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Bonnie Raitt Returns
THE LEGENDARY ARTIST PERFORMS AT TANGLEWOOD

on June 4, 2025 No comments

THE LEGENDARY ARTIST PERFORMS AT TANGLEWOOD 

Ken Friedman

There is nobody quite like Bonnie Raitt. The songs that she has performed have touched the lives of so many people—tracks like “Something to Talk About,” “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” “Angel from Montgomery,” “Made Up Mind,” “Nick of Time,” “Just Like That,” and many more.
She has been described as a voice of an angel and plays the blues like nobody’s business.

The singer, songwriter, and guitarist whose unique style blends blues with R&B, rock, and pop has earned her 13 Grammys®, but despite the high honors, Raitt is incredibly humble and gracious.

In 2023, she walked on stage in disbelief at the Grammy Awards ceremony to receive Best American Roots Song, then Best Americana Performance, and Song of the Year for “Just Like That.” “I don’t write a lot of songs, but I’m so proud that you appreciate this one,” she said.

Last December, Raitt was honored at Kennedy Center for 50 years of musical excellence, with Brandi Carlile, Sheryl Crow, Emmylou Harris, Dave Matthews, Keb’ Mo’, Susan Tedeschi, James Taylor, and Jackson Browne performing songs that she is known for. (See this post for a talk with James Taylor.)

When we recently spoke, she was in the middle of what she loves most—a string of live performances. She will be making her way back to the Berkshires on Sunday, August 31, to play at Tanglewood.

Anastasia: Bonnie, I was doing a bit of research about your time in the Berkshires. You started playing at Tanglewood in ’76, and the last time you were here was a few years ago, in 2022. You also played at the Music Inn earlier than that.

Bonnie: Many, many years ago, the Music Inn was our main gig in Western Massachusetts.

Anastasia: I see that the first time you played was back in 1973 with John Prine. Then in ’74 with Mose Allison and with Steve Goodman back in ’75, John Lee Hooker in ’77, and solo in ’78. What a history in the Berkshires! What do you think about when you think about this region?

Bonnie: The fans have always been so incredibly enthusiastic for the kind of music I do and the other artists who were in the Music Inn shows. A high point of our summer touring was to come and play in the Berkshires.

Anastasia: Looking at your setlists from back in ’76 at Tanglewood, the songs included “Women Be Wise,” “You’ve Been in Love Too Long,” “Love Me Like a Man,” “Give It Up or Let Me Go,” “I’m Blowin’ Away,” and “Runaway.” Do you still perform those songs?

Bonnie: Oh, yeah. We do a smattering of songs always from the big albums, Nick of Time and Luck of the Draw, and with 21 albums to draw from, I don’t want to forget the fact that those fans came to see me in the early ’70s. I always go back and rotate some of songs that are special to them and to me, like “Love Me Like a Man,”or “Women Be Wise.” “Angel from Montgomery” is one I’ve played every gig since I met John Prine in ’71, so I would never leave that out. But there are way too many albums of songs that people always wished we played, and we just can’t get around to all them. We play about 17 songs when we have a strong co-bill, like we’re doing with Jimmie Vaughan this time at Tanglewood. He’ll come out and do a couple at the end of our show, which I’m really excited about.

Anastasia: Are you a completely different person now than you were 50 years ago?

Bonnie: I like to look at chapters of my life as everything was part and parcel of how I ended up here at 75. I wouldn’t change any of it. So, the core of who I am, in terms of social activism and the music I love, has really stayed the same. And I like to think I’m a wiser and more mature and certainly living a healthier lifestyle than I did in my 20s.

Anastasia: What would you tell your younger self?

Bonnie Raitt at Tanglewood, Lenox, MA 8-26-1991 Walter Scott

Bonnie: Some of the lessons you just have to live, whether they’re romantic relationships that you look back and go, “Oh, man, I didn’t see that coming.” All the relationships I’ve been in have been wonderful for that time period. And you just outgrow each other, or you move from the East Coast to the West Coast, and you have to break up, like people do when they go away to college. I really wouldn’t change too much, including having as much fun as I could after the shows, and traveling with a big band of musicians, and the whole lure of—I don’t want to say drugs, sex, and rock and roll—but partying after the show was really fun, just like it is for people who finish the workday and come home at 7 o’clock at night and have dinner with their family and then relax. For us, relaxing is 11 o’clock at night. In my mid-30s, there were lifestyle changes that I needed to make. The things that you got away with or had fun doing in your 20s just don’t sit with you as well in your 30s. So, I wouldn’t have changed anything sooner as my younger self, but I was glad that I got sober when I was 37. Whatever excuse I had of trying to be a blues mama and keep up that late-night lifestyle and smoke and drink and all that, that sort of went out the window. I was really grateful that I was one of the ones who made it through without killing myself or anybody else.

Anastasia: What can we expect when you return to Tanglewood on August 31 with Jimmie Vaughan & The Tilt-A-Whirl Band?

Bonnie: Jimmie and I have known each other and played together when he was in The Fabulous Thunderbirds, and I was friends with his brother, Stevie Ray. We all were part of the Austin blues scene when I’d come through town, and we did a lot of touring together in the ’70s especially. So it’ll be a great reunion. The last time I played at Tanglewood was literally the biggest audience I’d played to in many, many years. It was almost 17,000 people. My recollection not only was it a great show for the audience and us, but it was freezing. It was 55 degrees. So, I’m hoping it’ll be warmer. It’ll be a great celebration. What you can expect is me going back to some deep cuts from albums that not everybody has. I’m at the point where I’m pretty good at picking songs that work live and jettisoning the ones that don’t feel right for this era. We’ll play the ones they expect.

Anastasia: Do you ever get tired of performing “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” or any of those other popular hits?

Bonnie: I don’t. It’s different every night. I grew up with my dad, John Raitt, basically rotating summer stock, every summer. He played in the show Carousel, where he was the original leading man, and Oklahoma!, and also he was the originator of Sid Sorokin in Pajama Game. He later went on to do Music Man and On a Clear Day and Shenandoah and Zorba and a lot of different other shows, but he made every night opening night. And I mean that sincerely. I watched him imbue those songs and the production as if he’d never played them before. Every night now, I get really deep inside, especially the ballads, because if I ever start phoning it in, I’ll hang up my spurs. Every night is a different opening night. Some of those people are seeing me for the first time, and some of them have seen you many times, and you want to show that you still have the emotional connection with them for those songs that mean as much to me as they do to them.

Raitt at Americana Honors & Awards in 2016. Erika Goldring

Anastasia: What was it like growing up in a household of music?

Bonnie: I grew up in a combination of Westchester, New York, where my dad was on Broadway and in Pajama Game, and then when he was in the movie with Doris Day, we moved back out to California in ’57, and I stayed there from seven until 15 years old. It was fun being in LA because there was a lot of other kids at my school who were the children of people in show business. My folks were Quakers … and not flashy. They were deep. They were politically involved with the ban the bomb movement and the civil rights movement and then save the redwoods, and taught us a real ethic of fairness and social justice early on. My mom was my dad’s music director and pianist, and he would rehearse for his concerts and for his shows downstairs. It was just fantastic. I knew all the words to the shows. It was a thrill being part of that behind-the-scenes Broadway road life. He took the shows out to the people, and that’s what I’m doing. I couldn’t care less if I had a hit record, and he couldn’t care less if he had a hit Broadway show. He just wanted to take the music out to people.

Anastasia: You must have been exposed to a lot of music storytelling when you grew up.

Bonnie in the studio, recording Slipstream 2011
Matt Mindlin

Bonnie: Yes, those Rodgers and Hammerstein story songs that are in Carousel and Oklahoma!, in particular. Hearing the stories about what it was like to go through the Depression and go through the Second World War, and then the early days on Broadway for my folks who were raised in a religious background, to suddenly be part of this Broadway scene. They were riding across the country on trains, and there were swear words in Oklahoma!, and all that. It was pretty fun to hear their eye-opening stories about hanging out with Ella Fitzgerald and Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra, and to hear the stories about the early days of the peace movement. Those social activism stories were just as interesting to me as the show business ones. My greatest education came from hanging out with the blues artists I opened for when I left college. I ended up striking it lucky and was offered a record deal on my own terms when I was 21 years old. To travel with Muddy Waters and Sippie Wallace and Mississippi Fred McDowell and “Big Boy” Arthur Crudup, and to hear the stories about what it was like with racism and growing up on plantations, or, in Sippie’s case, the vaudeville circuit and the classic blues circuit. That was an invaluable background, just like listening to my folks talk about the early days of their careers. It was fantastic.

Anastasia: What is it about the blues that moves you so much?

Bonnie: It’s the music for me. When I was eight or nine years old, I really could tell the difference between Chuck Berry and Fats Domino. Little Richard was killing me and The Isley Brothers. The Beatles and The Stones fell in love with American R&B and covered a lot of those songs and turned America onto our own blues tradition. I would have never heard about Slim Harpo and Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters if it wasn’t for both the folk music revival of those blues artists at Newport and the recordings of them, and also the British invasion. They turned us on to tons of R&B records that we didn’t get to hear on our pop charts. So, it was kind of a cross-pollination. I fell in love with it and couldn’t get it out of my system.

Anastasia: There’s no way a person can describe you in one genre of music. I recently talked with Sonny Rollins, and he quoted Duke Ellington as saying, “There’s only two kinds of music, good or bad.” Do you agree?

Bonnie: I love that quote. I wasn’t expecting a career in music. I was just a fan. Aretha Frankin and Ray Charles and Tony Bennett and my dad, they were singing all kinds of different songs from different writers, and it was Dylan and then later James Taylor and Jackson Browne and Joni Mitchell who broke into the singer-songwriter realm, where people actually performed mostly their own songs. That was something that I admired so much. But I found for myself that the tradition I come out of is mixing it up. What’s a great song? It’s so subjective. What’s the right song for me to do? It could be “Dimming of the Day” by Richard Thompson or “Angel from Montgomery” from John Prine, right next to some great Big Mama Thornton cover or some R&B covers that I’ve done, or rock and roll songs. It’s the mixture of songs that I really love. That’s what keeps me interested.

Anastasia: I was watching a clip of you when you were in your 20s, and I thought how incredibly poised you were, and how totally comfortable in your skin you were.

Bonnie: Oh, thank you! I had the blessing of having been raised in show business and watching people not have control over where they worked or what they got paid, or the quality of the things that they signed up for when they just needed a job. I always said, if I was going to do this for a living, I would not have anybody tell me what to record or with whom, or how often, or what to wear, or “We want you to have a commercial hit or we’re not backing you.” I just would have stopped and gone back to being a college student and an activist. I was pretty savvy. In my personal life, I was a lot more vulnerable and not as confident as I was when I stepped into the professional part of me. Which always cracks me up, because I think of the Wizard of Oz, when he goes, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” I’m just a regular person with vulnerabilities and foibles and mistakes and addictions and all that, but when I step into the professional realm or as an activist, I think I can hold on to the power line a lot more easily.

Anastasia: What do you do to protect yourself as far as your voice and your physical and mental well-being?

Bonnie: What an incredible gift the internet is to be able to turn younger people onto the roots of the blues. Maybe they find some local metal band that they like, and then they read in an article or on their website that they loved Led Zeppelin. Then you look at who Led Zeppelin loved. Within a half hour, you can go back and discover everybody’s albums. That’s an incredible gift. So, aside from that gift, the internet, email, and texting have saved my voice, because I used to spend a lot of time phoning friends or making arrangements for a guest list or after-show get-togethers the next day or a day off. I don’t use my voice as much. That’s one way I take care of my voice. The other way is I warm up for a half hour. And I didn’t used to do that. I used to just sing an easy song first in the set. I’ve been sober 38 years. I eat organic, and I try to get outside and get some fresh air and get my heart rate up. I do a pretty serious yoga and weight practice three or four times a week. That all helps me to be more limber and flexible and strong at 75 than had I been on the path I was on in my 20s and 30s.

Anastasia: I’m fortunate to talk with you, as well as with Joan Baez, Rosanne Cash, and Ani DiFranco recently. There’s something about these feminist icons, like you, who are committed not only to their music, but to social activism. Joan told me that there’s no separating the two.

Bonnie: I agree, and she was one of my main inspirations. Pete Seeger and Joan, and groups like The Weavers and Woody Guthrie, practiced the whole tradition of using your voice to raise attention and sometimes funds. We all know that some grassroots group trying to stop a toxic incinerator near a Black community in the middle of Ohio isn’t going to get any press attention. But some artist comes in and speaks at the rally or sings at the rally, then the news stations cover it. The town criers that artists have been for years, we’re just reflecting the conscience of the culture. I think it’s important to be responsible and informed if you’re going to speak out. I also don’t preach from the stage. When people are there to see my concerts, I don’t subject them to my political views. I might make a barbed comment here or there, if I can’t help it. We always have grassroots groups tabling, local groups that are working on issues that we think are important, primarily food insecurity, safe and clean energy, and all of that. I don’t proselytize, but certainly I like to speak out and raise my voice and use the funds from the tour to contribute to groups that don’t have access to corporate money like the big guys do.

Anastasia: Where are you the happiest, on stage or recording?

Bonnie: Definitely on stage. It’s a total transformative exaltation. There’s nothing like what happens between the audience and us on stage. It’s why you put up with the other 22 hours. We don’t have a real heavy schedule. We work five months out of the year, four days a week. It’s really a wonderful thing to be on the road. I make records so I have new songs to play, not the other way around.

Bonnie Raitt joined James at his performances at Tanglewood, Lenox, MA just days before they kicked off their summer tour together when Bonnie and her band opened 18 shows for James Taylor & His All-Star Band – July 3 & 4, 2017 Hilary Scott

Anastasia: When did you pick up the guitar?

Bonnie: I went to summer camp while my dad was doing summer stock. He primarily toured in the summertime, eight shows a week, and switched over to theater in the round. There were a lot of tents. Broadway stars would take their shows all around the country. And so my brothers and I went to a Quaker camp up in the Adirondacks, which was run by dear friends of my folks. And there was all kinds of international counselors and kids from all kinds of backgrounds from the East Coast and around the world. Folk music was taking off in the late ’50s at colleges. The folk music revival that started with the Newport festivals caught fire. My counselors were all singing folk music around the campfire, songs by Joan Baez and Odetta and Pete Seeger. And I learned how to play the guitar. I tried it out, and I asked my folks if I could get one for Christmas. When I was just a month shy of nine years old, at Christmastime, I got my first guitar. I played folk music like my counselors did. I asked for a Joan Baez record, and then I played Odetta records. Then I played Bob Dylan songs. I heard country blues on the Newport ’63 album. That’s the first time I heard slide guitar in a blues context. My grandfather played Hawaiian lap steel guitar when he played hymns sometimes, and that was really fun to hear. Once I found out that you could just move this bar back and forth, you could easily play all kinds of songs without learning the chords. That ease has never stopped being fun for me. So, about 15 or 16, I started playing slide guitar.

Anastasia: I was just listening again to your latest album, Just Like That, and I’ve read the story about how the title song came about. Do people reach out to you about the songs that you have sung?

Bonnie: Yeah, especially after “Just Like That” won the Song of the Year, which was a huge surprise to everyone on Earth, including me. Within a few days, at the website for the lyric video for “Just Like That,” there were 4,500 messages from nurses and doctors, people who wanted to donate their beloved’s organs, but the bureaucracy stopped them from being able to get to the person that needed them. I found out how disorganized and backed up the bureaucracy was, and that only something like 3 or 8 percent of the organs actually find people that desperately need them, and that those people lose their lives because of it. I’ve gotten letters from people who got to hear the heart of their beloved’s in someone else’s chest, the way that I was inspired to write the song. Their children are living because of the donation and the kindness of another family that donated the organs. That song has gotten more response than I ever would have expected. I was doubly overwhelmed, just in tears for days, reading the beautiful letters. People can still go on that site and read them. Within a few months, President Biden announced that they were going to overhaul the organ donation system and make it easier. Who knows whether Jill Biden giving me that award that night at the Grammys®, maybe she went back and was able to focus with her husband on that issue. The ripple effect of that song has been incredibly beautiful for me, and something that I never would have expected.

Anastasia: My sister was a transplant patient, and we learned that one of the donors was an 18-year-old young man who died in a motorcycle accident. Your song reminded me of the life that was passed on from one person to another.

Bonnie: I’ve gotten so many letters, and I keep them all. I also get a lot of letters about “Nick of Time” when that song came out. There’s a lot of people who say that they played it in the delivery room when they didn’t think they’d ever get pregnant. They wanted to honor that song and what it meant to them. That made me really happy.

Anastasia: How do you pick the songs that you sing from other artists? 

Bonnie: I do a lot of research and a lot of listening. When I did an INXS cover of “Need You Tonight,” I knew I was going to cut that. It was just a question of which album. I knew that I wanted to sing “Dimming of the Day,” but I wanted to wait about two or three decades between my version and Linda Thompson, who did such an exquisite version. I wanted to let hers live on its own. After a while, I went, “You know what? Life is short. I got to be able to sing this every night.” I always pay tribute to Richard Thompson when I sing it. So, a lot of it is just the fun part of listening to oldies stations or going through my old record collections and digging deep under cuts of artists I already love, and I may find some jewel that I didn’t know about, and then I cover that. But, usually, it starts with just me being a fan. 

Bonnie Raitt with special guest Jimmie Vaughan & The Tilt-A-Whirl Band will perform at Tanglewood on Sunday, August 31, at 7 p.m. bso.org/tanglewood

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Source: © Copyright Berkshire Magazine

Parallel Lives | James Taylor on Bonnie Raitt

By Anastasia Stanmeyer

Although they didn’t meet until they were billed for the same performance in the early ’70s at Sanders Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts, James Taylor and Bonnie Raitt later found out that their lives held many similarities.

Hilary Scott

“Bonnie slightly preceded me in coming on the scene, but we had very parallel paths,” says Taylor. “She was connected with the music scene in Cambridge and Boston.” 

They later found out that their parents had enrolled them in the same youth program. Taylor says he and Raitt both attended Friends World Service, a cultural exchange program. They missed each other by a year but had similar experiences of traveling through Europe by way of VW buses and adult chaperones. 

“We have very similar upbringings,” says Taylor. “Her dad, of course, was a famous Broadway performer, a fabulous singer. I had listened to his voice on recordings growing up because my folks had those records. My dad and mom were very academic. We didn’t know each other growing up, but we were in the same sort of social context.”

Raitt wasn’t the only one deeply influenced and informed by her exposure to musical theater. “I was, too,” says Taylor. “That was a big part of my musical background. My folks were fans of the musicals of the ’30s, ’40s, ’50s, and I listened to all of it repeatedly. I think that, and what was available socially and culturally back then, was what I grew up with. We both came out of this folk music, what my friend Waddy Wachtel calls ‘the great folk scare of the mid-60s.’” 

They both came out of the East Coast folk music scene of the ’60s and early ’70s. You can track that population of baby boomers through the popular culture of the time, Taylor says. 

“When they became 18 to 25, it was an explosion of creativity,” he says. “We’re still reverberating from that period of time. Bonnie is a prime product of that cultural event. It happened at the same time as the civil rights movement, as the anti-war movement. We grew up with the threat of nuclear proliferation, the Cold War, the assassination of the two Kennedys and Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. It was just an extremely intense time, and the music that came out of it was something we hadn’t seen.” 

They both were Warner Elektra artists, Taylor says. Their music paths crossed many other times. For instance, Taylor’s manager, Peter Asher, produced Raitt’s 1979 album, The Glow. The first song they sang together was probably “Barefootin’” by Robert Parker. And another early track was the Howard Tate song “Look at Granny Run Run,” which was written by Jerry Ragovoy and Mort Shuman. 

Taylor stays in close touch with Raitt. They have played together many times, including at Tanglewood in 2017 and touring together after that—which was a high point for him. The last time he saw Raitt was at the Kennedy Center Honors in December, when he performed for her. He points to Raitt’s dedication to blues and her exceptional guitar skills. Not to mention how excited his band gets when they play with Raitt.

“Usually when I play at Tanglewood, if I’m lucky enough to have a guest, then they play with my band,” says Taylor. “When it’s Bonnie, they get really fired up. Everybody in the band loves her, loves her music, and loves to play with her—Steve Gadd, Jimmy Johnson, Michael Landau, Larry Goldings. Arnold McCuller was featured in Bonnie’s Nick of Time and has toured with her. When she joined us for that job in Tanglewood, that’s when we started talking about touring together.” 

There are so many things that are so great about Raitt, Taylor adds. He points out that she was a founding member of the Rhythm & Blues Foundation. “She’s worked tirelessly to get the people who make that music, to get them recognition and remuneration for what they created and what was so often stolen from them.” 

He says that Raitt radiates positive energy when you’re around her. 

“It’s a surprise to hear this blues coming out of this person,” says Taylor. “Her mastery of that form on the guitar—not only that she’s competent and gotten it down, but she adds to it with her own sense, and she incorporates it in her music. In my mind, she’s a true master of the guitar. She’s known for that slide, that sort of scorching, really gutsy style of slide guitar. But her acoustic blues playing and her piano, too, she’s a powerhouse, a real wellspring of talent. The thing about her, too, is that she’s profane. She’s lowdown. She just puts it right there all the time. She just surprises you with her enthusiasm, her intelligence, her raw talent, and how low-down and funky she is.” 

He has many favorite songs by her. One of the many things she does so well is cover other people’s tunes, and that’s not easy.

“You’re probably playing something because you love it, and you probably love it because the original version of it was so fabulous,” says Taylor. “So, it’s challenging to take a song and and redo it and make it worth redoing, given how great the original is. But Bonnie is a person who can do that. She can take any tune and make it her own. And you’re always glad she did.” 

James Taylor will perform at Tanglewood on July 3 and 4, and Bonnie Raitt will be at Tanglewood on August 31 with special guest Jimmie Vaughan & The Tilt-A-Whirl Band. 

bso.org/tanglewood

About The Author


Source: © Copyright Berkshire Magazine

But wait, there's more!

The Queen of Slide on a lifetime’s commitment to music with guts and roots

on May 2, 2022 No comments
by BOB MEHR

Broadway babe turned blues teen with a bottle on her flipping-off finger, she lived fast ’til Prince put her right. Now, at 72, she sees clearer than ever. “John Lee Hooker was so cool at this age,” says Bonnie Raitt.

© Ken Friedman

ASK BONNIE RAITT ABOUT HER FIRST couple of albums – landmark records on many levels, not least for a white woman playing the blues – and she cringes.
“It sounds like I’m so young! I hated my voice. That’s probably why I drank. I was trying to smoke and drink to get my voice lower.”

At 72, looking back over a 50-year career, Raitt concedes that she grew into the role. On this afternoon, as late winter light streams through the windows of her northern California office, catching the corona of those famous red locks, she crackles with excitement as she reels off the current demands on her time: rehearsals for a first tour since 2019 and preparations for the release of her eighteenth album, Just Like That.

“It’s been nonstop,” she says. “When I get on the road I’ll have a break.”

Raitt was born in Los Angeles in 1949, the middle child of Broadway star John Raitt and pianist Marjorie Haydock, left-leaning Quakers who emphasised hard work and social responsibility over showbiz glitz. But rather than follow her family into musical theatre, Raitt found her passion in the blues, literally sitting at the feet of the old masters, Son House and Muddy Waters, Mance Lipscomb and Howlin’ Wolf. When she scored a surprise deal with Warner Brothers at the age of 21, Raitt – a gifted singer and slide guitarist – used her platform to champion her mentors, among them rediscovered 1920s blueswoman Sippie Wallace and bottleneck guitar guru Fred McDowell.

“That was a privilege,” she says today. “To be able to honour the people who hadn’t been paid right or give them more exposure.”

Real fame and success also found Raitt later, in her early forties, with the release of 1989’s Nick Of Time. She was hoping at best for a modest comeback after a fallow decade marked by substance abuse, label woes and dwindling record sales. Instead, it sold five million copies and earned multiple Grammys. Raitt’s 1991 follow-up, Luck Of The Draw, would outstrip it, selling 12 million copies worldwide. Her subsequent albums have set successive benchmarks in quality: top-end songs, mostly covers but many of her own, defined by Raitt’s forthright singing and eloquent slide guitar playing.

While Raitt admits a desire to be one of the boys has led her down some darker paths, Just Like That will be accompanied by a long run of shows with Mavis Staples and Lucinda Williams. Informally, they’re calling it the ‘Mighty Tight Women Tour’ after an old Sippie Wallace song.

“To say that I’m ready to go is an understatement,” enthuses Raitt, as she settles in to consider the unlikely journey that’s brought her to this point. “I’m usually always pushing forward, but this feels like a good moment to look back.”

You were brought up in a very musical environment. What are the first things that you remember hearing?

My dad was on Broadway at the time when I was little. My mom was his accompanist so there was a lot of warming up and rehearsing going on. My parents would listen to Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra records. And my grandfather was a Methodist minister – he played hymns on Hawaiian lap steel guitar. He showed me how to make the chords by just moving the bar across the neck, tuned in open tuning. I thought it was so cool.

“I had never heard anything as wonderful as Mississippi John Hurt. I literally was, like, thunderstruck.”

Because of his Broadway fame, your father’s influence is often cited. But your mother had a profound impact on you as well…

She was an incredibly facile and wide-ranging improvisational piano player. She did my dad’s arrangements, chose a lot of his concert material. When he played with an orchestra she would conduct from the piano. She’d been an only child and was forced to take lessons and play piano. So she didn’t want to make me take lessons. But she wasn’t above playing Clair De Lune by Debussy or Slaughter On Tenth Avenue by Richard Rodgers or the Theme From Exodus as I was coming home from school. So I begged her to let me learn piano.

You eventually moved on to guitar – was it because you wanted to find your own musical identity?

As you become a pre-teen, your relationship with your mom has a little more pushback. And at that point I was such a Joan Baez fan – because she was Quaker, like me. I just romanticised her and folk music in general: Joan, Odetta, Pete Seeger. Also, I went to a summer camp on the East Coast, where folk music was a big part of the culture.

You essentially grew up in Hollywood but it doesn’t sound like you lived a real Hollywood existence.

Even though my parents were both raised really poor, they didn’t care about the trappings of show business or amassing great wealth. They had Quaker values and I really admired that in them. The coolest thing for us, was that they knew [crooner] Vic Damone (laughs). But [John Raitt’s Broadway co-star] Doris Day was my hero. I had my hair cut just like her in The Pajama Game. She refused to cover up her freckles and I was so conscious about mine. But in general, my parents, they didn’t drink or hang out, and they weren’t hip. They didn’t care about being hip. Plus, we lived on top of Coldwater Canyon. I didn’t have any social life except my guitar and my dogs.

Your father might go years between big roles in Broadway hits like Carousel or The Pajama Game. Was that an early education in the vagaries of show business?

He toured 25 consecutive years doing summer stock – that’s where he would make his living. He would play eight shows a week, travel on the one day off, block the show in the next place – sometimes in tents with no air conditioning. That informed my entire career. All I wanted to do was work steady on the road, like my dad did. I learned from him to treat every night like it’s opening night, so they’ll come back and see you.

You were a teenager when you first discovered the blues, through the Blues At Newport ’63 LP.

I had never heard anything as wonderful as Mississippi John Hurt. I literally was, like, thunderstruck. That record was iconic as well because John Hammond and Dave Van Ronk were on it and they were white. I flipped the cover over and was like, “Look! You don’t have to be 100 years old and black to do it!” I thought maybe I could play this music. So I taught myself to play every song on that record.
I stripped the label off a Coricidin [cough medicine] bottle and used that for a slide. Growing up with brothers, I wanted to be tough, I was a tomboy, so we’d flip the bird all the time. That’s how I still hold the bottleneck, it’s exactly the same: middle finger isolated. (Laughs) Later, when I met real blues musicians, they said, “No, no, it makes more sense to put it in on your ring finger or little finger so you
have the other fingers free to play.”

You eventually moved back East and attended college in Cambridge, majoring in African Studies at Harvard. What were you planning on doing?

I was going to work for the American Friends Service Committee, which is like the Peace Corps but more neutral, it wasn’t sponsored by the government. All those African countries in the ’60s threw off the yoke of colonialism. In Tanzania, [president] Julius Nyerere was cherry picking the best of social democracy from Sweden, and the best of entrepreneurship and capitalism from the West, and he was
fashioning something that was brand new. America was so messed up and I just always loved Africa, so I thought it would be exciting to go there. The idea of forming brand new countries is what appealed to me.

But you met and began dating promoter Dick Waterman, a key figure in the 1960s blues revival, who looked after Son House and Mississippi Fred McDowell as well as Buddy Guy and Junior Wells.

Dick was working with all the blues guys and they would come and stay with him. Arthur Crudup would come or Robert Pete Williams, or Mississippi Fred, and we’d meet them at the train station or at the airport and put them up and I’d get to go hang out at gigs. It was unbelievable. I would go to these incredible festivals and get to see Sleepy John Estes and Mance Lipscomb and Lightnin’ Hopkins, who’d never met each other, hang out. I mean, just to witness Son House as a human… Son was dignified, as well as an alcoholic. I got a lot of life lessons.

You had a close association with Sippie Wallace. She would have known everything about being a woman in a bluesman’s world.

I really learned a lot from Sippie about that. She was never bent out of shape by stuff. Of course, when I was around her, she was being feted and people were coming up and saying how much they loved her. Can you imagine for all those blues people who were ignored or retired and forgotten for so long, to be brought out like that and lifted up like that? It was fantastic.

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You toured with The Rolling Stones in 1970 – how did that come about?

I was on my [summer] break from college and working as my dad’s dresser in a production of Zorba The Greek in San Francisco for a month. Buddy Guy and Junior Wells were opening for the Stones in Europe and Waterman called me and said, “Hey, there’s room for one more – you want to go?” And I went, “Excuse me? Yeah!”
I remember we were in Sweden or somewhere and somebody brought Buddy a National steel guitar. Buddy didn’t play slide, but I had my picks and my bottleneck with me. And Dick said, “Here, try this” – and I tuned it open tuning. I’m playing backstage in the arena, and after a while I look up from my guitar and see these pointy-toed lizard skin boots in front of me. Keith, and I think Mick too, had come around
the corner, wondering, “Who’s playing that?” My stock went way up after that.

That tour proved fairly pivotal for you.

They actually extended the tour and so I missed my registration back at school! (Laughs) If I wasn’t going back to college my parents said I had to support myself. That’s when I decided to start playing [professionally]. I auditioned for a little folk club, and then Dick put me on a show with Cat Stevens. I got to open for John Hammond and Chris Smither and Fred McDowell. Little by little, I built up my
following. It still wasn’t really a career. I had every intention of going back to school.

All of this snowballed into a record deal…

I had a really good lawyer, Nat Weiss. He was Brian Epstein’s American counterpart, represented The Beatles in the United States, and worked with Peter Asher and James Taylor. I think he made some phone calls, ’cos I played The Gaslight and there was a Columbia Records scout and a Warner Brothers scout and each saw the other guy was there. So Nat drummed up a [competition], and then he negotiated me a deal with Warner that was ridiculous – he got me complete artistic control.

Your early albums, 1971’s Bonnie Raitt and 1972’s Give It Up, featured wide-ranging covers – Robert Johnson to Jackson Browne – overlaid with your evocative slide playing.

I love playing Fred McDowell songs, and Robert Johnson songs, but my slide style is probably more like Ry Cooder or Lowell George. It’s more languid, more like a human voice. It’s all about tone and hanging the note in the right place. What was maybe different about me was my choice of songs and how I put them together. It’s the mix of this rocker and this blues song with that ballad, or this jazzy thing. I don’t do it deliberately; it’s just my taste is broad. I put the slide on songs that you wouldn’t normally think
would have slide. But I don’t try and overuse it. It’s kind of like BBQ sauce – you don’t want to put it on everything.

You returned to Los Angeles around 1973, to make your third album, Takin’ My Time. What brought you back?

I wanted to make a record with Lowell George and Little Feat. Lowell and I were involved. I didn’t know he was married at the time – I’ve said that publicly. So has Linda Ronstadt [who also had a relationship with George]. Like Taj Mahal’s first two albums, what Little Feat were doing with the kind of roots music I loved was so thrilling to me. I started doing the album with Lowell and then [Orleans singer] John Hall and Taj came and helped me finish it.
I really loved being back in Los Angeles at 23, where I could finally drive and be Queen of the Hop. It
was a killer time to be young and single and have a record deal and be a burgeoning rock star. I am not
gonna lie. I did six albums in seven years, and I stayed on the road all the time. I look back now and I go, “How the heck did I do that?”

One of the writers you have a deep connection with is the late John Prine, who penned what’s considered your signature, Angel From Montgomery. That’s an anthem for women stuck in unhappy marriages and emotionally crippling domestic situations. But your own life in the ’70s was the opposite of that.

I wasn’t even thinking about ever having to settle down. I was a career woman first and I was having a blast. And I had sequentially monogamous relationships – seven years here, four years there – but no interest in getting married or having a family. I just had too much respect for what it would take to raise a child. I wasn’t successful enough to come off the road and have a kid. I made my living from touring, not from selling records or writing songs. I never had the calling either.

And yet you sing Angel From Montgomery with such empathy.

When I heard John’s song I thought about that whole generation of women that stayed in marriages whether they really wanted to or not. It’s such a perfect portrait of what it’s like to be in a relationship that’s not fulfilling. Every time I sang it I had tremendous empathy for the women who had to make those choices, between family and career, and for the opportunities lost. I sing it for women, I sing it for our place, and it’s changed over the decades depending on where I’m at. I sang it for my mom for years.

You say there are a couple of story songs on the new album that are inspired by John Prine’s writing. It’s remarkable to think he came up with Angel when he was so young, and while delivering the mail.

It’s unbelievable. He’s even more precious now than when he was alive and I couldn’t have loved him more. We just loved each other so much. His passing is just the greatest tragedy. I loved Toots [Hibbert] too – we were really close and we were supposed to do a duet of a song of his on my new record. I know they say it’s this time of life, but Covid has added to it, robbed us of so many wonderful people.

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By the early 1980s, after almost a decade recording for the label, things began to sour between you and Warner Brothers…

That really started [in 1978] after they matched [CBS Records head] Walter Yetnikoff’s offer to get me to come to Columbia. Warners, who had kind of ignored me, didn’t want to be embarrassed like they had been with James Taylor – who’d moved to Columbia and had the biggest record of his career. So they matched Walter’s offer, which he’d written on a cocktail napkin. But then they didn’t promote me. I had artistic control, but if you don’t do the record they want then they can just not put the records in the stores. I mean, I used to go into the Warner building and people would duck when they saw me because they felt bad. It wasn’t the same company by then. It was no longer the family label. But I didn’t really make commercial records either, so there you go.

You hit a bad patch in the mid ’80s, personally and professionally, and with substance abuse.

I was always very high functioning. I would never jeopardise my gigs. But I was on the road so much, I was relying too much on drinking and drugs. It affected me physically. I got really heavy. I had a break-up in my relationship. I got dropped by Warner Brothers. It was a rough time.

It was Prince who inadvertently helped motivate you to get clean?

Prince called and said, “The way Warners has treated you is terrible. Come over here, we’ll make a record together.” The turning point was knowing I might have to make a video with Prince. My fans probably don’t care if I’m fat or not. But I wanted to make a sexy record with him and I knew it wasn’t going to work in a video if I was looking like pork pie over here (laughs). Initially, getting sober was a career move to lose some weight to look good in a video. Who knew it was going to be such a profound change?

And that was compounded by the fact that you were forced off the road after you hurt your hand?

You can’t go to AA if you’re not home, and I was always on the road. The accident made me have to stay in a cast and not play for two months. So I didn’t have any more excuses. I attended this musician’s [AA] meeting and went, “Wow, these guys are having a blast.” It’s not like some Moonie, Christian cult thing where you have to sign over to Jesus. Within about three days, I heard my own story over and over again. And I saw people that had looked like shit for years, suddenly look like
they had gotten their blood changed (laughs). They were in shape, they lost weight, they were playing great.

But, even so, you weren’t totally convinced you were going to stay sober.

I felt like I still gotta hold up the candle for the badass blues mamas – what kind of artist would I be if I were completely happy and straight? But then Stevie Ray Vaughan came out of rehab in Atlanta when I was playing a gig there and he sat in with us. And it was the first gig he played after rehab and he just burned a hole in the set. And I went, “That’s it. I want that.” Stevie Ray was instrumental, so was John Hiatt, [longtime Raitt keyboardist] Mike Finnigan and the guys in Little Feat, Paul Barrere in particular. They led me to sobriety. I could see it. They say it’s a programme of attraction not evangelism. I just said, “I want what they have.”

The proposed project with Prince never came out, but you did end up doing some work with him, didn’t you?

When I got [to Paisley Park] he played three songs and I went, “Hey man, thanks a lot but this is like five keys too low for me.” I still tried to sing them. But one of the lyrics was, “You mess around all over town, honey/But we’re still cool because there’s something I like about being your fool”. I said, “No way! No fucking way would I sing that.” (Laughs) I don’t think they were really written for me.

Another critical moment was when you worked on the [1988] Hal Willner-produced Disney tribute album, Stay Awake, where you connected with your future Nick Of Time producer Don Was.

Hal inviting me to sing with Was (Not Was) – that was a spark of great inspiration. Bonnie Raitt and Was (Not Was) doing Baby Mine from Dumbo – who in their right mind would have thought of that? That was important for me at that time. The esteem with which I was continuing to be held within the musicians’ community saved my ass, really.

So, then you sign with Capitol and you finally have a breakthrough hit with Nick Of Time. Why do you think that one connected with such a big audience?

Well, [the Raitt-penned] Nick Of Time was a different kind of song. It was looking at that baby boomer generation ageing and what that was like. Also, VH1 appeared around then, at a time when MTV would not have played me. I was nervous about making a video [for the single Thing Called Love] at age 40, so I asked Dennis Quaid to play my boyfriend so I could flirt with him on camera and present, on purpose, a kind of sexuality that didn’t involve unbuttoning five buttons on my shirt. That wasn’t going to work for me because I was an older person and not that foxy. The foxiness happened in that chemistry. And VH1 played it because of Dennis Quaid.
But the biggest reason of all was my sobriety and having a new record company that gave a shit. Joe Smith and a lot of the Warner people came over to Capitol and were really behind me. And I did tons of press. Even before I got nominated for a Grammy, it had sold a million copies. It was just the right place
at the right time for me and that record.

The 1990 Grammys became a coming out party for you, where you won four awards and turned into this incredible feel-good story. Do you think it was almost a blessing that success came to you later?

If it had happened earlier it would’ve totally derailed me. I wouldn’t have wanted that pressure. That’s ultimately why I moved out of LA; I can’t handle the showbiz thing. Or even Nashville – it’s always, “Are you writing? Are you writing?” And it’s like, “No, I’m hiking, I’m living.” I got that from my parents, too.

You’re considered to be one of the iconic female guitarists. Do you feel there’s been progress made in recent years in terms of how women are viewed as musicians?

There’s a number of great women guitarists and musicians – there always has been. I think Shawn Colvin and Joni Mitchell are two of the greatest guitar players I know but they don’t get as much credit for that. Prince and Beyoncé have had all-women bands. People like Susan Tedeschi and St. Vincent are fantastic avatars for women kicking ass on the guitar. More and more women are playing all kinds of
instruments. And I’m proud to be a role model for slide guitar. But women as engineers and producers and in executive positions in the business, that’s where we’re still lagging behind.

You’re 72 – roughly the same age as Sippie Wallace, Fred McDowell and your blues heroes when you met them as a teenager…

That’s frightening! (Laughs) Actually, people like Sippie, Fred and John Lee Hooker were so cool at this age. They were just wise and funny and balanced. That’s how I feel about Mavis Staples too – she is a huge influence on me, how she inhabits her spiritual life. That is my dream, to be like that. To approach the next 20 years of my life with that kind of gumption and sass and fun and to not worry. Of course, you look around and there’s the pandemic, George Floyd, democracy being threatened and the climate. This is the scariest, the most depressing time of my life. But I’m grateful that I have the emotional balance and security to take it on.
That’s why I’m so excited to get back on the road. For me, going out on that stage is the most life-affirming, fun, rejuvenating thing you can do. Not being able to tour, when you take that away – I watched what it did to my dad. It was heartbreaking. But when he had a gig it was like, Oh my God – there he goes again! There was no arthritis, no pain, nothing but joy. You know, George Burns said he couldn’t die because he was booked. Well, I hope I’m booked until I drop.

BONNIE RAITT The Queen of Slide on a lifetime’s commitment to music with guts and roots:

“I felt like I still gotta hold up the candle for the badass blues mamas.”

About The Author


Source: © Copyright MOJO Magazine 342 – May 2022

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MUSICIANS ON MUSICIANS Bonnie Raitt & Brandi Carlile

on November 2, 2019 No comments
By Patrick Doyle

“She illuminated the path I could have,” Carlile says as she sits down with her hero for the first time. “She taught me I could lead and not apologize.”

On a recent L.A. afternoon, Brandi Carlile is talking about the moment when everything changed for her. It was the 2019 Grammys, when she played her ballad “The Joke” live and took home three awards. “I was 39, kind of an outlier underdog character,” says Carlile. That week, her sixth album, By the Way, I Forgive You, went to Number 22. She recently sold out Madison Square Garden. “I went on vacation, and never put down my phone,” she says of the award show’s aftermath. “I was obsessed.”

“I’ve been there,” says Bonnie Raitt, sitting across from her. In 1989, Raitt released her 10th album, Nick of Time. It sold more than 5 million copies and won the Grammy for Album of the Year, making her a superstar at age 40. “You’re in hyperspace after that,” Raitt says.

Hard-won success is only the beginning of the similarities between the two artists. In addition to building cult followings, both have used their music as a platform for activism. (Raitt has campaigned for clean energy, Native American rights, and more over the years; Carlile has raised money for kids affected by war and for imprisoned women.) “Bonnie illuminated the path I could have,” says Carlile.

Before the interview is over, Carlile has one request: “If you could just teach me one or two slide-guitar licks.” Raitt responds: “It would be my pleasure. I get so much acclaim for doing stuff that just sounds like ‘whooo,’ ” as she slides up an air guitar. Carlile is ecstatic: “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

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Brandi, how did you first hear Bonnie’s music?

CARLILE I remember singing “Something to Talk About” all the time as a kid. One of my most significant times was when I moved out of the house and in with my first girlfriend, Jessica. I was 17 and we were huge fans, and we wanted to go listen to you play and we couldn’t get a ticket, so we sat outside the fence and listened to your voice reverberate around Washington state. It was a big moment, a beautiful memory.

RAITT That is so sweet. I would have let you in if I had known. I’m gonna be a mess in this interview, because I’ve never been with anyone that talked about me before. I haven’t ever heard anyone say they were influenced by me.

CARLILE We get together and talk about you all the time. Do you ever hear yourself in my voice?

RAITT Well, I hear the attitude. I wish I could have the range and sing like you do. But if I could, I would sing like you.

CARLILE The song that speaks to me the most is “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” The empathy is just unbelievable. I feel really vulnerable when I sing it, in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.

RAITT Is it because you’ve been through that situation yourself?

CARLILE I think it’s because I am not strong enough to go through that situation myself. So when I put myself there, I almost can’t handle the thought of being that person.

RAITT I’m so grateful for the writers that sent me that song. Every night, I’m reminded of being left when someone was not in love with me anymore. I think it was even worse to have to be the one to break somebody’s heart because you don’t love them anymore. I’ve been through both sides of that. I always dedicate it to someone going through a heartache. I’ve gotten letters from people saying, “I’ve never seen my husband cry except when you sing that song.” Now I’m gonna cry.

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