Through her music, Odetta Hartman has the ability to transform New York City into sounding like something straight out of the hinterland. With plucked chords and lush strings, she conjures the sounds of the deep south, but by blending them with found sounds and electronic interference, she channels an wholly new, experimental sound that's just as city as it is backwoods.

After stints touring and performing with others, Hartman is on the cusp of releasing her first truly solo record, an EP entitled 222 in an ode to its run time. It's a collection of songs that float by sounding like lullabies or come on like a sudden storm—and sometimes both. Hartman's voice is one that makes you want to gather around to hear whatever tale she has to tell. The collection sounds classic enough to seem like it's existed on record shelves for decades, but forward enough to practically be inventing its own genre.

What's your earliest musical memory? What kind of music were you raised with? Any particular records?

Thankfully, my super cool parents are extreme record collecting audiophiles, so I give them complete credit for putting me on to all of my favorite music, from Tina Turner to the Talking Heads and everything in-between.  As the story goes, I was ushered into this world to the sounds of Fela Kuti and  Hugh Masekela—and as a toddler, received a crash course in CBGB's punk history via stroller strolls along the Bowery. There was a jukebox full of 45s at our family's original East Village restaurant, Two Boots, and I remember hours spent punching numbers and exploring the sides—my favorites are still The Intruders' "Cowboys To Girls" & "These Boots Are Made Walking" by Nancy Sinatra. Early concert exposure came by way of Pete Seeger, Patti Smith and Woodstock '99, while music history was taught along the aisles of the annual WFMU record fair, with the help of VHS copies of the Beatles' cartoons & Shindig! reruns. At some point I became aware of a new sound emanating from my brother's room, and soon thereafter, Outkast sing-a-longs became par for the course. With the rock revival of the early 2000s, my dad and I would obsessively comb Mojo magazine for the newest releases, and my mom went to the clubs to bring home the latest DJ dance hits. 

Where are your favorite places to make field recordings? Any particular scene you've stumbled on and known you have to preserve it in a recording?

It was one of those classic New York City sticky summer nights, so humid and heavy you could barely think. Sweating in a Bushwick walk-up, my partner Jack broke our malaise with his classic sly smile, grabbing a hand-held zoom recorder and whisking me into the kitchen. "Make some sounds," he directed, while tapping mixing bowls, cracking the pepper grinder and generally making a ruckus. 

After getting our fill of foley, we immediately opened up the session for TAP TAP, the first recording we made together. Still unsure as to what he was up to, I listened in awe as Jack isolated samples and magically began crafting a soundscape that perfectly matched the story of the song. 

Months later, while tracking the rest of the record in my country house living room, we were disturbed by a deafening crack! Gunshots rattled off for the next hour, so naturally we recorded them. Listen closely and you'll hear one shot's cameo on "Creektime." 

Any place we go, we bring our zoom. You never know when you'll stumble upon a steel drum player in the subway, or hear a warbling bird outside your window. Tones are found everywhere, not just in nature, but especially on the sidewalks. Working in radio has given us the opportunity to be in all kinds of fields, and we're constantly surprised by the sounds we capture, and how they can be sampled out of context to become drums, or a bass line, or even just a good story. 

What inspires your songs?

Ghost stories, wanderlust, musical mistakes. Full moons & ferry boats, cycles & cross-country trains. Reading Thomas Pynchon & writing letters. Tall tales, my animals, religious rituals. Greek Myths & Balkan Lullabies. Love, anxiety, nightmares, spirituality. The obsessive compulsive need to express. 

How did you meet your sound and production partner Jack Inslee?

Jack and I actually met live on Heritage Radio Network. My close friend and neighbor, Aaron Ginsberg, is the host of GUNWASH—a weekly wacky internet radio show that features avant-garde musicians, street poets, graffiti artists, sneaker heads, & Lower East Side wackos. Think Howard Stern on LSD.

My talented friend Emily McMaster and I were featured guests to promote a Halloween art show we curated together: she told Navajo spooky stories while I created an eerie sound-scape with my violin and all kinds of noisemakers. 

A few months later, the GUNWASH gang came over to my home studio to brainstorm an EP for the show, and we basically haven't stopped working [and loving] since. 

Jack comes from a hip-hop/electronic music background but was very excited to volunteer his production skills for an acoustic project. Our collaboration developed around an ethos of limitless experimentation, solidarity in solitude, and the concept of music concrete.

What do you want listeners to take away from your music?

It is my sincere hope that listeners experience some sort of emotional release from absorbing these sounds. The raw feeling or impression is what we're concerned with—don't dissect the lyrics or analyze the compositions until the 5th [or 10th] listen—just get in tune with what kinds of personal memories are evoked and indulge in the atmosphere created by the act of listening and emoting.

How did the twang of country first start appearing in your output?

My mama grew up in West Virginia, so Appalachian fiddle music is a huge part of our lineage. Country music was always playing in our home: Some of my earliest memories include watching my mother dance gracefully to Emmy Lou Harris on WFUV and staring incredulously at the portrait of her with Dolly Parton. At Bard College, I joined a folk band called the Sparrows and became obsessed with early Alan Lomax field recordings and the Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk Music. These country influences combined with a deep passion for R&B to create a unique sound I like to call "Cowboy Soul."  

What's most exciting about country music to you?

Country music is pure and honest, focusing unapologetically on the human condition and giving a voice the people. 

Given your music is a hybrid itself, what's your favorite kind of hybrid and why?

Great question! Born on the cusp of Cancer, I can't resist being in the water, so I'm pretty sure I was a mermaid in a past life. Graceful and mysterious, sirens have long captivated human attention by hinting at the unforeseen magic below the ocean. There's something sinister and holy about the power of water, and I regard its pull with deep reverence. 

What is a dream adventure of yours?

Until space travel becomes more readily accessible, I fully intend to tour the world. Recently, I've been dreaming of crossing the Straight of Gibraltar from Spain to Morocco and then exploring the West African coast. From there? I've heard that you can take a cross-atlantic boat trip from Senegal to Bahia, Brazil. But perhaps that's a bit adventurous. My second choice would be a culinary and spirituality tour of Sri Lanka!