The Third Story with Leo Sidran

• 302: Ben Sidran at 82

  Every year on his birthday, my dad and I sit down for a conversation. It started when he turned 76, and with a few exceptions, we’ve done it ever since - capturing an ongoing record of where his head and heart are at that particular moment. Over the years we’ve talked about music, memory, politics, travel, the craft of performing, and the art of living. These annual conversations have become a kind of time-lapse portrait: the same two people returning to the mic, but always a little changed. This year, as Ben turns 82, the theme that emerges is that he is “still auditioning for the role of myself.”  We talk about what it means to keep creating, to stay curious, and to hold on to your sense of fun as the outside world speeds up and your personal world contracts.  Ben is, as always, the consummate jazz philosopher. “History is what we make of it and what we live every day,” he tells me. “We’re all feeling pain, and you can’t deny it. [...] But the response to pain is something separate from the pain itself. And in that distance between the pain and the response to pain is where our work is.” He shares stories from his days hosting NPR’s Jazz Alive and later Sidran on Record, explains how he came to be the first person to record Billy Joel’s “New York State Of Mind,” reflects on maintaining the outsider’s perspective, and weighs in on the latest curveball: AI-generated music.  If you’ve been following this series of birthday talks, then this is a great addition to the canon. If this is your first one, welcome - you’re dropping into the middle of a conversation that’s been going on for years, and will, I hope, keep going for many more. Ben’s most recent album Are We There Yet (Live at the Sunside) was released earlier this summer.   www.leosidran.substack.com www.third-story.com www.wbgo.org/studios www.bensidran.com

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• 301: Mary Sweeney Returns

  In 2018, film editor, producer, writer, and director Mary Sweeney sat down for a wide-ranging conversation about her career — from growing up in Madison, Wisconsin, to collaborating with one of the most visionary directors of our time, David Lynch. That conversation traced her evolution as an artist, her pivotal role in shaping films like Lost Highway, The Straight Story, and Mulholland Drive, and the intimate creative and personal relationship she shared with Lynch. Seven years later, in the wake of Lynch’s death in early 2025, Sweeney returns for a follow-up conversation, recorded in a Paris hotel room nearly to the day of the original talk. While she has grown and evolved in the intervening years, she is also, unmistakably, in the process of mourning. This new conversation captures a deeply human moment: a woman navigating the complexities of grief, memory, and creative identity after the loss of a longtime collaborator and partner. Sweeney reflects not only on the legacy of her work with Lynch, but also on her ongoing life as an artist, mentor, and teacher. She speaks candidly about the challenge of being defined by a past she helped create, even as she seeks to shape new stories. There’s a tension between wanting to move forward and being drawn back to moments that shaped her — and a palpable vulnerability in her willingness to explore that contradiction publicly. Paris itself plays a quiet role in the conversation — a place of reflection and ritual that has become part of Sweeney’s life in recent years. The setting adds to the emotional texture of the interview: past and present gently overlapping in a city known for memory and reinvention. If the first conversation served as a kind of time capsule — a snapshot of a creative life at a particular moment — this follow-up serves as both an epilogue and a revision. It expands the story, complicates it, and deepens it. In the language of film, it might be called a director’s cut: longer, more revealing, more personal. Ultimately, this episode is about how stories are shaped, reshaped, and sometimes reclaimed. About how we carry our experiences forward. And about how, even in the face of loss, we find ways to keep creating — and keep becoming. www.third-story.com www.leosidran.substack.com www.wbgo.org/podcast/the-third-story

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• 300: Moses Patrou

  Moses Patrou has spent the past twenty-five years in New York, carving out a unique space as a multi-instrumentalist and bandleader. From early days in Madison, Wisconsin playing hand drums in hip hop bands, to immersing himself in Cuban and Brazilian traditions, to gigging across the city in every imaginable context, Patrou has done it all. During the pandemic, he taught himself to play organ—a transformation that has reshaped his sound and his role in the scene. Here he reflects on the long road behind his new record Confession of a Fool - a soulful and striking record that represents the culmination of a lifetime in music - and what it means to make a defining statement at midlife. Patrou talks about the house fire that nearly took everything, the influence of his father (a piano player who named him after Mose Allison), and the difference between being a sideman and stepping into the spotlight. “There’s a certain point where the music has to come through your experience,” he says. “It has to filter through your life.” Today, on the ocassion of the 300th episode of The Third Story, there is no better person to talk to than Moses Patrou. www.third-story.comwww.leosidran.substack.com www.wbgo.org/podcast/the-third-story

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• 299: Joe Henry

  For Joe Henry, truth in songwriting doesn’t come from confession or fact. It comes from presence, from listening, from surrender, from giving shape to the ineffable. As he puts it: “Total presence—that is the code of my road.” Henry’s road has taken him across both the literal and metaphorical map of American music. Born in North Carolina, raised in Georgia and Ohio, and coming of age in Ann Arbor, Michigan, he grew up suspended between North and South, white and Black, rural and urban. This early sense of duality, of living between poles, helped shape his identity and fed a lifelong curiosity. Alongside his brother Dave, he immersed himself in records, films, and books that would later form the bedrock of his creative work. Over the past four decades, Henry has become one of the most respected songwriters and producers in American music. His solo albums, beginning in the late 1980s, blend literary songwriting with genre-bending arrangements. As a producer, he’s worked with artists like Allen Toussaint, Mavis Staples, Solomon Burke, Bonnie Raitt, Rodney Crowell, Joan Baez, and Meshell Ndegeocello. He co-wrote Madonna’s hit “Don’t Tell Me,” (she also happens to be his sister in law) and more recently, he’s been collaborating with Jon Batiste. This year he is releasing three of his classic albums on vinyl for the first time.  In this wide-ranging conversation, Henry discusses his love of character-driven songwriting—an approach influenced early on by Randy Newman and Bob Dylan—and his rejection of the notion that autobiography equals authenticity. “Your factual experience can be disruptive to the truth you're trying to allow to move through you,” he says. www.third-story.com www.leosidran.substack.com www.wbgo.org/podcast/the-third-story

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• 298 - Aron!

  Aron! is only 22, but his music seems to exist outside of time. A singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist from North Carolina, he studied classical guitar, jazz voice, and film scoring—playing everything from indie rock in a college band to Nat King Cole covers in retirement homes—before landing on a sound that feels both old school and strikingly fresh. (He calls his sound “vintage pop”.) His debut EP cozy you (and other nice songs) began as a self-produced student project, recorded in a college studio with friends. It was completed before he signed with Verve Records—one of the most iconic jazz labels in the world—and showcases his gift for timeless songwriting, intimate performance, and warm, sophisticated arrangements. He first gained attention online through casual videos of himself playing standards and originals, quietly amassing a loyal audience. Among his early champions was Ryan Lerman (Scary Pockets), who helped connect Aron! with a wider musical community. Here he reflects on his musical roots, his love of old songs, the strange path from Instagram to Verve, and the challenge of staying grounded in a moment of rapid change. The songs may sound old, but the feeling is immediate. The muse, it seems, doesn’t care what year it is. www.third-story.com www.leosidran.substack.com www.wbgo.org/podcast/the-third-story

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