Patty Griffin

Ardenland presents

Patty Griffin

Scott Miller

Sep 17 Tuesday

Doors: 5:30 pm / Show: 7:30 pm

Duling Hall

Jackson, MS

$35.00 - $40.00

Ardenland presents

 

Tickets are $35 advance and $40 day of show. This is a general admission, fully seated show. Any seating is general admission and available on a first come, first served basis.

 

Order tickets by phone at 877-987-6487.

 

**Show Presented in part by Capital City Beverage, Cathead Vodka, A2Z Printing & Liquid Creative.

Patty Griffin
Patty Griffin
Patty Griffin is among the most consequential singer-songwriters of her generation, a quintessentially American artist whose wide-ranging canon incisively explores the intimate moments and universal emotions that bind us together. Over the course of two decades, the GRAMMY® Award winner – and seven-time nominee – has crafted nine classic studio albums and two live collections, a remarkable body of work in progress that prompted the New York Times to hail her for “[writing] cameo-carved songs that create complete emotional portraits of specific people…(her) songs have independent lives that continue in your head when the music ends.”

The Austin, TX-based singer and songwriter made an immediate impact with her 1996 debut, Living With Ghosts, and its 1998 follow-up, Flaming Red – both now considered seminal works of modern folk and Americana. Since then, Griffin’s diverse body of work spans such classic LPs as 2002’s GRAMMY® Award-nominated 1000 Kisses – later ranked #15 on Paste‘s”The 50 Best Albums of the Decade (2000-2009),” — to 2007’s Children Running Through, honored by the Americana Music Association with two Americana Honors & Awards including “Artist of the Year” and “Album of the Year.” To date, Griffin has received seven total nominations from the Americana Music Association, affirming her as one of the far-reaching genre’s leading proponents. 2011’s Downtown Church – which blends traditional gospel favorites with Griffin’s own spiritually questioning material – debuted at #1 on both Billboard‘s “Folk Albums” and “Christian Albums” charts before winning 2011’s “Best Traditional Gospel Album” GRAMMY® Award, Griffin’s first solo GRAMMY® triumph among seven total career nominations. Griffin’s most recent LP, 2015’s Servant Of Love, marked the first release on her own PGM Recordings label via Thirty Tigers. Applauded by The Guardian as “bravely experimental,” the collection saw Griffin earn still another GRAMMY® Award nomination, this time in the “Best Folk Album” category.

Widely regarded among the best pure songwriters of this era, Griffin has had her work performed by a truly epic assortment of her fellow artists, among them Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris, Solomon Burke, Dixie Chicks, Kelly Clarkson & Jeff Beck, Martina McBride, Miranda Lambert, Melissa Etheridge and Susan Boyle, to name but a few. Her songs have also been showcased in a variety of film, TV, and theatre projects, with her original music and lyrics featured in the 2007 musical, 10 Million Miles, produced Off-Broadway by the Atlantic Theatre Company and directed by Tony Award-winner Michael Mayer. Griffin has also been joined in the studio by a veritable who’s-who of contemporary Americana, including Harris, Buddy & Julie Miller, Shawn Colvin, Jim Lauderdale, Raul Malo, Ian McLagen, JD Foster, and many others. As if her own remarkable career weren’t enough, Griffin has found time to collaborate with a wide range of like-minded artists, among them Joshua Radin, Todd Snider, Dierks Bentley, Robert Plant, Jack Ingram, Gillian Welch, and David Rawlings.

In addition to her creative career, Griffin has also devoted considerable energy and focus towards the wellbeing of the planet as well as showing compassion for the less fortunate among us via personal and public acts of charity including helping to create the Lampedusa tours supporting the Jesuit Refugee Service.

Having crafted a rich catalog that chronicles love and death, heartache and joy, connection and detachment, Patty Griffin continues to push her art forward, as always imbuing every effort with compassion and craft, uncanny perception, and ever-increasing ingenuity.
Scott Miller
Scott Miller
Today, utterly at home with his place in the new economy, the songwriter Scott Miller is having a cow.
All right, a calf.

Gently and with great patience he is tending the calf and its mother, the distance between man and animal not entirely different from the careful space a performer withholds from his audience.
He has lots of cows, 75 head, give or take. The audience for his music is considerably larger, for Scott Miller has long been a songwriter's songwriter, his careful, biting work championed by artists from Patty Griffin to Steve Earle to the novelist Silas House.
When the cow is stable (sorry) he takes a four-wheeler to the top of the tallest hill around and stops simply to survey the landscape. “I grew up here,” he says, his eyes restless, counting each unfinished project. “You do not see anything else from up here but farmland and farms. When you're twelve, it's your world. And it's beautiful, and it speaks to me.”
The roots of roots music.

“Stonewall Jackson bivouacked in those woods,” he continues. “If we go to the family farm in Bath County, near Montpelier, you can sit in the window and see the other side of the mountains that James Madison looked at while he was writing the Bill of Rights. This country started in Virginia. Jamestown, 1693. That just speaks to me. And that's just white people history. It’s not like this valley didn’t draw and speak to anyone before Europeans settled in it. Far from it.”
The black calf is soft and damp and tired, covered in thrift shop towels. Sweet and helpless. Shivering, amniotic fluid still rattling in his chest, though the vet took a medicinal

turkey baster to the problem before turning her attention to his mother. So tired he doesn't know he's hungry yet.
Neither animal can stand.

Watching a 1,500-pound animal stumble and fall will keep you nimble and alert.

It took two strong men twenty minutes to pull the calf free, the metal chain they used clean and coiled on the back of the nearest tractor. In time both animals will both stand; the mother simply has temporary nerve damage from the trauma of birth.
This time of day, Scott Miller should be writing songs, but he doesn't book tours when calves are due or the hay needs cutting, and he has earned the freedom to write at his own pace. At current market prices, that calf on the ground is worth about what a midweek gig in Omaha pays. Probably more, except the vet bill is kind of like the price of gas just went up a buck and the front tires are bald.
It's been a hard winter and the vet carries word that everybody's been losing calves, not to feel bad.
Doesn't matter. Scott's dad, down at the house where you turn in to get to the barn, his dad knows that if he could still just do what he used to do things would be better. But Scott's father saw part of World War II and there's only so much a son, can do to impress a member of the Greatest Generation.
Four years in, Scott still hasn't found a song to write about tending elderly parents, but it'll come. As it will come to most of us, if not in song form.
Anyway, Scott knows that on Saturday he and fiddler Rayna Gellert and the bass player Bryn Davies will return to Knoxville, where he first found fame as co-leader of the V- Roys, and there they will shed every moment except the moment of the song they are playing together.
The Acoustic Commonwealth, he calls that band. Recently, the band name has morphed into The Commonwealth Ladies Auxiliary, but he's been writing about his home in Virginia since he left, and his backing band is always some kind of Commonwealth. Left, leaving behind a degree in Russian Literature from William & Mary and trying to catch a girl.

Left behind the roots of his music, the roots of his raising.

“Jacob Revercomb,” he says, spelling the name carefully. His mother's ancestor. “Seventeen eighty-one, and there's only one Revercomb that ever came over. He settled in Highland County. We never owed anybody, we never owned anybody. That's where the homeplace was. Is.”
Scots-Irish. His work gloves are covered in small, precisely trimmed pieces of duct tape. There is only one guitar on a stand in his basement writing room. His pickup hasn't been showroom quality for some years, but it runs well enough.
“I've always had good sense around animals, especially cattle,” he says. “They're instinctual but not smart. That's me.”
The particulars of Miller's 200 acres don't especially matter, though he might tell you where to go depending on how you ask. The land where he lives, pinched between two mountain ranges, rolls but has little rock. It is green and seductive and filled with work worth doing. “I'm up before dawn,” he says, no longer lured by rock 'n' roll hours. “I wake up. I can't even imagine doing an 11 o'clock show now.”
This is not an accommodation. It is a nurturing, a finely-wrought peace. Life. “I do not mind getting older,” Miller says. “And I mean it. I don't. You do get smarter.”
“I always knew I was coming back,” he adds. “I wanted to come back with a little bit more of a career under my belt. Be more of a gentleman farmer and not have to work so hard.”
The slick, thin-lapelled black suit Miller wore in the V-Roys no longer fits. It's too big.

He is leaner and stronger now, no room in his life for beer fat and creative indolence, not when the cows need feeding. The band still makes him smile, for Steve Earle so believed in those Knoxville lads that he produced and released their two albums for his E-Squared label. A splendid power pop memory, that thing once called alt.country.
Five solo albums, a couple live releases since then. Lotta songs under the bridge. Plus the delightful EP Reyna Gellert talked him into making a year ago. “We'd been playing for not even half a year, a show over in Charlottesville. It was snowing, and there's a mountain to go over, and we were downtown with a basketball game going on when she says, 'I need to find a

Starbucks.' I'm waiting outside, somebody's beating on the car because I'm in the way. She pops back in the van, 'We should make an EP.' Awesome idea.”
Could you quit this?

“I don't think so,” he says softly. “I don't think so. I don't know that I would write as much as I do — or should — but I would still have songs that I would want to write.”
Songs, as Stevie Wonder once titled an album, in the key of life.
Venue Information:
Duling Hall
622 Duling Ave
Jackson, MS, 39216
http://www.dulinghall.com/