Tag: Guy Clark

Drew Kennedy’s “Head Out West” Playlist

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I’ve been enamored by the West since I first set a dusty boot down in Marathon, Texas – a town that would be my spiritual hometown, if such things existed.

I made my last record, Marathon, with my incredibly talented friend Davis Naish in a tiny adobe house in that little town. For the new record, we camped out in his Los Angeles studio, so I figured, “Hey, let me put together a playlist that I think captures the way I feel about the vast stretch of land that lies between Marathon and LA.” Road trip! – Drew Kennedy

“Desperados Waiting For A Train” – Guy Clark

Guy was born in Monahans, Texas, not too far from Marathon, so this feels like a natural starting point. To me, there are few artists who are able to capture the spirit of Far West Texas like Guy Clark. With equal parts romance, unflinching honesty, and those trademark turns of phrase that make him a hero to songwriters who know, Guy can always make me feel like I’m standing beside him in the little movies that are his songs.

“Levelland” – James McMurtry

If you trekked due north and just a little east out of Monahans, eventually those sand hills and mesas play out into plains so flat and wide open it can make the uninitiated feel uncomfortable. A friend once told me a buddy of his said he didn’t like it because “there was no place to hide.” From what or whom didn’t matter. You’re just out there, totally exposed–the only thing breaking the perfect line between land and sky. Those McMurtrys sure know how to tell a good story. Anyway, if we kept going north we’d be getting farther away from California, so let’s hang a left.

“Watch It Shine” – Walt Wilkins

Walt Wilkins is another songwriting hero and I’m lucky to call him a friend, as well. The Poet Laureate of the Hill Country teams up with Owen Temple to take you on a ride following the Rio Grande as it snakes south from Taos towards Santa Fe. It also features one of my favorite lines I’ve ever heard in a song: “They say there’s iron in these mountains, and in bone and skin and mud/ They say that iron only comes from stars, so stars are in my blood.” Goosebumps every time.

“Low Sun” – Hermanos Gutiérrez

Put a ranch water in my hand, fire up this album, and cue a good sunset. The only three ingredients I need to find my favorite places inside my mind no matter where on earth I am. Doubly effective if I’m already in one of my favorite places.

“Don’t Worry” – Marty Robbins (single, 1961)

We’re getting out into the type of landscape most people who’ve never visited the desert picture in their heads when someone mentions it. Saguaros, red rocks. We’re well beyond El Paso now, so we’ll go with this beauty from Marty Robbins. Yes, that is the coolest guitar solo of all time. I’ve heard several different stories about how they got that sound, but however they came by that tone, hell yeah.

“Willin'” – Little Feat

We’ve covered a lot of ground… maybe we’re dragging a little bit after all of those miles. The boys in Little Feat know how we feel, and they’ve got our back.

“Queen of California” – John Mayer

Now that we’re pulling into town we need something we can nod along to with our Wayfarers on and our hair blowing in the sweet California breeze, as we take in the sights. This song is a badass way to kick off a record, too.

“Beautiful World” – Colin Hay

I mean, when we get there one of the first things we’re gonna do is jump into the Pacific, right? I love that Colin Hay sounds like Colin Hay and nobody else and man, do I love the way he writes a song.

“It Never Rains In Southern California” – Trent Summar & The New Row Mob

I love their version of this song. It’s not all sunshine and roses out there, you know.

“California Poppy” – Theo Lawrence

I was shocked when I found out this guy was from France. Sometimes people in Texas are shocked when they find out I’m from Pennsylvania. Point is, if it’s in you, it’s in you. I would believe it if you told me the ghosts of Buck Owens and Don Rich were sprinkling a little of that Bakersfield dust around the studio the day they laid this one down.

“Mama Told Me Not To Come” – Randy Newman

I’ve aged out of today’s version of this kind of party, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect to see some unexpected things whenever I’m out in LA. Another one-of-one, Randy Newman.

“Texas Time” – Explorer Tapes

And with that, let’s turn this big baby blue Cadillac convertible around and head back home. I assume that’s the kind of ride we’d want for this road trip. Thanks for tagging along.

Photo Credit: Sarah Barlow

MIXTAPE: Thomas Cassell’s Songs to Pass the Time

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

2024 is winding down and like any other year, there’s a lot to say goodbye to as we welcome in the future. Memories (the good and bad), loved ones, homes – all seem to eventually become markers in time.

A marker in my ‘24 was the release of my third record, The Never-Ending Years, in October. The theme of time is common throughout (as the title would suggest), and when BGS asked me to put together a playlist in celebration, I considered the many topical songs that have had an impact on me.

There may be some obvious players left out (sorry, Pink Floyd and Jim Croce) but really, these are simply the songs that have meant the most to me, songs I listen to in eternal recurrence, all having something to do with the fact that time moves on – with or without our blessing. – Thomas Cassell

“Where Did the Morning Go?” – Blue Highway

Blue Highway has had an incredible impact on everything I do. They really set a bar with thoughtful, original material in bluegrass music. This song in particular pulls a heartstring, as the every-quickening pace of life only blurs with time.

“Childish Things” – James McMurtry

There’s an innocence that we lose every day and much of our wonder and curiosity tends to disappear with it. But for me, the contentment of looking back brings calmness and comfort for the future. James McMurtry is on my Mount Rushmore of songwriters and this song (I think) is as good as anything he’s ever written.

“Mama’s Hand” – Lynn Morris (written by Hazel Dickens)

Leaving home is tough, as most anyone knows. Inevitable as it is, it can be hard to say goodbye, no matter the opportunity that awaits. Lynn’s music has brought me a lot of comfort in this life.

“Today” – John Hartford

John Hartford’s songwriting certainly doesn’t need my endorsement, but I think his early records are often overlooked. This song was released in 1967, Hartford’s LA era that gave us “Gentle On My Mind,” “No End of Love,” and so many others. There ain’t nothing but today.

“Last Time on the Road” – Nashville Bluegrass Band (written by Carl Jones)

This song found me at the right time. I was getting burnt out from touring and music in general had become a daily commitment that brought little joy. It was nice to know that others felt the same, but also that they were capable of salvaging the good and moving forward making great music – in the NBB’s case, four more great records.

“Needed” – Robbie Fulks

Robbie Fulks has been a favorite for a long time, partly for his unpredictable performance style – check out Revenge! (Live) – but also for his thoughtful lyricism and vulnerable storytelling. This song highlights the latter, and all the reflection and regret that comes with getting older.

“Blackberry Summer” – Dale Ann Bradley

Is it possible to be nostalgic for a childhood you didn’t have? I think so – at least that’s how I feel when I listen to this song. Dale Ann takes me back to all of my childhood summers, as similar or different as they may be.

“Nail” – Ed Snodderly

Ed is a songwriter’s songwriter, and one of the coolest musicians I know. His group The Brother Boys is an all time favorite, but this song from his 2017 solo record really fits the current theme. The nothin’ here leaves no more.

“Don’t You Know I’m From Here” – Brennen Leigh

Prairie Love Letter is one of those records that I downloaded before a flight and then proceeded to listen to three or four times through before landing (still do sometimes). The writing is incredible front to back, but the opening track really hit me hard. I’m from a very small town and every time I go home, I find I have less of a connection to the place – only a growing longing for one. This song of Brennen’s couldn’t articulate that feeling any better.

“Bed by the Window” – James King (written by Marnie Wilson and Rob Crosby)

The Bluegrass Storyteller. I’m not sure there’s a song that earned James King that title more than this one does. Here’s your reminder to go and visit the elderly in your life, wherever they may be.

“The Randall Knife” – Guy Clark

I couldn’t finish this playlist without including Guy Clark’s magnum opus. There’s a lot I could say about this song, but none of it as well as him.

“Autumn Leaves Don’t Fall” – Thomas Cassell

And if you’ve made it all the way to the end, I’ll reward you with a little bit of self-promotion. Jon Weisberger and I wrote this song after thinking about how the more people we lose, the quicker we seem to lose them. Time is exponential.

Photo Credit: Scott Simontacchi

MIXTAPE: Books, Story, & Poetry by Ordinary Elephant

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

As humans, we have a history of turning to story for comfort, direction, and preservation – a way to keep the present alive in the future. Story can be found in books, poetry, song, and our minds and mouths.

This playlist starts with our song, “Once Upon a Time,” which was born of our turning to story in the deep uncertainty of early 2020, and is the opening track of our recently released, eponymous album. In this Mixtape, we feature songs that incorporate or allude to books, authors, poetry, or story, written by artists that inspire us to write our truest stories. – Ordinary Elephant

“Once Upon a Time” – Ordinary Elephant

When the world shut down in March of 2020, we found ourselves one show into a two-week Australian tour. After scrambling to get home, the quiet hit and the processing of a new world began from our Louisiana porch, deeply feeling the human instinct to turn to a sense of story when faced with intense uncertainty.

“Always a Little Less Time” – Justin Farren

“So I guess that’s always been the story of you and I.” Justin paints pictures with the specifics that draw you in and let you see yourself in his songs, then cuts straight to the truth. The impermanence and the importance of our time here. This song guts us, in the best way, every time.

“Nothing at All” – Clay Parker & Jodi James

“I’ve got books stacked on the bedside table, that are gonna make me well and able, but the light in my room is still burned out,” Jodi sings, as one of our favorite duos spins an ethereal tune of rejection and resolve.

“Walking Each Other Home” – Mary Gauthier

One of our favorite songs of Mary’s. Achingly beautiful, it details the uncertainty of a relationship ending, but also speaks to the broader idea of the unknown. “I don’t know how this story’s supposed to go,” she sings in the chorus, as it’s hard to know when we’re living it. But there is clarity and acceptance that “we’re all just walking each other home,” helping each other find our own stories.

“Under My Fingers” – Wes Collins

Wes is one of those writers who takes you places you didn’t know you needed to go. Both with his words and with his music. This song follows a writer’s thoughts, even alluding to the scarcity mindset that can sometimes take hold of creatives. The fear that it won’t last and the solution of surrendering to the pen.

“Paperback Writer” – The Beatles

The Beatles were Pete’s first musical love, showing up in his life around sixth grade and giving a wealth of melodies and harmonies to soak in. He studied guitar through their songs, which span so many genres, it was easy to get lost in their catalog for years.

“Windmills” – Mutual Admiration Society

The story of Don Quixote twisted into a song by one of Pete’s favorite songwriters, Glen Phillips. This song first appeared on Toad the Wet Sprocket’s 1994 album, Dulcinea. This version is from an incredibly underrated collaboration between Glen and Nickel Creek. Both of these artists changed Pete’s musical world, Glen being one of the first songwriters that he really dug into and in this collaboration, Nickel Creek introducing him to the world of acoustic music.

“Hemingway’s Whiskey” – Guy Clark

Guy Clark’s use of simple language to tell deep truths is unparalleled in the modern songbook. Here he salutes his admiration for another legendary writer, toasting with a drink, and reveling in the difficult work it takes to be a writer of that stature. Guy’s songs are revelations.

“I Ain’t Playing Pretty Polly Anymore” – Dirk Powell

We have the choice to perpetuate stories or let them die off. Some traditions continue to enrich our lives, but it’s important to realize when we’ve moved past them and when it’s time to draw the line between cautionary tale and normalizing certain types of violence. As someone steeped in tradition, Dirk makes an important statement about what songs are able validate, and that we can choose not to continue singing certain ones.

“The Other Morning Over Coffee” – Peter Mulvey

In remembering a conversation with a friend, Peter recalls talking about having lived lives “so full of poetry and adventure that if we died right then and there it would have been fine.” It’s a goal we can hope that some part of us is always aiming for. As the song unfolds, it becomes a perfect reminder that we’re all moving through the same world, the same bigger story, despite the difference in our details.

“Velvet Curtain” – Anna Tivel

Anna’s songs are movies, thick with imagery and emotion. She’s one of those writers who you’re thankful is walking this earth at the same time as you. This song shows us that sometimes there are words that need to be heard, and sometimes you’re unknowingly the one singing them.

“Billy Burroughs” – Jeffrey Martin

Jeffrey’s work tends to knock your socks off, right out of the gate. His rich voice and insightful command of language immediately demands your full attention. His background of teaching literature melds with his own writing here.

“Tailor” – Anaïs Mitchell

“When he said that my face he’d soon forget, I became a poet.” One of our favorite songwriters, Anaïs has a way of weaving a story that hits you in the softest spots. Here she spins a gorgeous warning of how easy it is to let others define our story, and that we can learn to tell our own if we remember to listen to ourselves.

“The Prophet” – Ordinary Elephant

Crystal came across a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, gifted to her by a dear friend 20-something years ago. The bones of this song were hiding between the dog-eared pages, a discovery of self-love through returning to reminders of a love gone.

“Everything Is Free” – Gillian Welch

“We’re gonna do it anyway.” In lyric, and in delivery, Gillian shows us the power of song and story to persevere. Her voice and style are singular, and are always a welcome reminder to find comfort in the unique and truest version of ourselves.

Photo Credit: Olivia Perillo

BGS 5+5: Patrick Davis

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Patrick Davis
Hometown: Formerly Camden, South Carolina; now Nashville, Tennessee
Latest Album: Couch Covers (2020); Carolina When I Die (upcoming)

(Editor’s Note: Hear the premiere of Patrick Davis’s latest single, “Wrong Side of the Tracks,” below.)

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

One of my favorite memories on a stage took place 15 years or so ago, back when the great Guy Clark agreed to play a round in a small Nashville venue with me and my friend Jedd Hughes. Guy and I were writing that week and I told him about the show and then asked if he would want to join and somehow he said sure. There was no higher compliment I could have received than Guy agreeing to sit beside me and Jedd and trade songs and stories for an evening. It was like he accepted us – maybe not as equals, but at least as somehow worthy. It was, and still is, a rather incredible memory. Guy has been gone for a while now, but I will forever carry that night with me.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

When I first arrived in Nashville an old writer sat me down and said, “Patrick, if you have a plan B you should take it, because the music business is a harsh place and if you are not 100% fully committed you will not last.” And after 20+ years I have to say he was right. I have seen many folks come through the music world and if they have any outs, the odds of them sticking with it, which is what it takes to succeed, are almost zero.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Never give up, never ever give up. (And yes, I know this is a Jimmy Valvano quote… but it should be every musician’s motto as well.)

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

I would love to have simple fish & chips with a few Guinness in the corner of a proper pub in the UK or Ireland with Eric Clapton, or maybe Keith Richards or hell, Paul McCartney. Just talk and see where it goes. Those guys are the last of a dying breed and I would love to hear some stories, maybe gain a little wisdom, a song idea, or even just a good buzz.

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?

I heard “Tangerine” by Led Zeppelin and immediately asked my guitar-playing father if he could teach me how to play that intro. It forever changed my life – the second I realized that I too could play an A-minor and make it sound at least somewhat similar to what Jimmy Page was playing, I was hooked!!

Photo Credit: Zach Sinclair

From ‘Heartworn Highways’ to Chicago, Rodney Crowell Keeps Getting Better

Posted on by Editor

There is a crossroads of 1970s folk, blues, and nonconformity in Texas. Ask students of it about Rodney Crowell, and chances are, visions of a lean, baby-faced guitar picker belting out “Bluebird Wine” at Guy and Susanna Clark’s kitchen table flood their brains. It’s a scene from Heartworn Highways that is both wild and tender, captured when Crowell was just 25 years old. Today, that Houston kid is 72. He’s won Grammys, topped charts, pushed the musical and literary boundaries of songwriting, and continued to write and record, as friends and mentors passed away.

Produced by Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, Crowell’s new album The Chicago Sessions is the latest evidence that Crowell isn’t just continuing: He keeps getting better. The 10-track collection was recorded live in Tweedy’s warehouse studio, perched atop a northwest Chicago building. Crowell had always wanted to record in Chicago. “That would be Chuck Berry, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, John Prine, and Steve Goodman who have a lot to do with that,” Crowell says. “The Rolling Stones, as soon as they got to America, said, ‘Let me go to Chicago.’”

The ghosts and recordings that drew Crowell to Chicago did right by him. Surrounded by his own go-to players (guitarist Jedd Hughes, pianist Catherine Marx, and bassist Zachariah Hickman) plus two drummers of Tweedy’s choosing, Crowell sounds smooth, sly, and often downright happy. “It was liberating. I felt no pressure whatsoever,” he says. “If I’m producing myself, I’m wearing one too many hats. I’m helping everybody else and making sure I can make them get to where we’re all going, sometimes to my own detriment. But with a producer like Jeff Tweedy or Joe Henry, hey, I’m freed up. I’ll just play and sing.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m really good when I just play and sing.”

Gratitude and race, self-worth and religion, cynicism and hope: The songs on The Chicago Sessions cover ample ground without feeling disconnected.

A swampy shuffle, “Somebody Loves You” is a master class on cultural commentary and exposing shifty motivations. With subversive conviction on par with Tom Waits, Crowell implicitly questions people in power who shush the disenfranchised with assurances that somebody — in this case, Jesus — loves them.

There’s lead in the water, knees on your neck
Son of your father, born to neglect
Mind your own business, siren gone’ wail
Make one false move brother wind up dead or in jail
It’s been 400 years right down to the day
Somebody loves you, least that’s what they say

“As a writer, I need the stakes to be high,” Crowell says. “I am hard on myself as a singer because I’ve heard Ray Charles, and I’ve heard Don Everly. I’ve heard Aretha Franklin. ‘Look, man,’ I say to myself: ‘You don’t have that voice. But you gotta deliver on what you got.’”

Crowell confesses that really, he didn’t care for his own voice much at all until he was about 50 years old. “I knew I was writing — I developed early as a songwriter,” he says. “But I wasn’t delivering at the level I wanted to deliver when I would record those songs. I stayed with it, and I outgrew it.”

But to the rest of us, Crowell’s voice is and always has been lovely: steady, expressive, and charged, like an electric orb capable of warm light or hot sparks. Another album standout, “Loving You Is the Only Way to Fly,” which Crowell co-wrote with Hughes and Sarah Buxton, is a pining love song, perfectly executed. The sweet keys and strings are timeless. Tweedy’s production throughout the record is exquisite. “Making Lovers Out of Friends,” another track off The Chicago Sessions, is a testament to the power of a great producer and a great song, reminiscent of Billy Sherrill’s work with Charlie Rich, both in sonic texture and achievement.

As a writer, Crowell doesn’t cut himself any slack as a protagonist. Over the years, he’s developed a habit of being hard on himself in lyrics — or perhaps, of seeing himself clearly and confessing self-perceived shortcomings. “Lucky,” a piano-driven song he wrote as a birthday gift for his wife Claudia, plays with a bit of exasperation: “Anyone with eyes could see, I’d had about enough of me.” The record’s sauntering blues track “Oh Miss Claudia” hits similar ideas.

But it’s not just songs written recently. The Chicago Sessions also includes Crowell’s self-penned “You’re Supposed to Be Feeling Good,” originally recorded by Emmylou Harris in 1977. Oscillating between stripped-down acoustic and groovy full-band swells, the song picks up the same self-deprecating themes: “You’re supposed to be in your prime / You’re not supposed to be wasting your time / Feeling like you’re down and out over someone like me.”

Crowell often credits friends or lovers with seeing the best in him or pulling him through tough times. “I know it seems like that, honestly,” Crowell says of being hard on himself, then laughs a little. “They deserve the credit.”

Crowell doles out credit when it comes to his craft, too. “Guy and Townes [Van Zandt] were right there at the beginning of my development,” he says. “Guy was a generous mentor, in a way — the way we talked about writing. Discussed it. Examined it. Townes was around intermittently because he was traveling a lot. When he was around, he was a bit jealous of my relationship with Guy. And rightfully so. He and Guy were tight friends before I ever came around.”

Then, Crowell sets the scene: “Did you ever see Don’t Look Back? Remember Bob Dylan and Donovan in the hotel room? Donovan plays this kind of sappy, folky, flowery song for Bob Dylan, and then Dylan picks up a guitar and sings, ‘It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.’ He slaughters Donovan’s song with a masterful song. Well, I had that same experience with Townes, just in the privacy of the breakfast table at Guy’s house.”

Crowell pauses, then explains, “‘No Place to Fall’ is exactly what happened. I was sitting there, going on about something, and Townes said, ‘I’m going to play you a song.’ And it just crushed me.”

In a nod to his artistic education and one of the figures who delivered it, Crowell recorded “No Place to Fall” for The Chicago Sessions. “Listen, if Townes had not crushed me with ‘No Place to Fall,’ I wouldn’t have written ‘Till I Gain Control Again,’” Crowell says. “It was like, ‘Oh, that’s what it is. That’s what you aim for. If you don’t aim for that, you’re selling the whole deal short.’”

Crowell pondering where he’d be without Van Zandt’s lyrical gutting spurs a bigger question: Where would roots music be without Crowell? His sheer musicality, instincts, and determination to recognize greatness and then, instead of feeling defeated, aspiring to match it in his own way, has propelled an entire art form forward.

Widespread mainstream success — especially at the high levels Crowell has achieved — can lead to oversights of actual artistic achievement. While Crowell himself often describes his relationship to Van Zandt and Clark as one of student and teachers, over the last five decades, Crowell’s consistently brilliant output has proven he shouldn’t be framed solely as a disciple of songwriting giants, but as their peer.

Clark and Van Zandt were the sons of attorneys. Crowell was the son of a heavy drinking dive bar musician, born on the wrong side of the tracks. He comes from East Houston, historically an industrial sector, marked by factories and proximity to oil refineries. He’s never shied away from his past and people. “Houston, Wayside Drive — Avenue P, where my parents lived when I was born,” Crowell muses. “It always meant something to me.”

After a brief stint in college, Crowell sought knowledge on his own — perpetually. His lilting cadence and thoughtful care with language is like that of a professor, especially when he dissects music or history. His curiosity isn’t just intellectual, but spiritual, too. He explores and sings about acceptance and peace, especially when talking about friends, himself, or even people with whom he disagrees. The Chicago Sessions’ closer, “Ready to Move On,” is a meditation on balance, and Crowell’s pursuit of it.

“I’m sitting out here, listening to the wind go through the trees, thinking, ‘Wow, I live on top of this hill, surrounded by all this green. Man, how did I get here from East Houston?’” Crowell is talking about his home, just outside of Nashville. “The way I got here was, I fell in love with the sound of these songs, from my father singing them to me when I was a wee child. It makes me humble, in a way. God, I have gratitude for that. Whatever my sensibilities are that came through DNA from my parents that made me so attuned to the sounds that were coming at me, all the way through Merle Haggard, the Beatles, anything that moved me. It’s like, ‘Whoa, man. What a lucky break I got.’”

Photo Credit: Claudia Church

BGS 5+5: The Panhandlers

Posted on by Editor

Artist: The Panhandlers (Josh Abbott, John Baumann, William Clark Green and Cleto Cordero)
Hometown: West Texas
Latest Album: Tough Country
Rejected Band Names: “I’m pretty sure we had a couple we were tossing around, but the second Cleto came up with The Panhandlers, we all knew that was the one! I can’t remember what the other options were.” – Josh Abbott

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I have always been inspired by Willie Nelson. He can sing, write, is a monster of a picker, acts in movies, and last but not least, he seems like a genuine, humble, good-hearted person. – Cleto Cordero

What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?

As soon as I began reading fiction from some of the “classics,” such as Hemingway and Steinbeck, my writing voice began to flourish and become more colorful. As boring as grammar can be to learn, it is mighty helpful when you’re trying to write out your complete and full thoughts and ideas. – Cleto Cordero

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

For The Panhandlers, I’d argue it’s “Where Cotton Is King.” We first started that on the bus ride to Marfa for our first writing trip in August 2019. We didn’t finish it until fall 2021, which worked out great for this new album. – Josh Abbott

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be

To be respected as a good songwriter – William Clark Green

For The Panhandlers, it’s to be a legacy that inspires others decades from now to collaborate for a concept where the sum is even greater than its parts. – Josh Abbott

To create community through music. – Cleto Cordero

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Chicken fried steak & Guy Clark – Josh Abbott

Photo Credit: Mackenzie Ryan Photography

At His Lowest Point, Channing Wilson Turned Things Around With “Trying to Write a Song”

Posted on by Editor

With brutally honest songs soaked in blues, booze and emotional bruising, Channing Wilson is extending the tradition of raw country music with his debut album, Dead Man. Trading in pickup trucks and cut-off jeans for battles with depression, anxiety and addiction, he’s emerging with a style that echoes tormented tunesmiths like Guy Clark and Billy Joe Shaver, among others. But while his Dave Cobb-produced debut marks the first real batch of original tunes, this Georgia native is no newcomer.

Wilson’s been a working songwriter for almost two decades now, even scoring a No. 1 country single with Luke Combs’ “She Got the Best of Me” in 2018. He’s also a writer on Combs’ current chart climber, “Growin’ Up and Gettin’ Old,” and both tunes share an element of hard-truth reflection that’s rare in the country mainstream. But Channing’s own tunes go much further.

With Dead Man alive and kicking, Channing spoke with The Bluegrass Situation about his craft – discovering his songwriting heroes, bringing the blues back to country, and how a “bullshit” song sent him down a new path.

BGS: Can you tell me how you got into this gritty style of country music? It’s not exactly easy to find if you’re not looking for it.

Wilson: Yeah, I grew up in Georgia, and if it wasn’t on the radio, I didn’t know about it, you know? There were no clubs to go see new music or anything, so it took a while for me. I was into my 20s really. But I did have a friend who was one of those music-snob guys, and he’d heard that I was trying to write songs. He made me a mixtape that had Billy Joe Shaver and Guy Clark and Steve Earle and Ray Wylie Hubbard, mixed in with, like, Tom Waits, and it was just full of the best songwriters there were. So, it was literally like, “Where’s this shit been my whole life?”

I bet. That’s funny. You had already been writing by then though, huh?

Yeah. Well, I was trying. My dad was a huge Hank Williams Jr. fan, and I grew up listening to Waylon and Willie – just the stuff that was big, you know? But then the same guy that made me the mixtape, what really kick-started it for me was two particular shows he took me. One was Billy Joe Shaver, in a room with about 40 people with Eddy Shaver on guitar. And then the next week Hank Williams III was in town, and he took me to that show. And right after that, I just quit my job.

You came to Nashville for good around 2009, right? What was it like getting yourself established in the songwriting community?

I mean, I got a publishing deal pretty quick, I ain’t gonna lie. It was within a month or two of being there, I signed a songwriting deal over at EMI Publishing. But honestly, I didn’t even know what a publishing deal was at the time. I had to look it up, and I seen they had Guy Clark on the roster, and I said, “Well, shit. If he’s over here writing songs, then it has to be pretty cool.” I literally based my business decision on the fact that Guy Clark was a songwriter there.

I’ve heard worse ideas … So how did you end up with this raw writing style? You are not afraid to dig into the rougher side of life at all. Does that come from personal struggle?

What changed me was listening to stuff by Guy Clark for the first time, or Townes Van Zandt, and knowing that it was OK to write a song like that. I think when I got turned onto their music, it showed me that there really are no rules to it. And once I had that license to do literally whatever I wanted, what you’re hearing now is what happened.

You’ve talked about things like depression and anxiety, and how in music, that used to be called “the blues.” Do you feel like we need a blues-music revival for this current era?

One hundred percent, man. I mean, when people think about blues music, you think of Mississippi John Hurt, you think of Lightnin’ Hopkins, Howlin’ Wolf. You think of the Mississippi Delta, but the truth of it is, all of what they sang about is still around.

Where did “Drink That Strong” come from? It really sets the stage for what you do.

It actually come from one of these crazy Music Row songwriting sessions I used to do. Mine were always different because I never really cared about writing for country radio, but when you’re in a publishing deal, you know, they want you out writing songs as much as you can. I was with a buddy of mine named Houston Phillips … and in my head, I just I heard the hook, “The weed gets me high / And the cocaine don’t last long / And they don’t make a drink that strong.” It was supposed to be a song about quitting drinking, but it just makes me wanna drink every time I hear it. [laughs]

That’s a really cool line. But yeah, that probably won’t make it on the radio anytime soon.

Yeah. I’m definitely not mad about that either.

What about “Gettin’ Outta My Mind”? It’s in a similar vein, and I love this idea that you’re “done walking the line.” Is that something that you’ve said to yourself before?

Pretty much every day! [laughs] I’ve always been the guy that just wants to have a little more fun, and when you get me and Kendell Marvel both in the same room together, stuff like that happens. We wanted to rock a song just for us. You know, for that honky-tonk kinda thing.

Tell me about “Dead Man Walking.” This one’s got a ton of gospel in it.

I grew up singing in the church, so I’ve definitely got that in me. But it really come from listening to Howlin’ Wolf. It started off as a blues song, but Dave took it and really opened it up.

Maybe people don’t realize how closely related gospel and the blues are?

That’s the thing. Just like the thin line between love and hate, there’s a thin line between church and the bars, you know?

The last song on the record is so telling. It’s called “Trying to Write a Song,” and I love the hook. “I’ve been trying to write a song / Something bold, something real / But there’s a shit pile of denial / In the way of how I feel.” How do you overcome the shit pile?

Writing that song, that saved my life that day, brother. I ain’t gonna lie. … This was 2015 or ‘16, and my phone wasn’t ringing, man. Nobody in Nashville really gave a shit. I knew I could go to any bar for the rest of my life and play music. That’s not a problem. But I wanted to make an impact on country music, something I really, really love, and that’s given me a life. But I was at my wits’ end in this town.

To be honest with you, I had this write coming up with a bigger country artist that had radio hits and stuff, and getting to write with somebody that’s on the radio could change a lot for you. Especially if a song actually makes it to the radio, you know? I was trying to come up with some ideas and [laughs] dude, everything I was saying was bullshit, you know? I had a couple ideas going, and I just tore up and threw the pages away.

So I’m sitting there by myself at my kitchen table, and I just said, like, “What’s the truth right now?” And the truth, I just wrote it down – “I’m trying to write a song.” I sat there and just had a breakthrough moment in my mind, and it was really the moment that changed directions for me and got me back on track, and reminded me why I was doing this to begin with. When it come time to round the album off, I played that song and Dave just stopped me a minute into it, and he just said, “This is it. Let’s record it.”

How did the write with the country singer go?

I canceled it. I couldn’t do it after that. I was just like, “I can’t do this shit.” I knew I’d find a different way.

Photo Credit: David McClister

BGS 5+5: Caleb Caudle

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Artist: Caleb Caudle
Hometown: Germanton, North Carolina
Album: Forsythia

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I would say as far as songwriting goes, It would be Guy Clark. I like how plain he can be. It’s very matter of fact. I try to write in my speaking voice and I know Guy did, too. It’s easy to connect to. He always went heavy on the details and I try my best to always do the same. In a time where everything feels as if it’s been written about before, details are sort of the last frontier.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

I struggled for about a year and a half with “I Don’t Fit In,” which is the lead track on my new record. I thought it was finished but when I listened back to the demo it felt like I was complaining about not having a place in this world. I didn’t like that. I rewrote the verses from a place of power. I wanted to feel proud about the trail I was blazing. I’m not sure where I land musically and it’s constantly evolving. I think there’s something really special about that.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

I was doing a tour with Ray Wylie Hubbard in California four or five years ago and we were talking about gigs where folks don’t show up and how discouraging that can be and he said “Now Caleb, just remember…never play to the empty seats,” and it changed the way I felt about the audience who was there. I have such a deeper appreciation for those moments now.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

While I love all nature and what it brings to the table, at heart I’m a mountains guy. I love how small they make me feel. I also love the difference between the older mountain ranges like The Smokies, Catskills and Ozarks when compared to the Rockies or Tetons. They are all beautiful in their own way.

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

I’d say a plate of Hoppin’ John which is usually meant for New Year’s Day but we make it anytime we want. It’s black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread and country ham. I’d pair it with Doc Watson because I’m from Doc Country and I’d be shocked if it wasn’t a meal he loved, too.

Photo Credit: Caleb Caudle

LISTEN: David Quinn, “Cornbread and Chili”

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Artist: David Quinn
Hometown: Woodridge, Illinois
Song: “Cornbread and Chili”
Album: Country Fresh
Release Date: April 15, 2022
Label: Downhome Records / Soundly Music

In Their Words: “I had been wanting to write this song for a long time. It’s my version of ‘Homegrown Tomatoes’ by Guy Clark. I spend a lot of time writing about the more serious aspects of life so it was nice to sit down and write about all of my favorite things like comfort food, good music, and listening to the rain. This song is exactly how I spend my free time. Growing up my mom would always say, ‘That’s good eating!’ and it’s something I continue to say today. I knew I wanted the full band on this one in the studio but I was not sure how it was going to work. I am really happy with how it came out and any time I hear it, it brings me right back to the summer I wrote it.” — David Quinn

Photo Credit: Laura E. Partain

How Susanna Clark’s Tapes Shaped a Film on Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark

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“I want every single person in the world to be a Guy Clark fan,” says Tamara Saviano. “When people ask me why I did the tribute album and when people ask me why I did the book and when people ask me why I did the movie, that’s my response. I want everybody on the planet to go down a Guy Clark rabbit hole. Go listen to the music. That’s what I care about.”

It may sound like a lofty goal, but Saviano is making a lot of headway. She has spent more than a decade making sure people hear songs like “L.A. Freeway,” “The Randall Knife,” and “My Favorite Picture of You.” In 2012, after years working as his publicist, she executive-produced the double-album tribute to the Texas singer-songwriter, This One’s for Him, featuring covers by Willie Nelson, Lyle Lovett, Hayes Carll, and Patty Griffin, among many others.

Five years later she published her exhaustive and affectionate biography, Without Getting Killed or Caught, which follows his life from Monahans, Texas, to Nashville, from his early years as a struggling songwriter to his final days as a foundational figure in Americana. Lovingly written and sharply observed even as it affectionately portrays him as a “curmudgeonly old dude,” it’s one of the finest music biographies of the last decade and will finally get a paperback release next month, with a new foreword by Robert Earl Keen.

And now comes Without Getting Killed or Caught, the documentary Saviano co-wrote with Bart Knaggs and co-directed with her husband, Paul Whitfield. While the book focused squarely on Guy, the film (which is available for streaming) examines his marriage to Susanna Clark, his friendship with Townes Van Zandt, and how those relationships overlapped over the decades. They all lived together in the 1970s and Susanna often described Townes as her soulmate, but the documentary never resorts to sensationalistic details or soap opera storylines. Instead, it explores the creative lives they led, not just writing songs but forming communities of likeminded artists wherever they went. “They all inspired each other,” says Saviano. “It’s a film about friendship.”

Susanna recorded herself the way other people might write in a diary, amassing stacks and stacks of tapes during her lifetime. Because Saviano and Whitfield rely on those audio journals to tell the story, she emerges as the main character of Without Getting Killed or Caught, a complex and contradictory figure on par with the men in her life. A painter and illustrator, she was never quite as dogged in her songwriting as Guy or Townes, but in the ‘70s and ‘80s she enjoyed more success than either of them. In 1976 a Texas singer named Dottsy had a huge hit with Susanna’s “I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose,” which was later covered by Emmylou Harris and Jerry Jeff Walker.

Each new project—the tribute album, the book, the film—has offered Saviano new insights into Guy’s character and catalog, and she’s likely not done with him. She spoke with the Bluegrass Situation about exploring Guy’s music in different media, creating art while grieving, and making sure everyone is a fan.

What was your entry in Guy’s music?

I grew up in Milwaukee, which is as far away from Texas you can get and not be in Canada. My stepdad had a friend who used to come over every Saturday night and they would listen to records and turn each other on to new music. I would just hang out and listen to them talk about music all night. My stepdad was really into Memphis soul, and his friend Rudy was into country and folk. One Saturday he shows up with Old No. 1. “Rita Ballou” is the first cut on that record, and I remember sitting down with my ear next to the speaker and looking over the liner notes. It said, Words and Music by Guy Clark. I tell you, I was 14 and a real knucklehead, because that was the first time I realized that of course people write songs. They don’t just come out of thin air. People write them! I fell in love with that album, and it sent me off on a journey to find other songwriters. But teenagers are fickle, and I didn’t really stick with him very long. I certainly didn’t buy all of his albums.

Many years later I finally met him. We were at an industry party in Nashville, and we started talking. He asked me where I was from—which is one of his favorite questions. I started talking about Wisconsin and the 15,000 lakes and Lake Michigan on one side and Lake Superior on the other and the Mississippi River and the North Woods. Obviously I love Wisconsin. But I could tell he was getting bored, and he just moved along. I did a story on him later and we hit it off. He was a curmudgeonly old dude, and I happen to love curmudgeonly old dudes.

Did you know writing the book that you would be doing this movie as part of this larger Guy project?

No. I had no idea. I was in the middle of the book, struggling and not sure that I would even finish it, when another filmmaker approached Guy about doing a documentary. Guy said to me, “Look, I’ve been spending all these years with you. I don’t wanna start over with anyone else. Would you be interested in doing a documentary?” I didn’t even think I could finish the book at that point! Guy said he didn’t care if there was a documentary, but he wasn’t going to start over with someone else. So then I felt like I had to do it.

My husband is a video engineer. His day job is with Bruce Springsteen. We met when I was working in television. So I thought, Maybe my husband can do the documentary with me. We know what we’re doing. He knows all about production, and I know how to tell a story from being a magazine editor and writer. I know what a story arc is. I knew it would be hard, especially raising the money, but I felt we had to give it a shot.

When did you start filming?

We started interviewing Guy on camera in 2014, which was way deep into my writing of the book. I turned in my book in the fall of 2015, and we got our final interviews with Guy on camera that fall. And then Guy died in early 2016. My book came out, but then it took us a while to even work on the film. I had no idea what the story was. That’s the hard part—if you’re going to tell a story, you have to know what you’re going after. We didn’t know that when we first got him on camera, and we didn’t really start working on the film until 2017, when Guy had been gone for almost a year.

And I was so overwhelmed. Right after Guy died, my mom died. They’d both been sick for a while. And I was just worthless. I went out on my book tour that fall, driving around Texas in my minivan. I’d be at an event talking about Guy and signing books and taking pictures, then I’d get into my van and would just cry my eyes out. Then I’d go to the next event. That was the whole fall of 2016.

That sounds rough. How did you move on?

My husband went to Australia and New Zealand with Springsteen for a few months, so I decided I would go to Austin. I’m just gonna eat good food and walk the trail and be in sunny weather and try to recuperate from 2016. I met this guy who ended up being my co-writer on the film, Bart Knaggs. Without him I don’t think I would have been able to do it, because I had this 450-page book and didn’t even know where to start. We went to a screenwriting workshop together, and it was Bart’s idea to tell the story from Susanna’s point of view and focus on the trio of her and Guy and Townes.

That gave me my mojo back. Plus, Guy had given me all of Susanna’s audio diaries after she died. I listened to them while writing the book, but frankly a lot of them were just her and Guy and Townes drunk and talking gibberish. When we decided to write the documentary from her point of view, I went back and listened to all those tapes. Thank God I had them, because we used a lot of that. My husband digitized them, and there was a lot of gibberish but there were also these nuggets of gold everywhere. They were truly a gift.

Those tapes really humanize the three of them. Usually you have talking heads in a documentary, but these are the subjects talking.

That was one of our rules: Only the people who were there at the time can tell us what was happening. Early on, when Guy and Susanna were having the salons in Houston, Rodney Crowell was there and Steve Earle was there. Then, when Guy started touring without a band, the way he wanted to do it, Verlon Thompson was there and Terry Allen was there. It felt like we had to say, “Anyone who wasn’t there doesn’t get a voice.” Later, we did add Vince Gill to talk about what was happening in Americana at the time and what was happening in the industry, but he knows all that. We brought him in to be the thread that connects all that stuff.

How did that change your relationship to the book? Were there aspects that you wished you could have gone back and rewritten?

Yes. There was a part of me that was like, “I wish I’d known all this doing the book.” But I had to look at them as two separate projects. The book is an overview of Guy’s life and music, but the film is about Guy’s relationship with Susanna and Townes. They all inspired each other. It’s a film about friendship.

It definitely seemed like a kind of love story, although one born out of grief. I appreciated the restraint of not trying to sensationalize what could have come across as a love triangle.

We were definitely cognizant of that. Guy and I talked a lot about it, and they came up in a time that was more… free love. It’s just a different way of looking at things. People ask me all the time whether Susanna and Townes were having sex, and it doesn’t matter. It really has nothing to do with the story. They all loved each other deeply. That’s what matters.

There’s such an interesting contradiction where Guy and Townes claim they’re not interested in having hit records, yet they’re clearly envious when Susanna has a hit record with “I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose.”

I remember Steve Earle telling me that when Gordon Lightfoot had a hit with “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” he (Steve) and Guy got drunk for a week. They just couldn’t believe someone had a hit with that story! They all wanted to write the kind of songs they were writing, but they wanted those songs to be hits. And they weren’t. Susanna could just go off and write from the heart and have a huge hit and make all this money.

Has there ever been a compilation of Susanna Clark’s songs? I couldn’t find any in my research.

There has not. There are a few things I’ve thought about doing with her. She left a lot of half-written songs, so I thought about asking other women songwriters to finish the songs she started and then record them. That is something maybe someday I’ll do, but the problem is finding support money. When I did my other tribute albums, albums used to make money, so there would be a label willing to invest. But now I just don’t know. There isn’t one that I know of, but I’d love to do something with Susanna’s work.

Guy got so much overdue recognition later in life. What was his attitude toward all that attention?

Oh, I think he liked it. Townes died in ’97 and suddenly became this mythical figure, and I think that rubbed Guy the wrong way. Because Guy was still working. I think he was happy that people actually liked his work. Something I found really funny was, he got a Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting from ASCAP and a Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting from the Americana Music Association, and he was in the Songwriter Hall of Fame. But a couple years before he died, the Academy of Country Music gave him their Poet’s Award. Guy wasn’t even really country music, but that was his favorite because it was called the Poet’s Award.

Photo Credit: Al Clayton