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GRAMMYs

John Prine in 2009

Photo by Anthony Pidgeon/Redferns

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John Prine Was The Master Of Lyrical Economy john-prine-was-master-lyrical-economy

John Prine Was The Master Of Lyrical Economy

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The late songwriting legend could stun you with a minimum of musical ingredients
Morgan Enos
GRAMMYs
Apr 8, 2020 - 9:13 am

John Prine got his most famous acknowledgment from Bob Dylan, who praised his songs as "Proustian existentialism" and “Midwestern mind-trips to the nth degree” in a 2009 HuffPost interview. While any songwriter would give their fretting hand for a Dylan cosign, his remark only tells half the story of Prine’s abilities.

"I’m kind of picky about songwriters, you know,” the two-time GRAMMY-winning Prine told Rolling Stone in 2015 while applauding his friend and protégé Jason Isbell. "I like songs that are clean and don’t have much fat on them — every line is direct, and all people can relate to it. That’s what I try to do."

By embargoing unnecessary language and rarely straying from the G, C, and D shapes on the guitar, Prine filled his classic albums, like 1971’s John Prine, 1973’s Sweet Revenge and 1978’s Bruised Orange, with songs that beamed from soul to soul with virtually no interference. 

Tragically, the COVID-19 pandemic cost Nashville perhaps its keenest lyrical craftsman when Prine died Tuesday (April 7) of complications due to the coronavirus. He was 73. 

"We join the world in mourning the passing of revered country and folk singer/songwriter John Prine," interim Recording Academy President/CEO Harvey Mason Jr. said in a statement. "John earned 11 GRAMMY nominations and received two GRAMMY Awards for Best Contemporary Folk Album, one for The Missing Years at the 34th GRAMMYs and another for Fair & Square at the 48th GRAMMYs. His self-titled debut album was inducted into the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame in 2015, and just recently he was announced as a 2020 Recording Academy Lifetime Achievement Award recipient for his contributions to music during his nearly five-decade career. Widely lauded as one of the most influential songwriters of his generation, John's impact will continue to inspire musicians for years to come. We send our deepest condolences to his loved ones."

Prine’s gift for musical economy took root years before he made a record. In 1964, the country singer Roger Miller released novelty singles "Dang Me," which won four GRAMMYs including Best Country & Western Song, and "Chug-a-Lug," which peaked at No. 9 on the Billboard Hot 100. Both songs, Prine later said, were influential on his silly, unassuming style.

"I loved the way he put words together," Prine said in the 1986 book Written In My Soul: Rock’s Great Songwriters Talk About Creating Their Music. “The sounds of the words, whether they made sense or not, whether it sounded like nonsense, it’d just really get to me.”

Years later, Prine wrote his self-titled debut album partly while delivering mail in his hometown. "Hello in There" paints a portrait of senior-citizen neglect with strokes both subtle ("She sits and stares through the back-door screen") and broad ("Old trees just grow stronger…but old people just grow lonesome”) — exploring a complex theme without getting pedantic or using 10-dollar words.

"Sam Stone," another John Prine cut about a veteran with a monkey on his back, featured two lines honed to an uncomfortably fine point: “There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes / Jesus Christ died for nothin’, I suppose."

While singing the future wartime anthem at his first-ever live performance, a 1969 open mic night at Chicago’s Fifth Peg, he was greeted with silence and glares. (When Johnny Cash, a devout Christian, covered "Sam Stone" in 1987, he changed the line to the immortally awkward "Daddy must have hurt a lot back then, I suppose.")

As a counterweight to John Prine’s serious subjects, Prine injected silly rhymes and turns of phrase that would make Miller proud: "Well done / Hot dog bun / My sister’s a nun," he drawled in the album’s opener "lllegal Smile." "Turns out that topless lady had something up her sleeve," he noted in the hilarious "Spanish Pipedream."

Sweet Revenge lightened up even further, leaving Prine free to play in his lyrical sandbox. Goofy last will and testament "Please Don’t Bury Me" throws a volley of one-liners that’ll make your head spin, the throwaway “Often is a Word I Seldom Use” wrings comedy out of its oxymoronic title, and “Grandpa Was a Carpenter” packs an astonishing level of detail about its Camel-smoking subject into two minutes and change.

Bruised Orange is closer to the "mind-trips" that Dylan described while keeping the song lengths as tight as ever. The title track blooms a message about holding onto bitterness from a childhood memory of an altar boy’s death. "That’s the Way the World Goes Round" takes two verses — one about a local knucklehead, one about himself — and binds them with a chorus about things we can’t control.

There are similarly gratifying miniatures on every Prine album. The title track to 1980’s Storm Windows gradually absorbs a wintry scene before offering seven words of eternal wisdom: "Time don’t fly / It bounds and leaps." "All The Best,” a commentary on divorce from 1991’s The Missing Years, takes last-ditch metaphors of Christmas cards and snowmen and renders them unforgettable.

His final album, 2018’s The Tree of Forgiveness, was no different. "Egg & Daughter Nite, Lincoln Nebraska, 1967 (Crazy Bone)" uses granddad humor to warn against acting before thinking, “Summer’s End” evokes a long sundown with a small handful of words, and closer "When I Get to Heaven" is a short list of what he’s doing now in the afterlife, namely drinking a vodka-and-ginger and smoking a cigarette nine miles long.

Prine may have passed the torch to a new generation including Isbell, but his absence as song-whittler is sorely missed. Lesser songwriters build monuments to themselves, but he understood the value of finding diamonds in the rough.

READ MORE: John Prine Talks 'My Kentucky Home, Goodnight' & Why He Wants To Benefit Coal Miners

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Margo Price

Photo by Bobbi Rich

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The Unbreakable Margo Price unbreakable-margo-price

The Unbreakable Margo Price

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The country singer/songwriter speaks to GRAMMY.com about her third studio album, 'That's How Rumors Get Started', working with Sturgill Simpson and her two heroes, late friend John Prine and his oddball soul-legend pal Swamp Dogg
Dan Weiss
GRAMMYs
Jul 13, 2020 - 9:10 am

At 37, Margo Price hasn't just lived a few lives already. She’s lived a few country singers' lives already, famously pawning her wedding ring to make Midwest Farmer's Daughter, the 2016 album that caught Jack White's attention and then the world’s, with not just the Newport Folk Festival to follow but "SNL" and a GRAMMY nomination for Best New Artist. For someone who survived the death of her infant son, a drunk-driving accident, jail time and homelessness, that's a vast change of fortune. Except fast-forward to 2020 where everything goes wrong no matter who you are, and Price came out of a few-years hiatus to have her excellent new album That’s How Rumors Get Started delayed anew while her husband and fellow musician/collaborator Jeremy Ivey fought a frightening bout of coronavirus right in her home just after beginning to raise their newborn daughter.

Luckily, the new album is a good fit for the holdup, a scorched-earth record that's at least half rock’n’roll on lyrics alone: "Call me a bitch, then call me baby / You don’t know me, you don’t own me," "Sobriety is a hell of a drug," "I won’t forget what it’s like to be poor," and of course, the delectably autobiographical "If it don’t break you, it might just make you rich." The tenderly worded All American Made made its points through typically acerbic country ("Don’t say you love me when you treat me this way," "Pay gap, pay gap, breaking my dollars in half") but the Sturgill Simpson-produced Rumors adds howling guitars returning the White Stripes favor on "Twinkle Twinkle" and the lung-bursting coda of "I'd Die for You," which is exactly what a multivalent songbird sings to her newborn's ailing father during a pandemic. GRAMMY.com spoke to Price over the phone about coming out of this state with sanity (and songs) intact, and her two heroes, late friend John Prine and his oddball soul-legend pal Swamp Dogg.

How is Jeremy doing?

Oh, he's healthy again and we’re really grateful for that.

That's great, I imagine this period was really scary for your family.

It’s been... not ideal for sure. I really hope that we all continue to stay healthy.

Do you feel like you're ready to plug back into music after all this craziness?

I do, I mean, it’s just been a long time coming and if I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant—and you know there would have been a lot of different factors—I would’ve had this out last summer. But I think everything happens for a reason, so we just roll with the punches.

When an album like That’s How Rumors Get Started sits on the shelf for this long, do you start to feel less connected from it? I imagine this year gave you a whole new album to write.

I'm definitely getting ready to, you know, start writing and recording again just to keep myself occupied and whatnot, but I feel like we picked it up, we started learning the songs and we put it back down. It’s still the best thing I’ve ever done, I think, thus far, and, you know, that makes me still feel connected to the songs and confident that it’s gonna hopefully go over well.

All American Made felt like you had a lot of things to say, and Rumors feels like you wanted to show those things rather than tell them. Did you feel like you were doing more dynamic singing or making a louder album?

I knew that I wanted to sonically do something that I'd never done before and use what I’d learned over the past few years being on the road. Having played rock’n’roll music and played in a soul band prior to everybody getting to know me through Midwest Farmer’s Daughter, it’s been interesting to only get put into this Americana category. So I just wanted to do something that was well-rounded. We put a lot of time into doing this album, a lot of care into my vocals, and I would say that Sturgill helped me turn it up to 11.

What was the biggest thing that you learned from working with Sturgill?

I really wanted to record every song that I had at the time, and we did put down like 16 tracks. But he was like, "You should just get something that sounds like they all go together like texturally and as a bigger picture." I think that was good advice, and I feel really good about the 10 songs; they feel like they belong together. It’s not like, oh, you’re skipping over this one track. And the way he had me approach doing my vocals was pretty key in getting the sounds that we got. I don’t like to sing with headphones on—I don’t think anybody likes to hear their own voice coming back at them—so that was an idea of his: To get more of how I sing when I’m just performing on stage, we took the headphones off and just sang in the studio with the track coming back at me at, like, a very low volume. I was just able to belt and hear myself the way that I normally would hear myself.

Like singing in the shower where you can just go at it.

Exactly.

It shows. A song like "I'd Die for You" is a much less muted way to close your album, like "With or Without You" or one of those big U2 ballads.

Oh, thank you, that’s great. I love that reference.

And then you have "Heartless Mind," which sounds like an idea Sturgill would definitely encourage. Was it always planned to be a fast, new wave-y song?

No, I did not picture it coming out like that and I absolutely love it. I was going into the session thinking that that one may be like, a [Pat Benatar’s] "Heartbreaker"-like guitar-driven song and then the synth got on it. It turned out better than I could have expected, with my friend Ashley Wilcoxson on backing vocals, but it's a big sonic change for what usually is behind me. I actually even let [Sturgill] put a drum machine just on the snare head for the choruses; a few years ago I might have said that’s sacrilege. And my drummer Dillon Napier is playing actual drums on it.

It's very in the spirit of Sturgill’s last album, Sound & Fury, which quite a few people compared to ZZ Top, and they are generally considered to be one of the most successful acts to put synthesizers on roots music.

Yeah his album's wild. I don’t think anybody expected it from him. I mean, I didn't expect it from him and I know the motherf**ker. A lot of times I see people working with certain producers because they're hot at the moment, or like, you know, things become really trendy and it's scary to go out there and get out of your comfort zone. But I’d rather make a few mess-ups then go crazy from just regurgitating the same ideas.

Do any of the lyrics on Rumors resonate differently for you now after the events of this year?

There’s moments that have become more powerful. I felt that same thing happened with All American Made because I wrote it while it was an election year but no one was in office, and then… you know. Time always has a way of making things feel more heavy, especially these days. But "I’d Die for You" has become the most important song to sing and feel connected to because of the tornado, and the cancellation that's happening, and people everywhere all over America unemployed and without health insurance. The racism and the division all that’s kind of spinning around. But Jeremy and I wrote that song for each other and for our children.

Certain songs on here are really cathartic to listen to now even if they were written way long ago. Something like "Twinkle Twinkle," where you’re singing "In the good old days, things weren’t really all that good," has me how all these coronavirus deniers will eventually go on to romanticize this period.

Oh, without a doubt. I was talking about that earlier with somebody, about how everything seems like it’s changed but really, all of the fear, and the hate, and the racism those things were all there,  just below the surface. I don't know when we’re going to be able to live the way that we did with, you know, human contact and hugs and stuff like that .

Somehow we got to the point where hugs are in question.

But don’t even come at me with that hand and I've really perfected my handshake.

On "Stone Me" you could be singing about toxic men, or fame, or the completely divided state of society all at once, and maybe those things are inherently connected.

Yeah, it has a double meaning for me. When I first wrote it was about a personal relationship, and the things that happen when you get put up on a pedestal, and then people immediately want to knock you down, and I let it all roll off my back. But it’s very cathartic to write a song. I don’t even ever have to say who it’s about specifically, because it’s about so many people that I've known.

A lot of country artists address things like growing up poor, but they're so associated with conservatism that you get the sense they expect it’s like, just part of dues to be paid. But you sing things like "Pay Gap" that are actually about changing that.

Oh, without a doubt. I mean, that song probably cost me a lot of fans. I had so many people try to argue with me and tell me it’s a myth. As a citizen I have every right to think about the things that affect me and we're all in it together no matter what side of the fence you're on. Everybody wants the same damn thing, food on the table. To would be able to be taken care of when you're sick.

This year is really the test case for that, because you’d think everyone would be able to agree that, like, we all want to be alive, and doing some things that are not too difficult in order to lower that risk. The rebellion against that is really surreal. Have you already begun writing new songs?

My husband’s got an entire album that he’s written. I have, like, starts of songs… I don’t know, six or seven things I'm working on. And then I’ve just been writing and journaling more. It’s important to write your memoir while everything’s still fresh on your mind. Especially now with not being able to go to shows. I’m like thinking back to specific memories and things that happened and just saving it all for a rainy day.

Do you have any plans for live shows again?

I’m really wanting to do these drive-in theater shows. I think that would be super cool. It would be a great way to start back and feel like things are at a safe distance, but who knows what the future holds. I'm just dreaming about a day when I can like, bodysurf across the crowd again. That’s gonna be a long time.

What have you been listening to while you’re stuck at home?

I have been addicted to this new Swamp Dogg record, Sorry You Couldn’t Make It.

I love Swamp Dogg, I actually just ordered reissues of Gag a Maggot and Total Destruction to Your Mind last month.

Yeah, I mean, "Synthetic World"…there are just so many good songs on Total Destruction to Your Mind. Rat On! and that whole album cover. And then I realized that he was putting out this new record, and John Prine sings two duets on it which are amazing. It’s the last thing that John Prine ever recorded.

Wow, I didn’t realize it was the very last thing he ever did.

There's a song on there is called "Family Pain," and it's really cool, like a hip-hop track with a fiddle. I’ve also been listening to Run the Jewels.

I mean, speaking of catharsis…

Yeah, perfect time to put out a political rap album. And of course I’ve been diving super deep into the Bob Dylan and the Neil Young records; the fact that they came out on the same day was pretty spectacular.

If you do any more covers, I definitely vote for Swamp Dogg.

That's a great idea. And Swamp Dogg’s version of [Prine’s] "Sam Stone" is just killer. When I met John I was like, "So tell me about Swamp Dogg." You know they were buddies. It’s really cool to hear them on [2020’s] "Please Let Me Go Round Again." They just are riffing back and forth, really conversational improv. It cracks me up to listen to.

Now I’m gonna have to put that on after we hang up.

I hope you stay well and, yeah, see you next time we get out of this burning trash fire.

Liz Brasher Opens Up About Memphis, Mental Health & Her New "Sad Girl Status" Video

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K.T. Oslin at 1989 GRAMMYs

K.T. Oslin at the 1989 GRAMMYs

 

Photo: LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images

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Remembering GRAMMY Winner K.T. Oslin kt-oslin-obituary

Remembering GRAMMY-Winning Country Icon K.T. Oslin

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"With her GRAMMY-winning anthem, '80's Ladies,' K.T. solidified herself as a force in the country music community and paved the way for many artists today," Harvey Mason jr. wrote in a statement
Ana Monroy Yglesias
GRAMMYs
Dec 23, 2020 - 3:45 pm

This week, country music lost one of its leading ladies: GRAMMY-winning singer/songwriter K.T. Oslin. The "80's Ladies" singer died Monday (Dec. 21) at age 78 due to complications from Parkinson's disease, and shortly after testing positive for COVID-19.

"The Recording Academy is saddened to hear of the passing of three-time GRAMMY winner and country music icon, K.T. Oslin. With her GRAMMY-winning anthem, '80's Ladies,' K.T. solidified herself as a force in the country music community and paved the way for many artists today," Harvey Mason jr., Chair & Interim President/CEO of the Recording Academy, wrote in a statement. "She was an influential and remarkable talent, and our thoughts are with her family, friends and loved ones during this difficult time."

In 1988, Oslin made history when she became the first woman to win Song Of The Year at the CMA Awards, winning for her breakout hit, "80's Ladies". At the 1988 GRAMMYs, the empowering track won Best Female Country Vocal Performance. The iconic hit was the title track of her 1987 debut album, which she released when she was 45. Like much of Oslin's music, it offered a real and humorous perspective, giving a voice to middle-aged women and beyond.

Her sophomore album, This Woman, followed in 1988, and one of its hit singles, "Hold Me," earned the star two more golden gramophones at the 1989 GRAMMYs, for Best Country Song and Best Female Country Vocal Performance.

Oslin was also a member of the Recording Academy's Nashville chapter.

https://twitter.com/chelywright/status/1341086474582814723

... the gatekeepers didn’t even have a chance to decide whether or not they’d let her in. K.T. Oslin didn’t ask anyone for permission to enter. She waltzed in with her brilliant songs, her unmatched intellect, her perfectly foul mouth and she changed everything— forever.#KTOslin pic.twitter.com/syFSzPpI1h

— Chely Wright (@chelywright) December 21, 2020

For Charley Pride, Black Country Music Was A Self-Evident Truth

Charley Pride in 1975

Charley Pride in 1975

 

Photo: Bettmann / Contributor

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For Charley Pride, Black Country Music Was A Self-Evident Truth

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The late icon may have stuck out like a sore thumb in Nashville, but given that country music is a rightfully Black art form, he was a participant, not an anomaly
Morgan Enos
GRAMMYs
Dec 14, 2020 - 4:41 pm

Charley Pride was on the on-ramp to Nashville fame—then his audience discovered how he looked. In 1967, after two non-charting singles, his third, "Just Between You And Me," had pierced the Top 10 on the Hot Country Songs chart. Pride had guitar pioneer Chet Atkins, producer “Cowboy" Jack Clement and manager-agent Jack Johnson in his corner. In short, he was moving. But when Pride strolled into the spotlight at the Olympia Stadium in Detroit, clamorous applause curdled into an awkward silence.

Undoubtedly aware of the audience's reaction, Pride hesitated before laying into his first song. Instead, he leaned his arms on his acoustic guitar, as if to drag over a chair and say, "Let's rap for a moment." 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I realize it's kind of unique, me coming out here on a country music show wearing this permanent tan," he quipped. "But my name's Charley Pride, and I am from Mississippi. My daddy was a farmer down there, and I sing country music. And I want to entertain you if you'll let me."

Was Pride unique in the country music world? Absolutely. To date, the Grand Ole Opry has welcomed 211 performers as members; Pride is one of only three Black members. (The others include DeFord Bailey, the harmonica trailblazer, and Darius Rucker, the singer of Hootie & The Blowfish.) 

That said, was Pride an anomaly? An interloper? A novelty act? God, no. The three-time GRAMMY winner and Recording Academy Lifetime Achievement Award recipient was right where he belonged, alongside country music's giants. He stayed there until his death, caused by COVID-19 complications, this weekend (Dec. 12). He was 86. 

"Music is about breaking barriers. As one of the first Black superstars in country music, Charley Pride did just that," Harvey Mason jr., Chair & Interim President/CEO of the Recording Academy, said in a statement. "A three-time GRAMMY winner and 13-time nominee, the Recording Academy feels this loss deeply. During his nearly five-decade-long career, Pride inspired artists and paved the way for so many in the industry, which is why the Academy honored him with our Lifetime Achievement Award in 2017. He’ll be sorely missed, but we are grateful for the remarkable legacy he leaves behind."

If you trace country music's lineage, it's a straight line through Black American sounds, from the Civil War to Lil Nas X's genre-bending "Old Town Road," despite an apparent lack of visibility of Black artists in the genre.

"I think the history books, unfairly, will mostly note that Charley Pride was a great country singer who was African-American," radio host Bobby Bones said in the 2019 documentary, American Masters: Charlie Pride: I'm Just Me. "You can take off the African-American part."

Charley Pride Wins Best Country Vocal Performance, Male

Exhibit A of country music's Black origins lies in the banjo, which has so many roots in Africa that Béla Fleck once spent a whole multimedia project tracking them down. Flash-forward to the late-19th and early-20th centuries: Pride was keenly aware that Black folks formed the country's musical building blocks. "American music is made up of gospel, country and the blues. Those three," he explained in the documentary. "And I think each one borrowed from the other over the years that I've grown up and listened to the music." 

Read: Mickey Guyton On Navigating Country Music As A Black Woman: "My Professional Journey Has Been Very Difficult"

Comb through Wikipedia, and you'll find numberless examples of this transracial interchange, from Jimmie Rodgers' and Louis Armstrong's "Blue Yodel No. 9" to Buck Owens' and Bettye Swann's long-unreleased collaborations. Since the 1920s, though, when labels segregated albums by "hillbilly records" and "race records" and effectively scrubbed Black fingerprints from country music, many people have associated the genre as a largely white sound. Country's historically whitewashed hegemony, which made Pride out to be less a natural participant than an interloper, still reflects this artificial wedge between the two races.

Any critical analysis of Pride's life and career will tell you he was country to the bone, regardless of his melanin content. Hard-luck story? Check: Pride was the fourth of 11 children born to sharecropper parents in Sledge, Miss. He ran from the punishing, unrelenting work of cotton-picking for the rest of his life. "It reminds me of what I don't ever want to go back to doing because it hurts my fingers and my back and my knees," Pride said during a televised performance before launching into Lead Belly's "Cotton Fields." Does his music check out? No doubt: Pride played straight-ahead, traditional country and western with a magnetic voice somewhere in George Jones' zip code.

Pride was anything but oblivious to racism, but he once maintained that he never caught as much as a flippant remark. "It never did happen," he said in I'm Just Me. "I've never had one catcall, or iota of something like Jackie Robinson went through in my whole career, to this very moment. When that question is asked, I say, 'No, I haven't.' I get that 'I can't believe' look or 'You gotta be kidding' look or 'I don't believe you.'" As his mother, Tessie Pride, told him, according to the documentary, "Don't go around with a chip on your shoulder. There's good people everywhere. You've got a lot you're going to have to do, and you can't do it carrying a load of resentment with you."

Pride could have ignored that maternal advice and wielded his Blackness in a provocative or inflammatory way. Given the history of anti-Black violence, segregation and oppression in America, few would have blamed him. Instead, he chose to acknowledge his racial background good-naturedly and good-humoredly, and he never wavered from the idea that God put him on this Earth to be a country singer. 

No matter what the good old boys in Music City, U.S.A., might have thought, Pride was a Black artist in a rightfully Black art form. As such, the story of country music contained a blank page with his name on it. Zoom out and consider the whole timeline, and you'll find that Pride playing country music was like Chuck Berry architecting rock 'n' roll, Mary Lou Williams braiding jazz, gospel and swing, or Kendrick Lamar recoding the DNA of the rap game. No person would question their credentials in their genres, and no matter how outnumbered Pride was in a white-centric market, he belonged to the country music world just as much.

Back to Pride on stage at the Olympia Stadium, standing alone against stunned silence. He could have rightfully hectored the crowd as a bunch of bigoted hillbillies, but that wasn't Pride. Instead, he disarmed them with a joke. "Then, he started singing," Vanderbilt professor Alice Randall said in I'm Just Me. "The applause came back."

John Prine Was The Master Of Lyrical Economy

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Bruce Swedien

Bruce Swedien

Photo: John Parra/WireImage

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Remembering The Musical Genius Of Master Engineer Bruce Swedien

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GRAMMY.com looks back on the career of Swedien, a five-time GRAMMY-winning engineer who shaped iconic albums from Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones
Rob LeDonne
GRAMMYs
Dec 8, 2020 - 5:11 pm

When Bruce Swedien was mixing the Michael Jackson tour de force "Billie Jean," he and the pop star were agonizing over the most granular details of the recording. "I adored Michael, he was the greatest," Swedien once recalled. "He'd say, 'Bruce, that was perfect but let's try one more.' This was mix 80, [but] I said no problem." 

By the time Swedien and Jackson were on the 91st mix of the track, the song's producer and frequent Swedien collaborator, Quincy Jones, walked in the studio and implored the two to go back and listen to their initial cuts. "So we played [the second mix we worked on] and it blew it all away. I mean that was the most badass mix and that's what [was released]. Mix two."

It's a story that not only exemplifies Swedien's attention to detail, but also his innate natural talent that earned him legendary status among the titans of the music industry. 

"He was without question the best engineer in the business," Jones wrote in an Instagram post upon learning of Swedien's death last month (Nov. 16). "For more than 70 years I wouldn't even think about going into a recording session unless I knew Bruce was behind the board." 

This combination of respect and pedigree earned Swedien 12 career GRAMMY nominations, including five GRAMMY wins for engineering for his work on Thriller, Bad and Dangerous, all for Jackson. He also earned two additional engineering GRAMMYs for his work on Jones' albums, Q's Jook Joint and Back On The Block.

"Bruce Swedien's masterful work behind the board helped create iconic music with renowned artists," Harvey Mason jr., Chair & Interim President/CEO of the Recording Academy, said of the celerated engineer in a statement. "His imaginative approach helped shape the sound of pop music, and he was one of the most revered engineers in our industry. We have lost a remarkable talent, but I'm thankful for the music Bruce gave us."

Hailing from Minnesota, Swedien was born to classically trained musician parents; he became enamored with music after his father gave him a rudimentary disc recorder. By 21, Swedien was an engineer for RCA Victor. After honing his craft with jazz icons like Duke Ellington and Stan Kenton, he released his first musical firework from his generation-spanning discography in 1962 with "Big Girls Don't Cry," the seminal Frankie Valli And The Four Seasons hit. With its high falsetto and kinetic drumming, it rocketed to No. 1 and earned the group its first GRAMMY nomination. At the time, Swedien, then 28, was working in-house at Universal Music in Chicago. He later fondly remembered the appearance of "four scruffy-looking guys from New Jersey who headed straight to the vocal booth. It was a great session."

In addition to a zigzagging career, which saw the prolific engineer collaborating with everyone from jazz greats like Ellington and Sarah Vaughn, rock gods like Mick Jagger, divas like Barbara Streisand and contemporary stars like Jennifer Lopez, it was his creative partnership, and close friendship, with Quincy Jones that would define Swedien's career. First meeting in the late-'70s while collaborating on the music for the classic film, The Wiz, the two also crafted hits for the likes of George Benson, including his own GRAMMY-winning song, "Give Me The Night," as well as the gargantuan charity single, "We Are The World." 

But it was the dream team of Swedien, Jones, Michael Jackson and songwriter Rod Temperton that helped change the face of pop and turn the former Jackson 5 member into a bonafide superstar. 

For The Record: Michael Jackson

"[Along with Temperton], we reached heights that we could have never imagined & made history together," Jones, on Instagram, recalled of the partnership, which resulted in Thriller, the best-selling album in music history. "I have always said it's no accident that more than four decades later no matter where I go in the world, in every club, like clockwork at the witching hour you hear 'Billie Jean,' 'Beat It,' 'Wanna Be Starting Something,' and 'Thriller.' That was the sonic genius of Bruce Swedien and to this day I can hear artists trying to replicate him."

In tangent with his ace ear, Swedien was also deft in the technology of production, helping revolutionize new techniques of engineering and evolving the craft. While working on Thriller, he developed a technique to record the tracks in analogue first in pairs, subsequently creating stereophonic recordings. "Digital recording was available and we were all quite impressed with its clarity," he said in 2018. "But if you start the music in digital you can never go back to analogue and it won't sound as good."

His thirst for innovation also forced him to think outside the box, like building a special drum platform and a cover for the bass drum, complete with an integral piece of wood to give the percussion on "Billie Jean" a distinctive sound. When recording Jackson's vocals, he had the pop star stand a few inches from the microphone, then step back even farther for another cut, then another, with Jackson physically moving his mouth along the microphone; once layered, they all created a unique depth. "Here's what I think it really boils down to," Swedien once explained, offering valuable insight into a master at work. "The importance of any musical sound lies not in any inherent acoustical value, but what it signifies in the soul of the listener." 

His friend Quincy Jones summed up Swedien's loss on both a personal and creative level. "I am absolutely devastated to learn the news that we lost my dear brother-in-arms," he wrote in the Instagram post. "I'm going to miss your presence every single day 'Svensk', but I will cherish every moment we shared together laughin', lovin', livin', & givin'."

Michael Jackson's "Thriller": For The Record

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