Showing posts with label Interviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Interviews. Show all posts
Aug 8, 2017
The Farce 5: A Dumb Interview with Tyler Childers
About a year ago, I decided I needed some quick questions to pop out in case I ran into someone who would be an interesting person to talk to for Farce The Music. I wanted the questions to be a mix of aggravating and stupid but not so many questions that it’d take forever to type up afterwards. I decided on five and would call them The Farce 5. Catchy ain’t it? In April of this year, I attended a Tyler Childers show at Ohio’s worst kept secret, Tootle’s Pumpkin Inn located in Circleville. I asked Tyler that if he had about five minutes because I had a very short interview I’d like to do. A few minutes later he came to me and The Farce 5 was underway. Enjoy.
by Jeremy Harris
FTM: If you can only pick one, what genre of music would you put yourself into to?
TC: One? I guess country? It’s hard to pick one. I just always considered it hillbillies making mountain sounds. It’s a little bit country, a little Appalachian but if it’s one, probably rap. I’ll go with rap.
FTM: That’s good. Rap seems popular these days and the kids love it. It’s a good way to get yourself introduced to a younger crowd.
FTM: I know there’s been times where you’ve shared a dressing room with other artist, so which of your fellow artist takes the stinkiest shits?
TC: [Whispers to self: Stinkiest shit?] I would say it would probably be Arlo McKinley. He takes the stinkiest shit.
FTM: But he has such a sweet voice.
TC: Yeah, but the other end ain’t so sweet man. It’s pretty nasty.
FTM: Well, I’ll try to stay on the voice end.
TC: Cheeseburgers and beer can be a bad equation.
FTM: Has there ever been a time when you pretended to remember a fan you’ve encountered so they would quit telling you why you should know them?
FTM: On a side note, we’ve met like three times.
TC: Yeah, I remember. Yeah I guess. That will make them go away.
FTM: Describe your worst hotel experience.
TC: I stayed in a place in Tulsa and I can’t remember what the place was but there was a 1-1/2 to 2 inch space under all the doors. when you were walking you could everything that was happening in each hotel room and the walls were paper thin. We go there and the guy next door he was, he was just being a real asshole to this woman and you’d hear him stay stuff like “Damnit!”, then he’d go on a big rant. I just kept thinking, that poor girl, and then after he did it like three times she just tore into him. Everything that he had said abusively, verbally didn’t hold a light to what she did to him. I was like, that poor guy…
FTM: You didn’t expect that did you?
TC: No, I didn’t expect that. There was a lot of arguing, stinky sheets and a stinky place.
FTM: Alright, last question. If you could make one singer or band disappear forever, who would it be and why?
TC: Hmmm, disappear. Probably, uh… I was thinking Gomer Pyle. The fact that he had that gorgeous voice just took so much away from the comedy side. So if you could keep Gomer Pyle as Gomer but take out all that singing shit that’d be great.
FTM: Thanks Tyler. I’ll get this all turned in within the next two days to six months. [barely made it]
Labels:
Arlo McKinley,
Interviews,
Jeremy Harris,
The Farce 5,
Tyler Childers
Aug 2, 2017
Tyler Childers: The Farce the Music Interview
By Kevin Broughton
You think this next text message can be a point of leverage.
“Fine. But I get 30 minutes.”
Tyler Childers’ publicist, frantically shuffling timelines
all morning and into lunch, is profusely apologetic after the third (or was it
fourth?) shift.
“Ugh! I wish I had 30 min. But he has something right at
3:00, so the best I can do is 2:30 to 2:55…I’m so sorry. Seriously. Is that
ok?” The lady is a first-rate pro, earning every bit of her keep from one of
the Gold Standard music-publicity firms. Which, in turn, is evidence that Tyler
Childers is springing from relative obscurity to the next big freaking deal in a short period of time; these folks
rep the A-listers. So what’s with this guy?
Some folks scoffed at the notion – seven months hence – that
Sturgill
Simpson might be enough of a determined contrarian to reshape Nashville in
his own image. Well, he saw a Tyler Childers show a year or so back, and
decided he’d try his hand at producing a record. And as we mentioned a couple weeks ago, Sturgill’s gone
from making the best country album one year to producing it the next.
The album does a lot of things early: Grabs your attention
with the tagline of a Baptist hymn, then ticks off a checklist of lies borne of
infidelity, all on the opening cut. Poignant lines about the impressions a
feathered-Indian belt buckle makes on a lover’s thigh. And later: hopeful,
helpless, thoughtful, and crushingly resigned reflections of an Appalachian
existence summed up in last
year’s best nonfiction book.
And like that, you’re done. Hooked. A captive of the record
of the year. We’re calling this fight. The guy’s 26. You really can’t
appreciate the “bigness of the deal” until you’ve run through the record – out
on Friday – several times.
But wait. 2:30 p.m. and our 25 (under protest)
minutes are nigh.
Dang. Note to self: Tyler didn’t answer, and I leave a
polite message. He calls back 5 minutes (OUR FIVE MINUTES) later. Oddly, it wasn’t
a media call that (like the rest of them) ran long.
“Man, I’m sorry,” Childers explains. “I’m going to England
next week and need a certain guitar. So I’ve been doing some horse-trading.
What you wanna talk about?”
Well, lots. But we
ain’t got but a minute.
The guy’s a little tired. Well, a lot, maybe. At one point
he pauses in the middle of a sentence and says “Wait. What day is today?
Tuesday.
“Yeah,” he says. “Caroline Spence, who played with us the
last two nights at Eddie’s…”
Here, you get ill, with a swimmy head. Eddie’s Attic. He
played in Atlanta the two nights before you’re flinging sharp elbows at
imaginary writing rivals for a bit of time. The room spins. Ugh.
The drummer on Purgatory, Miles Miller, introduced you
to Sturgill Simpson. I’m interested in how that came about. Was it an
oh-by-the-way thing, “How’d you like to meet Sturgill Simpson?”
About a year and a half ago I was opening for Caroline
Spence and Miles was at one of the shows. He came up and introduced himself and
it got to where we’d hang out whenever he came back to Kentucky. And he showed
some of my stuff to Sturgill and talked him into coming out to a show I was
playing at the Basement East. He made the introduction, and that’s about it.
If Sturgill Simpson
shows up at your gig…is that maybe a source of nerves?
There was definitely a feeling of “Holy s**t, Sturgill
Simpson’s at my show.” But to be honest, I had also said, “Holy s**t, there’s
Miles Miller at my show.” I get nervous playing in front of people of a high
musical caliber. But I dealt with it.
Purgatory is being called your debut album, but you released Bottles and Bibles six years ago. How
long have you been making music in your 26 years?
I mean…I’ve just been playing in one form or another for… well,
a long time, you know? I started out in high school playing for free beer. Then
I graduated and started playing for money on the side. And free beer. And now
I’m to the point of playing for my job, my income. And that’s a pretty cool
thing to be able to do: making a living at something you enjoy doing.
Some of the cuts on Purgatory have been floating around out
there on EPs – there’s a stripped-down version of “White House Road” I almost
wish Sturgill had left alone. Of
the songs on this album, how many of them were essentially ready to record, and
how many of them did you write before going into the studio?
I had ‘em all when I walked in, and a lot of them I had been
playing out for a while. I think there was one – “I Swear to God” – I was
halfway through that song when we sat down to talk about recording. And it was
pretty much done by the time we went into the studio. But the majority of these
songs I had been traveling and touring and singing for a good while. “Feathered
Indians,” I had written it not long after Red
Barn I was recorded, but it’s been ready to be on something for a long
time.
What would you be
doing for a living if you weren’t making music?
The last day job I had, I was workin’ for rent, building
fences on a farm this older couple had in Lewisburg [West Virginia], and I was also
working at a brewery washing kegs, just to have some side money on top of the
little bit I was makin’ playin’. Before that, I was de-nailin’. And easy job to
get days off from, ‘cause I could say “I’m gonna de-nail for three days and go
play four.” But if I wasn’t playin’ music, I’d probably be…layin’ floors or
something else carpentry-wise. Framing houses…some kind of manual labor.
Several of these
songs have a real antihero vibe to them. And you’re not bashful about addressing the opioid crisis
ravaging the country – and your neck of the woods in particular. When it comes
to corn liquor, snorting pills, and riding the roads, do you speak from a
little bit of experience?
Do I speak from a little bit of experience? Well, yeah, you
know…
Let’s go at it this way:
the song “White House Road.” Is that song borne of observation, experience or a
little bit of both?
It’s both. I mean, there are parts of me inside of all my
songs. But there’s parts of people I’ve hung around in those those songs, too.
Like in “White House.” I wasn’t gonna be found… “Hey, Tyler’s up on White
House.” But plenty of people I knew were. A party’s a party wherever it’s at.
I kinda want to
follow up about that song. As I
hear it, and knowing you’re on the cusp of taking things to the next level, one
could envision that one becoming your signature show-closer, kind of a party
anthem. I don’t think that’s
necessarily what you’re going for; were you just making an observation, free of
any value judgment, about life in Lawrence County?
Well, it’s an observation, sure. And even at the end of the
song, the character’s looking at his future “in the cold hard clay,” he
realizes that the way he’s chosen to live means death’s not a whole lot farther
away. But it seems a lot of people
don’t take that line into account, so it has kinda become a party anthem. And
we’ve been closing out the show with that one for like four years. And if
that’s what somebody wants to take out of it, then that’s their prerogative.
But it’s one of those songs that in a different time in your life, you can get
something from.
A lot of the songs I grew up listening to – like Truckers’
songs – those were my party anthems. We’re
gonna get s**t house wasted and listen to Truckers’ songs! And the older I
get…
…the Drive By
Truckers, you mean?
Yeah. You grow up and you think what you’re singing along to,
and you start thinking, “There are some pretty dark characters in those
Truckers’ songs.”
Give us a thumbnail
biography. What kind of family did you grow up in, and what about your early
life and upbringing inform your songwriting? What was your life in Eastern Kentucky like?
I grew up in Lawrence County, Kentucky and my dad worked in
some form or fashion in the coal industry. He started out on a backhoe for Kentucky
May, then it went under and then kinda had a job fall into his lap as a
purchasing agent for Miller Bros. Coal. He worked hard and was persistent and
showed up. He did that and my mom was a nurse for the health department in
Johnson County. I had a good
raisin’. They busted their ass to make sure my sister and I were taken care of.
Did a lot of huntin.’ Went to church with my parents and
grandparents. Listened to a lot of old men on the front steps jawin’. Listened
to a lot of yarns spun by old timers in front of a wood stove in a coon
[hunting] club and a barbershop. People around here have their own way of
sayin’ things, and I’ve always had an ear for it I guess. Somebody would say
somethin’ and I’d think, “That ought to be a song,” know what I mean?
Yeah. “Get me higher
than a grocery bill” is one of those lines. That is a poignant, well-spun,
local line. And on that, there are
spiritual themes sprinkled all over this record. “Born Again.” The title cut, with the mythical, Eastern
Kentucky Catholic girl. And I think I hear the tag line for “Just As I Am” in
the intro to “I Swear.” How big a part of your life was faith growing up, and
today?
Yeah, that is the tag from “Just As I Am.” Growing up in a
Freewill Baptist family, -- I don’t know how they do it in other faiths – but
that was the invitation at the end of the service…
…all six verses, then
over and over, till somebody came down the aisle…
…yeah, man. So I just had that phrase in my head, as being
the invitation to, well, this album. Everything that happens after you leave on
Sunday. Or however you want to take it; I don’t know.
I’d like to circle
back for a minute. You’re 26, and
you’ve got Sturgill Simpson – arguably the biggest voice in authentic country
music – producing your record. It would be really easy for a fella to let that
go to his head. Was there an “Oh, wow” moment when that came together? How do
you keep yourself grounded in a situation like that?
Lady May! Any time I get a big head, she lets me know where
I stand. Everybody has their own way of being accountable, whether it’s the
congregation, or just waking up one day and deciding it’s time to have some
self-respect. Or sometimes you luck into finding a damn good woman. Like I
did.
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Labels:
Interviews,
Kevin Broughton,
Sturgill Simpson,
Tyler Childers
Jun 9, 2017
Way Down in His Soul: An Interview With Zephaniah OHora
By Kevin Broughton
Zephanaiah OHora has made a remarkable album, one that
recalls a golden era in country music. This
Highway – released today – oozes authenticity with its silky smooth vocal
phrasing and warm instrumentation, and captures a time when the Bakersfield
sound intersected with the “country-politan” vibe of late-60s Nashville. But
OHora poured himself into a decade-long study of the classics before putting
this record together.
Ray
Price, Hank Snow and Gram Parsons were just a few of the icons who informed
his immersion. A hair stylist by
day and band-booker by night, OHora eased into being a recording artist by
first playing with a group that did classic trucking songs – his backing band
is The 18 Wheelers – and a Haggard cover band as well. It was Merle’s records
that “taught me how to sing.”
And a quick study he was. His vocals are the genuine
article, and take you seamlessly back to a simpler time. There’s not a weak cut
on the album: ten originals – any of which could’ve been recorded by the aforementioned icons of traditional country – and a
lovely cover of the duet “Somethin’ Stupid” from Frank and Nancy Sinatra. Fans
of the golden era of classic country will put this one in heavy rotation for a
while.
You’re apparently at
ground zero of a roots-country scene in Brooklyn, New York. It’s not a place
associated with country music, nor is your native New Hampshire. What kind of
music did you listen to growing up, and how old a fellow are you?
I grew up listening to a lot of old stuff because of my dad.
He and my older brother listened to a lot of sixties jazz, and of course the
Allman Brothers. At the same time, I also grew up in a very religious household
and wasn’t allowed to listen to “modern music” per se. I’m 34.
You have a
distinctive name. Were you named for the Old Testament prophet?
That is correct.
Did you know he’s the
only prophet of royal lineage? Great grandson of King Hezekiah.
I actually did not know that. When I was a the kid when I
had nightmares, my mom would say, “Go read the Bible. Read Zephaniah.” Not an
uplifting book.
Yeah, well Zephaniah
was bringing the heat. Didn’t like the pagans, and he meant business.
This Highway evokes a blend of country styles and eras. There’s a
strong Bakersfield element, and some of that late 60s/early 70s
“country-politan” Nashville feel. Your band is called the 18 Wheelers, &
you started out doing the old trucking songs for fun. Walk me through the
process of how this all got synthesized into an album.
I got introduced to this guy Roy Williams, who was playing
in this band called Honey Fingers, that did a lot of old stuff like Ernest
Tubbs, the The Texas
Troubadours…the band is named after the song. And I was booking bands at
this place in Brooklyn called Skinny Dennis, which has gotten to be pretty
successful now. Bands from around
the country that play the old Texas sound play there when they’re on the East
Coast.
I had been a DJ and had been collecting records for years,
and wanted to put together a band and have something like old Midnight Jamboree
show that Ernest Tubb did, except kind of in reverse. I would be a DJ and the
band would be a guest. So that was going on, and I mentioned that I could sing
a little bit. And I sang a few George Jones songs, then guested with them, and
it became a regular thing.
I was writing some, and over time we’d drop a few of those
into a set, and before long we weren’t doing truck driving covers anymore.
Your phrasing brings
a lot of the classic artists to mind: George Jones, Merle, a hint of Glen
Campbell. Heck, I could imagine Gram Parsons singing the title cut had he stuck
around a little longer.
Yeah, right.
Who are some of your stronger
vocal influences? I mean, I think I’ve named a couple of them…
Yeah. I got really big into Marty Robbins. I didn’t know as
much about Merle at that point. But Marty had such a range: country to pop-jazz
vocals. The album Marty After Midnight is still one of
my favorite records; it’s just ridiculous. And yeah, Merle…I’ve had this Merle Haggard cover band
that’s made me a much better singer.
And I was really into George Jones, too. And of course, the
Flying Burrito Brothers. But Merle really put it all together in the right way.
Any truth to the
rumor that “Way Down in My Soul” is a love note to blotter acid?
Ha ha. Yeah, maybe a little bit. I did a lot of psychedelic
drugs in my twenties. And I always like the whole “Lucy in the Sky with
Diamonds” thing, like there was a female energy to it. It’s sort of a goddess
who guides you through the whole experience; not necessarily a love song, but a
deep spiritual thing.
When’s the last time
you dosed?
Um. It’s been…well, I don’t know. Several years. Been a
while. I guess things get complicated as you get older. But I’m a huge Dead
Head and there’s a new documentary coming out about them. Makes me wish I could
just drop some acid & walk around the park.
Pedal steel is a
pretty trippy instrument, when you think about it, huh?
Yeah, totally.
Was this album
crowd-funded at all? How did that go?
I crowd funded a little of it; probably a third of the cost.
It cost a good bit, because I don’t think it’s possible to make an
authentic-sounding sounding country record without a really good band.
I’ve been to see
“vintage” bands like the Derailers before, and the whole show is a scene:
people with rockabilly pompadour hair do’s, dudes with gas-station shirts with
their names stitched on the front. I see your picture on the album cover, with your jet black, swept back hair; are you playing
a part? Is this to blend in to a scene, and do you walk around like that all
the time?
Well, I don’t necessarily wear the suit every day, but it
was when I first moved to New York about 10 years ago that I started getting
into it. That was when I heard the Byrds’ Sweetheart
of the Rodeo…
Really? And you just kept drilling, digging down into it?
Yeah, and then I got some Hank Snow albums, some Jimmy
Rogers stuff. But it was Neil Young where I first heard steel (guitar), and the
Dylan Hard Rain album. I was obsessed
with that album when I was 20 or 21. But I was hanging out with a girl and we
had been out all night and around 5 in the morning she put on Sweetheart of the Rodeo and I was like,
“What the hell is this?” It literally
changed my life
What are your plans
and goals after the release of this album? Do you have any sort of distribution
deal?
Yeah, I’ve got a distribution deal with an imprint of Sony
records. It’ll be physical in Canada and the U.S., digital in Europe. But I
don’t have like a fancy booking agent to push me to the next level, so it will
be up to me to schedule dates and stuff like that. Hopefully people will like
it and that will open some doors along the way, and I can afford to make
another one.
I truly think this
album speaks for itself. But tell me one thing everyone should know about
Zephania OHora.
Basically, that I love this music, that I’ve studied it, and
I don’t go for this bullshit idea that you have to be from a certain region of
the country to be a part of it. This is American music and we all have at least
a little bit of it inside of us.
Has there been some
skepticism based on geography?
Well, yeah, and it’s bullshit. If you decide to be in a rock
and roll band, are people gonna ask you where you’re from? Where is rock and
roll from? Should we base the answer on where the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is
right now? I guess you can trace it to a couple of different regions; are
people gonna say you have to be from that certain region to be authentic?
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Apr 21, 2017
Jason Eady: The Farce the Music Interview
Where He’s Been: A conversation with
Jason Eady
By Kevin Broughton
Organic.
The word comes up often with Jason Eady. His songwriting
process, the way someone plays pedal steel, the setup in a recording studio; he
tags all with this adjective that can mean anything from farming without
pesticides to a really hard chemistry class focused on carbon. One gets the feeling, though, that Eady
is using either the “having systematic
coordination of parts” or “forming an
integral element of a whole portraitures” usages.
His sixth and self-titled album is being released today on 30 Tigers. His three-year layoff from the studio (since 2014's Daylight & Dark), overlapped with
his easing into a fifth decade, produced a simpler, subtler Eady sound.
Unplugged. Laid back. Smart. Organic.
The album’s first single, “Barabbas,” has been widely
circulated and critically praised already. Such an ancient name – that of he
who received clemency while the Savior bore the sins of the world – certainly raises
an eyebrow. I heard the judge ask the
jury, which one’s the one to go? Then I heard them say my name, and why I’ll
never know. So begins a lilting, introspective look at how fallen humans
deal with guilt, forgiveness and redemption. Powerful in its humility and
simplicity, it sets the tone for an album so beautifully understated that it’s
the best record to date in 2017.
There’s a lot of flavor: bluegrass (“Drive”); story songs
(“Black Jesus” and “Why I Left Atlanta”); and a poignant tune about the
backside of cheating, “Where I’ve Been.” There’s a love letter to his daughter,
and a reflection of turning the big four-oh. What’s missing? A mediocre cut. No
throwaways here.
We caught up with the Mississippian-to-Texan, fresh off a jaunt
to the Emerald Isle, and talked about how to write a waltz, tag-team
songwriting, and re-immersing in the Arabic language.
You’re just off the road
from a mini-tour in Ireland. A lot of roots/ Americana artists seem to have
strong followings in Europe, Ireland and the U.K., while they might struggle to
build an audience stateside. Why do you suppose that is?
Yeah, man, I’ve 100 percent noticed that. My wife, Courtney
[Patton], and I have been going over there for several years. And before this
time we had never taken a band, it was just these small acoustic tours.
But we noticed that exact thing, and we’ve talked about it. I
think one thing is they just love roots music there; they just appreciate the
authenticity of it. They like that sound coming from the States, especially
from Texas and the South. So I definitely think that’s part of it.
Another thing I’ve noticed: I think – in Europe, where not
everybody speaks English – harmony tends to be a big thing there. It sounds
good to them even if they don’t know the language. And unlike in the United
States, that’s all they can latch onto.
Help me fill in a couple
holes in the bio your publicist sent me. It says you grew up in Jackson,
Mississippi. But I was a resident of the 6-0-1 for 20 years, and I’m thinking
Rankin County. In broad strokes,
tell me about your upbringing, and where you went to high school.
That’s exactly right. I went to Florence High School. But yeah, I grew up with that Southern
music, and it’s a huge asset. Because it’s not like anybody had to sit me down
and say, “You have to listen to this much
blues music, and this much Southern rock and this much country.” All of it
was there, and none of it was compartmentalized.
Whether it was church on Sunday, or a street festival in
Jackson on a Saturday afternoon, music was always around. My dad was in a
bluegrass band, and on Tuesday nights he’d have a bunch of those guys over, and
they’d sit around in a big song circle and play old country and bluegrass
songs. They had a songbook with all the chords in them -- I’d give anything to
still have that book today. But they’d sit around and play -- I was probably 12
or 13 at the time – and when they left, my dad would hang his Martin up on the
wall. And I would sneak in and grab that guitar and the songbook, and sit in my
room for hours trying to figure all those songs out.
So that was the beginning, and before long I was playing in a
little band in Puckett (Mississippi, population 354 in the 2000 census). This
guy had a gig in his garage every Friday night – he had a PA and everything –
and so I’d be right there with them, playing these old songs. I was 15 maybe,
just starting to drive, and before I knew it I was playing in honky tonks
around Jackson. My dad had to go with me so I could get in.
I’d like to know what
you did in the Air Force, how long you were in, and how you got from it to
full-time Texas musician. And how old a boy are ya’?
Ha. I’m 42. I had gone to Nashville to try and do the whole
singer-songwriter thing when I was 19. One day I got really frustrated with the
whole thing. And I realized that I just wasn’t ready. I was always into the “songwriter” thing, wanting to be
taken seriously as a songwriter. Then I got up there and realized how good those people were, and that I just
wasn’t there yet. So I thought I needed to get out and see some things, get out
and find some things to write about and see the world. So sort of on a whim one
day, I joined the Air Force and ended up going to school to learn Arabic.
Wow. You were military
intelligence?
I was, yeah. That was my job.
I was in for six years. Went in in ’94 and got out in 2000. I
moved back to Mississippi and had put the whole music thing behind me. I worked
a job there for a couple of years and then the boss opened a second office over
in Ft. Worth, and he sent me out there. I hadn’t played a show since before the
Air Force; I had given it up and gotten married and had a kid. I thought,
“Those days are gone. I didn’t do it, I missed that opportunity so I’m moving
on.”
And after a while, I started to go out and play open mics just
for fun. I needed a hobby. I had never quit writing songs, though, so I’d do
some covers then throw in a couple of mine.
Now there’s one thing about Texas more than any other place
I’ve seen: They want you to play your own songs. If you don’t, they kinda
wonder what’s wrong with you.
Anybody can do covers.
Right! So it just kinda took off; it got to the point where I
was starting to get gigs. I wasn’t asking for it, but I surely liked it. I was
doing my own thing, and after about six months I started coming in late to work
and…well, I turned 30, that’s what it was. I decided if I was gonna do it, that
was the time, so I quit my job and make a go of it. Been doing it ever since,
so 12 years now.
Courtney Patton and Jason Eady |
Listening to your
self-titled album – and in particular the opening cut, which we’re fixin’ to
get to, I promise – I kept asking, “Who is this girl with the angelic
harmonies?” Turns out her name is Courtney Patton, and y’all are married.
Furthermore, y’all released an album of duets in December called Something
Together.* What kind of songwriting dynamic was that, as it appears each of
y’all brought some songs to the table? Mechanically and logistically, how did
that work?
We met each other musically seven or eight years ago. We’d
played shows together but sort of lost touch because Courtney quit music for a
while; we ended up reconnecting about five years ago. Coincidentally, we were both divorced. We’d get together and
play songs and write songs. We were friends for a long time before, so it
worked out great.
We don’t write as much together as people might think. She
still writes with a lot of other people, as do I. And I tend to write more on
the road, while she writes a lot when she’s home alone. But we figured if
people want to hear what we sound like together at live shows, let’s give them
what they want.
We did Something Together
in the studio in a day – about four hours, really, with some really good microphones.
It was some of her songs and some of mine. But one day we’re gonna sit down and
write a duets album together, like George and Tammy.
I can’t wait. Let’s get
to your current record.
NPR took a liking to
“Barabbas,” and you said the song was about reacting to guilt. I wonder, pop
culture-wise, if yours is the first stab at his character since Anthony Quinn
played him in a movie…
Oh, really?
Yep, Quinn played
Barabbas in 1961. But I’m curious about co-writing a song with three other guys
(Larry Hooper, Adam Hood, Josh Grider.)
What was that division of labor like? Did somebody have the original
name, or concept, or what?
Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened. Larry Hooper – who’s a
great songwriter out of Texas – had the lyrics to the first verse and the
chorus written out. And he had the whole idea of doing a song about Jesus and
Barabbas, from the latter’s point of view. That was 100% him. And I took it and
gave it a melody and wrote the third verse.
I knew it still needed something, and just happened to be
playing a show with Adam Hood. And he grabbed Josh Grider, and things just
kinda went from there. So, it wasn’t one of those deals where four guys sat in
a room and crafted a song together, which is really cool. Sometimes when
there’s a group setting, you can tend to compromise a little. With this type of
writing, everybody gets more of his contribution put cleanly into it.
So that’s where it came from. And we were very careful, very
intentional about not – in the lyrics – not mentioning his name or Jesus’s name
or the time period. We wanted all that to come from the title, so it could be a
universal song
You’ve said that as
you’ve matured as an artist and a songwriter, “The real joy comes from the
process, rather than the end goal.” Expand a little bit on that, and if you
can, give an example from this new album.
I guess what I mean is writing for the artistic part of it. For
the art itself, and not writing with the idea that you need this many radio
singles, or this many ballads or this many up-tempo songs. Because I’ve done
that on previous albums; in the back of my mind, it’s been, “I’ve gotta have at
least one radio song.”
Over the years, I’ve found that whenever I think or anticipate
like that, I’m almost always wrong. So planning things out like that is a
futile exercise, and I’ve had more success with songs that I didn’t think
anyone would respond to. And I’ve learned by now that if it’s a song that I
like and feels natural and it’s going down well in the studio…and if it comes
from an authentic place, I just have to trust in that, because it’s usually
gonna translate.
Speaking of the
process…listening to Something Together,
there are several songs in ¾ time, some real pretty waltzes. This is kinda
random and it’s never occurred to me before, but do you (or does anyone) sit
down and say, “this is gonna be in ¾,” then write accordingly? Structurally,
the phrasing is gonna be different; but do you hear it in your head first, and
just let the words follow?
I think everybody’s different, so I can’t presume to speak for
anyone else. For me, whenever I write, I sit down and just start playing
guitar. Someday it might be bluesy, or country, or folky, but I just start
strumming. And things either start happening or they don’t; I’ll have ideas
jotted down, but it’s not very rigid. I don’t say, “Today I’m gonna write a
song in ¾ time.” It’s a lot more organic than that.
So that’s where it starts, and then it just becomes what it
becomes. And usually – I’ve found with all my songwriting – the faster and more
effortlessly a song comes out, the better. I try not to overthink it.
You’ve got some pretty
heavy hitters on this record. Let
me just throw a couple names out, and you tell me how you got them there.
First, Lloyd Maines plays a bunch of instruments; how did that work?
Yeah. Lloyd played on my A.M.
Country Heaven album, and I’ve known him for years. You can’t play in Texas
and not know of Lloyd Maines; he’s so central to this thing out here. I knew I
wanted him on this album because I love the way he plays Dobro. And I also knew
that steel was gonna be the only electric instrument on this album. So I knew
it had to be someone who came at steel from a very organic place, and didn’t
use a lot of pedals and a lot of effects. And I even told him, “I don’t want
much reverb; just do your Lloyd thing.”
And of course, he nailed it. He did exactly what we were hoping
he’d do.
And oh by the way, Vince
Gill sings harmony on “No Genie in This Bottle.” He’s no slouch. How’d you
manage that one?
Most of these people on the album are on it because of Kevin
Welch. Kevin’s the producer and he knows all these folks. He spent a lot of
time on the road with Vince, and I don’t know if he ever recorded one of
Kevin’s songs, but they were together a lot during that whole thing during the
80s and 90s. And there’s an Austin City
Limits episode out there where Kevin’s in the background, playing rhythm
guitar for Vince.
So they’re good buddies, and while we were putting this record
together, I just brought up Vince’s name and that I loved his harmonies. Kevin
said, “Well, let me call him and see if he wants to do something.” And we sent
him a couple of songs to see if he was interested, and if so, to pick one. And
that’s the one he picked, and of course he just nailed it.
Did y’all do it live?
We did not. Unfortunately I’ve still not met Vince; I’m hoping
to. But we did it the way a lot of records are made these days: We sent him the
files and he just did his vocals and sent it back. But man, I’m hoping to. I’d
love to do another song with Vince someday.
This makes how many
albums for you?
This is my sixth, not counting the one with Courtney.
Then I think we should
say seventh. Why a self-titled record now?
Because you only get one shot at it. I always said that one day
I was gonna write a really personal album. I wanted to write most of the songs
on it myself, and was going to make it about my personal story, something very
authentic. And that’s definitely what this album is. There’s a song about my
daughter. There’s a song about turning 40.
I’ve done a lot of different things over the years: songs made
for Texas radio, songs that were bluesey-er. The last one was much more
traditionally country. On this one, I tried to bring all those things together.
Here’s everything that I do, all put together. And once I realized that I’d
done that, I knew this was the time to make it self-titled.
Before we get out of
here, I want to circle back to your time in the service and what you did, if
that’s okay. You were
military intelligence, Arabic-trained and got out not long before 9/11. Did you
“what if” for a while, and do you pay attention to the news with a special
perspective?
Yes, I got out a year before 9/11. It
was a strange time for me because all that was still felt very fresh, and I
knew that all of my friends who were still enlisted were about to have their
whole lives changed. A part of me felt pretty guilty about that. And I
definitely watch the news differently now than I did before I went in. I got a
world perspective during my Air Force time, and especially being in intel, got
to understand a lot of background about what goes on in the world. Once you see
things from that perspective it's hard to go back. I still keep up with the
news daily.
Did you
choose Arabic, or did the Air Force choose it for you?
I didn't choose it. I went in to be a
linguist but they picked the language. ** It wasn't something that I would have
ever chosen, but looking back I'm really glad that it worked out that way. I
learned a lot about that culture and it opened my eyes to a lot of things in
that part of the world. That never would have happened without my time in the
Air Force.
I’ve read
that career diplomats assigned to that part of the world tend to fall in love
with the Arabic language. Apparently there are so many words that can’t be
translated to English with any sort of simplicity.
I love it. It's a pretty incredible
language. They say that the language you speak plays a part in the way you
think. I can see that. They do have words that would take us whole sentences to
translate. My daughter is studying Arabic in college right now so I'm getting
to get back into it by helping her. I'm having to brush up on it, and am remembering
how much I like it.
------------
Post script:
Eady and I ended up swapping book
recommendations, as we’re both fascinated by history and foreign policy. One he
suggested is a real keeper, if you’re into that stuff: Prisoners of
Geography – Ten Maps That Explain Everything About the World. I heartily endorse his endorsement.
Just in case, you know, you wondered if
this guy might be a thinking man’s songwriter.
Jason Eady's self-titled album is available today from Amazon, iTunes, Lonestar Music, etc.
* This record was released with little fanfare in December
2016. It would have otherwise made my Top 10 list in the FTM critics’ poll.
Jan 13, 2017
Brent Cobb: The Farce the Music Interview
By Kevin Broughton
Brent Cobb is an old soul. He’s wise and even-keeled like
you’d expect a man twice his 30 years to be. Heck, he sounds old on the phone; his conversational tone matches up with a
grizzled roughneck, not the soothing troubadour on Shine On Rainy Day. Critical acclaim poured forth upon the album’s
October release, and it finished at a heady No. 4 in the FTM critic’s poll –
ahem – no small feat. Our intrepid publisher described perfectly it as “a slow drive down a gravel road on the outskirts of your hometown, with
nary a bro in sight.”
And therein lies the irony.
Or paradox. Whatever, the bro issue
is inescapable in a discussion of Cobb’s musical journey, and it’s evident that
the dichotomy puzzles the man himself. Because this guy – who hasn’t needed a
day job outside of music for 10 years – has written plenty of songs that bros
and their producers have fattened their wallets on. And while Cobb would never
say it, the bros and their auto-tuning technicians commit aggravated musical
assault on his art, dumbing it down in the pursuit of (a) filthy lucre; and (b)
the approval of millions of 80-IQ drones.
Oh, his frustration
occasionally bubbles up, but in an understated way in keeping with his gentle
temperament. Except that one time two years ago when he went into the studio to
vent; that’s when “Yo, Bro” caught the ear of notable outlets like Rolling Stone. (Though, by the way, Cobb
sent it to FTM first.) The magazine was one of many platforms to make the
obvious comparison of his parody song to the work of one of the reigning bros,
who happened to be a friend of Cobb’s.
It picked up steam to the point the artist felt compelled to preemptively
reach out to the pop star in question. “He asked me,” Cobb said, “whether I was
making fun of bros, or if it was something I wanted him to record.”
Yeah.
It’s a stretch to say Cobb
has a foot in both camps. It’s indisputable, though, that there’s some overlap
because of his personal and professional relationships. It gives him a unique
perspective into the critical/commercial contrast, and you won’t find anyone
with Cobb’s artistic integrity who has such a realistic window into the tragic
dumbing down of country music.
When Jody Rosen coined the term “bro country”
three and a half years ago, it cut deep with the thin-skinned millionaires
whose songs are confined to beer, trucks and heavy petting with loose women.
Jason Aldean – who stares at the orange juice can because it says concentrate – remarked, “It bothers me
because I don’t think it’s a compliment.”
“You have no idea,” Cobb says, “how personally they take it.
You wouldn’t think it would bother them too bad, since all they have to do is
go to the mailbox and pick up a check. I don’t know why it bothers them so
much, but it does.”
Brent Cobb may never sleep in piles of money; he’ll also
never have to worry about the respect of his peers.
On a Sunday in December, Cobb took a break from singing the Frozen soundtrack with his little girl
to talk about songwriting. And the music business. And having a cousin who
churns out Grammys for the guys program directors ignore. The “bro” thing may
have come up, too.
I’d like to start
with a question about tradecraft. For a while you made a living writing songs
for other people. Is there a different mindset for writing a song for somebody
else? I would imagine you attack it differently, for instance, when the goal is
to get a song on mainstream radio.
Well, I got lucky, really. I’m with a great publishing
company, Carnival Music, that’s always supported people and let them be their
own artists and writers. I can’t imagine being anywhere else. There are a lot of places in town,
where you go in and it’s a nine-to-five, and you have to try to write hits and
that sort of thing. I’ve never had any of that kind of pressure. And for some
reason I’ve gotten lucky enough; the songs I’ve written I’ve always done for
myself. And I’ve been fortunate that there have been folks to record them.
About six months
before the release of Shine on Rainy Day,
there was the compilation from your cousin Dave Cobb, Southern Family. Your song on it, “Down Home,” seems like a preview
for the album. Was that a song you’d been working on for a while? Put another
way, if Dave hadn’t done the compilation, would that have been the eleventh
song on Shine On?
I’m sure it would’ve been, man. It’s funny. I had gotten
started on that song and had maybe a half a verse or a full verse. When Dave
gave me a call [about the compilation] I knew it would be a perfect fit. But
it’s definitely a Sunday in the life of my Southern family. And on my album
there’s definitely a lot of that, so yeah, no doubt it would’ve been the
eleventh track.
It looks like y’all had a lot of fun recording that one.
Oh, yeah. It was definitely good to get back in the studio
with Dave; it had been about 10 years since I’d done that with him. So it was a
blast. I’ve said this before, but he kinda produces the way I write. There’s a
lot of spur-of-the moment stuff, and if he says, “something doesn’t feel
right,” he means from his heart, not technically. And that’s the way I’ve
always approached writing songs.
You met your cousin
Dave, I believe, when you were about 16. He was an established producer then,
but not the big name his is now in the industry. He’s kind of a big deal….
That’s what I’m saying!
…How big an asset is
it to have a producer who’s not just blood kin, but the hottest hand in
Nashville right now?
Ah, that’s gonna be pretty beneficial. It’s definitely
helped me out a lot. When we first met I was 17, and he had produced Put the O Back in Country by Shooter
[Jennings], which was one of my favorite records at that time and is still one
of my favorites.
And it was funny, man. When I moved up here [Nashville]…
well, actually, I moved to L.A. for a minute. I lived in the middle of
Hollywood for about four months and went back and forth for about a year and a
half. Then I moved back to Georgia, then back
to Nashville in March of ’08. And I was looking around trying to find a
publishing deal and learning about being a staff writer. And the first thing
everybody asks is, “Are you a songwriter or an artist?”
So I would always say, “I thought they were one and the
same.” And they said, “Well, we’ve gotta get you a producer.” And I told
everybody the same thing, for eight years: I’ve got a cousin who’s a producer,
and he’s badass. But folks were a little scared to invest money in someone
who’s somebody’s cousin who happens to be a producer. And I didn’t have the
money and Dave didn’t have the money, so we sorta did what we had to do there
for a second. But now a lot of those naysayers are red in the face, I believe.
[Laughs.]
Around the time Something More than Free came out, Jason
Isbell talked about the collaborative way he and Dave worked in the studio.
Your cousin, he said, had a real knack for knowing where to place a bridge, for
example, or whether to start a song with a chorus or a verse. Did you
experience a similar chemistry in the studio?
Yeah. Well, definitely on my first album, Dave would
structurally set up songs. I was 17 at the time. And there’s still a lot of
that because he’s just got such a great instinct for… well, I might think a
song is incomplete and he might say, “I think it’s done; let’s just put this
little melodic thing at the end.” He’s just fantastic, and that’s why everybody
loves him, because he thinks like an artist. Well, he is an artist, not just someone who can afford a bunch of equipment
and calls himself a producer.
I imagine he’s as
valuable – if not more so – than any great session man.
Yeah! And going back to the staff-writing thing, I approach
that the same way Dave does: It’s a collaboration that comes down to “What’s
best for the song?”
How long had you been
working on this batch of songs? Did you do any writing while in the studio?
Some of them longer than others. Like I said, I’ve always
written for myself, so I’ve always had a deep pocketful of songs that kinda
lent themselves to this album. But some of them I finished up in the studio in
the moment; I might have a melody in mind and I’d say, “What do you think about
this one, Dave?” So, a little bit of both.
There’s an uplifting
air to this album of yours. There’s sort of a demarcation point, I think, between
the first seven and last three songs, but for the most part there’s kind of a
contentment running through it. Is this a reflection of your personality and
general outlook on life?
I think it has to be. I come from a very musical family, a
positive family, a loving family.
For me, it’s been a long decade professionally in music and I’ve seen
some people come behind me and excel and surpass me. But I’m still rockin’,
professionally. I’ve been able to make a living from just music for almost a
decade. So I’ve gotta be positive.
The other thing I wanted to show, you know…I’m friends with
everybody on both sides of the fence; I can’t really pick a side because I’ve
got so many friends on both sides of this invisible wall. My thing is, I wanted
to do country music in such a way that just because you’re going beyond
scratching the surface and doing something a little deeper, it doesn’t have to
be depressing. You can write something that feels good and also has a little
more meaning to it, a little more depth.
So that was always in the back of my mind while I was
putting this album together. And also – having a two-year-old – I wanted to put
something out where if I never did anything else, my daughter could listen to
it and say, “Man, that was my daddy’s album!”
From Brent Cobb's Instagram |
You'd easily fit into the mainstream country neo-traditional revival
(artists like Stapleton, William Michael Morgan, Jon Pardi). You've seemingly gone the more
straight-Americana/less-commercial route. Was that a business decision, or just
staying true to your style and comfort level?
Yeah, it’s just the way I write. If you
go the traditional or commercial route, there’s just so many people who have to
get involved, and that wouldn’t have been a good representation of what I do.
This album is just natural.
And, speaking of the commercial route, let’s talk about an elephant
in the room. There are several folks in the “mainstream” camp who’ve recorded
your songs. You wrote “Tailgate Blues” and Luke Bryan had a hit with it. (editor’s note: was a popular album cut) It might be hard for folks to reconcile
the songs on Shine on Rainy Day with
that one. Was that a case of “well, that’s just what the music-listening public
wants, so give it to them?”
No, that song was originally written
for me. I had a verse or two, and it was originally called “Mossy Blues.” And I
would ask people to go and listen to the lyrics of that song * before they made any judgments like, “Oh, he wrote that song for
Luke Bryan.” Because – and I don’t really want to be the one to say it – if
they listen to it, it’s structurally different. There are some of the same
phrasings, but we’re from the same area. But I think you can tell the
differences in depth.
And my co-writer, Neil Medley – it was
one of the first songs I’d had a co-writer for, and this was about five years
ago – he’s the one who said “Let’s call it ‘Tailgate Blues.’”
Well, that was certainly some foresight, right there.
[Laughs]. Isn’t that funny, man? And
look, I’m not saying we were the first ones to write about a buzz, or write
about a tailgate or crickets and stuff, because we damn sure were not. But
during that time period not a lot of people were saying that stuff. And then,
about a year or so after that…[laughs].
What’s more likely to happen: Brent Cobb writing another song about
a truck, or Luke Bryan covering “Down in the Gulley?”
Luke would do Down in the Gulley.
Yeah, but would you want him to? Wait. You don’t have to answer
that.
Of course I would! I want everybody to
do whatever they want to do. Wouldn’t it be cool to hear Luke do Down in the
Gully? That would probably change everything.
Well, it would help your bottom line, no doubt… So, you apparently
dipped your toe into satire and wrote something called “Yo, Bro.”
[Laughs] Aw, I should’ve sent that to
you.
I’d love to hear it, but I can’t, since all traces
of it have disappeared from the Internet. Can you clear up this mystery?
Ah, well…For about four or five years,
I averaged doing about 120 dates a year, and when we found out we were having
our baby, I decided I’d leave the road and just focus on songwriting. And
during that time, it was at the height, the peak really, of the bro country
movement, and I couldn’t get anybody
to listen to any of my songs.
So I got kinda pissed off. And what
happened…I won’t say any names, but I had a couple folks who are kinda high up
– Luke WAS NOT one of them – a couple folks in that camp told me, “Man if you
could just write some stuff that leaned that way, you could probably have a lot
of success.” And it really bothered me because it ain’t that I can’t do that; I
just don’t do that.
I decided to write something that was
that style of song, and I wanted to do it better than they can write their own
style of song. [Pauses] Against them. As a matter of fact, Neil Medley – the
same guy who co-wrote “Tailgate” – that’s who I wrote “Yo, Bro” with. And it
worked.** [Laughs] It did a lot of what I thought it would do; I figured it
would go over a lot of the bro fans’ heads…
That’s not a very high bar, Brent…
And later they were like, “Wait, I
think he’s making fun of us, but it doesn’t matter because it sounds so cool.”
What I didn’t expect to happen was that a lot of the more traditional fans – I
expected them to get the joke – but it kinda backfired on me and said, “Aw,
he’s a bro hatin’ on bros.”
[Howls with laughter]…
Yeah, that’s what happened. So, I
pulled it off the Internet. Someday I’ll put it back out there, but I took it
off before I put this record out because I didn’t want people to be confused
and not get the joke. Luckily we’ve got folks like [Trailer] and ole Trigger
(Saving Country Music) who do get the joke. But a lot of folks didn’t, so I
just didn’t want to deal with that.
Back to Southern Family for
a second: It’s become a cliché, what with the mainstream country bros checking
all the boxes (trucks, dirt roads, etc.) to show they’re authentically rural on
all their songs. On “Down Home,” you touch all the bases yourself, yet it’s
valid on its face. Did you write that song as sort of an ironic wink at the bro
template?
Nah, I didn’t really think of it that
way. The thing is, I’m friends with some of those guys. There was one time we
were sitting around in the writing room writing a song, and I had this really
cool idea. Where I grew up my
grandpa had a junkyard. He had a hundred acres that my great-grandpa bought for
a dollar an acre after World War I, and on one part of it was this junkyard.
So I had this idea about how things
rust away in a junkyard, but it can still be beautiful; a really rural song,
you know? So this one guy – and man this is one of the top dudes, and again I’m
not gonna say any names. He says, “Well, does that pass the Bubba test?” I
asked him what the “Bubba test” was. “As in Bubba back home; is he gonna get
it?”
It bothered me so much. And I was a young buck, just a low man on the [Nashville]
totem pole. I told the guy, “Well, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to write anything
together. Ever.” And I just got up and walked out. Who knows; maybe if I hadn’t
walked out I could’ve had a bunch of bro hits. [Laughs] But it just bothers me,
man. It’s an epidemic, and what I don’t understand is, those guys are from there (the rural South.) They know
that things are deeper. I don’t know whose fault it is, whether it’s the fans
of that music; I don’t know if it’s the record labels, or the radio, or if it’s
just people getting there and selling where they’re from short. I don’t know
whose problem it is. But it’s unfortunate, because it’s much richer, where
we’re all from.
Yeah. As a lifelong Southerner, it chaps me when in the movies, for
example, every Southerner is gonna be a dumb yokel…
Always…
…and these guys, they’re reinforcing that stereotype and lining
their pockets. And now they’ve added an element of soft-core porn to it,
singing about trying to get in some skank’s pants…
yeah…
…and it’s not healthy.
You know, I hate to name-drop because I
know these guys and they’re all heroes of mine. But my wife and I were talking
about this the other day. Guys like Kristofferson and Willie, when they talked
about a woman, it was so romantic. They did it in a way that was just
beautiful, man. You can still do that, dammit. It’s the same way with movies,
too. I love the movie Dazed and Confused;
it’s funny because it’s real-life, not over the top. What’s happening in all
genres of music, not just country, is that it’s over the top and exploitative
of whatever the truth is.
Lastly, are you doing any new writing, or is that something that’s
perpetual for you? And have you thought about what you might do for your next
album?
I have thought about it and I’m really excited about doing
the next album. It won’t stray too far from where I am already, though.
Cobb will play
a few dates late this month in the U.K., then come home for an extensive tour
with Nikki Lane in February.
Catch him when you can.
* Seriously, go listen. He’s right, and it’s a great song.
When sung by Brent Cobb, of course.
** Oh, man, does it ever work. Since the interview, your
humble correspondent received a copy from the artist on the condition of not
circulating it. It is brilliant.
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