I’m lax in posting because I’m working on a way to make The Road Southern a podcast. Interviews are my aim. Specifically, interviews with Southern transplants here in NYC. I’m looking to chat with anyone, not just musicians, which this blog has largely been focused on, about why they left the South. I’d like to hear what they miss/love about it, what they do not miss about it. How do they feel here in this the yankiest of cities? Nah mean?
This takes money & time. This may read like I’m about to ask for donations. I’m not. Not yet, anyway. Maybe if I ever stumble into NPR quality sessions. Let’s face it, my last post was me playing a video game. Which, sure, have another helping of that below. I talk Texas Hold’em in it. Anyway, I should have me some bare bones audio recording equipment around the New Year, & I will be interviewing plenty of musicians & artists, but also some regular Southern folk that have made their way to NYC. I hope you look forward to it as much as I am.
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MEJ was generous enough to let me into her home for this. So, over tea & under the eye of Elvis (an overseer who I imagine would let a great deal slide under his watch) we spoke of album making, our respective deals with the South, & what’s next for Mary-Elaine as she proves to the world she can leap & bound as good as any.
I met with 
Her music has evolved since I first spotted the singer/songwriter four years ago. It’s not just her & an acoustic guitar anymore. This gives that ineffable monster inside her room to bang around as it does in the album’s opening track “Rooster.” Mary-Elaine’s patience & diligence in finding the right producer has paid off. The songs on her album are robust without bloat. She’s picked up an electric guitar, as well, turning her song “Iggy” into a juke joint classic. The title track “Hold Still” would be just a sweet & pretty song as it’s slowed down with pining strings & tinkling mandolin, but there’s too much of an ache, & it’s here I feel that the monster has found solid shelter in Mary-Elaine Jenkins. The muse is not a beautiful pixie that comes to bless us with divine inspiration, that’s your stupid ego. The muse is the unquelled beast inside, tired, broke down, & fightin’ mad. But neither monster or gal linger in anger or ache as they pick themselves up to clown around a bit with “Six Skinny Toes,” an ode to her guitar.
It is due to this symbiotic relationship of beast & singer that I recommend MEJ’s record. The first thing I wrote about MEJ was in part an 
The Road Southern 