Word 29 (The Battenkill)

It’s a river, in southern Vermont, running from near Dorset westward to the Hudson River. Last summer I made an album there with Chris, Ben, and Ross. It was an awfully intense five days of writing, arranging, practicing, and recording. When we needed a break we’d head down to the Battenkill and have ourselves a river-jump. There are songs and there are improvisations; there are group numbers and there are singer-songwriter joints; there is one folk standard. Altogether, like the teaser video says, it's an album about "changing and staying the same, testing the waters, submerging, emerging, and getting swept away." It’s an album about gathering by the river, where bright angel feet have trod, with its crystal tide forever flowing by the throne of god. And more. Or maybe not. Maybe that about sums it up.

The river was running higher this year when we returned to Vermont to play some shows and promote the album—thanks to a multi-day rain squall that canceled one of said shows. I'm surprised I didn't think of it earlier, because it's one of my favorite melodies of all the old folk songs: "The water is wide, I cannot cross over, and neither have I wings to fly. Give me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I."

There are a lot of good songs about water. No boats on this album, though, just leaps. We’re really proud of this one, and are so happy to share it.