Remembering Jason Molina: Andrew Bryant’s Tribute

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As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

Today is the second anniversary of Jason’s death, and I couldn’t think of a more beautiful tribute than the one provided by Andrew Bryant. For those not familiar with Andrew, you may know him as the second half of the popular duo Water Liars, whose cover of “Just Be Simple” has become a staple at their live shows as well as a standout track on Farewell Transmission. Andrew also has an excellent new album out called This Is The Life. You should check it out … but, for now, let’s remember the music of Jason Molina.

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I was living in a house trailer in my home state of Mississippi in the summer of 2003, the year Songs: Ohia – The Magnolia Electric Company was released. I remember the air conditioning unit was freezing up on me and it was about 100 degrees during the day. I worked all day at a roof­truss manufacturing factory and every night I drank beer and smoked cigarettes until I fell asleep, usually laying in the floor with my head on the air duct, trying not to die. I was in a bad place that year. I had dropped out of school. I had a shit job. My girlfriend was gone. The air conditioning was on the fritz. It was hard times.

One of those summer nights, I was sitting at my computer and read something about this song called ​Hold On Magnolia. The title grabbed me. My home state of Mississippi’s official nickname is ‘The Magnolia State’. Maybe that’s what did it. Maybe not. I couldn’t really say. But I do remember hearing about that song before ever hearing the name Songs: Ohia or Jason Molina. This was the era of Myspace and Napster so I went hunting. I read about the record. I read about Songs: Ohia. I read about Jason. I found a pirate download of his new album and set it to download and went back to drinking beer and fell asleep. I know it took all night to download because it always did back then. This was before the days of hi­speed wifi. I had a dial up connection and an old ass computer­­only slightly faster than the postal service for acquiring new music. But that was my portal to a broader world in those days. And it was through that portal I found something to live for.

Music, for me, is something to live for in itself. I believe it to be the highest form of art. Put together in the right way, music helps me to transcend this often meaningless existence that the earth has thrust me into. For seven minutes and fifty­one seconds, ​Hold On Magnolia continues to baptize me with meaning and emotion every time I listen to it. Fully renewed I can face the next hour, the next night, the next day. The first time I heard that song I wept. Something in me was released. Something was begun and began again and it keeps repeating. And for that reason I can’t imagine existing all this time on this planet without the songs of Jason Molina. His songs put a bandaid on my cut­up soul. And for that I will never forsake his work.

To create an immortal existence is what I believe most humans long for. This is what religion has been trying to do for centuries, but religion has failed us and left many like me in a state of existential crisis. We have asked ourselves Why am I here? What am I? Is this all there is? And I believe this is what drives us who create art: to endlessly seek transcendence above this often meaningless journey called life, to create something that will never die. And it is for these reasons that Jason Molina will never die. Nor will I.

During that same summer, in the year 2003, I began my own process of transcendence. In that house trailer in Mississippi I began to write my own songs and record them on my computer. Shortly after I began to play shows under my own name, whenever and wherever I could. And I’ve continued to do it for the last twelve years, and I have made a life that I now find both meaningful and enjoyable, one that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

On Sunday August 15, 2004, Hurricane Charley was headed up the East Coast from Florida causing 10 fatalities and over 14 billion dollars in damage on its path. The Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez successfully defeated a recall vote with 58% support. Sixteen hundred Palestinians in Israeli jails began a hunger strike to protest against their prison conditions. A bomb blast killed 18 people at a parade in Dhemaji, Assam during India’s Independence Day celebrations. The Chicago White Sox defeated the Red Sox in Boston 5­4. And I drove two hours north to Memphis, TN to open for Magnolia Electric Co. at the Hi­tone on Poplar Avenue. But only one of these events has made a lasting impact on my life.

There is no grand story tell of that night really, so I won’t try. I drove up in my dark blue 1998 Mazda Protege. Did a line check. Ordered a beer and talked to Jason Groth about music and touring. I looked over my shoulder, wondering where Jason Molina was, hoping to meet him, but he was only a ghost that night. I played my set to a handful of twenty people or so, packed up my shit, then settled at the bar to watch MEC play. I would have to be at work at 7am so I was probably anxious about driving home, trying not to drink too much.

Before they took the stage, I turned and saw that Jason was standing next to me at the bar, holding a Red Stripe. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and I remember thinking he was shorter than I had imagined. I nodded at him and he returned the nod. We said nothing, and then he took the stage with the rest of his band.

I was mesmerized by their performance. The songs that I had spent the last year immersing myself in were coming to life before my eyes. And there were new songs too. I was taken out of this world and I was born into a new one. And it was a world I wanted to be in.

In the 12 years since that night, Jason Molina has grown in my mind from a small, awkward mid­westerner into a giant, confident genius. I have consistently played his records more than any other artist or band I’ve come to love since. They keep me company at home. They keep me sane when I’m on the road. His songs have become a collection of torches on my journey across the long dark blues of life. Phrases like “Hammer down, heaven bound” and “Just be simple” have become personal mantras for me. I have harmonized the lines “I ain’t lookin for that easy way out/ This whole life has been about/ trying trying trying/ To be simple again” with my one of my best friends, Justin Kinkel­Schuster, on hundreds of stages, and I have felt something deep lifting me up every time. Sure, the heartbreak of Jason’s death has suffered my soul as much as the next, but I am resurrected every time I put on his music. I am pulled back from the long dark blues everytime I hear his angelic voice vibrating in my ear like a ghost. Hammer down, my brothers. Hammer down, my sisters. Hammer down.

— Andrew Bryant, February 26, 2015






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook
Andrew Bryant: Website; Facebook; Twitter
Water Liars: Website; Facebook; Twitter

Remembering Jason Molina: Ben Lubeck’s Tribute

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As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

Ben Lubeck of Farewell Milwaukee provided a great cover of Jason’s “Leave The City” for Farewell Transmission, and has contributed a few words for this Molina remembrance project.

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The first time I heard Jason Molina I was with my friend Brian Kurbis. He put on Magnolia Electric Co. on a beautiful summer day and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was one of those lovely surprises in which you’re thrilled that you were let in on this new band, but at the same time disappointed that you had missed out on their music for so long. Once I got my hands on that record I couldn’t put it down. It was in my car CD player nearly the entire summer.

I remember the excitement of driving to visit my girlfriend in Omaha, a six hour drive from Minneapolis, and finally pulling into her driveway. She had gone home for the summer and I hadn’t seen her in months so naturally the anticipation was killing me. But when I pulled into her parents’ driveway, “Hold On Magnolia” came on and I sat and listened to the entire 7 minute song. It hypnotized me and ripped my heart out. Took me to a different place. Absolutely gorgeous. Jason’s music does that for me. It floors me. Makes me stop what I’m doing and really listen. Not many things can do that. I’m honored to be part of this album. The fact that I was able to interpret his song “Leave The City” is a true privilege.

— Ben Lubeck






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook
Farewell Milwaukee: Website; Facebook; Twitter; Bandcamp
Ben Lubeck: Facebook; Twitter

Elephant Micah – Where in Our Woods

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It has been so long since I’ve actually posted something other than a Molina tribute, so I may be a bit out of practice. Please bear with me as I try to get back to my ol’ bloggin’ self, and as I do, I would like to begin with Elephant Micah’s new album Where in Our Woods, which is absolutely stunning.

Elephant Micah, also known as Joseph O’Connell, takes a little departure from his previous albums on Where in Our Woods. On this album, O’Connell leaves the experimenting behind and opts to take a more traditional folk path. On it you’ll hear a more stripped-down sound with just vocals, guitar, a pump organ, and drums (provided by his brother, Matthew O’Connell) weaving in and out of tales of his childhood home in Indiana. A folklorist by trade, O’Connell has always used his profession to create interesting stories, but his talent shines remarkably bright on Where in Our Woods because of its collection of masterfully minimal songs. And, as the ever consummate folklorist, O’Connell anthropomorphizes vultures giving them a voice bemoaning the fast-paced world by the adoption of Daylight Savings Time in “Slow Time Vultures”, while he combines three stories taken from the headlines of his hometown newspaper in “Albino Animals”: hunters killing an albino deer, a hometown rower’s disastrous transatlantic passage, and drug addicts avoiding prosecution after setting a trailer on fire cooking meth. These are just a couple of beautifully crafted songs from an extremely exquisite album that showcases O’Connell’s ability to write captivating Midwestern narratives. And, it is an album that has kept me company through this cold and harsh winter.





Buy Where in Our Woods
Elephant Micah: Website; Twitter; Bandcamp

Remembering Jason Molina: John Calvin Abney’s Tribute

Photo by Erin Margaret Rambo

Photo by Erin Margaret Rambo

As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

Today’s tribute comes from Oklahoma singer-songwriter, John Calvin Abney, whose pensive remembrance addresses Jason’s music and it’s affects on him as an artist as well as Jason’s death. John has also contributed an equally reverent cover of the prophetic “Soul” that I’m sharing at the end of this post. John continues the soul-bearing, bear-bones structure of the original, that begs us to ask: “Tell all of your friends that you are bound for glory. How long did you know that you’d make it there before me? What is it like? Is it worth the misfortune?” And, of course Jason answers it at the end.

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I never met Jason Molina, nor did I ever have the chance to see him
perform. However, this did not keep his music from affecting me in
subtle and strange ways. My girlfriend at the time and fellow musician
Samantha Crain introduced me to Magnolia Electric Company and
Songs:Ohia by looping these records in the van on- and off-tour.
Samantha was always telling me how important his songs were to her
growth as an artist and a few other friends back in Oklahoma who had
opened up for MEC before praised Molina’s quiet, yet thunderous
approach to songwriting and full-band attacks.

I was touring through southern Mississippi with my band when I heard
of his passing. In a small flash of synchronicity, I had purchased
“The Lioness” about a week beforehand for backseat listening to help
the long hours clocked on the highway. Up until that point, all of my
experiences of Molina’s music were through the filter of other’s
perspectives. It wasn’t until I was crammed between a guitar amplifier
and a deteriorating car door in the pitch blackness of a Mississippi
highway at night, did I truly begin to understand why people felt so
strongly about these songs. A harrowing, worried voice depicted
symbols and situations that brought to mind memories that may not have
even been my own. A little bit of light running through a whole lot of
dark. I got a text message from Sam and she was pretty torn up about
the news (who later wrote a beautiful song for Jason called “For the
Miner”.) I sat in my seat and listened intently for hours to “The
Lioness,” trying to decipher what I was hearing, but ended up a little
more lost than I was before. I suddenly thought to myself that was
alright and when I look back, it was where I needed to be.

“Coxcomb Red” stuck in my head as we stopped on St. Patrick’s Day to
eat at a diner inside the Hard Rock Casino in Biloxi, MS. I was
listless and exhausted and broke, and the tour wasn’t highly attended,
making every one a little uneasy and unsure. Though, there was this
wavering sense of comfort, and even though I was oscillating between
uncertainty and hesitation, I knew I was doing something that meant
something to me as a person, as an artist, as a soul. As I stepped
outside into the parking garage, I remember staring at the gulf waters
and putting my headphones on. I put on “Magnolia Electric Company”
(the record) and of course, that song, “Farewell Transmission” came
roaring into my ears like the heaven’s last trumpets. In a gigantic
concrete structure far from home, facing the even more enormous ocean,
I paid my own regards and thanked the man I had never met, but heard
so much about.

I decided to cover “Soul,” from “Nor Cease Thou Never Now,” one of his
earliest recordings. I hope you guys enjoy it.

“These twenty years, I’ve loved one thing only.
I love what I know about passion.
I love what I know about mercy.
I love what I know about patience.
I love what I know about soul.
and I know you.”

JCA
October 21, 2014






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook
John Calvin Abney: Website; Facebook; Twitter; Instagram; Bandcamp

Remembering Jason Molina : Luke Redfield’s Tribute

Photograph by Courtney Charanell

Photograph by Courtney Charanell

As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

It’s a cold, gray, and snowy day here and what better way to spend it than with a tribute to Jason. Read Luke Redfield discuss how Jason’s death affected him, and be sure to pick up a copy of Luke’s new album, The Cartographer.

Photograph by Dan Peterson

Photograph by Dan Peterson

I was having tea in Portland, with Jason’s website tabbed in my browser for better part of a week, when a news headline rocked my world.

I couldn’t believe it. Jason Molina was dead. He died while he sang to me via earbuds and a laptop. I sat motionless, gazing out a 2nd story window into a misty Oregon afternoon.

For whatever reason, his death affected me as much as anyone’s ever has. I felt his pain, his depression, his humanness, his triumphant human spirit. He was real, no gimmicks attached. There’s a true brokenness in his voice that makes him one of the most honest singers to ever step into a recording studio.

At the time of Jason’s passing, I was listening to The Magnolia Electric Co. record and immersing myself his lyrics. ​My producer and I had been summoning the Albini/Molina magic in studio, hoping to capture something that sounded half as good. It is, after all, the best sounding record of all time – clearly not the work of mere mortals – and my hair rises every time I hear it.

That great highway moon, the friends whom you doubt, that lonesome whistle whine…I’m transported back to Indiana, the lightning, the thunder, the fleeting beauty of Jason Molina’s tragic life.

I hope he knew how loved he was loved in his lifetime. He’ll continue to be regarded as a true original and musical genius.

Rest easy, brother. You’ll be gone but not forever. I love you.

— Luke Redfield






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook
Luke Redfield: Website; Facebook; Twitter; Bandcamp

Remembering Jason Molina: Nathan Amundson’s Tribute

Photo by Laurent Orseau

Photo by Laurent Orseau

As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is being posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

Today has been sort of rough so I thought I would make the time to post this lovely tribute from Nathan Amundson of Rivulets.

Photo by Christopher Dilts

Photo by Christopher Dilts

Jason was a goofy, contradictory and profound dude. We played shows together, talked shop, and smoked cigarettes outside venues waiting to go on. His albums were go-to driving music for me for many years. Particularly driving across the vast distances of the USA – something about Jason’s music seemed to evoke and understand that landscape. He lived his life as a full-time songwriter, like it was his job, and it became so. I remember a friend coming back from seeing Jason solo once, talking breathlessly about how Jason had made eye contact with each and every person in the audience. I think he was always striving to find that human thread of connection and relay it to others. He’s still connecting.






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook
Rivulets: Website; Twitter; Bandcamp

Remembering Jason Molina: Jason Evans Groth’s Tribute

Photo by Dylan Long

Photo by Dylan Long

As part of a series called “Remembering Jason Molina,” I’m collecting stories about Jason and his impact on songwriters, musicians, and music writers. These are all individual tributes, on how Jason has affected their music, their perception of music, or just anecdotes on meeting him or seeing him live. Each story is being posted to promote the new album Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, which not only celebrates Jason’s music, but will also help the Molina family and MusiCares with its proceeds.

Today would have been Jason’s 41st birthday, and what better way to celebrate than with a lovely tribute from his close friend and bandmate, Jason Evans Groth. Be sure to listen to Jason and Memorial Electric Co. perform “Trouble In Mind (Fade To Blue)”, which was one of JM’s favorite songs to perform live, but never recorded on an album until Farewell Transmission.

And, Jason, I’m sorry for not sharing your words sooner.

I met Jason Molina in the fall of 1998 at a store called Roadworthy Guitar and Amp in Bloomington, IN. It was on the corner of Kirkwood and Washington, right next door to Ladyman’s café, a mid-century diner that, I swear, never had any staff turnover during the entire time it was open. I had talked to Jason before this meeting – at the CD Exchange (a record store where he worked in Bloomington), at a solo Songs: Ohia show at the student radio station, WIUS; and after a set he played opening for Trans Am at Second Story in Bloomington, the night after my 21st birthday. But we had never really talked before.

As I entered the store I realized I was the only one there. Jason immediately approached me and said something along the lines of “you’re the guitar player in Cadmium Orange” (the name of my band at the time). I said yes – flattered because, to me, Jason was famous. I had played his records on my college radio show, I knew he was signed to the local label that all of us wanted to be on, and I had heard tell that he also toured a lot. I had first seen the band name Songs: Ohia in a copy of CMJ and also in Multiball, a zine that combined indie music and pinball with which I was obsessed at the time. That moment was huge for me. I can’t say I had been a huge fan of Songs: Ohia. I did like the 7”s I had heard but they were also frightening, way too mature for the kind of Kinks meets Misfits stuff I was into at the time. His voice was out of my comfort zone, his simple chord structures on oddly tuned instruments were not the Guided by Voices lo-fi I was used to.

But here he was, just another dude in my small town, talking my ear off about music. I don’t remember saying much but “wow” or “that sounds great” in our conversation. I did manage to ask him what touring was like, and he told me about getting ripped off in New York, staying in some horrible hotel somewhere, and then mentioned recording with Arab Strap. This subtle name drop of a band that the singer of my band idolized (and I idolized him) changed it even more – I was on step away from this kind of life, maybe, if people like Jason both knew my band and knew Arab Strap.

We walked from the counter to the guitar room and I saw it – a 1981 Gibson Explorer special edition with gold hardware and a walnut body. I told Jason how much I wanted the guitar and he told me all about the Spineriders, his high school metal band, and his love for Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. How he really was a bass player, but that he felt like he could sing better with a guitar tuned up like a bass. He told me he had just finished an album of love songs, too (Axxess and Ace).

We shook hands, agreed to hang out sometime and talk about music more, agreed to come to one another’s shows, and that was that. I walked next door to Ladyman’s for lunch. I sat in the smoking section. Later that week I found out my grandfather had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember thinking that the best tribute to my grandfather would be to buy that Gibson Explorer and name it after him. I actually told my grandfather that the last time I saw him (and he told me the piercing in my face was only a phase – he was right). I bought that guitar on credit (a credit card I just paid off last year) in January of 1999, right after my grandfather died. Jason sold it to me. I told him I was going to name it “Harvey” and Jason, who was a believer in things like luck and certainly tradition, just patted me on the back.

It’s 2014 and Roadworthy, Ladyman’s, and Jason are gone. Roadworthy and Ladyman’s got pushed out due to the constant hand-wringing of politicians who are convinced that there are issues with parking in small downtown areas, but who are more likely just looking for new revenue streams to pay for other bad ideas. Jason was the kind of guy who believed that anything too good could never last. He would complain endlessly about his favorite pens or pencils – for which he cared greatly – were hard to find and would often stop being made just as he settled into them. He worried that his favorite places on the road would not be there the next time we went back. He would buy an extra hamburger that he would never eat just to make sure that he didn’t get hungry if we were to find ourselves in a spot without food.

When Jason invited me to be a part of Songs: Ohia four years after our first real meeting his music had changed. I had heard Magnolia Electric Company and I was floored. It hit all the right notes for me. I was obsessed with Neil Young at the time and had begun feeling less threatened by vulnerability in songwriting. The band on the record (which wasn’t those of us called Magnolia Electric Company; we joined immediately after the record was recorded and before it was released) was such a powerhouse that perfectly complimented Jason’s songs and singing. I said out loud, to more than one person, that it was the best record anyone I had known had ever made.

On the tour for that record, I remember driving Pete Schreiner’s (Songs: Ohia drummer and Magnolia Electric Company bassist) van to my first South by Southwest, where Songs: Ohia would play two shows (one with Lucero at Tower Records and the other with a mess of Secretly Canadian bands including my other, The Impossible Shapes) and him telling me, out of nowhere, “you’ll always have a place in this band.” I responded “I’m excited that we’re getting to be better friends” to which Jason responded promptly “friends leave you, but band members never really break up.” I’m proud to say that, during his life, he never left me. Sometimes the alcohol took a version of him away from me, but I know his heart was always with me and the other guys. And we never left him, either.

We knew Jason had a drinking problem as far back as 2005, but I don’t think any of us knew what that meant. We were and are all drinkers, but we are also all in control of it – we thought Jason just didn’t know what his limits were, or DID know and refused to follow them. Eleven years after meeting Jason for real in Roadworthy he told me, on the steps of our Istanbul hotel immediately after our final show together as Magnolia Electric Company, he told me he needed to take a break to get his life together. He never said “alcoholic” (which was, frankly, one of the problems) but he seemed sincere, and since that night – and even now – I believed there would be a time when he would be ready – with our love and support – to try being a band again. It just didn’t seem possible that it would end, because we were a family that would always be together.

In his death I am reminded that, yes, we are still together, thanks to him. Jason had the uncanny ability to bring seemingly disparate people together and making them realize the incredible bond that was waiting for them all along. He was the ultimate friend networker, whether he would ever admit that or not. Listening to “Soul,” from his “Nor Cease Thou Never Now” 7”, I am shocked that such mature, dark, utterly shattered, but completely hopeful lyrics could have ever come out of a 20 year old. Jason often seemed like the oldest person I knew, while somehow being the least mature, too. Jason was my older brother who I looked up to endlessly, trying to impress him by living up to what I thought he wanted while trying to teach him new things, too. I was always so excited when he liked my jokes, when he mentioned how good a guitar solo I just played was, or when he invited me along to a show or a game of bowling. He was often a handful, too, even before the alcohol started completely running his life. He was opinionated without evidence, a dorky party killer, a very loud screamer when he felt he wasn’t getting the attention in the van he deserved. All of those things, however, were a very small price to pay for what we got with Jason.

Jason was my friend, my brother, the little guy to the right of me onstage who had the voice and personality of ten people. I miss him every day and will for the rest of my life. I am so proud to have counted him as a close friend, the kind of guy who could say “I’m sorry for the loss of your grandfather” with a longer-than-usual bit of eye contact and a simple couple of gentle pats on the back and mean it with such gravity that you never, ever, forget that look. I am lucky that his voice is captured in so many places, and even luckier that, in many of those places, my guitar is, too. The world is better for having had Jason in it.

— Jason Evans Groth






Purchase Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina: Amazon; iTunes
Jason Molina: Website; Secretly Canadian; Graveface Records
Magnolia Electric Co.: Website; Secretly Canadian; Facebook