Patterson Hood on Music, Moving Around, and Making Peace with Southern Heritage

Patterson Hood was just eight years old when he wrote his first song and was a youthful 14 years old when he joined his first band. At 21, he teamed up with fellow singer/songwriter/guitarist Mike Cooley to form the Drive-By Truckers. Over the course of their 20 years on the road and in the studio, DBT have drawn on influences as diverse as Willie Nelson, Muscle Shoals R&B, and Led Zeppelin to make music that revives and redefines the words “Southern Rock.”

Now living in the sunny climes of Portland, OR, Hood talks about everything from growing up the son of a musical legend [Muscle Shoals session man David Hood] to race relations in the American South to DBT’s voluptuous new live album, It’s Great to Be Alive!

The first question I was going to ask is: What’s a boy from the Shoals of Alabama doing in Portland?

Well, my wife and I have lived our whole lives in two states. I’ve traveled — a lot — 15 years now, really heavy on the road. And we’ve always said we wanted to experience living somewhere else. We also wanted to live in a city. Athens, GA, is lovely. It’s one of my favorite places on earth. It’s a great town, but it’s a town. It’s a college town, so there’s a lot more art and cool stuff than most Southern towns with 100,000 people in it. But there’s also the downside of the college town thing, too, which after about 20 years, we needed a break from.  

We both kind of kept a list and I’ve spent a lot of time in a lot of towns. Portland’s been on the top of my list since at least 2000. And, likewise, top of her list, too. We didn’t want to move our kids across the the country when they’re teenagers; we had a little bit of time, but it was running out. So we decided to do it. We thought of places that were closer to home, but this was our first choice. We said, “If we’re going to go through the trouble of moving, let’s go to our first choice, and let’s experience living in a different part of the country.” Kind of a different part of the world, honestly.

[“And a blue state,” comments Patterson’s wife, Rebecca, from the living room.]

And a blue state, yep. That certainly factored in.  

We’ve loved it here. It’s a long way from home. We’ve both gone through some homesickness, for sure. Especially her and the kids, because I’m kind of used to being homesick. It’s kind of part of my existence, because I’m gone 100 days a year. But I think it’s worth it. It’s a beautiful, beautiful city, and it’s kind of nice just having the new adventure. I mean, my job is an adventure, to a big extent, but it’s kind of fun having this personal adventure, at this point.

One of the things I wanted to talk with you about is the controversy over the Confederate flag. I'm going to read a quote from an essay you wrote for the New York Times Magazine back in July and ask you to illuminate it a little: "If we want to truly honor our Southern forefathers, we should do it by moving on from the symbols and prejudices of their time, and building on the diversity, the art, and the literary traditions we've inherited from them."

Damn, did I say all that?

You said all that!  

That's pretty good! [Laughs]

Yeah, that's definitely how I feel.  There are a lot of beautiful, wonderful things about the South and then there's this albatross we've put around our own necks down there, based on our history and a really dark part of our country's history. It seems like there's so much else to be proud of than your great-great-grandad fighting in the war they lost, you know? It seems like we're selling ourselves short when we hang onto that as our tradition, because there are a lot of traditions. Today [on the day of the interview] is William Faulkner's birthday. Put him on a flag and you can wave that flag anywhere you want to. I won't object to it. Or whoever, you know? Harper Lee. There are so many great writers. Or Booker T. Jones.

Put Booker T. on the flag!

Or Helen Keller — she's from one of my hometowns. She's from the Shoals area. There's no shortage of people and things to be proud of in the South. Rock 'n' roll came from the South. That's a pretty big one.

White man's country and black man's blues meeting at a crossroads …

Yeah, totally. It's one of the great art forms of our time and hopefully will continue to be.  

We were actually on our drive cross country, on our way here, when the Charleston thing happened. We were checking into a hotel in Denver and I saw it on the TV. I was like, “Get the kids in the room, away from the TV. Don't turn the TV on.” And then I sneak downstairs to watch it because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. And I could tell it was something terrible.  

If someone wants to have the Confederate flag in their yard or on their car, I don't give a shit — that's their choice. No one’s taking their flag away. But it should not be ceremoniously displayed on the courthouse or the capitol grounds. That's something that all our citizens pay taxes to support and there's a huge percentage of our citizenry down there that's rightfully very offended by that. And it's very much a "fuck you" in their face. I don't think our government should be in the business of saying "fuck you" to a vast swath of our citizenry. So that was where I was coming from on that. I think I worded it better. [Laughs]

[Laughs] At one point in that same article, you talked about how, when you were young, you weren’t aware of what was happening in Selma or Birmingham or Montgomery. At the same time, you were witnessing what was, in my opinion, one of the great moments of integration in our history — when your dad and the Muscle Shoals Swampers were making records with some of history’s greatest black musicians, like Aretha Franklin.

I absolutely agree! It's one of the things I'm proudest of in the world. I can't fathom that it was my dad who did this really amazing, great thing during this really dark, horrible time. He's forever proud to have been there, too.  

The Shoals is a weird area; it's a very conservative town. There's no shortage of people with all kinds of antiquated and unsavory viewpoints. But it wasn't the definitive notion of the town. I started first grade a couple years after the schools were integrated and I don't remember any big deal about it. There were black kids in my classroom and it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like Birmingham.  

The things that dad and they were doing … no one knew about that, either. That was a secret. It was like this underground thing happening that I kind of learned early not to talk about at school. I think most of the people in that town had no idea that any of that was going on until years later. There were probably some people who really started finding out when they made that movie a few years back.  

It's a very, very different place now from when I grew up. When I go home now, it looks similar in some ways — buildings and stuff — but they're very proud of dad and the Swampers. They've got statues of them now. They're in the process of putting statues up of the musicians in different places in the town; it's kind of a new thing. They're very much honored and revered there now.  

But, at the time, they weren't going to take any chances. They couldn't afford to be harassed and bothered. It was a dry county, you know, and musicians drink. They had to have liquor in the studio that had to come from the Tennessee state line or a bootlegger somehow. Not to mention other things that happened at recording studios … especially when the Stones came to town. [Laughs] It's a crazy, crazy story. The movie is a wonderful thing, but it honestly just scraped the surface, because there are so many facets to that story. People are starting to write books about it. There are probably several books worth of stories floating around.

I want to take a little detour from my list of questions. I’m looking over at your bookshelf and seeing Songwriters on Songwriting. Open it up and see where it lands.

Oh, Lord. I opened it to Todd Rundgren.

Todd Rundgren to the Drive-By Truckers … how do we make that connection?

It's crazy to open it right to that, ‘cause I always say that Something/Anything? is, like, my one desert island record. It has been since I was 12. I started writing when I was eight. Listening to that record was kind of a turning point in my writing. He's a madman. [Laughs]

That record had everything.

It did, and I loved that. Every side was a totally different genre.  

It had hits; it had scream rock.

That's probably as much of an influence as anything. My taste is really, really eclectic. Our band may have a definite sound due to the way that I sing, or [Mike] Cooley sings, or just the way we play together, or whatever, even with all the different personnel changes through the years. There's a common thread, but if you look at the direction that thread is pointing at any given time, you get a lot of diversity. Our first two records were attempting to funnel this thing we do through the lens of old-time country. The third record, the live record, was kind of a punk rock record. Then the fourth record was Southern Rock Opera, which was this whole take on arena rock, set in the '70s, and trying to sound as '70s as we could. I think we kind of pulled that off, and that's probably not a stretch for us in retrospect. And then Decoration Day was this, and Dirty South was that.

Dirty South was us trying to take on some of the subject matter of the hip hop records of the day, filtered through the sound of the way we were and the way we played. We obviously couldn't rap, you know, so we didn't try that, but as far as the themes of the songs … we were all really into that. Blessing and a Curse was sort of our take on the post-punk Replacements era. Brighter Than Creation's Dark is sort of an Americana record, I guess. Big To-Do is an attempt at doing power pop. Go-Go Boots was country soul. I don't know what English Oceans was. We just wanted to make a record.  [Laughs]

Which is what I really like!

We just wanted to make another Drive-By Truckers record, I think, without any kind of a genre idea. I think we felt like we'd done too much of that by that time. But I'm sure part of that influence was Todd Rundgren and Neil Young, too, ‘cause he's all over the map. A lot of the artists I love tend to go all over the map.

So, this is a good lead-in to the next question. You've got this new live record that came out recently called It's Great to Be Alive! There are 35 songs in the set. How do you choose what songs to put in there and how do you tie all these diverse influences together?  

This line-up of the band is so great. I'm proud of all the different line-ups of the band. I love the various places the band was in, even if some of them had some issues or had some things that didn't work. But we've kind of landed on our ultimate band at this point. And Cooley and I both feel the same way about that. The way it plays together, the way it interacts, the personal dynamic, is all really fantastic.

We had made English Oceans, which is very much kind of the first time we went in with that line-up. The goal then was that we wanted to record it really quick and really immediate — we wanted to go in and just capture the moment. Everyone had a working knowledge of what the songs were. We all sent demos. In the case of my songs, they were literally just me on acoustic guitar. Cooley's demos were a little more done. I think he has fun doing that, building tracks. We just wanted to capture this band attacking that material. We'd been saying for years we wanted to do a live record. And it just seemed like now is the time. We had the band right, everybody's having fun, and if we were going to do a live record, I wanted everyone to be having fun, because that's part of the joy of the better live records. There's an aspect of fun to them.

As far as the song selection, we have 150 songs, at this point, in our history. We all had in our head, I think, what was most important for it to be. We don't use a set list, so that provided a challenge. We knew we were recording for three nights at the Fillmore. We didn't want to go through a set list and have it be different than a regular show, where we're having to follow a list. We still like to do it where we decide the first song as we're walking on, and then it just happens.  

So our compromise was that we did a master list of maybe 20 songs that we wanted to make sure we captured over the course of the weekend. If on Thursday night we knew we had great takes on three of those, we'd mark them off the list. By Saturday, it was a pretty small list we knew we had to hit at some point during the show. It worked like a charm. We ended up with about 50 songs to choose from that had really great takes from over the course of the weekend. Then it's a matter of just whittling it down to a more usable group … well, if you can call 35 songs usable. I wanted it to touch fairly equally on the different eras and records of the band. There's a fairly even number of songs from the various incarnations of the band and records.  

Why the Fillmore as opposed to some place closer to home, so to speak?

Well, we've always done really great on the West Coast. That's kind of a myth about our band. The South was actually a little bit of a later place for us to break. Historically, when we started out, the first towns we really had followings were Atlanta, Richmond, New York, and Baltimore. Chicago came pretty early, Austin came pretty early, and then we expanded out. But it took us a few years to get our touring up to the point where we could afford to make the trek cross-country and get out here, but we always did well on the West Coast once we started doing it.  

When we put out Southern Rock Opera and all of a sudden got real management — someone besides me booking the band — our benchmark for being able to tell where we were at was the Fillmore. We were interviewing booking agents and we had narrowed it down to two. We point blank said, "We want to play the Fillmore. How long will it be before we can play the Fillmore?" One of the two people we were interviewing told us that we were being a little overly ambitious and we should think smaller. The other one told us, "I'll have you there opening in a year, headlining in three." He got the job. And he's still our booking agent — he's been with us since 2002, and will be with us as long we are together, as long as there's a band. He made those benchmarks. We played there about seven months later and we made the headline a couple months shy of three years.  

Last year, we played three nights there. It was the end of our touring year. It just kind of made sense, like it was meant to be. I knew it would be a great room to record us in. It's a great-sounding room. It's not too big. If you get too big a room to record a live record in, you get that boominess. The acoustics are great, and also they don't have a barricade between the front row and the stage. The crowd is right up in your face. And we always play better in those rooms. They're rare. All my favorite places we play are like that. Our next choice after the Fillmore probably would have been the 9:30 Club, because it's the same thing. It's a similar-sized room. It's a room with a great history, but we played there at the beginning of the tour, and we played the Fillmore at the end of the tour, so it made sense for it to be there.

Is there one song on the record that, when you listened to it or when you were putting together the album, you felt was transcendent or a defining moment?

As far as my songs go, "World of Hurt." That's a song that always felt like one of the more special songs I've ever written. I was proud of the version on the record when we made Blessing and a Curse, but that night, I knew that night it was a good one — it was special. We had the horns and it was a really, really good take of it. I knew on stage we had gotten it, unless there was some kind of technical problem. Having David, our engineer, out there, you knew there wouldn't be any issues. That would have sucked — this great three-night stand and you listen to the tapes and it's all mangled. But it happens!

One more question I think ties up the whole conversation. Prior to playing "Made Up English Oceans,” Cooley talked about Jimmy Carter and the KKK coming to your hometown. He said it was a source of embarrassment for the home city. How do you see that conversation — in what you've said, in what you've written for the Times, in your music, in what he said there continuing for Drive-By Truckers as you move forward?

I think it's something that's definitely on all our minds. I'm curious to see, moving forward, exactly where the next record goes. We're actually pretty close to starting another record. I've been writing a lot for it; Cooley's writing a lot for it.  

I think the general mindset is definitely a part of what we're writing, it's kind of where we are as a country. We're not going to get past any of this shit until we can talk about it. It's an uncomfortable conversation, so I understand why people shy away from wanting to talk about our country's history with race. And, you know, we're these white dudes from the South talking about it … but whites dudes from the South need to talk about it. It doesn't just need to be black people saying black lives matter. It needs to be something that we all can talk about and move forward from or else we're going to not move forward.  

I was certainly one of those people that, when Obama was elected, thought, "Oh man, we have turned a corner!" I still idealistically hang on to some of that, but actually there's a lot of work left to do. I think it was probably overly idealistic to think that that was going to be the beginning of the end of that conversation. It was just the beginning of the beginning of that conversation, you know?


Patterson Hood photo by Andy Tennille. DBT photos by David McClister.

MIXTAPE: Patterson Hood’s Americana 101

Americana was a name that used to trouble me when it first came into semi-vogue in the late 1990s. I didn’t really like alt-country, either. So many people tended to love the music and hate the various names for the genre that the original No Depression magazine even poked fun at that on their nameplate. That said, it was probably the most exciting sub-genre of its time and has had a quite impressive afterlife, growing to actually be a somewhat mainstream way for a wide variety of excellent artists to be marketed to an increasingly larger audience.

My playlist leans heavy on the turn of the (last) century’s roots of this genre, but I also hope to incorporate a little of the more interesting current songs and maybe a couple that pre-date the movement that are excellent examples of its origin. — Patterson Hood, Drive-By Truckers

Son Volt — “Windfall” (from Trace, 1995)

Probably the one song that best exemplifies and encapsulates everything that is great about this genre in three glorious minutes of musical confection that is so good it set up a blueprint for a genre and transcends most everything that followed that path.

Lucinda Williams — “Drunken Angel” (from Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, 1998)

Lucinda’s long-delayed Car Wheels on a Gravel Road survived its troubled gestation to become one of the genres first breakout hits and turned her into a bonafide star, winning Grammys and a life-long following along the way. Picking one song from this album was hard, but to me, the best of all was this ode to the life and untimely death of Austin Texas singer/songwriter Blaze Foley. Stunning.

Merle Haggard — “If I Could Only Fly” (from If I Could Only Fly, 2000)

Merle predates anything else in the Americana genre, but his music defined the best that it had to offer. By 2000, country music had moved in a much more mainstream direction, and Merle found a new following among the disaffected punks and roots rockers that alt-country drew and that he continued to inspire. ANTI- Records seized this opportunity, and gave Merle the chance to make exactly the kind of album that mainstream country wouldn’t. He rose to the occasion with this masterpiece. Merle was, himself, one of the best songwriters of all time, but for this compilation, I chose his cover of Blaze Foley’s masterful song that Merle loved enough to make the title cut of his “comeback” album.

The Silos — “I’m Over You” (from The Silos, 1990)

Although Americana is most widely associated with the late ’90s through the present, it had roots dating back to The Basement Tapes by Bob Dylan and the Band and the tons of incredible albums that it inspired, followed by the cult status of a wonderful band from St. Louis, Missouri, called Uncle Tupelo. However, in the most unlikely of times — the ’80s, which were way better known for new wave and bad drum sounds — R.E.M. and the Silos made records that took the best elements of those sounds and made them their own. The Silos never had near the amount of fame that they deserved, but their records still hold up as among the best albums of their time and beyond.

R.E.M. — “(Don’t Go Back to) Rockville” (from Reckoning, 1984)

Although they are usually better known for their later hit records, this gem from R.E.M.’s second album helped lay out a blueprint for the Americana genre and still holds up as an example of just how wonderful they always were. There’s no overstating what a breath of fresh air this song was to our ears in the mid-80s nor how great it still sounds over 30 years later.

Steve Earle — “Ben McCulloch” (from Train a Comin’, 1995)

Another artist that pre-dated (and probably hated the term) Americana, Steve Earle broke big in the ’80s with his debut album, Guitar Town, before descending into a haze of addiction and even jail time. Upon his release from jail, he laid the groundwork for his comeback with this stripped-down collection of excellent songs, none better than this tale of a scared and disgruntled Civil War soldier.

Townes Van Zandt — “Waiting ‘Round to Die” (from Live at the Old Quarter, 1977)

Although mostly pre-dating the term Americana, no one better represented all that was great about it than Townes. Steve Earle once famously said that Townes was the greatest songwriter in the world and that he would stand on Dylan’s coffee table and shout it out anytime. I imagine that that quote has out lived its intention, but this song shows a little bit of what Mr. Earle so grandly stated. This version — and the live album that it comes from — is a great introduction to the majesty of Townes’s songwriting and the power of song in general.

Gillian Welch — “Revelator” (from Time (The Revelator), 2003)

Gillian sprung from the mid-90s Americana scene and was further propelled by the success of the Coen Brother’s 2000 film O Brother, Where Art Thou? and its breakthrough soundtrack. Then she suffered a backlash from people accusing her of being a retro-novelty act. She fired back with this shape-shifting and time-traveling masterpiece that condenses a history of folk and blues into her personal here and now and, at the same time, takes two acoustic guitars and two singers and somehow, without a hint of shouting, manages to rock like Zeppelin and Crazy Horse. Over a decade later, I’m still in love with every song on this album, but this one seems to be the one that best encapsulates it all.

Wilco — “California Stars” (from the Billy Bragg and Wilco album Mermaid Avenue, 1998)

When Uncle Tupelo broke apart in the early ’90s, the two principles formed Son Volt and Wilco. Although initially considered the lesser of the two, Wilco has gone on to become one of the foremost bands of the last 20 or so years creating an eclectic body of work that still manages to challenge and surprise each time out. In 1998, Wilco joined forces with British folk singer Billy Bragg to put music to and perform previously unheard lyrics from Woody Guthrie. The result was two of the best albums of their time. The standout and breakthrough track off this collaboration was “California Stars” — a sublime piece of work that connects several generations of artists and shows the timelessness of great songs.

Centro-matic — “Flashes and Cables” (from Love You Just the Same, 2003)

One of the greatest and definitely most underrated of bands of the last couple of decades, Centro-matic hailed from Denton, Texas, made over a dozen wonderful albums, and toured relentlessly for nearly 20 years before disbanding in 2014. Prolific to a fault, many of those songs sound like mega-hits that somehow forgot to become such. None more than this track from their 2003 masterpiece. I can’t listen to it without visualizing an arena full of fans singing along with the catchy “bye-dee-ahhs” of the finale, a musical hook so relentless and endearing that it frequently soundtracks my dreams.

Jason Isbell — “Elephant” (from Southeastern, 2013)

I first met Jason in 2000, and it was love at first song. He was barely 20 and about to drop out of college, and I was blown away by his talent as a singer, songwriter, and guitar player. A couple of years later, he began a five-year stint playing in my band. By the time he left to pursue his solo career, he was drinking very heavily and his life was spiraling out of control. In 2011, he quit drinking and pulled his life back together, documenting it all in a masterpiece of an album called Southeastern. The standout track (and that’s saying a lot, in itself) is this song about a friend’s struggle with cancer. It’s literally a perfect song.

The Bottle Rockets — “Kerosene” (from The Bottle Rockets, 1993)

Barreling out of Festus, Missouri, in 1993, Bottle Rockets put the pedal to the metal, blasting dive bars across the country like an unholy amalgamation of Skynyrd and Doug Sahm mixing punk smarts and country fury with great songs and a rocking live show. Their literary smarts were never better represented than on this gem from their self-titled debut. “Kerosene” tells the tale of being down-and-out white trash, giving heart, soul, and life to a story that — on the surface — sounds like a laughable headline of Darwinistic stupidity. A trailer fire, told from the grave with simplicity and grace: “If kerosene works, why not gasoline?” Like the best songwriting, what’s said is only a fraction of the story and the real majesty is in what is left untold. One of my all-time favorite songs.

Kelly Hogan and the Pine Valley Cosmonauts — “Papa Was a Rodeo” (from Beneath the Country Underdog, 2000)

Kelly Hogan hailed out of Atlanta, Georgia, was one of the founders of its ill-fated Redneck Underground scene, and was the lead singer in the Jody Grind, who were poised to great success before a tragic van accident that killed two of its members in 1992. Later, Kelly (who was thankfully not in the van at the time) relocated to Chicago, Illinois, where she has enthralled everyone who has ever heard her magnificent voice. She has made several albums as a solo artist, and served as a much in-demand backup singer (Neko Case, the Decemberists, Jakob Dylan). For her second solo album, she was backed up by Jon Langford’s ensemble, Pine Valley Cosmonauts, and here, along with Atlanta crooner Mike Geier, she covered the Magnetic Fields classic and made it her own. Sublime and timeless.

This is just a surface scratcher, but hopefully it will serve as an invitation to delve further into these great artists and so many more. ENJOY!


Photo credit: rkramer62 via Foter.com / CC BY

Are We on the Verge of a Golden Age of Protest Music? (Op-ed)

A few weeks ago, I finished the final draft of an editorial about the modern state of protest music. The Bluegrass Situation had asked me to write on this topic because I had just released an album called How to Dream Again — a largely political album in which I attempt to examine the current state of America by asking questions about the American Dream, the failures of our economic and political systems, the ongoing issue of racism in this country, and whether there's any hope for potential solutions. The tone of the piece I wrote was measured, and largely optimistic.

Then, Donald Trump was elected president.

In my original piece, I wrote that we're living in the most turbulent time in America since the 1960s. That now seems like an understatement. We’re now living in the most turbulent time in the world since the 1930s.

Everywhere you look, people are uncertain about the future and angry about problems that seem to have no immediate solutions. On an almost weekly basis, another Black or brown person is killed by a police officer. The middle and working classes have been eroding for decades, there aren’t enough jobs for those who need them, and many of the jobs that exist are unstable and low-paying. Our governmental institutions have ground to a halt due to partisanship and public distrust. An opiate epidemic is ravaging Middle America. Scientists say that the amount of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere will cause temperatures and sea levels to rise dramatically in the coming decades.

Half of the country — at least, half of those who actually voted — responded to this pervasive uncertainty and anger by voting for Donald Trump — a con man, a liar, and a racist. His lack of knowledge and preparation alone should have been disqualifying. His election has already sparked racial violence and protests across the country. He has promised to deport millions of people and ban Muslim immigration to the country. His aggressive rhetoric and unpredictable temperament threaten to spark international conflict. He has already named a climate change denier to staff the EPA and a known KKK sympathizer to lead his administration.

The frustration and change of the past several years has given us glimpses of a coming golden age of protest music. Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly may come to define the Black Lives Matter movement in the same way Sam Cooke and Bob Dylan defined the Civil Rights Movement. With their new album, American Band, Drive-By Truckers haven’t only put out their best work in a decade, they've crystallized our current political moment. Still, these examples are largely viewed as one-offs rather than part of a larger trend.

In light of the election of Donald Trump, this can’t remain the case. In my original piece, I encouraged songwriters who “feel called to write protest songs” to step up and do so. Now, that rhetoric feels too soft. Now, we have a responsibility to do so. I’m not saying that every song you write should be a political screed. But we must use our voices to inform people, rally people together, and help mobilize a movement that will resist the dangerous forces that Trump threatens to unleash in the next few years.

This can be a scary step to take. I know from experience. Two years ago, after putting out two albums in quick succession, I felt like I’d run out of things to say as a songwriter. At the same time, I was growing increasingly frustrated with the political landscape. After reading AIynda Segarra’s May 2015 Bluegrass Situation piece, in which she called on folk musicians to — in the words of Bell Hooks — “fall in love with justice” and use our music to discuss issues of social justice and human rights, I decided I wanted to write songs with greater political relevance. Almost immediately, though, I got scared. I was scared of rubbing some people the wrong way. I was worried about the effects this direction might have on my career. Mostly, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to write good songs in this new style. But I kept repeating the mantra I’d adopted when I first made the terrifying leap into my music career: Lean into your fear.

So I got to work. And two years later, my earlier fears have evaporated. I filled my brain with ideas related to politics, history, economics, and race — studying writers like Naomi Klein, Noam Chomsky, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Thomas Piketty — and wrote, rejected, and edited dozens of new songs. Along the way, I learned to write songs that effectively blend the personal and the political. And as I’ve spent the past year traveling around the country playing the songs that ended up on How to Dream Again, I haven’t encountered any heckles or boos. In fact, I’ve been humbled and surprised by the positive reaction to my political material. Over and over, I’ve heard people express how much they're craving honest, thoughtful voices that can help them frame and understand what’s happening in the country and the world.

After all, we live in a time when it seems like there are no trustworthy leaders, institutions, or public figures left. Church attendance is at an all-time-low. Distrust of government is just about about the only thing liberals and conservatives can agree on. Time and again in 2016, the media has proven its inability to understand the changes happening in the country. Hell, even Bill Cosby — the one-time epitome of a wise, honest father figure to many of my generation — turned out to be a monster. And as we’ve learned in the past year, where courageous, trustworthy truth-tellers fail to emerge, demagogues thrive. 

All of us humans have a deep need to understand the world we inhabit. We need to be reminded of universal truths. There will always be a need for songs about love, pain, and heartbreak. But we also need to be confronted with temporal, day-to-day truths specific to a particular place and time. These kinds of truths are what folk music was created to communicate, long before the Internet and cable news. As Woody Guthrie put it, “A folk song is what's wrong and how to fix it, or it could be who's hungry and where their mouth is, or who's out of work and where the job is, or who's broke and where the money is, or who's carrying a gun and where the peace is.”

This type of information can be life-changing. If it reaches enough people, it can alter the course of history. If more modern-day Woody Guthries had emerged over the past year, maybe Trump’s message wouldn’t have resonated the way that it has. This is the deep power of folk music. Perhaps the next golden age of protest music has yet to arrive because we, the next generation of songwriters, have yet to fully realize this power.

It’s understandable. As songwriters and musicians, we're reminded of our weaknesses on a daily basis. No one buys records anymore. Fewer people are going to shows. Streaming pays fractions of a cent per play. I don’t need to remind you: Your bank statements and half-empty clubs are daily reminders, as are mine.

I think many of us secretly believe that our songs don’t matter. We were born with the gift — and curse — of needing to make music so badly that we can’t do anything else. But we were also unlucky enough to be born in exactly the wrong time, a time when songs have become practically worthless. It can often feel like no one is listening to these songs that we’ve devoted our lives to creating.

But people are listening. I take the subway to my part-time job twice a week when I’m not on tour, and nearly every passenger in every car is wearing headphones. At the gym, nearly everyone is wearing headphones. On the sidewalk, nearly everyone is wearing headphones. Sure, songwriters and musicians are making less money, but everyone is still listening to music. Every day. And we’re listening to more music than ever.

If you’re a songwriter, or an artist of any kind, now is not the time for apathy, complacency, solipsism, or silence. You have a mouthpiece, even if it’s relatively small, and we all need you to use it. Be brave. If, as Woody Guthrie once said, all human beings are really just hoping machines, then it's our job to provide the fuel.

So protest and encourage solidarity through your art. It’s not as scary or as hard as you think. God knows there’s plenty of material out there, and audiences are hungry for these kinds of songs. Our country and world desperately need them, now more than ever. If enough of us listen to our intuition, lean into our fears, and dig deeply to find new kernels of truth, we just might discover a power we didn’t know we had — the power to inspire thought and change, to bring people together around a common cause, and to drastically change the political conversation in our country and around the world.

We could make more than songs. We could make more than a living. We could make history.


Max Porter is a singer/songwriter who performs as M. Lockwood Porter. His newest album, How to Dream Again, came out this September on Black Mesa Records (US) and Hidden Trail Records (UK/EU).

Get Off Your Ass: July Won’t Wait Forever

Sarah Jarosz & Sara Watkins // Hollywood Bowl // July 1

The Dustbowl Revival // Levitt Pavilion // July 2

Joe Pug // Echo // July 7

Lyle Lovett & Emmylou Harris // Greek Theatre // July 10

Chris Thile // The Theatre at Ace Hotel // July 20

Dixie Chicks // Irvine Meadows // July 20

Hayes Carll & Luke Bell // Teragram Ballroom // July 21

Billy Strings // Levitt Pavilion // July 22

Jim Lauderdale // McCabe's Guitar Shop // July 24

Joseph // Fig at 7th // July 29

Buckwheat Zydeco // The Mint // July 30

Honeyhoney // The Troubadour // July 30

Marcus Blacke // The Basement // July 1

Mary Gauthier // The Bluebird Café // July 2

Brandy Clark // Riverfront Park // July 3

Robert Ellis // 3rd & Lindsley // July 3

Sheryl Crow, Ruby Amanfu, & Andrew Combs // Ascend Amphitheater/Riverfront Park // July 4

Chris Stapleton // Nissan Stadium // July 9

Leon Russell // City Winery // July 10

Andrew Leahey & the Homestead // The 5 Spot // July 12

Gary Clark, Jr. // Ascend Amphitheater // July 16

Sam Lewis // Acme Feed & Seed // July 16

Sarah Jarosz // Station Inn // July 21

John Moreland // The Basement East // July 29

Colvin & Earle // 92nd Street Y // July 13

Drive-By Truckers // Brookfield Place // July 13

Ray Wylie Hubbard // Hill Country Barbecue // July 13

Earls of Leicester // City Winery // July 14

Deer Tick, Margo Price, & Anais Mitchell // Hudson RiverStage // July 16

The Wood Brothers & Hiss Golden Messenger // Prospect Park Bandshell // July 16

Buddy Guy // Theater at Madison Square Garden // July 20

Ryan Adams // Central Park // July 20

Alabama Shakes // Randall's Island // July 22

The Wild Reeds // Union Pool // July 23

The Cactus Blossoms // Rough Trade // July 26

case/lang/veirs // Prospect Park Bandshell // July 26

Walking the Floor: Chris Shiflett Talks to Patterson Hood

As the Foo Fighters' guitarist, Chris Shiflett rocks … a lot. To add a little country swagger to his repertoire, he also fronts the Dead Peasants. Shiflett's Walking the Floor podcast is where those two worlds collide. Since late 2013, Shiflett has hosted bi-monthly interviews with everyone from John Doe and Mike Ness to Merle Haggard and Sturgill Simpson. 

On this week's episode, Shiflett chats with Drive-By Truckers co-founder Patterson Hood about the band's evolution over the years, including its rebuilding in the post-Jason Isbell era. Of the stripped down tour the Truckers did earlier this year, Hood says, "It's fun to go out and do it without all the baggage of having to do it for some negative reason. We're at the absolute pinnacle, best time of our band's history. The line-up is killer. Everybody gets along great. We're having a good time."