Unlike most songs Trailer sends me to review, I actually listened to this one, called "House Fire." I thought it was pretty good. Then I read that Tyler Childs has signed a deal with a major record label. So I listened too the song again and realized it wasn’t very good at all! Its weird how your taste can change from one minute to the next.
This song says something about “honey jump on my train.” I seem to remember some bro-country bro singing about a chick sliding her fine ass into his truck a few years ago. Or one dude singing about sticking his umbrella in a woman’s sink?!? Sounds like Tyler Childers has gone the same damn way! That’s to perverted for me!
And don’t get me started about the production of this song! It’s all sparkles and shine and listen! You can actually hear every word and it sounds like they want everybody too like the song! What the hell?? Tyler is supposed to sing to 14 people and a chicken in a water district office parking lot for the rest of his days, not get popular!
Why make it sound so pretty? I want it too sound like he’s singing through a shoe. I want the guitars to sound like all the strings are about to break and the guitarist doesn’t really know what he’s doing. I want there to be a cloud of dust come out of my speakers when I listen too the song. Their shouldn’t even be a drummer. And Tyler should forget some of the words and have to restart a verse, and they should leave that in the damn mix!! That’s country! Not this overproduced bullshit that Sturgill Simpson (that sellout) screwed up!
Luke Bryan? Never heard of her! But from what I’ve heard about her, I imagine Tyler Childress will soon be on that same path. He’ll be shaking his butt in tight blue jeans and making preteen girls squeal and singing about how country his truck is or some shit. Its sad when you’re favorite artists get popular and change from what you liked about them. I hope he enjoys the money, but he won’t get another .00005 cents from me on Spotify!! I’m done.
West Virginia ends up being the butt of a lot of jokes. There's poverty. There's wide-reported drug abuse. And there's a sense of this almost pride that you're NOT from West Virginia. But, on the other side of that coin are the people from West Virginia. If you actually meet folks from West Virginia, they're nothing like those silly caricatures you read/hear/joke about. They're proud. They're proud of what the state stood for during the Civil War. They're proud of what the state provided to the country with the mining industry. They're proud of the unions that began in that same mining industry. And over the years some of the best Appalachian music has come out of those hills and hollers.
Charles Wesley Godwin is someone I believe will become a household name very soon. There's nothing but authenticity dripping from every word and chord that pours out of him. And he has the voice to carry these sincere, heartfelt songs of growing up in West Virginia. Songs that are so specific to the Appalachian region that you almost feel you're there as you listen to him sing. This all comes through on his fantastic debut album Seneca. I was pleased to find out that in a stripped-down, solo live show, nothing was lost.
We went to see Charles at The Vinyl Lounge which is part of the Gypsy Sally's venue in D.C. We had once seen Sturgill Simpson play solo at this place to about 50 people. So, this felt similar- like I needed to see Charles Wesley Godwin before he started making it to venues where the crowds were growing. He began the show around 10PM.
The first couple of songs were new songs as far as I was concerned ("Jesse" and "Bones"). I don't believe they were from his previous band, either. These songs were incredibly well-written and true to CWG's young, but quite impressive career. CWG would then go on to play a great mix of songs from his debut album ("Coal Country", "Strawberry Queen", and "Shrinks and Pills") as well as songs from his previous band's (Union Sound Treaty) output ("Peaked" and "Hazelton"). He threw in a couple of covers as well from folks like Bruce Springsteen and Jimmy Martin.
CWG played for those of us there for around an hour and a half. It was an intimate affair and one that I am incredibly glad I got to witness. The songs of CWG are smart and emotional. West Virginia pride is rich in the tradition of the songs. He wants you to know that WV is still here. With songs like "Here In Eden" he calls his WV brothers to arms. You get the idea that CWG would never apologize for where he's from. And, that's what makes his songs so relatable and so damn irresistible. We all want that sense of pride of our home. CWG has it damn spades.
To drive this point home, CWG pulled a barstool out from the bar for his last song. He stepped away from his mic. He unplugged his guitar. And he sang with all of his heart and soul the WV standard: "Country Roads". We all sang along. We felt connected. And, we walked away from the show feeling like we'd just watched something pretty special.
If you are anywhere near CWG, go see him. It is special. He's building something. He will be someone we all will say we remember when he was still building that something. Until he comes to your place, go buy his music; his solo album and his previous band's album. You won't be disappointed.
Almost two years ago, Kasey Anderson opened
up in depth here about his spiraling descent from artist-on-the-cusp to
grifting, locked-up addict. He was then not quite a year post-prison. And while
there was still a hint of an artist’s confidence about him, it was tempered by
the gun-shyness you’d expect of a guy fresh from the halfway house and with a
long list of pissed-off victims, many of them former friends.
Little did he know that within a couple of months he’d begin
the long, cathartic and ad hoc
process of recording a comeback album. In fact, he really had no clue what
would come of the sessions, done virtually pro
bono by a collection of generous friends and musical colleagues from the
Portland indie scene.
Anderson’s voice on the telephone is stronger today. He
sounds healthier, no doubt buoyed by the album-making process that was critical
to his ongoing restoration as a man. The humility is still there, no doubt, but
the knowledge that he’s made a really solid rock ‘n’ roll record has put a
spring in his step. From A White Hotel,
released today on emerging label Julian
Records, is poignant, introspective and sprinkled with
Anderson’s trademark irony, starting with the title, a reference to his drab
lodgings for more than two years. Oh, and his name isn’t on it.
We caught up with Anderson with just a few days to go before
his nuptials, and talked redemption, recovery, the virtues of not being
preachy, and the inevitable Steve Earle comparisons. And the whole, stupid
“outlaw country” thing.
I’m curious about the
way your band is billed. I was partial to the name “Kasey Anderson and The
Honkies.” “Hawks and Doves” is the
name of an underrated Neil Young album & song; why the switch? Were you
worried about the local Portland anarchist community torching your pad to
protest your white privilege? Sorry, I know it’s low-hanging fruit…
Ha! No. First, I decided to do it under a band name because
of the way the record came together. I had written all the lyrics and had the
structure of the songs, but the instrumentation came together in such a
collaborative way that it felt disingenuous just to put my name on it. And The
Honkies, I didn’t want to go back to that because all those guys were such
strong personalities in their own right, and I just kinda wanted to leave it
there with those guys because I have such fond memories of that band.
And I love that Neil Young record. The phrase “hawks and doves”
is a political and military term. It seemed pretty appropriate for what’s going
on now. Plus, it just sounds cool.
The first time I
heard that song was on Scott Miller & The Commonwealth’s live album…
Yeah, yeah! From The V Roys!
And since it’s not
“Kasey and the Hawks and Doves,” just the band name, any concern that nobody
will know it’s you?
I don’t think it’s a horrible thing for me to make a clean
break with the work that I did and the life that I led as a solo artist. It
wasn’t a calculated move to do that; maybe it’s an added benefit? And I think
that the way it’s being marketed through the press, it’s pretty clear that it’s
a band I’m involved in.
This is a collection
of a dozen pretty dang good songs. How long have they been percolating? Did
some of these words get put to paper while you were locked up?
Yeah, about half of them were written while I was locked up,
during my second year in prison. “Every Once in a While,” for instance, is
about my first cellmate. That’s his story much more than mine. The other five
or six songs happened around after the election, in late 2016. It took us a
long time to make the record because of the way we went about it.
Tell me about this
band, and how you got the record made; I imagine raising funds to get an album
done might have been challenging for someone in your position.
The band is
Jordan Richter (guitars,) Ben Landsverk (bass, keys, viola, background vocals)
and Jesse Moffat (drums, percussion). Other folks who played are Eric “Roscoe” Ambel, Kurt Bloch, Ralph Carney, Kay Hanley and Dave
Jorgensen.
Jordan engineered it and owns a
recording studio in town. And I think right after you and talked last time,
some folks reached out and asked if I’d like to contribute a track for a
benefit record they were involved in. I told Jordan, “Hey, I’d really like to
do this, but I don’t have money to pay for studio time or to pay session
players.” And he said, “Are you sure
you want to do a benefit record?” (Laughs)
…I wasn’t gonna say anything. It was a real thing, though, right?
(Laughs) Yeah, it was a real thing. It
was to help this woman named Jennifer Holmes – who has since passed away – with
her cancer treatments. So once I proved to him that it was a real thing, he
said he’d get some people together. We covered this song called “Wise Blood” by
the band Tender Mercies. At the
end of the session Jordan said, “Man, if you ever want to just come in the
studio and roll tape, everybody gets your situation and knows that you don’t
have a bunch of money to throw into making a record. There are people willing
to play your songs for fun and just see where it goes.”
And that’s what we did. Jordan would
text a group of us that said, “I have this day where the studio’s not in use,
and you don’t have to pay me for the time.” So it took us more than a year,
because we’d do a day here and there, and everybody would go back to their
lives. So that’s how the record got made, and it was really generous of him to
do that.
And then I sent [the album] to several
of my friends and said, “I really don’t know what to do with this; I can’t put
it out.” I have a friend named Nathan Earle here in Portland who’s in a band
called The Get Ahead, and he told me about this new label, Julian Records.
“They seem to be looking for bands,” he said. “Why don’t you send it to them?”
I had planned to just try and put it out digitally, but the Julian Records
folks were into it, and took it from there.
That’s certainly fortuitous.
It’s very fortuitous, and the only way
it was going to come out physically. I mean it’s not really cost-prohibitive to
get an album out digitally. But this was very generous. Everybody seemed to
think the songs were cool, and were like, “Don’t worry about it right now,
let’s just see what happens.”
When last we spoke,
we touched on your being medicated for bipolar disorder, and how that can
sometimes stifle creativity in artists of all stripes. There’s a line in
“Lithium Blues” that says, “You took the words right out of my mouth.” Is there
a balance you find yourself having to strike between mental health and
creativity?
Yeah, for sure. “Lithium Blues” might have been the first
thing I wrote in prison that I was really happy with. I had to go back and
figure out, okay, there’s an element of
magic to creativity, but there’s a much bigger element of math to it. And I know how to make a
song so that the pieces fit together. If I can trust myself enough to do that,
the rest will come along in time. That’s kind of what that song is about.We talked about this a little bit
before, but I had almost resigned myself that [playing music professionally]
was behind me, that maybe I could do some shows for fun from time to time. But
over the course of making this record it became clear to me that I still know
how to make a song work. Whether this is a thing I get to do on a larger scale
remains to be seen, but I was able to prove to myself that I can still put a
good song together, even when I’m not
up for five straight days.
An article in Glide mentioned that you’re training to be an
addiction counselor.Is there some
sense of duty there? Have you become more zealous about “the program” and
living clean? Maybe a little of both?
It’s a little of both. I have certainly become more zealous
about making sure that people who deal with mental health and/or addiction
issues – especially younger people – have someone they can talk to without
feeling judged or dictated to.
The name of your
band, as you mentioned, has political overtones, and there are some references
to current events on the album. But you didn’t lose your mind and start bashing
people over the head with your opinions, like so many artists have done since 2016.
Why do so many folks make everything about politics?
When I wrote these songs, one of the things I tried really
hard to do was invite people into a conversation rather than dictate to them
how they should feel about any given thing.
Thank you.
I really feel that’s a far
more effective way to engage an audience, if you want to have that
conversation. I have never responded to anybody – even when I agree
wholeheartedly with what they have to say – addressing whatever they imagine
their audience to be, by dictating what their thoughts or beliefs should be.
That just doesn’t work for me, and when I wrote these songs I tried really hard
to stay away from that. I wanted to ground it in narrative and open-ended
conversation.
Yeah. It’s there, but it’s not preachy, and it’s
open to interpretation. And believe you me it’s refreshing. Because I didn’t
vote for the sumbitch, but I’ve had about a bellyful of being preached to by
guys whose music I otherwise love.
Switching gears,
redemption is certainly a theme running through From a White Hotel. How cathartic was this whole process, and where
are you on the whole making-amends thing that started when you got out of the
joint?
Well, in terms of the process being restorative, the making
of the record – playing music with other people, being able to work on songs –
was really, really healthy.And it
was good to do it in a way that I didn’t have to feel like my life depended on
whether people liked these songs. Obviously I wouldn’t have put the record out
if I didn’t want people to hear the songs, but it’s not going to ruin my life
if there’s a deafening thud when it’s released. I’m still gonna be married to
this wonderful woman, I’m still gonna be helping people who struggle with
mental health and addiction issues. At the end of the day, the act of making a
record was rewarding in and of itself.
The amends thing? Well…the second you say you’re humble,
you’re not.
Ha! I guess that’s
true.
(Laughs) Yeah. I’ll just say I’m really proud of the work
that I’ve done. I think I’m living out amends to people to whom I can’t make
direct amends. I’ve worked really hard at doing a good job of that.
By the time this
article runs you’ll have been married for about a week. Was Caitlin a part of
your life before you went away? How big a part of your road back to normalcy
has she been?
She was a part of my life. She wasn’t my girlfriend at that
time, but she was part of a close group of friends. My girlfriend at the time
was named Tracey, and she called Caitlin that night and said, “You’re not gonna
believe this, but he’s gone. He’s going to prison, so can you come get his
stuff out of my apartment?” So Caitlin went and got all of my stuff and took it
to Goodwill in East Los Angeles. A lot of us had drastic changes in our lives
around that time but we all stayed in touch for the most part. And Cait and I
stayed in touch while I was locked up, and she’s been so supportive. She was
never judgmental. It’s been one of the most positive things in my life – if not
the most positive – to have that
person with me every step of the way.
On the title cut you
say, “I ain’t no kind of outlaw, and I never claimed to be.” The wit and irony
are strong in you, Kasey Anderson.
(Laughs) Well, you know, that’s true. I never tried to
market any of the records we ever made as any sort of “outlaw country” thing…
Oh, wait! Gosh, see,
there’s so much irony I missed the irony.
I was thinking in the literal sense, in that you’ve done time and technically are an outlaw.
(Laughs) I technically am an outlaw, and that’s kind of the
point I wanted to make. It’s not all those artists’ fault that they’re being
marketed and trumpeted that way. But a lot of times I’ll read an article about
some “outlaw country” artist and think, “Man, I’ve actually been an outlaw and it sucks!”
You know, smoking weed doesn’t make someone an outlaw. My
mom’s 65 and she’ll smoke weed and watch Netflix. That doesn’t make someone a
badass. Figure out what you mean by “outlaw.”
Speaking of outlaws:
Everybody’s favorite badass, Steve Earle, gets a nod on “Clothes Off My Back,”
right down to the title of his 1996 post-prison album.I can understand why you could maybe
not resist a tip of the ol’ driver’s cap; it’s just too perfect. But aren’t you
afraid he might get a big head over it?
Um…no, I’m not. Because I think Steve knows how good he is.
He’s far enough along in his career that he knows he’s revered by people who
write songs.
Very diplomatic, by
the way.
(Laughs) But the point of that song…Steve’s been sober for a
long time now, and he’s done a really good job of living his life according to
that. And so it’s an acknowledgement that I’m not anywhere near where this guy
is as a songwriter, and certainly not in my recovery. But I’m certainly a lot
better than I was five years ago.
Yeah. I was really
hoping you’d rise to the bait there.
(Laughs) I can’t.
I know.
Also, just to clarify one comment: my
issue with “Outlaw Country” isn’t with any of the artists, it’s with the folks
who use it as an easy/“cool” way to market and categorize artists. I don’t know
too many artists who are actively seeking that label. I know Sturgill and Aaron
Lee Tasjan for sure have poked fun at it in the past. That kind of marketing
and categorization, to me, draw attention away from how great artists like Sturgill
and Margo Price and Elizabeth Cook and those folks are individually, and makes
it into this one homogenous category. It’s counterproductive. Their work is
great, so let it stand on its own.
Newlywed Kasey Anderson is on tour. Check dates here.
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From a White Hotel is available everywhere today, including Kasey's site.
Despite my friend’s Doug’s best efforts to give me alcohol poisoning last night at The Scoot Inn, I managed to enjoy a hell of a night thanks to Tyler Childers and his band.
Ripping through tracks off of his debut record, Purgatory, Childers and his band proved why the show was sold out, with folks standing on the outside, trying to grab a ticket to get inside Austin’s hottest (it was 105 last night) gig.
Staring out into the crowd with those low-slung eyes, Childers always appears to be searching for something, calling out to a void that could swallow him whole. Through his prayers to the outer world, the crowd fed off Childers relentless psychic energy and last night, we saw the entertainer people in and out of the country world are falling love with, much like his mentor, Sturgill Simpson.
“Feathered Indians,” “I Swear To God,” and his biggest tune, "White House Road” all made their appearance into the set, while lots of tracks off the Red Barn record popped up in the setlist, too. Not gonna lie, I was waiting for “Nose On The Grindstone” but can’t win em’ all.
From the videos I took, I can double down on my enthusiasm for Purgatory and Tyler’s ability to work a room full of cowboys from outside Austin, and the hipsters in camo shorts and Vans alike. Together with his band, those boys held the place in the palm of their hands, rising and falling with every shouted chorus. While some front men rely on fancy moves or a lot of banter, instead Childers let the songs do the work for him.
Through my adventures of being a drunken mess, I managed to sneak into the green room and talk to Tyler’s band. This the part where I would typically look at my notes and tell you a whole bunch of facts about their time on the road, and their bond as friends. But, thanks to a lot of Jameson, I accidentally deleted my notes last night, because I’m a remarkable journalist.
But, what I do remember is how absolutely sweet those dudes were. What a sincerely, nice, group of humans, especially Tyler’s drummer, Rod Elkins. It was apparent throughout the set that his band, known as The Food Stamps, are a UNIT. They play with precision and execution that is perfection. It made my heart happy to know these were the guys Tyler came up with, the guys from West Virginia he paid his dues with instead of some jobbers from Nashville.
If there’s a night you want at a country show, it’s outdoors on a hot night in Austin, Texas. The weather was perfect, the Lonestars were cold, and we were ready to ride with Tyler Childers and his band. It was exactly what you hope for when you lay the cash down for a show: an experience you’ll be telling folks about for a time to come. We’ll see Tyler Childers grow into the larger venues like Stubbs and ACL soon enough, but for those who were lucky to experience those songs last night, this was one of the nights where we can say, “I saw them way back when.”
Thanks for that, boys. Come back to Austin anytime. This time, I promise I won’t delete my notes while drunk.
Who the hell am I kidding? I totally will. That shit was awesome.
