Rural singer-songwriter Margo Cilker's pandemic hustle is paying off
BOISE, Idaho — Margo Cilker's songs bring listeners to the West's more forgotten places: from the 99 freeway through California farm country south to Tehachapi Pass to the north and Jordan Valley, Ore.
"Took a room at the old Basque hotel, it was like a kind of prayer when her eyelids fell," go the lyrics from That River, the first track on her first full length LP Pohorylle.
The lack of live gigs over the past two years was especially tough on up-and-coming musicians from smaller cities and towns like Cilker. But in the end it may have leveled the playing field some.
"I was one of the lucky ones to come out of the pandemic with more of an opportunity in the industry," Cilker says.
Originally from the suburban Bay Area in California, Cilker has spent most of her burgeoning career based in the rural Northwest from remote eastern Oregon to eastern Washington, where her husband works as a ranch hand.
During the lockdowns, Cilker did odd jobs around the ranch and sometimes played live for the cowboys and the veterinarians. And she wrote, a lot. Everyone was remote and virtual and her rural life figured heavily into her music. It appears to have given her career an early boost.
"So many people are out there concentrated in big cities, and it shows in their writing," Cilker says. "It becomes in itself homogenous. I've never felt like I could move to Nashville or L.A., or New York. Nothing about it would feed my art."
And even though she doesn't live in those traditional music hotbeds, she's still getting noticed. Seattle indie rocker Sera Cahoone is helping produce her second LP. This summer, Cilker also landed a lucrative gig touring with Texas singer-songwriter Hayes Carll.
The country rocker Cilker appears to be part of a small but growing trend of musicians who are realizing they can stay where they are and still be successful coming out of the pandemic. And in some cases, some are even leaving the cities in favor of smaller towns, according to Sean Lynch, who manages two indie rock bands and a club in Billings, Mont.
"The consumer at this point in time has anything available to them that they want," Lynch told NPR. "If it's good, it's good. It doesn't matter if it's from Billings, Montana, or it's from New York City. If it's good, people are going to listen to it."
Touring and live shows are key to making money right now for any band or singer, and this has especially been the case coming out of the pandemic. Lynch advises his just-starting-out artists that it's a lot tougher to make money and afford to go out on tour today if they do live in a Nashville or Los Angeles due to high rents.
While on her tour — her schedule has lately picked back up in earnest — Margo Cilker has been thinking a lot about how her art can dispel stereotypes about rural life. Interviewed on stage at the Treefort Music Festival in Boise in March, she said she often sees more women working on cattle branding crews than on the booking lineup at music festivals.
Cilker sees herself and her music as straddling the line, moving through both worlds of a divided America.
"I will see something and I'll tell myself this is why people hate liberals," she says, laughing. "And then I'll see something ridiculous on the other end of the spectrum, and it's like, of course, this is why everyone flocks to the major cities."
Among the crowd favorites at the Boise festival was a song inspired by the work of Oregon's poet laureate called Barbed Wire (Belly Crawl).
"There's a farmer we know, steps into the tavern, where the bright lights ease the mind," she sings. "The band gets an encore, the farmer a stiff pour, and we're all getting closer this time."
Even as her career appears to be on the up and up, Cilker hasn't lost sight of her rural influences, as she tries to bridge the country's increasing rural-urban divide through song.
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Transcript
AYESHA RASCOE, HOST:
The long absence of live music during the pandemic was especially tough for up-and-coming musicians in smaller cities and towns. In many cases, small-town singers, songwriters and instrumentalists rely on gigs and touring to earn their living - opportunities that dried up when things locked down. But as NPR's Kirk Siegler finds, one country rocker from the rural Northwest says the break in live music helped level the playing field. Here he is with this profile.
(SOUNDBITE OF MARGOT CILKER SONG, "TEHACHAPI")
KIRK SIEGLER, BYLINE: Margo Cilker's songs bring listeners to the West's more forgotten places, like the 99 Freeway through California farm country.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "TEHACHAPI")
MARGO CILKER: (Singing) Will I cross your mind down 99? Will you think of me on your way back to Tehachapi?
SIEGLER: A California native, Cilker has since rambled up to eastern Oregon and Washington. Her husband's a ranch hand. And her first full-length record is full of tales about the Basque sheepherders who once immigrated to this corner of the West.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC VENUE)
UNIDENTIFIED PEOPLE: (Inaudible).
SIEGLER: The songs are a crowd favorite at live shows.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THAT RIVER")
CILKER: (Singing) Took a room at the old Basque Hotel. It was like a kind of a prayer when our eyelids fell.
And being in a rural place, it's an opportunity to see how other people live and meet them where they are and offer this thing to them that they appreciate.
SIEGLER: But during the pandemic, Cilker did odd jobs around the ranch and played live for the cowboys and veterinarians. And she wrote a lot. Everyone was remote and virtual, and being where she was may have actually boosted her career.
CILKER: So many people are out there concentrated in these big cities, and it shows in their writing. It becomes in itself homogenous. I've never felt like I could move to Nashville or LA, New York. Nothing about it would feed my heart.
SIEGLER: And she's still getting noticed. Seattle indie rocker Sera Cahoone is helping produce her second LP. And this summer, she scored a touring gig with Texas singer-songwriter Hays Carll.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BROTHER, TAXMAN, PREACHER")
CILKER: (Singing) And I wish I was a preacher. I could tell you who to love. I could tell you to vote for.
SIEGLER: Cilker is part of a small but growing trend of musicians coming out of the pandemic who are deciding to stay where they are.
SEAN LYNCH: The consumer, at this point in time, has anything available to them that they want. And if it's good, it's good. It doesn't matter if it's from Billings, Mont., or if it's from New York City. If it's good, people are going to listen to it.
SIEGLER: Sean Lynch manages a rock club in Montana.
LYNCH: And this is exactly what I talk to my artists about, is if you are actually interested in touring and you're actually interested in going out doing that, you will never be able to do that if you live in Los Angeles or Nashville or New York because you're going to be constantly working all the time just to pay your rent.
SIEGLER: And touring is make or break right now for artists. On the road, Margo Cilker has been thinking a lot about how her art can dispel stereotypes about rural life. Interviewed at a festival in Boise recently, she said, you might not expect it, but there are lots of women in ranching.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)
CILKER: I've been out at branding crews that have more women than, like, music festivals book.
SIEGLER: One foot in both worlds, Cilker is troubled seeing all the division in America right now, where really people just don't talk to one another.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BARBED WIRE (BELLY CRAWL)")
CILKER: (Singing) There's a farmer we know, steps into the tavern, where the bright lights seize the mind. The band gets an encore, the farmer a stiff pour. And we're all getting closer this time.
SIEGLER: Margo Cilker, bridging the urban-rural divide through music. Kirk Siegler, NPR News, Boise.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "BARBED WIRE (BELLY CRAWL)")
CILKER: (Singing) If you knew what it was like to be on both sides of me. I'm going farther this time. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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