Brace yourself for sly and soulful vocals that recall Justin Townes Earle and Jason Molina that will leave you asking – just who is this guy?
Yes, Adam Klein might be the next great American songwriter that delivers an orchestrated sound where picturesque words and musical landscapes make a song more than just a “tune.” In his seven-minute, plus beauty “1-20”, Klein gives it his gritty all, enveloping a rich story about racial justice. Check out the premiere below from his latest album Holidays in United States out on April 7, which marks Klein’s first overtly socio-political release. Read on below for Klein’s heartfelt take and inspiration on the song
“I-20” begins as a conversation between a father and daughter on the way to a protest for racial justice. One of two songs on the record which allude to Neil Young’s “Ohio”, the chorus gives a nod to Young’s opening line (“Tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming”). The song’s origins are a story in and of itself:
“I was driving to a protest in downtown Atlanta in June of 2020. I had been refraining from being amongst crowds due to COVID, but I couldn’t sit on the sidelines any longer. The import of the moment affected me— the power of using my voice, my body, joining with thousands in this march and across the nation to rise up and demand that we do better as a collective society. I had seen how some white marchers had been thrust to the front lines, so to speak, to serve as protectors for their fellow protestors of color. I wondered how I’d respond if it came to that. Did standing in solidarity require sacrifice of body, to take rubber bullets or tear gas on behalf of others? Could I march along, maintain social distancing, and still stand with the movement? Was maintaining my health and avoiding possible arrest and incarceration for the sake of my family a fair justification to march on the margins or at the back of the crowd? I felt tense and a bit nervous, with a solid dose of adrenaline, and the opening words and melody emerged all at once. And in this case, they were the very thing I was doing in that moment: “I’m ridin’ on I-20 / headin’ west into Atlanta / ain’t no tellin’ what today may bring”.
“I-20″ culminates in a moving tribute to the countless people of color killed by police violence or racially motivated crimes, lifted by Gonzalez’s organ, guitars from Hartley and Tew, and harmony vocals from powerhouse Nashville vocal trio and songwriters Kyshona Armstrong, Nickie Conley, and Maureen Murphy.
It’s the centerpiece of the record, in many ways, and was the most challenging to record. Bronson was intent on re-recording the song during the follow-up sessions at Dial Back Sound in Mississippi, a few months after the initial sessions in Atlanta. So “I-20” was recorded there (along with “People Are Callin’”) with Bronson on drums, Matt Patton on bass, and Schaefer Llana on Wurlitzer.
However, after sitting on the song for a while, it was determined that the initial lyrics were problematic, as it was sung in first person: “I’m ridin’ on I-20 / headin’ west into Atlanta / ain’t no tellin’ what today may bring”… “in the backseat sits my daughter / all pure and innocence and wonder / but today she’ll know the burden that she wears”… “I said we fought in all the battles / picked their cotton in the country / we are the fuel, the used machines that built this land”.
The concern was that the song may be a form of appropriation— the job of an ally is to listen and try to understand in order to best support another rather than speaking on their behalf. And yet, there must be some level of poetic license afforded. Must I, a white, Jewish American from the south, be limited to characters and perspectives in songs or other forms of writing who have the exact same background? I don’t believe so. The first person nature of the song’s story was subtle and might be construed to be referring to me. I had shown the song to a few friends of color who felt I was coming from a pure place of good intent, and who knew me well. They accepted the first person delivery. But it was understood that it could strike many as either insensitive, offensive, or tone deaf. Bronson expressed strong feelings against the recorded lyrics when he understood the point of view, long after we had cut the song. Ultimately, I decided to re-record the vocals at Damon Moon’s local Standard Electric Recorders, changing those few pronouns to 3rd person. Bronson then took it to the finish line, adding electric guitar and crafting the swelling soundscape which lifts the lengthy song to its hopefully impactful crescendo.
The song has already yielded one of the most bizarre audience interactions I’ve experienced. After performing the song at a show in Dahlonega, Georgia, this past fall, an audience member began shouting horrendous epithets about George Floyd (claiming he was a waste of space in the world, deserved to die, and much more) and demanded to know why I sang his name in the song. A conversation then ensued mid-show between the audience member and myself about inequities in the American criminal justice system, extrajudicial killings, and other hot topics. I later learned that she and her husband were insurrectionists who participated in the riot at the Capitol on January 6th. If art is meant to move, provoke, and challenge its consumer, then in this case the song did its job.
