Kaia Kater & Tray Wellington (Fri)

Kaia Kater & Tray Wellington
Kaia Kater

Kaia Kater’s JUNO-winning and Polaris nominated album, Strange Medicine,  opens with a haunting vision. Accompanied by Aoife O’Donovan, Kater sings of  the women burned at the stake as witches in 17th century Salem, Massachusetts  and their wish to strike back: “I dreamt I moved through you and / Burned my name  into your chest”. It’s an opening salvo from an album that celebrates the power of  women and oppressed people throughout history as they rise up and turn the  poison of centuries of oppression into a strange kind of medicine. Kater’s songs  are dialogues with these historical figures and meditations on her own modern life  as well. In the years since her 2018 album, Grenades, on Smithsonian Folkways,  Kater has taken time to reinvent herself and hone her skills, first attending film  school to learn composition, then diving deeper into her songwriting to come up  with her most personal album yet. Feeling the pressure as a talented young  songwriter, banjo player, and bandleader with three successful albums and an NPR  Tiny Desk Concert under her belt, Kater struggled initially with the expectations of  her adopted genre, Americana. “I was factoring everybody else’s perception into  my songwriting,” she says. “Would I write more honestly if I knew that no one  would ever hear this?” With that in mind, Kater retreated to her apartment in  Montréal. Sitting at home with her banjo, the songs unfolded in personal intimacy,  revealing windows into the perspective of women and revolutionaries through  history. Co-producing with Joe Grass (Elisapie, The Barr Brothers), Kater invited  close friends and colleagues O’Donovan and Allison Russell to sing on the album, along with longtime hero and American legend Taj Mahal. With lush  arrangements and unexpected musical ideas drawn from genres as surprising as  minimalist composition, jazz drumming, and film scores, Strange Medicine is the  bold next step in Kater’s career. It’s an album made beyond the white gaze of  Americana, unbeholden to a music industry that so often tokenizes and silences  marginalized voices, a Black Feminist perspective on a genre that refuses to cede  power to Black women. But ultimately it’s a celebration of the self. The words of the poem “won’t you celebrate with me” by Lucille Clifton echoed in Kater’s ears throughout the process of making this album: 

“born in babylon 

both nonwhite and woman 

what did i see to be except myself?” 

The anchor behind this celebration of self came, as with many artists, from the  down time forced upon the world by the pandemic. Facing serious writer’s block  and little work, Kater expanded the scope of her creativity. She recorded with  other artists, released an innovative and unexpected single of her own with jazz  artist Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah, and completed a residency in film scoring  and composition. In time off from touring, she found an unexpectedly fertile ground for developing her skills, talents, and creative perspective. And she  found herself falling back in love with the banjo. Though the banjo was where she  first made her mark as an artist (what “started her journey”, as she says), she had been pushing back against expectations she felt as one of few Black banjo players.  Her previous album, Grenades, had minimal banjo. Now that she had time alone at  home, the songs began to flow more freely and she felt open to new ideas on the  instrument. The looping minimalism of composer Steve Reich was a strong  influence, heard in looped banjo lines throughout the album. The frenetic jazz  drumming of Brian Blade and the unsettling orchestral scores of film composer  Jonny Greenwood were other influences, as were the spiraling rhythms of the West  African kora. She realized, as she says, that “It’s me. I am the source of the creativity; it’s not necessarily my instrument.”  This freed her to bring a new perspective to the banjo, and to look at ways to  arrange new soundscapes around the instrument and her songs. Just as Kater  reworked her banjo and guitar playing with the new ideas she was absorbing, the  lyrics and song structures on Strange Medicine reflect this subtle  experimentation. On “Mechanics of the Mind,” she references Reich’s looped  compositions by fading rhythms and vocals in and out cyclically. With “The  Internet”, she riffs on old broadband modem sounds by rendering some of the  lyrics barely intelligible and slightly garbled. 

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Even factoring in the down time from the pandemic, Strange Medicine had a long  gestation period. During lockdown she reached out to Montréal friend Joe Grass,  known for his work producing The Barr Brothers and Elisapie. “He’s a roots  musician, but with really big ears,” she says. Working together as producers they  kicked songs back and forth and went through demos. “We built it up slowly, “she  says. “It was a really different process from what I had previously done. ” With  other albums, like most artists, Kater had assembled a band and gone in over a  couple days to track the full album. Here the process carefully and thoughtfully  unrolled over a year and a half. Working with arrangers Franky Rousseau (Andrew  Bird, Chris Thile) and Dominic Mekky (Caroline Shaw, Sara Bareilles), Kater was  able to build soundscapes around each song. The strings on neo folk song “Often  as the Autumn” , as an example, unspool like a rolling field, mixing with electronics  and harmonics in a deeply beautiful way. Rob Moose (Bon Iver, Phoebe Bridgers,  Paul Simon) provided the strings on the album, while Robbie Kuster (Patrick  Watson) and Phil Melanson (Andy Shauf, Sam Gendel) brought an array of unusual  percussion instruments. 

It was a long road from the bedroom recordings on guitar and banjo that first  created these songs, but with such enveloping arrangements, Kaia Kater’s songs  on Strange Medicine ring out with personal truth. “Who’s the maker, and who’s the  taker?” she sings on the album’s second track, referencing the uncomfortable  nature of commodified art, the loneliness of being an artist today, and the  importance of creating as a life-giving compulsion. “In Montréal” is a meditation on the struggles of trying to make a home in the place you grew up.  Allison Russell also grew up in Montréal, another reason Kater asked her to sing on  the track, and has spoken about how the place you grow up can be like a dungeon and a refuge. Even on one of the least personal songs, “Fédon” –about an 18th  century Caribbean revolutionary, Julien Fédon–the personal aspect is still strong.  Inspired by the Haitian revolution, Fédon formed an army of enslaved and free  Black people in Grenada, the home island of Kater’s father and the subject of her  previous album. Taj Mahal was a key person to invite to sing on this song, given his  love of Caribbean music and his knowledge of the French language. 

On songs that are based on historical events (“Fédon”, “The Witch”), imagined  characters (“Often as the Autumn”, “Tiger”), or from Kater’s experience herself  (“Maker T aker” “Floodlights”, “History in Motion”) Kater pushed to give power and  control to the women and people of the global majority who have long been denied  this. She was inspired by a piece of advice from the author Whitney French, who  said “Give your characters the agency that you never had.” In some cases on the  album, this agency manifested as a language of violence.Tired of long-standing  tropes in Americana and country for insecure women in love songs, Kater looked  instead to what kind of language she’d been wanting to use in songs for a long  time but hadn’t felt was acceptable. “Women aren’t supposed to talk about  violence, because we’re considered to be peaceable,” she explains, “but the reality  is that we actually deal with violence all the time.” Her songs also go against long held stereotypes and clichés of women. “The Witch”, for example, is ostensibly  about Tituba, the first woman–an enslaved Caribbean–who was burned as a witch  in the Salem witch trials, but Kater’s also using the witch as a stand-in for the lingering sexist perceptions of modern women as harpies, sirens, shrews and  temptresses.  

For all the personal narratives of resistance on the album, ultimately the songs on  Strange Medicine are all about the stories for Kaia Kater. “The through line for me,”  she says, “is just stories. It was the story of my dad on Grenades, and on Strange  Medicine it’s the story of people in history who might not have had their proper  shrift. It’s also my chance to finally write about the times in my life when I didn’t  feel like I had a voice, in order to give myself one now.“ As an uncommonly gifted  songwriter, Kater excels at telling stories through song, drawing from her love of  poetry, literature, and composition to fold these stories into a larger narrative of  the people who have been left behind by history. She’s tapping into the full  kaleidoscope of her emotions to create a place for collective grief and celebration, inviting the ancestors to a place of honor at the table.

Tray Wellington

Banjo player Tray Wellington’s approach to the quintessential American instrument is all about looking forward. An International Bluegrass Music Association Award winner, Wellington is critically acclaimed not only for his technical prowess, but also for leveraging his unique point of view to craft a one-of-a-kind voice on the instrument. It’s a feat that’s all too rare in these roots genres that seem to value emulation and regurgitation over all else. Instead, Wellington has time and time again reasserted that his playing style, and all of the many varied and disparate parts that combine within it, is wholly his own – and it’s unconcerned with tradition.