For years now, The Honey Dewdrops – Laura Wortman and Kagey Parrish – have acted as representatives of so much of what’s good in Baltimore. They adopted Charm City a half-decade or so ago and have quietly woven their songs into its tapestry. They champion community, consideration, and a deeper kind of understanding.
Jess and I had the recent privilege of watching their live-streamed show on their account, and to say it brought joy is a kind of understatement. They played unpublished songs, new songs, old songs, and throughout, they did what they always do: they connected. To all of us watching on our computers and phones, and to each other. Maybe one of my favorite parts of their shows – true this night, too – is the way Kagey and Laura steal glances and smiles at each other while they play and sing. They’ve many gifts – their playing, harmonizing, and songwriting are all beyond reproach – but earnestness and empathy abound and define the experience of their songs.
In this time of social distancing – goodness, universe, may it be short – musicians and the gig world at large have been struck especially hard. Which is not to minimize the rest of us – money is and will likely be hard to come by for a time – but something unique exists inside of music that one cannot find anywhere else. It breaks down social barriers and bubbles almost immediately, brings together strangers to talk and engage with others. Music is the most human art form. And The Honey Dewdrops embody that humanity.
Baltimore’s own Creative Alliance – a beautiful museum, music venue, and an advocate for Baltimore – in partnership with a host of wonderful musicians – Caleb Stine, Letitia VanSant, Brad Kolodner, Ultrafaux, Eze Jackson, and so many more – has initiated a series they call Sidewalk Serenades: Close (But Not Too Close). The musicians show up to the designated address, set up, and sing 2-3 of their songs to the front of someone’s home (ostensibly, from a sidewalk), and then they leave to do it again somewhere else. There are six to seven or so shows scheduled per day.
The money goes to both the artists and Creative Alliance, both of which are desperately needed in any society, but especially ours. This exchange is required by society, but don’t call it commodification or a naked transaction: those of us who can trade paper for cultivated beauty receive the greater gift.
The Honey Dewdrops’ slots are already full for Monday, but I feel certain Creative Alliance will have them back to serenade folks from sidewalks. In the meantime, here are some things you can do to help both the band and Creative Alliance:
- Send the band a few dollars (if you can). PayPal is Thehoneydewdrops@gmail.com or Venmo @thehoneydewdrops
- Go schedule an upcoming Sidewalk Serenade at the Creative Alliance website (if you can).
Across the last few months, I’ve had the privilege of corresponding with Laura and Kagey via email. I had planned to use this correspondence to advertise an upcoming show, but as formal shows are likely not on the near horizon, below you’ll find their incredibly thoughtful and insightful answers to a series of questions. I cannot stress enough how much I want everyone to listen to these songs, but please read through their answers. That empathy and consideration extends to their communication.
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Artists often have many different influences, not just those in their own fields. What do you draw influence from in your lives and the world?
Laura: Over the last several years, I’ve set aside a little bit of time to backpack and hike- mostly in Virginia on the Appalachian Trail. Last summer I did a solo extended trip to cover a 350 mile section. It’s my time for solitude and routine, clearing my mind and also getting to know myself a little better. It’s time away from noise and screens too. I always come back with perspective shifts and a fullness to bring to the creative table.
Kagey: I’ve been reading a lot of fiction written in the last five years, much of which deals with the shifting geo-political landscape and what that means for people’s day to day lives. There is a way that fiction can reflect truth / reality in a deep way that, to me, gets at the heart of what it means to be alive right night now.
Traveling is always an inspiration. Hearing about and seeing firsthand how people are living and what their work and interests are, all of it is infinitely fascinating to me. Another inspiring part of traveling is getting to trace the lines of geography, weather, and food across the land. It’s what connects me to the earth and allows me to experience time in full ways.
Your songs are often guided by an emotional core that – to me – reflects an ongoing desire to understand and be compassionate. What are your goals when writing a song?
L: Connection is at the core of making our art, whether it’s performing or writing. We’ve come to understand the world a little better through our own consumption of art and want to be part of that thread.
K: I think with songwriting the goal is to communicate a feeling with sounds. The impulse to write a song feels like tension between the conscious and unconscious: moving muscles, streaming thoughts, and singing words and gibberish. I want to reflect something and most times I don’t really know what it is. That something is strong and undeniable, and at the same time it’s off in the distance, beyond expression. In that way I think the process is about understanding, an effort to get closer to that something. Putting sounds and words together is moving in the direction of understanding.
The emotional core you bring up may be the something, maybe not. I know I identify with a desire to understand and to be understood. I can’t say if compassion is always there, though understanding is certainly part of compassion.
Your voices tangle together beautifully like the roots of redwoods. How did that synergy develop? I remember reading that you began in a rock band and discovered a shared love of acoustic music.
L: We met in 2003 while participating in a pickup band for a party- just fun cover songs as a college band that only played for one night. Afterward, through some mutual friends, we talked about putting together another band to play more folk and bluegrass- inspired music. We got to see a lot of shows that year including a trip to MerleFest and our first time seeing Gillian Welch & David Rawlings in a high school auditorium. That show will always stand out as an “a- ha” moment where we knew what kind of music we wanted to make together: close harmonies, intricate instrumentation, and original songs.
We started with a catalog of cover songs ranging from Jimmie Rogers, Monroe Brothers, John Hartford, and the Carter Family to Dwight Yoakam, Neil Young and some Bluegrass Standards and sought to recreate that “high-lonesome” sound we kept hearing in the old recordings. Gillian Welch was the catalyst for learning to interpret old music in a new and intimate way- without an entire band. We honed our chops at a monthly coffee-shop gig in Virginia and started to work on original material while also holding down our teaching jobs. It was an incredibly productive time where we found our “sound” and trajectory as a band.
I love Baltimore and believe in its vibrance and character; your reference to Dimitri’s in “Welcome to the Club” never fails to make me smile. Can you talk a little about what Baltimore has come to mean to you? I wonder, too, if there is a kind of “many-homes” mentality for traveling musicians, if it becomes important to find fellowship on the road.
L: Baltimore was a mystery to us until we were invited to come visit and play a show with Caleb Stine after we met at a gig in Atlanta. We would drive by the city on I-95 heading north from Virginia for gigs, but we never stopped, which is how I think a lot of America seems to experience parts of the east coast. The highways skirt you around some amazing gems. We’ll never forget our first trip to Baltimore. We were greeted with hugs and smiles in a warm row house in the middle of winter and a huge pot of vegetarian chili before we played a house concert to a room full of neighbors and friends- that’s what they felt like to us even though we’d only just met.
For years after that coming to Baltimore was like receiving the best hug you’ve ever had- every time we visited. We’d meet and make more friends, learn more about the vibrant culture and arts scene, attend film screenings, house concerts, visit museums and Loring Cornish’s beautifully decorated row homes, play music on porches late into the night. Baltimore symbolized everything we wanted in a community that we were missing while living on the road. We moved here in 2014 and it was one of the best decisions we’ve ever made. Over the years of touring and traveling, we’ve experienced similar feelings in other cities and towns, making new friends and family and feeling like we’ve adopted a temporary home place while there. The kindness and generosity we see on the road is always a reminder of how lucky we are to call Baltimore home- the once mysterious city that took us in with a warm embrace.
On “Anyone Can See” (and much of your music), empathy is a core motif. The narrators are worrying about others (and brave enough to say it), smiling and embracing immigrants, or decrying a society that devalues/monetizes life (“Going Rate”). Many people I know argue for minimizing sociopolitics in art, and yet it feels urgently necessary to discuss it. I think your songs deftly mesh the personal and the political. This is a long series of words to get to the question, “Are you comfortable talking about the humanism in your songs, that connection between the personal and political?”
K: This is a time when much is in question, and it does feel necessary to discuss it. While I don’t feel like we set out to write humanistic songs, it is the direction some of our songs have taken. First, there is the folk music thing, which has been music for and of people, typically with straight ahead storytelling about events of life in the world of that time. We are inspired by that kind of sound and storytelling.
Second, there’s a Seamus Heaney quote that goes something like, “any good poem must operate in the arena of human emotion.” I take this to mean that within the work there is the willingness to address the question of what it means to be human, and with that effort comes a connective emotional force. I think that when I connect with art it is largely because its unique emotional force finds a way to somehow connect with mine.
Third, truth itself is in question now: alternative facts and fake news are buzz words. The president is a documented liar, racist, and misogynist – John Prine might refer to him as a “human who ain’t human.” Having a leader like this puts our identity at risk, as a nation and as individuals. A basic understanding of history shows how dangerous it is to allow this scenario to continue. Much is at stake.
I have a constant feeling of existential crisis as a result. It feels like we have to be explicit about who we are and what we stand for, and to refuse to allow ourselves to be defined by those who refuse to enter the arena of human emotion. If our identity, our humanness, is in limbo right now, is it possible to make anything that doesn’t in some way comment on the socio-politics of this moment?
This is not to say that we want to use our songs as a bullhorn for protest or preaching. But, we are shaped by the world and events happening around us. To ignore them would be out of sync, to indulge them too much would be the same. We hope to have balance with our music, so that the known, the felt, and the mysterious work together in proportion.
Your version of “Ramblin’ Man“ stunned me when I first heard it. I almost didn’t recognize it because it felt different to me. How’d you come to pick it? Do you have any other covers you truly love to play?
L: It’s a song we were familiar with, but only when we heard Darrell Scott do a version of it, were we completely enamored with it’s possibilities as a cover song.
We’ll play other people’s songs while sitting around at home or in circles with other musicians. It’s a chance to explore outside of our own music with no risk- the cover song is a song that’s already complete…now let’s see what we can do to make it our own. It’s a palette cleanser for us in our shows to break away from what we’ve worked so hard on crafting to get a little more improvisational and at the same time connect with the audience and give them
something they may be more familiar with. Over the years, we’ve enjoyed playing songs by Bob Dylan, Lucinda Williams, Jenny Scheinman, Traditional Gospel music and some Bluegrass Standards.
Lastly, Creative Alliance is almost like an informal home for The Honey Dewdrops. Can you talk a little about your relationship with the venue (full disclosure, I love the work they do and what they represent)?
And we do too! We’ve had a nice, long relationship with Creative Alliance going back to our first appearances on their stage for Caleb Stine’s “Round the Mountain”- a semi-annual production that showcases Roots music artists. Early on we also contributed to a few tribute shows put on by Paul Margolis where a variety of bands played the music of Woody Guthrie and The Beatles. It’s an incredibly intimate room where 200 people are your closest friends that night. It’s our favorite space to play in Baltimore because it caters to a community experience and focus on the art. Creative Alliance is cultivating an incredible sense of inclusion and diversity in their programming and should stand as a beacon to other organizations like it around the country.
