Ever wondered how songwriters capture scenery and stories so vivid that they seem to jump out of the song and into real life? Cary Brothers can offer some insight. In addition to releasing three full-length solo albums, the Los Angeles-based musician’s songs have been featured in dozens of film and TV productions, including Grey’s Anatomy, ER, Scrubs, One Tree Hill, Smallville, 90210, Garden State, and more.
Brothers moved to Los Angeles to work in film, but eventually turned to focus on writing music. His experiences in Hollywood gave Brothers a keen visual sense in music—and a deep appreciation for how sounds and visuals can augment one another. This time out on Before Your Very Ears, Brothers joins hosts Sean Watkins and Peter Harper to talk about how to balance the desires of both our eyes and ears while arranging tunes.
The end result is a deliciously striking last-call serenade. It starts with a Pogues-esque keys motif, then blossoms into a Waits-meets-Springsteen, back-of-the-bar heartbreaker. The details get filled in as the writing session goes on—the local watering hole with its broken jukebox and laissez-faire doorman—and before long, the cinematic, lonesome ballad takes shape.
Visit BOL.education for a free sample lesson, or use code “Song” for a 10% discount on your first non-degree course.
Along with hosts Sean Watkins and Peter Harper, Cunningham, whose 2022 record Revealer won the Grammy for Best Folk Album, digs into the nature of artistry and truth-telling: What are the social and professional costs of telling it like it is, or simply sticking to your artistic guns instead of appealing to the masses? Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot got them dropped from their label—then it went on to become their most celebrated record. Who’s to say?
Invoking her upbringing in the church and subsequent alienation from it, in part thanks to the ostracizing that came from questioning the rules, Cunningham leads the group on a writing session rooted in expressing anger and frustrating. “I write because I’m trying to hit something instead of someone,” Cunningham quips. What takes form is a folk-rock “rage song” about transmitters and receivers, about the incessant flow of information and the resonance, dissonance, and white noise that we’re all hooked up to. It’s also an expert lesson in subtlety and the expression of complex ideas: “Talk about the summer, passing the time/Your guess about Jesus is as good as mine,” Cunningham conjures on the verse.