Past, present and future are inseparable in her songs.
There is an openness to Maya de Vitry that is refreshing to come by. Formerly in the Stray Birds, a bluegrass band, the Lancaster, Pennsylvania-born musician is not one to mince words. Her sentences are thoughtful as she describes her latest songs and informs of her sense that different versions of herself are brought forth by writing songs.
Judy Garland once advised: “Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.” What the actress/singer was trying to impart is to pursue what you have intentionally chosen, not to be someone else’s idea of who you are. In doing so, de Vitry can call from her past, present and future for songwriting material, switching fluidly between the three to portray any reflective circumstance or emotion.
She self-produced her fourth studio album, “The Only Moment,” and released it on her own Mad Maker label. How the future can shape the present, which has been versed by the past, expands her potential for continued growth as a songwriter. Her songs invite the listener to replay them time after time
Maybe it’s the result of growing up in a musical family, learning songs around the kitchen table and playing in Sunday morning gospel-hour jams. Her years of travelling and busking and camping out at old-time festivals surely play a role, too. de Vitry taps into something pure and essential about music, something that exists not in any press release or recording studio, but in the moment when a song enters the air and spins an invisible thread between the singer and the listener.
A song from the first recording made by the Stray Birds is called ‘Birds of the Borderland,’ and it was written as a love letter to her grandmother, but coming from the voice of her grandfather, who died when she was only 9 years old. “When I finished that song, I played it for my family,” de Vitry recalled, “and they understood and appreciated it, as if I was giving them a gift, and saying something to my grandmother that I hadn’t been able to say before. That made feel like I could do this, become a songwriter.”
Over the Zoom call, we wandered through a myriad of topics. de Vitry spoke with warm, respectful words and a tangible passion for the things she creates and cherishes. She has come a long way from the time she spent working at a Starbucks in Nashville after the Stray Birds broke up, writing dozens of songs when she wasn’t steaming milk for a frappuccino. One of those, ‘Stacy in Her Wedding Gown,’ remained in her notebook until a suitable place was found for it on her “Infinite” EP.
It was just a little more than a year between “Let It Pass,” the fifth and final Stray Birds album and “Adaptations,” which was released in 2019. She had made the transition from string band music to more personal singer/songwriter material with her perspective now the focal point of the music. Dan Knobler, who won the AMA’s 2022 Album of The Year, for “Outside Child” by Allison Russell, produced de Vitry’s debut and the follow-up, “How to Break a Fall.”
Two years later, de Vitry examined the different facets of morality and impermanence with eleven well-formed songs collected in the album “Violet Light.” Following the acoustic EP, her songs organically brightened on “The Only Moment.” It seemed a subtle shift to songs that might be better suited to live performances. “It was nice to have a concentrated amount of time and space to work on the songs,” which she did with her bassist and partner Ethan Jodziewicz and other familiar players.
Listening to these songs, one can almost hear de Vitry going through cathartic changes, making discoveries about herself and her life as if the songwriting process was a kind of self-therapy. What I need now / Is less worry about the future / More letting the music move me / And just watching the candle burn, she sings with her gauzy vocals meandering in the warmth of the instrumentation.
Another famous woman, Eleanor Roosevelt, once said, “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” As de Vitry ventures into a bright future, she is leaving a little of herself behind. The question is asked in the ‘Ribbon,’ the new album’s final song – Will I grow the wings I need If I try?
You were in a band called the Stray Birds for about eight years. Was their music similar or different to what you’re doing as a solo artist?
A little of each actually. The band was really centred on songs, so that’s a common thread. I was writing songs and Oliver Craven was writing songs, then Charlie Muench the bass player started writing towards the end of the band. By the last recording that we put out, every single song was a co-write. That was cool having different voices throughout the record. In the early years, he band was more in the acoustic folk genre – fiddle, banjo, mandolin, acoustic guitar, upright bass. We’d pass those instruments around and have three-part harmonies on everything.
Except for the instrumentation, would you say your solo music is similar?
My stuff is similarly song-based, and I really enjoy playing with a lot of electric guitars and drums. Most of the time on the road, I’m playing without a drummer these days just because travelling is much easier when it’s just you and a guitar or two guitar players.
Your recordings have many of the same musicians but not always. For example, Anthony DeCosta plays guitar on record but doesn’t tour with you.
He’s played on two of the four records – the first one and now the fourth, but he’s not in my touring band. Joel Timmons is the guitar player on the road with me most of the time. That’s one thing that’s really different because with the Stray Birds the recordings were really connected to the live show. Now, the recordings are their own thing with their own batch of people, and the live show is different. That’s fun for me and it feels really freed up because I can put together the musicians for a particular tour that feels right for the rooms that we’re going to play. There’s a show coming up that’s in a refinished church space, more like echo-y, so I’m going to do something stripped down with more intimate acoustic sounds to really fill that space. I’m always trying to think about the right pairing of instruments that will feel really satisfying for the listeners.
Ethan Jodziewicz has been with you on all the records in one form or another, co-produced the third one, I believe?
He co-produced “Violet Light” and then he played bass in the tracking band on “The Only Moment” and “How to Break a Fall.” He actually has a small part on “Adaptations” playing some bowed bass. Sam Grisman played bass in the band on “Adaptations.”
“The Only Moment” is your new album and you introduced it with two singles. What did everyone like about ‘Compass’ to get the nod?
Yes, ‘Compass’ was out first then “Odds of Getting Even.’ I liked the groove of ‘Compass’ and thought it would be a cool pivot from the acoustic-y, singer/songwriter vibe of the “Infinite” EP. I thought it would get people’s ears ready for what was coming.
What is ‘Compass’ saying to you?
The funny thing for me talking about these songs is that I wrote them so many years ago. We started recording this record in 2021, so the songs were written long before that. But that song is about when sometimes you just don’t have the words when someone is maybe grilling you about a decision in your life. It’s like if I had the right words at the time maybe sitting at the bar beside somebody, and they were questioning me, well, why did you do that and didn’t do this. I don’t know if this really was the best decision for you. It’s sort of going back in time to a place and saying, you know what, maybe I’ve let you down, but this is the best thing for me.
Compass indicates direction so maybe it’s your internal compass keeping you heading in the right direction?
Yeah, something like that. It’s just kind of an imaginary conversation. I’ve had some people listen to it and say, actually this is really helpful to me, this feels like a conversation between two friends who had a falling out. But then they’re saying like, okay, you know what? You see it that way. I see it this way. Everybody loves to read into it what they want.
There’s this very evocative line in the first verse of “Watching the Whole Sky Change.” You need “less talking about the past / and more letting the moon knock me back.” It’s the most stripped-down track on the album, just your vocals and acoustic guitar accompanied by Alex Wilder on Wurlitzer.
This was very literal. I was outside of our house here in Nashville. We’ve got a really big backyard and I was sitting at the campfire. It was January and we had a fire going on this beautiful night of a big moon and lots of fast-moving clouds kind of streaking across the sky. And I just leaned back on the ground and laid there, looking at the moon and watching the whole sky change with the moonlight. Okay, more of that. That was good. I’m just letting the moon knock me back, and I think it’s just available to us at any time to lay on the ground and look at the sky. It’s kind of a note to self. That was a really nice thing to do, a nice way to spend 10 minutes.
You were also watching a candle burn.
I came inside and lit a candle. Some of this is just as it happened, There’s a line about all of the promises this world is already keeping without ever writing them down. What is happening in nature? There are these cycles and these promises that the moon will become full and then it will go to a new moon and will come back. There are these rhythms of the seasons, the darkness and then the light coming back. We don’t need those to be written in a signed contract. Nature is saying, I promise that I will come back by summer solstice.
As humans, we don’t look for those things and need those certificates or contracts or anything like that. These are manmade ideas of the contracts and promises we make to each other. And I was just thinking about the contracts between venues and musicians and all of the professional things that I deal with behind the scenes, and then personal things with other people. Your word with your friends or your partner has a power. Sometimes we want to know and define a relationship or define a change in a relationship. I think I was feeling inspired by this idea of the promise of nature and the way it guarantees the return of spring. But there are those moments in the darkness of winter where you’re like, is it really coming back? But you can trust it. You don’t need to have a piece of mail that says, here’s the letter from the government of spring and it’s coming. Thinking down those type of rabbit holes inspires me.
What time of the year did you write the song?
The record hadn’t come out yet. I was on tour with John Craigie in Norway and Sweden in January (2024). It was cold and dark and snowy. I mean, really, really, really dark. We would go for a walk. The sun is going down at like 3:30 PM or something, and the venues I played all had tiny candles on all the tables. I played ‘Watching the Whole Sky Change’ from the album, and people really connected with it. I could really feel the response to this song in particular. We were watching the whole sky change now that it’s totally dark at 5:00 PM, so it felt really potent in that setting.
I realized my recording didn’t need much else, so I had Phoebe Hunt sing on it and Alex play keyboards. I just decided the record would come out on July 12th. There’s this idea in music, that you have to put music out right away, to strike while the iron is hot. But his recording could be discovered and connect with somebody in 2050. As a songwriter or a musician, I want to enjoy a really long arc of making stuff that lasts.
It appears you had a lot of balls in the air, writing for both the EP and the new album, touring Scandinavia, and doing some producing as well. You must be good at multi-tasking.
I produced a full-length record for Joel Timmons, which will come out in 2025, and there is a bluegrass record about to be mixed for Shelby Means, who is with Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway. There’s another for Hannah Delynn, who sung with me on the “Infinite” EP, and one more for an artist that I’m gathering songs for. The timeline for me is really challenging, so I can hardly expect it to make sense to anyone else.
Let’s talk about your songwriting process. A line from Thoreau struck me once. He said, first and last, you must offer a simple and sincere account of your own life. He was talking about writing a book, but what do you think is most important to express as a songwriter?
Some of the inspiration comes from other people; some of it comes from me. Some of it is from past versions of myself, which feels like different people. Also, some from future versions of myself. Sometimes I write a song and I’m like, man, I wish I could be that person, but I’m not there yet. I do like that idea of the simple and the sincere because I do feel connected to simple language. It’s like saying an old thing in a slightly different way.
That’s an idealized thing. Take the song ‘If They Feel Like Wings.’ You have the line, You don’t have to move the mountain / Look at all the doorways you make just by walking. I wrote this song before I took on producing my own record, and I wrote the string parts and played all the violins on it. That was something totally new to me. So, that line is almost like me talking to a future self. Just keep walking and the doorways will appear. It’s okay that you’ve never written a string part before, you’ve played in orchestras. You know how to make a part that sounds connected to music. Maybe I don’t feel that way today, but if I write it down maybe my future self will be inspired.
Whether it’s yoga or meditation or just breathing, whatever gets you out of your head allows the inspiration to come in the doorway.
I think getting out of your own head is so much of the creative process, and I’m not immune to things like that just because I’ve put a couple records out and played in a band. For most people, that act of sharing something you’ve made is so vulnerable. Because we went to school and got grades for things like having to write essays in a certain format, we lose some of the reckless abandon with our creativity. One of my missions as a songwriter and as a performer is wanting people to feel freed up by the time they leave my show. Maybe they can show their brother the song that they were working on or just share a poem with somebody, whatever creative act they’ve been doing in quiet or secret. Just make it as an offering, see it as an offering that came through them. I think that’s where a lot of people get stuck.
The opening lines of your songs are always captivating and they seem to contain the germ of the whole song in just a few words.
Sometimes those two lines will sit for months by themselves, until they find a completion to the story, or a completion to the stage that I’m in of trying to work through something, titling the songs.
Are there any particular songs that you play live that people want to hear during your set? Ones you make sure to include?
Recently, I actually asked people this, and I was surprised by a couple that were named on my social media. Sometimes I fall into a habit of playing the same songs, and I want to know what people want to hear. Some of them were songs that I frequently play. I know that I probably shouldn’t do a set without playing ‘How Bad I Wanna Live.’ But there’s a song called ‘Don’t Know When’ that I had kind of forgotten about. It’s on a record called “How to Break a Fall.” And people really like the song ‘Dogs Run On’ that’s on “Violet Light.”
Why do you think that last one became so popular?
Because a lot of people have dogs. We form relationships with our dogs, and it’s so unique in every family, But it’s also a common thread by which we form bonds with each other through animals.
Do you have dogs or cats now?
Unfortunately, no, because I couldn’t offer one a good enough life. I travel too much in too many modes of transportation to bring a dog along, but someday I will. I grew up with dogs and they are like having another sibling.
Back over to people, your relationship or love songs are so vivid. Are they from your imagination or taken from experiences?
I think it would change based on the timing of when the song was written, and again, whether I’m writing the song when I’ve had enough distance from a past experience. Or I could be writing about my current partner. It just depends. Sometimes it’s from the point of view of a different person. Maybe I’m not even the one really in the hot seat, but I’m just being a storyteller.
When you’re on stage performing, your focus obviously is on the song, but do you look out and see how the audience is reacting? I remember reading about Sir Lawrence Olivier. He said when he’s on stage, his mind wanders. Once when he was acting “Hamlet” on stage and bringing the audience to tears, he was wondering if his shirts would be ready at the cleaners the next day. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk about what goes through their minds when they’re singing their songs. He’s thinking about all sorts of different things because he knows what he’s going to say or sing so well. How does it work for you?
I’m pretty focused on the song, yet I’m also focused on the audience and the way the room feels. I have a lot of eye contact with the audience. I’m not like a close my eyes when I play type of singer. For example, I’m looking around at my bandmates, and we are having a lot of eye contact on stage. I don’t typically use a set list, so it isn’t written out exactly how the concert’s going to go. When I get on stage, I have a list of songs that we might do, but maybe there are 20 songs written down and we probably only have time to do 12. So, I’m looking down at this list and thinking, okay, I see the energy in the room right now. I want to take it toward this direction. Or, I’m going to make a connection from this song to another song. But at the last minute, I might decide, okay, I know what we’re doing next. Sometimes I don’t know and I’ll stop playing. Or something might happen, maybe a string broke on an instrument, and okay, you know what? I’m going to do this song solo right now. So, it’s very spontaneous.
Do you have a sense that what you’re doing, your songwriting is going to last? I know you spoke about your future self, but let’s say 30, 40, 50 years into the future, do you ever wonder if your songs will still be listened to?
I have no idea. I’m certainly trying my best to make songs that are sturdy and flexible. Dan Noble, who produced my first two records, talked about that, and he told me the fact that my songs have good architecture means you can take them into different places or they can be sung by different singers. They have the flexibility to be imagined by different voices, things like that. So, in a way I’m trying to check those boxes. There’s plenty of songs that I did with the Stray Birds that I certainly don’t sing anymore. Some of them I do, though. When I ask people, what songs do you want to hear on this tour? Somebody said, I want to hear ‘Mississippi Pearl,’ and I’ve completely forgotten about that song. It’s on an album by the Stray Birds, and I’m going to sing it on this tour.
I love imagining music as inseparable from our being, that music is essentially in our nature, it just comes with the territory of being alive at all. The gift of being a part of this planet, just like the beautiful songs that the ocean makes, and the wind through the trees, we have the opportunity to let songs sound through us. Sometimes we gather others and invite music to pass through guitars, violins, drums, and every so often we tie a ribbon around it and call it an album. But at the heart of it, we are just a few people, living these days as they come, life sounding through us.
