induced. Reiff, unsure if it might still be an issue, decided to capture her vocals live with the band — without telling her. He got exactly what he wanted.
She met Reiff while recording the Ray Wylie Hubbard-produced Ghost of Browder Holler. On that one, Rose had breathing troubles, which made singing difficult. She thought it was anxiety-induced. Reiff, unsure if it might still be an issue, decided to capture her vocals live with the band — without telling her. He got exactly what he wanted.
“I was pretty relaxed because I thought I would be overdubbing
the vocals, but I got tricked,” she says, laughing. What she didn’t tell him is
that she was nervous, too, because she was still trying to rebuild her
strength. Ironically, Ghost’s success nearly ended her career.
Right away, it earned raves.
Comparing her to her idols — Lucinda Williams, Van Zandt,
Steve Earle, Alejandro Escovedo “and
other terse, unflinching songwriters on the rock fringe of country” — The New York
Times’ Jon Pareles noted,
“She sings about hard-nosed characters — herself, perhaps, among them — and
ways to face tough situations, and the answer is as much in the grain of her
voice and the sinewy guitars as in her words.”
Her energy dwindled further as
she worked to support it. “I started turning down gigs and makin’ excuses. I
was in bed for almost two years. And didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t want anybody
to know. Finally, my best friend said, ‘You need to get some blood work.
There’s something really wrong.’”
Blood work. Yes, as it turns out,
that’s exactly what she’s done. But as she cheerily notes, “Nobody goes through
this life unscathed. I wouldn’t trade any of it. It’s all intertwined.”
Just like that Blue Ridge blood.
A short Facebook video clip from the title track 'Blue Ridge Blood'.
featuring vocals from Buddy Miller... images of her grandmother that raised her
when she was a baby, great grandparents and their homes.
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