“There’s a lot of loneliness, and I would say that’s probably a major theme on the record.”
Esther Rose’s third studio album How Many Times—in stores now courtesy of San Francisco-based imprint Father/Daughter Records & Full Time Hobby—threads together ten beautifully sketched vignettes, each depicting the highlights and shadows of heartbreak. For Rose, they represent the very personal anguishes that resulted from the end of a former relationship. However, her reflections have a universality that easily speaks to those who are mourning other kinds of loss.
“It’s a lot about post-break-up and what you do when you’re alone—and when I’m alone, what I’m thinking about,” she affirms. “So I feel like that’s where a lot of the songs are centered, and I think a lot of people can relate to that and find comfort when they’re lonely for a brief moment.”
Many of How Many Times’ tracks like “Keeps Me Running,” “My Bad Mood,” and “Without You” flirt with the simple sincerity of the golden age of country music, with live-recorded fiddle, drums, guitar, and upright bass wrapping her voice in a warm embrace, while others like “Good Time” and “Songs Remain” explore a more modern folk timbre. Regardless of approach, the nuance and detail in Rose’s compositions are rich and flavorful—if you’re feeling low, they’re quite good companions.
A native of Columbiaville, Michigan, about a half-hour outside of Flint, Rose spent several years living in New Orleans making connections and building her career. Her debut album This Time Last Night was released in 2017 on local indie label Mashed Potato Records. In 2019, she signed with Father/Daughter and issued her sophomore record You Made It This Far.
Her love for New Orleans still permeates her music and our conversation, but a previous visit to New Mexico left an indelible spiritual mark on her, compelling her to uproot and make a move to Taos, an artist’s haven in the high desert of Northern New Mexico surrounded by the red-hued Sangre de Cristo Mountains. “I’ve kind of had a crush on New Mexico since 2016 when I first came through,” she shares. “I was so startled—I’d never seen anything like the landscape out here, and it really just went deep into me. I've been trying to figure out how to get out here ever since.”
This summer, Rose is back on tour as the industry at least partially exhales after a long hiatus from live shows, starting at the beginning of July with a handful of shows in her new home state. She then embarks upon an extensive leg of the tour with Pokey LaFarge this fall, beginning October 6th in Cleveland and concluding November 20th in Toronto.
I recently had the opportunity to catch up with Rose to discuss How Many Times, and how her musical path has been inspired by a broad spectrum of people, places, and sounds.
How Many Times has been a real pleasure to explore. As I was listening, it dawned on me that it’s probably a little strange releasing an album about a really difficult time in your past because by this point it’s a few years behind you, even though your listeners are hearing your stories for the first time. But now, these emotions are being exposed all over again in some sense. Have you been able to disconnect from them a bit?
Yeah, I feel like that’s a pretty accurate assumption, sure. I feel like there’s a lot that I’ve learned about myself just from talking about the record so much with journalists. It’s been its own education, for sure. It’s been super interesting. So, I feel like I’ve worked through a lot of the heartbreak aspect or a lot of the early processing that led to writing the songs. Now, I’m just interested in doing work and talking about how that happened.
And I’m sure that means you’re likely now writing and recording new material based on your experiences in the present. What’s compelling you creatively today?
I guess the thing I’ve been noticing that’s been a through-line between all of the records is that I just write about my immediate moment. My immediate moment might be sparked by a memory, or something, you know? But as far as a concept record goes, I didn’t start out thinking ‘I’m gonna write a heartbreak record.’ That’s just what I was dealing with, so that collection of songs was from that particular time in my life.
But those were all written pre-quarantine and recorded before the pandemic. I gotta say my life really shifted a lot, as I’m sure everyone’s did—you know, my priorities, what I’m thinking about, what I’m valuing. And so, a whiny heartbreak record hasn’t been what I’ve been thinking about. [laughs]
You’ve made a pretty significant geographic and cultural shift in moving to Taos after living in New Orleans for so long. I know the city has had a tremendous impact on you personally and professionally. Has that been a hard transition?
My community of songwriters and musicians is so important to me in New Orleans, and my learning from quarantine that we’re all going to remain friends, remain connected in our separate ways kind of gave me the freedom to make a switch and not lose all of the relationships I’d spent years cultivating, and my bond with the city and its people.
What sort of New Orleanian values and ideas followed you? I’ve visited many times and I’ve felt this very penetrating sense of spirituality about it. It’s so unique to anywhere else in the world.
Yeah, you’re so right—that’s such a beautiful way to place it. As a walls-up Midwesterner—I grew up in Michigan—New Orleans taught me how to just let my guard down and interact with everybody. That experience, and me learning how to smile at strangers and look them in the eye, and have genuine conversations with everyone you meet—it just feels like there’s more time there.
I absolutely agree.
The pace really suited me. I really love being on a bike and on foot in cities, and walking cities. And so New Orleans has that, and I think it just slows down the entire place. You can’t just drive your car because there are no parking lots, you know? [laughs]
I think the first impression that really stuck with me was when I had been in town for about a week or so. You know, I hadn’t met too many folks, but one person that I had been introduced to prior saw me walking down the street and pulled over on his bicycle—he was going somewhere, but he pulled over to chat. And I was so struck by the fact that he’d stopped—it felt so unusual. It doesn’t seem like that big of a moment, but it really is for people to take time and slow down to have an exchange. It’s so meaningful.
Certainly, many working musicians and artists have side gigs that support their ability to follow their craft, and you work part-time at a coffee shop in Taos. Tell me about that experience.
To be honest, I’ve always had another hustle going on—I managed an art gallery in the French Quarter for the past many years. I think the pandemic sort of reminded me a lot, or brought back a lot of my youth and that feeling of free time, or endless time. There’s this really special coffee shop in Taos called World Cup [Café], and I was standing in line to order a coffee in October, and I asked on a whim if they were hiring, and they were. So, I moved out here kind of based on that.
It’s all just so simple and kind of spontaneous, but in some ways it’s also very careful and planned. I was just looking for a way to relocate, and I see coffee shops as the center of community, especially for folks who might not go to church. But even if you do, the café is a place where you gather, and it felt like a really natural way to be with the people I’d be living amongst.
I’ve often asked artists about the first song or record they heard that made them want to be a musician or impacted them in a significant way, but since you’re on this forward journey, what’s the most recent thing you’ve heard that’s moved you?
I love that question, I think that’s really nice. To be honest, I’m pretty obsessed with Megan Thee Stallion. I’m just a full-on admirer and I love her attitude—I find it really comforting just to kind of sink into her strength. She’s just so bold, and I find that really inspiring...her fearlessness. It’s incredible. As a songwriter, her rad lyrics...they sort of make me want to stop writing because she’s so clever and funny. I’m blown away. And also the amount of lyrics compared to my little two-verse-and-chorus songs...yeah, [she’s] just my go-to right now, for sure.
In that vein, what’s a song in your rotation you really wish you’d written?
Wow, that’s a great question. My mind just hit all kinds of songs all at once. But just to bring it to something more tangible that readers or listeners might identify with—I covered a song by Sheryl Crow called “My Favorite Mistake.”
Oh, yeah. That’s a really great song.
Yeah, you know I heard it a bunch when I was a little kid on the school bus, and it sunk deep into my subconscious. But then I heard it on the radio a little while ago, and I played it on repeat for an entire day just trying to comprehend why the song is so incredible. As a songwriter, it’s got everything—the moody verses and this gorgeous break-through chorus, the outro is so fun, and the bridge is so interesting. It’s just a perfect song. The energy of the song and the message is empowering, and, yeah, I love it. Wish I wrote that one. I wish I’d written something close to it. [laughs]
I remember her first album, Tuesday Night Music Club, being released just after I graduated high school. I think she writes really compelling melodies. Not too long ago, she said she wasn’t planning on making more albums, which was sad to hear.
I mean, I get the whole not releasing albums thing. It’s a huge endeavor, and if you have a fan base that’s going to listen to you no matter how you release it, it switches up the workflow in a huge way.
Oh, for sure. Making an album is a huge investment in terms of time and money. Record labels really love singles right now because they get instant attention and buzz, which is important in the digital music universe. But I do love the idea of albums, especially given that I write about them all the time. [laughs]
I love albums as well. I love listening to the music in the way it’s sequenced and kind of seeing it as a whole. I definitely organized my record that way and put more intention into everything to have it be this kind of complete experience for the listener. Even the artwork—we made little illustrations that symbolize something for each song and the lyrics. We just really wanted to create this interactive experience that I so much enjoy when I pick up a record. I feel like one of the greatest records of all time that really has that is The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.
Yes. I can’t argue with that.
Right? Where you just want to hear everything in order and listen to the whole record.
I keep returning to Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water as my personal favorite for that reason. It’s so masterful and evolved and they were really at their peak artistically, but it’s also this really sad narrative on a dissolving friendship. Song-by-song, you can hear it coming apart. That’s the kind of story a great album can tell across its track list.
Yeah, I relate to that, for sure. Gosh, we’ve really had very few role models in the industry or in the world who’ve been learning how to grow together. I would love to see a collection of names of people that have figured it out.
But perhaps somewhat related to that, how do you manage the relationships you have with other musicians and people that work with and for you when you create in the studio or when you’re playing on the road?
Well, when I want to look at a band that’s really doing a great job of navigating success and staying in sync as a unit and working together with joy and creativity, I think of Big Thief. I don’t know too much about their story, but they’re very much a band, and people love that.
For me, I kind of went in the opposite direction with [me wanting] people to feel like they’re free to come and go. That was really important for me to establish, you know, ‘if you want to be here, you’re welcome—glad to work with you.’ And if there’s something else more pressing, then do it. No hard feelings, you know—have it be a safe place for musicians who are used to being trapped in bands or stuck on the road.
That kind of situation when you’re constantly on the go and your schedule is being dictated by other folks who are making the tours happen. If you’re a side player, you might not have that strong of a voice. I really wanted to be a leader and have people work voluntarily, and have it be a safe, creative place that’s comfortable and expressive and where people can share their ideas. But they know that I’m the boss and this is my thing.
Obviously, your records communicate your experiences, but what about your values? What are the key things you want your listeners to understand about your identity—or identities—as an artist?
I guess at this point I have wanted to remain mysterious. I’ve wanted to deflect and send people to the music, and I wonder if that’s because I’m still forming as a musician. I got started late compared to the vast majority of eighteen-year-olds—I was twenty-eight when I started writing, in earnest. So, I guess...yeah...ask me in a year! [laughs] I’m working on it!
By getting a later start in the industry—was that a help or hindrance in developing yourself as a musician and progressing to this place where you’re currently at in your career?
Oh, I fully accept all the dead ends and wrong turns I had to make in order to get to finding music. Yeah, it’s true, I really lived a lot and had a lot of different experiences that I wasn’t reflecting on, so it’s almost as if my life really caught up to me and I had a lot to say about it and a lot of clarity in how I needed the music to sound.
So, no, no regrets—it’s interesting though, for sure. Time is so funny, you know—I know I’m getting older. My dad told me that I’m “mid-career,” and I’m about to make my fourth record. It feels like I’m definitely in my thing, and I wrote and hustled so much really quickly. It feels like I caught up to myself somehow, and I’m where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t know if you can relate to this, but I was a pretty shy, reclusive, very private person. I grew up in a big family and I always wanted to be alone, and didn’t really want to share my vulnerability in song format. Maybe I wasn’t ready to handle it, or tough enough. And I do think you have to be a little tough to share your creative expression. So, I think as an older person, it feels like, ‘okay, I can do this,’ you know?
My final question tends to be a challenging one for many artists, but what are your five favorite albums of all time?
Well, this question is not as challenging as you might think. I’ve been thinking about it and writing about it for a few different outlets. It’s easier to place it as “what is the acceleration of change” after you hear a record.
I remember the first time I heard Chet Baker. I used to rent CDs at the library, and I would just go into the jazz section and pick whatever, you know? Early Spotify! [laughs] But I put on a compilation with “I Fall In Love Too Easily.” And I’ll never forget how that song totally changed my ears. It reshaped things for me. The voice...that album isn’t in my top five list, but I guess that’s kind of why I wanted to bring it up here.
The Deslondes are hometown heroes and a boy-band supergroup. All five of [them] are extraordinary songwriters and musicians, and also just really good people.
Faustina Masigat. I heard her play acoustically at a house show and bought her tape cassette. It became my most flipped tape of 2018-19. It feels like someone opened a window into paradise; it’s tender, haunting and spacious all at the same time.
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill—the first album that I bought. I was fourteen and saved up my wages from my bakery job and went to the Borders bookstore in Flint, MI. Here’s what I remember from that first ear-changing listen; that every single song was a stunner, the joy and significance of school kids in the interludes, the overwhelming delight from the bonus track, and that voice. Most albums I have bought since then have been mildly disappointing.
Blue by Joni Mitchell. It took me so long to come around to this one. It finally clicked on a very long drive into the desert. What can I say, I grew up? Joni’s perspective, melodies, and wit are not for the faint of heart. I still get blindsided by this record, each time I listen I grasp a new gem of wisdom. Her voice has this emotional sensitivity that just knocks me out. I want to have a glass of wine and a cigarette with you, Joni.
And Bobby Charles. This self-titled record has legendary status in New Orleans. I feel like Bobby Charles is the godfather of our weird little songwriter scene, how he casually combines country, blues, R&B and folk. His songwriting is cosmic, horny and timeless; you can feel his empathy and love for all people radiating out. His soulful voice is never in a hurry. It’s a record that could be played at a funeral or a wedding, whatever, it always sounds good.
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