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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Purgatory is available Friday on Amazon , iTunes, and other usual outlets.

Yonder Comes a Big Deal

By Kevin Broughton

Last year Sturgill Simpson made the best album in country music. This year – fittingly – he’s produced it. Go ahead and circle August 4 – release date for Tyler Childers’ Purgatory, and the day he’ll go from relative obscurity to the bona fide next big thing.

In the late summer and early fall of 2016, J. D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy caught the collective eye of book critics and other assorted elites while shining a light on the forgotten white working class folks of Appalachia. If that award-winning book had a soundtrack, it’s Childers’ debut album.

We’ll chat with Tyler between now and then. Till then, here’s a teaser: “White House Road,” from his OurVinyl Sessions (also included on Childers' Red Barn Radio EP). Y’all ain’t gonna believe this guy.

Reckless Fulkin' Rose: Kevin's Interview Playlist

Kevin has interviewed a lot of cool people since he started with us a couple of years ago. He's also reviewed a few live events and albums and angered a few people along the way, ha. Here's a sampling of his work and a playlist of the "Best of" his interviews and reviews that he put together. Give it a listen!

Interviews:
Zephania OHora

Willy Braun of Reckless Kelly

Kelly Hogan of The Flat Five

Robbie Fulks

Chelle Rose

Brent Cobb

Kasey Anderson

Jason Eady

Album Review: Jason Isbell - Something More Than Free

Album Review: Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit - The Nashville Sound

Album Review: Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit - The Nashville Sound

By Kevin Broughton

Last year was a sonofabitch for nearly everyone we know.

-- Jason Isbell, “Hope the High Road”

A thought occurred to me while reviewing Jason Isbell’s Something More Than Free a couple years ago: “At some point, you run out of superlatives.” So let’s get this out of the way. Right now, Isbell is without peer as a songwriter. He couldn’t have a better band – and God bless him for giving The 400 Unit billing on The Nashville Sound. Throw in a producer – Dave Cobb – who should just buy a gadget that makes Grammy figurines, and you have a legitimate American musical juggernaut.

And a quick word about the band. It’s proper that current 400 Unit – Sadler Vaden and Amanda Shires are newcomers since Here We Rest – gets a spot on the marquis. When the book is written on this band, this lineup will be viewed as the Mick Taylor-era Stones were.

There are several great songs on this record, bookended by a pair of wholesome ballads. “The Last of My Kind” is just another great story of an Isbell blue-collar guy, who wryly notes that some Scripture might only apply when back home. “Something to Love,” on the back end, is a sweet, hopeful homage to Isbell’s rural roots, a companion piece to his “God is a Working Man” on Brother Cobb’s Southern Family compilation.

More than one song recalls Isbell in his peak Drive By Truckers days. (And no, they’ll never be that good again, and were never better.) The driving intensity of “Cumberland Gap” captures the defiant malaise of Never Gonna Change, only in middle age. Here’s a guy who probably wishes he’d been thrown off the Wilson Dam.

If you’re looking for other perfect B-sides, how about “If We Were Vampires,” a sweet, morose counterweight to “Flagship,” till now Isbell’s most tender love song?  

Sadly, the album is not as good as the sum of its parts. It’s a good but not great record, lacking the continuity and flow that made Isbell’s previous three studio offerings so compelling. Consequently the default focal point becomes the overtly political.

Have you ever thought about what a vile, racist country this is? This republic that twice elected a black man president, with solid popular and electoral majorities? No? You’re in luck, because Jason Isbell is here to beat you over the head with it. “White Man’s World” would be better titled “White-Guilt World.”

Granted, Isbell didn’t completely lose his mind the way his 50-something former band mates did last fall, stopping just short of pissing on Old Glory and renouncing their citizenship in a bid to curry favor with millennial piss-ants and Bernie Sanders-loving losers.  One wonders, though, how many minds did they change? How many people came around to their cop-hating, white-guilt, socialist point of view because of DBT’s temper tantrum of an album? Likely none, though countless bedwetting, gender fluid NPR fans got enough affirmation to stave off being triggered for at least a day.

While Isbell employs a modicum of subtlety compared to Cooley and Hood, “White Man’s World” is still heavy handed. And lest you think blacks are the only oppressed people in this fascist nation: “I’m a white man living on a white man’s street, got the bones of the red man under my feet. Highway runs through their burial ground…”

Really?

Yeah. Step right up for self-flagellation, Cracker Boy. You will be made to care.  And never mind that “red man” is way more than a microaggression.

You want privilege-checking? Got some of that, too. “I’ve heard enough of the white man’s blues, I’ve sang (sic) enough about myself” is our entry into “Hope the High Road,” an otherwise hopeful postmortem of the 2016 election. Oh, and “Anxiety” will be perfect fare for the “safe zones” (you know, where they exclude white people) on the campuses of Mizzou, Harvard, Brown, etc. It’s just flat-out whiny. The crybabies and victim-pimps will love it.  

It’s a sad thing when music – something that should draw everyone together to admire it as art for art’s sake – is politicized. More than a couple of the artists I’ve interviewed for FTM have told me off-the-record why they avoid it. “You're 100 percent right about the music and politics thing,” one told me recently. “I've worked really hard not to do that. The only thing that can come from that is that you piss off half of your fan base. And you won’t change anyone’s mind.” Indeed. But those on the Left seemed determined to politicize every aspect of American life and culture, as we’ve seen happen in the world of sports over the past few years.

Will Isbell lose some fans? A few. Not this one, who hopes it’s a one-off. Still, look for plaudits from all corners: “Jason Isbell courageously speaks his mind.” Yep. Takes a ton of courage to toe the Leftist line in song.

Ultimately, though, if you can do this, you can do anything you want. Nice record, Jason. Wish it were better.

The Nashville Sound will be available everywhere this Friday.

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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This Highway by Zephaniah OHora and the 18 Wheelers is available everywhere fine music is distributed, including Amazon and iTunes.

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.

Photo by Anthony Barlich

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.

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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.

** Author’s note: Arabic, along with Farsi, Chinese and Korean are only assigned to recruits who’ve blown the top off the entrance aptitude test. Jason Eady will likely never be played on pop-country radio. (These two sentences may be related.) 

Son Volt: Notes of Blue Review & Atlanta Road Dispatch

Son Volt: Notes of Blue review and Atlanta road dispatch

By Kevin Broughton

Don’t get down when the Cavalry doesn’t ride; doesn’t mean that Hollywood didn’t get it right.

So begins what may be the most Son Volt album ever.

We spent some time in this space six weeks ago mulling over an old Son Volt record, and how it should be judged against the band’s body of work. In the process of that look back -- which corresponded with the release of Notes of Blue, its eighth studio album not counting compilations – a thought occurs to the dedicated Son Volt fan. To wit: This band will always be whatever Jay Farrar finds compelling at any given moment.

If he finds something interesting that needs a new voice or interpretation, we’re gonna get a new Son Volt album.  If it resonates with the folks, great. If not, that’s okay too, because Jay’s gonna do his thing.  Case in point, 2013’s Honky Tonk, Farrar’s sublimely faithful send-up of the Bakersfield sound. Which itself was the first peep heard from him since 2009.

As the simply self-evident title suggests, Farrar decided he’d do a blues record. And he did, man, and put a stamp on it only he could. Notes of Blue, which Jay says is influenced heavily by Mississippi Fred McDowell and Skip James, certainly isn’t your conventional blues deal. It’s alternately rambling and driving, with the customary stop-go tempo changes that date back to Uncle Tupelo thrown in. There’s a cowboy ethos…as many Westerns as are coming out these days – remake and original – Notes of Blue should be a soundtrack to one of them.

And it’s a bunch of wonderfully different tunings (which made for frequent equipment changes live, see below), 30 minutes efficiently packed into 10 songs. There’s vitality, there’s brooding, and sheer badassery on “Threads and Steel.” But as the opening cut, “Promise the World,” passes the Bakersfield-to-blues baton between albums. 

And it was often the pedal steel-playing of [some dude] that got the crowd’s attention time again at Atlanta’s Terminal West on March 10. I’m sorry, but as we acknowledged earlier, “Son Volt” is Jay and whomever is behind him at the moment. The guy on steel was exceptional, and played keyboards really well, too. [That one guy] on bass sang competent harmonies. The band was tight. Oh, wait.

Opening act? Yeah, there was one at the sold-out (625, standing) venue.

Let me tell you about him for just a second. The advertised bill was SON VOLT WITH JOHNNY IRION. So I Googled the guy.

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Oh, good. The Google hit reveals some hippie-communist-douchebag who decided to prove his bona fides by doing an anti-Trump song.

Wow, guy. You must be legit! And courageous. It takes a lot of balls to write songs hating on a Republican. Is it lonely out there on that bastion? You know, I didn’t vote for president last year, my first time ever taking a pass at the top of the ticket. But, dude. Since you’re a musician, I’m starting to come around to your way of thinking. Tell me more.

Wait, what? Your wife is Woody Guthrie’s commie granddaughter? And y’all did a trio – no kidding – with Pete Seeger’s Bolshevik great grandson or some such?

Oh, wow, Johnny. You’ve swayed me. I’m a Democrat now. I demand that boys be allowed in girls’ bathrooms. Immediately, and anyone who objects is a bigot.

Good job, Johnny. I just wish I’d been born in time to march with an NVA flag and spit on Vietnam vets in airports.

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Sorry. Yeah, let’s keep politics out of music. He did some songs. I didn’t listen.

The show was great. Farrar – did his hair seem unnaturally dark, and did that question seem catty – led the band onstage and quickly into “Cherokee Street,” emphasizing the Cowboys-and-Indians vibe of the record. They played all but one of the cuts off the new album, and oddly, not a single one from the last. The balance of the 20-plus song set was a healthy sampler of Son Volt’s best work.

Trace, appropriately, was well represented, with “Tear Stained Eye,” “Catching On,” “10 Second News,” “Route,” “Drown,” and “Windfall” making the list. The highlight for a lot of folks was an encore that featured three Uncle Tupelo Cuts. I’d never heard the lovely “Still Be Around” live before, and it was awesome.

Trailer tells me Farrar’s on Twitter these days. That’s neat. He was more interactive March 10 than I’ve ever seen him. He said lots of words.

“How’s everybody doing tonight? You guys okay?”

“Hey, thanks a lot.”

“Thanks. I’d like to introduce the members of the band. [Proceeds to do so.]”

He’s never been that chatty. And he changed guitar about every 1.7 songs. Freaky tunings.

Know what he didn’t say? Anything about politics.

Yay. 

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Notes of Blue is available everywhere you can purchase music, except Walmart probably.