Post by Roimeister on Nov 30, 2016 12:24:25 GMT -5
Sawyer Fredericks is back on the farm. Sitting in the sunshine in a last, lovely day of fall, he points to different landmarks on his family's 88 acres in the Montgomery County town of Glen, a short distance from Fultonville.
There's the big green tractor. Over there, the forge. Way over there, the old scrap heap that predates their arrival nine years ago: Its strata of glass descend like artifacts at an archaeological dig, getting older and older with each layer. Fredericks likes to forage deep down, pulling up vintage blue bottles to decorate his windows.
And there are barns — lots of barns on Windrake Farm, home to Fredericks, his parents and two older brothers. He points those out, too.
"That's the barn where we keep all the cows during the winter. Right now, I think, we just have the pigs and the chickens in there," he says. "That barn is for all the equipment and stuff. That barn is for all our random junk that we hoard. And that barn is also kind of for random junk that we hoard."
He laughs. He has an easy laugh, and an easy manner to go with it. The nice kid who won TV vocal competition "The Voice" at age 16 is still a nice kid at 17, and he's still a farmboy at heart. He always will be.
More Information
If you go
Sawyer Fredericks (with openers Gabriel Wolfchild and the Northern Light)
Where: The Egg, Empire State Plaza, Albany
When: 8 p.m. Sunday
Tickets (sold out): $29.50
Info: 473-1845; theegg.org
"I always want to be able to come back here and help. ... I love haying season, and I love almost every aspect of the farm. Except for the chickens. I don't like the chickens. They're the worst to clean up after."
For the record: Their poop stinks. A chat with Fredericks is full of such unexpected little insights, touching on his love of the night sky, his time on "The Voice," his fondness for pigs — "they're smarter than dogs" — and his related antipathy to bacon. He talks with that same, zen-like calm that marked his time on the NBC singing competition, his remarks punctuated by occasional rooster crows and the happy, busy panting of his 3-year-old chocolate lab, Tanner.
The voice from "The Voice" has been getting lower. "I think I'm going through another big change right now," he says. The first time it happened, he had to tune down his guitar. "I wasn't able to sing any of the songs I wrote, because my voice literally dropped a whole octave." Then he wrote more songs with the lowered instrument, and there they all remain, in the depths with the old blue glass: the voice, the songs, the guitar. He likes it down there, though the changing voice tires more easily.
Fredericks is home for a spell between tours for "A Good Storm," his first full studio album since his triumphant night in May 2015. This weekend he hits the road again, performing tomorrow in Manhattan, Saturday in Maine and Sunday in Albany — in a sold-out show at the Egg — as the kickoff of a new Northeastern leg.
"I love performing, so that is like a dream come true," he says. Not that he's an extrovert. "I'm definitely an introvert. I think that because I'm an introvert, it's difficult to connect with people just by talking to them — so singing allows me to show who I am."
On "The Voice," Fredericks made fans with his quiet self-possession, his gravelly voice, his old-soul interpretations of songs well beyond his years and his distinctive, dark bowler hat capping a long mane of blonde hair. On his blind audition, he sang "I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow" as though he actually was one, and the judges responded by whipping around in their chairs for a look. Pharrell snagged him for his team. Three months later, he won.
"I wasn't really worried about winning the show or anything — I actually would have preferred one of the other contestants to win the show, because I know they probably wanted it more than I did," he says, sitting in gray hoodie and low hiking boots, his hair snatched back in a ponytail.
He doesn't mean to sound ungrateful, because he isn't. It's just that he knew other people wanted it more. Remember: Nice kid.
"And also I'm an introvert, so having a whole bunch of cameras, and tons of people watching me, wasn't, like, something I really wanted to do. But I think I just looked past that and decided, 'Well, I can put myself through it. The worst thing that can happen is that I'm sad a few times, and then I'll get over it.' But I was looking forward to just being around other musicians and, I guess, seeing how all of it works."
His other aim: getting his words and music out there. As a songwriter, Fredericks' lyrics exhibit a startling empathy — a willingness and ability to crawl into a few corners of the human psyche. How does he do it? "I try to put myself through that experience to figure out what kind of emotions that person would be feeling – to be able to connect with the lyrics in the song, so that I can add the emotion that I feel like the song should have," he says. "But there's a lot of stuff that I feel like I have no right to sing about, because, I mean, my life has been very good."
"Out My Window," for instance, is sung from the POV of a suicidal person. "Broken Home" concerns "a family falling apart, and the father abusing the mother'" — all of which lies far outside Fredericks' own experience. "You feel like you have no right to sing about that," he says, "and someone who has experienced that should be the one singing and writing a song about it."
He hasn't thought too far ahead, career-wise. He wants to write, record and perform music; he knows that much. "I have tons of originals that aren't on an album yet, so I have all the material I need for another album." He hasn't started yet. "No, basically, it's just gettin' in the studio and figuring out what kind of instruments I want on the songs – and probably doing some co-writing, because it's entertaining."
Fredericks was homeschooled in the Unschooling method, "which is self-directed learning and learning through life," so all of it — the songwriting, the touring, the rise to fame on NBC — classifies as education. The first written test he ever took was the entrants' exam for "The Voice," and he was baffled by the warped psychology of its creators.
"I was so confused, like, I didn't understand why they weren't just telling me the answers so I knew them — like, why are you asking me if I know these things when you could tell me? And then I would know them?"
He laughs again. Fredericks doesn't seem to fret much about anything, even insults on social media. His self-awareness, combined with that aforementioned zen-like calm, shield him from a lot of angst. "I've gone over, like, who I am and the things I don't like about myself ... so even if they insult me, I'm either going to agree with them or not agree with them," he says. "So it's not really an insult to me."
He enjoys touring. He likes getting out, seeing how other people live. In New York City, he's struck by the absence of stars in the night sky — but he's struck, too, by the laissez-faire attitude that simply lets him be. "I'd just be, like, playing my guitar and singing at the top of my lungs and creating songs — and nobody will stop ya. Nobody will care."
Most of the time, when he does get stopped by fans, he doesn't mind. Occasionally he's in a hurry, but even then, he tries to roll with it. "I realize that it makes them happier."So it's OK if I have to deal with it a little bit," he says, "if I'm making someone else's day better."
Yup. Nice kid.
www.timesunion.com/tuplus-features/article/Interview-Sawyer-Fredericks-at-home-10642772.php#item-38491
There's the big green tractor. Over there, the forge. Way over there, the old scrap heap that predates their arrival nine years ago: Its strata of glass descend like artifacts at an archaeological dig, getting older and older with each layer. Fredericks likes to forage deep down, pulling up vintage blue bottles to decorate his windows.
And there are barns — lots of barns on Windrake Farm, home to Fredericks, his parents and two older brothers. He points those out, too.
"That's the barn where we keep all the cows during the winter. Right now, I think, we just have the pigs and the chickens in there," he says. "That barn is for all the equipment and stuff. That barn is for all our random junk that we hoard. And that barn is also kind of for random junk that we hoard."
He laughs. He has an easy laugh, and an easy manner to go with it. The nice kid who won TV vocal competition "The Voice" at age 16 is still a nice kid at 17, and he's still a farmboy at heart. He always will be.
More Information
If you go
Sawyer Fredericks (with openers Gabriel Wolfchild and the Northern Light)
Where: The Egg, Empire State Plaza, Albany
When: 8 p.m. Sunday
Tickets (sold out): $29.50
Info: 473-1845; theegg.org
"I always want to be able to come back here and help. ... I love haying season, and I love almost every aspect of the farm. Except for the chickens. I don't like the chickens. They're the worst to clean up after."
For the record: Their poop stinks. A chat with Fredericks is full of such unexpected little insights, touching on his love of the night sky, his time on "The Voice," his fondness for pigs — "they're smarter than dogs" — and his related antipathy to bacon. He talks with that same, zen-like calm that marked his time on the NBC singing competition, his remarks punctuated by occasional rooster crows and the happy, busy panting of his 3-year-old chocolate lab, Tanner.
The voice from "The Voice" has been getting lower. "I think I'm going through another big change right now," he says. The first time it happened, he had to tune down his guitar. "I wasn't able to sing any of the songs I wrote, because my voice literally dropped a whole octave." Then he wrote more songs with the lowered instrument, and there they all remain, in the depths with the old blue glass: the voice, the songs, the guitar. He likes it down there, though the changing voice tires more easily.
Fredericks is home for a spell between tours for "A Good Storm," his first full studio album since his triumphant night in May 2015. This weekend he hits the road again, performing tomorrow in Manhattan, Saturday in Maine and Sunday in Albany — in a sold-out show at the Egg — as the kickoff of a new Northeastern leg.
"I love performing, so that is like a dream come true," he says. Not that he's an extrovert. "I'm definitely an introvert. I think that because I'm an introvert, it's difficult to connect with people just by talking to them — so singing allows me to show who I am."
On "The Voice," Fredericks made fans with his quiet self-possession, his gravelly voice, his old-soul interpretations of songs well beyond his years and his distinctive, dark bowler hat capping a long mane of blonde hair. On his blind audition, he sang "I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow" as though he actually was one, and the judges responded by whipping around in their chairs for a look. Pharrell snagged him for his team. Three months later, he won.
"I wasn't really worried about winning the show or anything — I actually would have preferred one of the other contestants to win the show, because I know they probably wanted it more than I did," he says, sitting in gray hoodie and low hiking boots, his hair snatched back in a ponytail.
He doesn't mean to sound ungrateful, because he isn't. It's just that he knew other people wanted it more. Remember: Nice kid.
"And also I'm an introvert, so having a whole bunch of cameras, and tons of people watching me, wasn't, like, something I really wanted to do. But I think I just looked past that and decided, 'Well, I can put myself through it. The worst thing that can happen is that I'm sad a few times, and then I'll get over it.' But I was looking forward to just being around other musicians and, I guess, seeing how all of it works."
His other aim: getting his words and music out there. As a songwriter, Fredericks' lyrics exhibit a startling empathy — a willingness and ability to crawl into a few corners of the human psyche. How does he do it? "I try to put myself through that experience to figure out what kind of emotions that person would be feeling – to be able to connect with the lyrics in the song, so that I can add the emotion that I feel like the song should have," he says. "But there's a lot of stuff that I feel like I have no right to sing about, because, I mean, my life has been very good."
"Out My Window," for instance, is sung from the POV of a suicidal person. "Broken Home" concerns "a family falling apart, and the father abusing the mother'" — all of which lies far outside Fredericks' own experience. "You feel like you have no right to sing about that," he says, "and someone who has experienced that should be the one singing and writing a song about it."
He hasn't thought too far ahead, career-wise. He wants to write, record and perform music; he knows that much. "I have tons of originals that aren't on an album yet, so I have all the material I need for another album." He hasn't started yet. "No, basically, it's just gettin' in the studio and figuring out what kind of instruments I want on the songs – and probably doing some co-writing, because it's entertaining."
Fredericks was homeschooled in the Unschooling method, "which is self-directed learning and learning through life," so all of it — the songwriting, the touring, the rise to fame on NBC — classifies as education. The first written test he ever took was the entrants' exam for "The Voice," and he was baffled by the warped psychology of its creators.
"I was so confused, like, I didn't understand why they weren't just telling me the answers so I knew them — like, why are you asking me if I know these things when you could tell me? And then I would know them?"
He laughs again. Fredericks doesn't seem to fret much about anything, even insults on social media. His self-awareness, combined with that aforementioned zen-like calm, shield him from a lot of angst. "I've gone over, like, who I am and the things I don't like about myself ... so even if they insult me, I'm either going to agree with them or not agree with them," he says. "So it's not really an insult to me."
He enjoys touring. He likes getting out, seeing how other people live. In New York City, he's struck by the absence of stars in the night sky — but he's struck, too, by the laissez-faire attitude that simply lets him be. "I'd just be, like, playing my guitar and singing at the top of my lungs and creating songs — and nobody will stop ya. Nobody will care."
Most of the time, when he does get stopped by fans, he doesn't mind. Occasionally he's in a hurry, but even then, he tries to roll with it. "I realize that it makes them happier."So it's OK if I have to deal with it a little bit," he says, "if I'm making someone else's day better."
Yup. Nice kid.
www.timesunion.com/tuplus-features/article/Interview-Sawyer-Fredericks-at-home-10642772.php#item-38491