Tag: Kurt Vile

Swedish Singer-Songwriter Sarah Klang Brings ‘Beautiful Woman’ Stateside

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

I meet Swedish performer and singer-songwriter Sarah Klang in the glorious maximalist backstage area at Nashville’s the Blue Room before her first-ever Music City show in mid-January. She’s cozy on the couch, a tin of pouched nicotine by her side, a hippo skull on the coffee table in front of us, and her brand new album, Beautiful Woman (out February 7) on our minds. The first thing I notice – besides her beautiful tattoos and the shimmering gemstone stud on one of her teeth – is her gaudy and gorgeous red-white-and-blue acrylic nails. Complete with rhinestones and glitter.

To Klang, the country aesthetic is the “coolest,” and in her part of the world she’s seen as something of a country queen. Her work across her discography varies greatly in genres and sonics, including folk, indie, pop, Americana, and so much more. But Beautiful Woman, which was produced by Eric D. Johnson (Fruit Bats, Bonny Light Horseman) doesn’t feel like Klang is just putting on rootsiness because it’s “cool” or “in” or trending. These are sonic spaces she knows well and strides through with ease.

Beautiful Woman boasts bold and brash moments that feel like Adele covering The SteelDrivers alongside tender story songs that could have almost been pulled from the catalogs of country queens this side of the Atlantic like Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. Danceable tracks, finger-picked ballads, and honest lyrics speak to impactful issues of motherhood, agency, feminism, embodiment – and so much more – but still feel light and joyful, leaning forward in the beat and finding hope in the melancholic.

Catching her debut Nashville performance at the Blue Room felt a bit momentous, though Klang seemed remarkably chill and relaxed, on and off stage. She and collaborator Theo Stocks (who also helps record and produce her projects) performed in duet, with lush reverbs and simple backing percussion tracks to a rapt audience. An audience who knew they were lucky to have Klang on this “side of the pond.”

Before the show, we dove into Beautiful Woman, speaking about the death of genre, choosing your own joy, always wanting more banjos, and so much more.

Do you see what you do as roots music? How do you place your own music within roots or folk or Americana? Your music has so many things – it’s got moments of grandeur, it’s got moments of subtlety, it’s got indie, it’s got pop, it’s got a little bit of everything. But I wonder how you identify it.

Sarah Klang: That’s sort of a really hard question. I always feel it’s a little bit like I don’t really know the genres. So, mostly when I put out my albums, afterwards people will review them and they will tell me what genre it is and I will be like, “Yeah, yeah! Mhmm, that’s what it is.” Because I don’t really think about it.

I mean, I listen to so much– random indie, folk, Americana, all those things that you mentioned. And I’m introduced to iconic classical things mainly through Theo [Stocks], my guitarist that I make albums with, and also Eric [D. Johnson]. Like a very normal thing in the studio would be that they would say, “Oh, this is very Kris Kristofferson-ish.” And I would be like, “Could you play it for me?” And then they play the song, and I’m like, “Okay!”

I don’t really have a special aim for where I’m going, because I don’t have any roots in anything. Really. I know what I like. I know the feeling [of what] I’m after. I guess the sentimental [and the] bittersweet, those always end up in some sort of Americana thing.

If it’s not the genre, or style, or the aesthetic that you’re going for – or that you’re following – it sounds to me like you’re following the songs themselves and the feeling you’re trying to evoke.

Yes. I mean, it’s just like an imprinted thing in my brain, “What sounds do I like?” It has always been like that, really. I don’t really play any instruments anymore. I used to play the guitar and the piano, but now I don’t. We’ve been here [in Nashville] for seven days and had sessions every day and Theo knows very well how to describe [the sounds]. He’s kind of like my interpreter. How do you say it? My interpreter? When it comes to melodies and shorts [takes], because someone at the session could play me a bit and I’ll be like “Hmmm?” And Theo will say, “It’s the last short. She doesn’t want that last short. Let’s go with that instead.” He understands.

I think I just have quite a small range of melodies that I like. I mean, my songs are kind of similar, how they are made. The aesthetic of country music has always felt like that’s the only way to go. That’s the only aesthetic that really looks cool, you know? When I started to dress up in country-ish things in Sweden, people were like, “Okay, well she makes country music.” That’s how far they would go. So in Sweden I’m often categorized and called the country queen of Sweden. I get a little bit nervous about that, because I know so little about country music and you know that everybody has such strong opinions about it.


What’s funny to me is even with how strong of opinions people have about country and what it is, it’s always in the eye of the beholder.

I’ve obviously been listening a lot – maybe not classic country, whatever that is – but I mean, I’ve been listening to Kurt Vile, Kevin Morby, Sharon Van Etten, you know, those very big country rock people for a long time. I think that is my biggest influence, really. Then we take that and Theo and Eric on this album, who are just very nerdy in music, they put their spin on it.

But for me, it’s not important to me. Where this album lands, in which genre – I couldn’t care less. But, I think that’s why I started having a western aesthetic. ‘Cause it’s the coolest part, I think. I was like, “Okay, I’m gonna start a solo project. Where do I want to be? What’s cool?”

That, probably. [Laughs]

You’re talking about collaborating with Theo and Eric and it sounds like having that trust and having that rapport is really important to getting the music where you wanted to get it. When I listen through and I hear the banjo moments and the really rootsy and Americana moments, trying to connect the dots, how much of that came from Eric producing?

I asked for that specifically! I mean, if it were up to me, I would say, “More banjo! Put banjo on everything!” ‘Cause that makes everything a jam.

But the boys are more tasteful when it comes to that. When [Eric] played, I think I asked him to try and play on like every song – and not because I wanted to be a “diddly doo” out there, but just because that’s my vibe. I mean, when someone plays on a banjo, there is nothing more tearjerking.

Of course, “Last Forever” jumped out at me for that quality. That was the track from Beautiful Woman that we premiered on BGS. I think it’s my favorite song on the record. But there are so many moments that feel like you’re a genre shapeshifter. And I think that that’s the time we’re in too, genre’s dead. Even while we get more and more and more genre names every year, it feels like genre’s dead.

For me, it’s probably a good thing that it is. That I’m not locked in a genre. I don’t think I’m ever gonna have to be like, “Okay guys, I’m breaking free from this [genre.]” I don’t have to do like a Miley Cyrus thing – “look at my new clothes!” – because I wear everything and that’s nice because I think I’m gonna keep on producing albums as long as I can, and I would like to not be stuck if I were to start feeling this [genre] is boring.

I mean, I’m a huge house fan. I love dance music. When I was a teenager, I mostly listened to weird party drinking music from the UK. I always wanted to make a club album. So, hopefully I could just like sneak over there. When the time’s right. [Laughs]

Another song that jumped out at me as feeling really rootsy is “Childhood.” Not only because of the aesthetic of the song, but the storytelling of it and the nostalgia in it. Something about it feels kind of theatrical to me, too, and I think country is so theatrical.

Yeah, it’s very dramatic. I think when I’m making a song, I feel like “more is more” and if you are going in a certain direction, just go all-in and don’t cringe. Because then it’s just going to end up in some halfway world.

For me, with “Childhood” I was like, “Oh, is this song too nice? Is it too sweet?” Like, no! It’s great. It’s a great song. You just have to go all the way with the feelings. Because then if you don’t, I don’t think you’re going to reach the point you wanted to reach.

Many of my melodies, when I write, I ask myself or Theo or Eric, “Is this too pop-y? Does it sound too much like yada yada yada? Is this a rip off?” And they’re, “Let’s go for it!” You just go straight into that vibe and feeling.

Our music goes all the way into the feeling without hesitating if it might be too much. If you are driving your car, you want to listen to Tom Petty. And he wasn’t like, “Oh, I’m gonna write a song that is making people feel free… but it can’t be too much!” [Laughs]

“I want a driving song, but for 35 miles an hour.”

No! [Laughs] Pedal to the metal.

The overarching concepts that the album is talking about, I think what some people, especially in the U.S., would think these are deep topics – feminism, womanhood, gender and gender roles. But I found it interesting that even with these subjects, the music still feels joyful, it feels like it’s looking forward, it feels like it leans forward – in the beat, literally and figuratively. But, it doesn’t feel like cotton candy, and it doesn’t feel like you’re minimizing anything. Can you talk a little bit about that?

I mean, that makes me so happy that you felt that way. I’ve done interviews about this album in Sweden, with women, and they’re like, “Sarah, you do know that you are a beautiful woman now, right? And I’m like, that’s not the fucking point! As if I were singing it, meaning that that was the point. Maybe I thought when I was younger that that was a goal, but it’s not now.

I just want to write whatever comes to mind, and since English is not my first language, I have to write it very straight and simple. Like, “This is what happened, period.” I don’t really have the energy or time to hide the message. That is not my thing. Some people are great with that, leaving clues. I just write words – it’s also like, I’m busy I need to write the lyrics now! [Laughs]

I always ask my friend when I’ve done an album, “What is the catchphrase for this album? What would you say now when you heard it?” So, for VIRGO she was like, “This is your sex album.” And Mercedes, “This is your pregnancy album, obviously.” But this one, she was like, “I think this is a celebration of girlhood, period.” And I was like, “Yep, that’s perfect.” I’ll just use that. Because I obviously just collect songs. Over a period of time, and then I feel, well now it’s done. And I don’t write an album after a theme.

One of the things I love about the album is that it ends on “I Have Everything.” I like that that’s the way that you’re putting a punctuation mark on the album. Right now, I’m really worn out by attention economies, consumption, consumerism, and like, “buying our happiness.” I was really struck by that song. I love having it at the end; it feels like you are not just talking to us, your listeners, but you’re also talking to yourself. So I wanted to ask you about the song and about the placement of it in the sequence.

I think I wrote it to myself. Like, “Listen! Stop being a complete asshole all the time!” It’s annoying, but I’ve learned – and it’s nice, but it’s hard to talk about it without it sounding so cringey and boring – but the only thing that makes you happy is to take walks outside, be with your family, eat right, and take care of yourself. And that is boring, but it’s the truth. I always felt that people who said, “I wake up every morning and tell myself five things that I’m grateful for–” and I’m like, “Okay… that’s weird.” [Laughs]

If you do that, you will probably feel better. If you are nice to people around you, you will probably feel better. If you’re nice to yourself. I mean, grown up people have been telling me [this] all my life. During my 20s, through periods where I was just unhinged and didn’t feel right. They were like, “Well, maybe if you took a little better care of yourself and didn’t party so much and spent time with your family, you would feel better.” And I was like, “Listen, it’s more than that.”

Yeah, like I am so deep. [Laughs] My traumas are so deep! You have no idea! I’m a fuck up. And then, turns out you’re not. That’s a nice thing about getting a little bit older, you just know, “I’m gonna be fine.” And it’s also my responsibility to make that happen.

Every time somebody had ever told me that “joy is a choice” and “happiness is a choice,” I didn’t realize at first that what they meant was joy or happiness that you construct for yourself isn’t fake.

No! And it doesn’t undermine your sad parts. Like, that is always going to be there. Don’t worry. I think so many of us are just melancholic people. I mean, people have had worse experiences than I’ve had and are so chill and so fine.

I think happiness is definitely something you can work on and give to yourself, and it’s not like a miracle.

Photo Credit: Fredrika Eriksson

MIXTAPE: Bobby Britt’s Songs of Hard-Won Joy

Posted on by Editor

The songs and artists on this playlist evoke a sense of hard-fought, hard-won, deep and rich joy. It is not a simple, one-dimensional joy. It has the sound of being churned about, tried and tested again. And now, just maybe, the joy being properly vetted, can be enjoyed. I look up to these artists, as they convey a message of calm and confident optimism.

We are all faced with the dualities of a temporal world…birth and death, gain and loss, pleasure and pain.

These songs speak to the strength of the human spirit amidst that world, and give me courage to carry on regardless of what’s happening, good or bad. They also provide a glimpse at an eternal reality of peace and balance (that has nothing to do with time, space or duality) that is hard to see or believe in when I am churning in the opposites…fear of loss, a craving for more and more solidity, and the dread that I will never have or be enough.

We need artists for this very reason; to go beyond our normal, conditioned ways of thinking about life, and to give us a new perspective with which to test our old and sometimes outdated paradigms.

My area of expertise is bluegrass and old-time fiddle. Though I am not a vocalist or pop artist, I gain inspiration from all styles. The feeling and sound of the above mentioned “hard-won joy” is what transcends specific genres for me. A goal of mine is to take this base emotional element, and with it, transfuse my fiddle playing and songwriting.

My hope is that you can find some joy and something to relate to in these songs as I did. Thank you for listening.

Photo Credit Louise Bichan

MIXTAPE: Greg Vandy’s Post-Modern Americana

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

There’s an exciting new scene of American pickers rooted in tradition who identify more with experimentation and rock ’n’ roll than with simple revivalism. These 15 tracks are representative and songs that I’ve been playing on the radio for some time now. To me, it’s the new breed of roots music. Clearly not interested in genre labeling and especially cringe at the notion of “Americana,” these (mostly) young artists and bands seek the next frontier of American music by adding a new lyricism and psych elements to their music. As Laura Snapes described in a recent article in The Guardian, this “new cosmic Americana” scene contains “a web of fellow travellers recontextualizing American folk music.” What’s most interesting about these artists, and whatever scene they actually inhabit, is that they reject the present and it’s disconnectedness by looking to the past. Drawing inspiration and influence from what came before to create something timeless for now — referencing the old to make new. It’s really always been that way, I suppose. — Greg Vandy, The Roadhouse

Jack Rose — “Sunflower Blues”

The silent father figure to many of these artists, Jack Rose passed away of heart failure in 2009. He was 38. Considered to be our generation’s John Fahey, he was a monster player just beginning his ascent in mastering new interpretations of American traditional forms. This is his take on Fahey’s “Sunflower River Blues.”

Michael Chapman — “Fahey’s Flag”

Another influence to most of the younger players represented here, Chapman is a self-taught elder statesman with an innovative style that was too ahead of it’s time. He’s enjoying late success and more fan admiration than ever. Here is his tribute to Fahey.

Jake Xerxes Fussell — “Have You Ever Seen Peaches Growing on a Sweet Potato Vine?”

A true student of tradition who apprenticed and played with some real old-time greats, Jake’s bluesy folk tunes turn into vibey cosmic laments and crooked rambles. Jake Xerxes (yes, that’s his real middle name, after Georgia potter D.X. Gordy) grew up in Columbus, Georgia, son of Fred C. Fussell, a folklorist, curator, and photographer. This one is from his brand new record on leading North Carolina label, Paradise of Bachelors.

Steve Gunn — “Milly’s Garden”

Gunn is not interested in “Americana,” but instead processes his inspirations into a singular, virtuosic stream of lyrical guitar melody. Hands down, my favorite player who’s developed into a good singer who sounds a bit like Beck. Once in Kurt Vile’s band, the Violators, he produced Michael Chapman’s latest record, 50. This is from his 2014 masterpiece, Way Out Weather.

Luke Roberts — “Silver Chain”

A bit of a vagabond, Roberts started writing his album, Sunlit Cross, in Kenya. Referred to as “redemptive blues,” his music is wide in scope yet spare in structure. This song also features Kurt Vile on banjo.

Joan Shelley — “Brighter than the Blues”

A beautiful singer, Shelley has an ace-in-the-hole on this one: guitarist and curator of the Alan Lomax Archive, Nathan Salsburg. Together, they are magic. According to Catherine Irwin of Freakwater, “Joan lands on a note like a laser beam on a diamond. Colors fly around the room, and her voice bends between them. People say her voice reminds them of Sandy Denny. It’s more than the vocal range. It’s a quiet power that draws you in.” Will Oldham is also on the record.

Marisa Anderson — “Deep Gap”

Marisa Anderson channels the history of the guitar and stretches the boundaries of tradition. Her playing is fluid, emotional, and masterful. This instrumental is an example of how her compositions improvise and re-imagine the landscape of American music.

Ryley Walker — “The Roundabout”

Continuing his amazing development as both a player and singer, Walker’s clear British folk influences have grown into a more baroque folk style on his latest record, which is easily the best thing he’s ever done. Robert Plant is a fan.

Promised Land Sound — “Through the Seasons”

One of my favorite bands, PLS pit harmonies and distortion against meandering folk riffs, resulting in a sound that’s part Lauren Canyon, part gauzy Brit-rock — all held together by firm Tennessee roots. These guys are young and proof that there really is something happening in East Nashville, and it’s great.

William Tyler — “We Can’t Go Home Again” (Lost Colony EP version)

As an artist, guitarist, and producer, Tyler has collaborated with many of the artists mentioned here and is another Nashville cat. Tyler creates cathedral-like psychedelic hymns one minute and pastoral folk and blues melodies the next. A former member of several bands, including Lambchop and the Silver Jews.

Kacy & Clayton — “Seven Yellow Gypsies” 

Some of you may have heard these first-cousins on my KEXP radio show a few years back. Kacy & Clayton were first revealed to me when I was tipped by Ryan Boldt of Deep Dark Woods to check them at Folk Alliance in Toronto — “They’ll blow yer mind,” he texted. They were teenagers fully immersed in the British folk revival and, between Clayton’s precise playing and Kacy’s ethereal voice, I was, indeed, blowm away in that small hotel room. Now recording with a band and expanding their sound with more originals, the future is bright for these Saskatoonans. And, apparently, Jeff Tweedy is onto them. This one is from their latest album, Strange Country.

Itasca — “Buddy”

Itasca is the musical identity of Los Angeles-based guitarist, singer, and songwriter Kayla Cohen. She brings an airy but mysterious late-’60s/early-’70s psych-folk feel to this one, her first record with a full band.

Daniel  Bachman — “Levee”

Often lumped into the American Primitive and drone scene of guitar nerdom, Bachman is certainly an amazing player who first came to my attention via Josh Rosenthal of Tompkins Square Records, who has had a hand in the development of many of the artists listed here. Bachman’s version of “Levee” can’t get much better and displays his command of his instrument.

Nathan Bowles — “Sleepy Lake Bike Club”

A member of Black Twig Pickers with Jack Rose back in the day and a collaborator with Steve Gunn and others, Bowles is an accomplished solo artist exploring the rugged country between Appalachian old-time traditions and ecstatic, minimalist drone. At first a percussionist, his meditative clawhammer banjo on this one is hard to deny.

Kurt Vile — “Wakin’ on a Pretty Day”

Kurt Vile ends it with this favorite about wakin’ and bakin’ … it’s a lifestyle.

Photo credit: kait jarbeau is in love with you via Foter.com / CC BY

Counsel of Elders: Michael Chapman on Being Up for the Adventure

Posted on by Editor

Prolific British singer/songwriter Michael Chapman returns this year with 50, an album named to celebrate the impressive and slightly staggering number of years he’s been touring. Chapman first picked up a guitar in high school in the mid-1950s, but due to the dearth of educational materials available at the time, he ended up teaching himself by listening to records again and again and again. He discovered an affinity for jazz guitarists like Django Reinhardt and Wes Montgomery along with blues guitarists like Big Bill Broonzy — differing styles which all became part of the pattern that is Chapman. History may want to place him squarely in the folk category, but he sees himself differently. He’s conversant in numerous languages, and he’s simply melded them together to create his own.

In 50, Chapman’s style finds its psychedelic inner child on songs like “Memphis in Winter” and “The Prospector.” It’s a subtle but present element helped along no doubt by producer and collaborator Steve Gunn. When the two revisited “Memphis in Winter,” which appeared on Chapman’s 2008 album, Time Past Time Passing, among others, they shortened it to just under seven minutes and applied a slick brushstroke of lead guitar to contrast the song’s more contemplative moments. Then there’s the yearning of “Falling from Grace,” a stunning conversation between two guitars, each of which appears to espouse a different life philosophy, while Chapman’s voice quietly sings against their chatter. And that’s before a piano in the corner offers its opinion.

For anyone who thinks education ends once you graduate or life’s lesson soften or shorten with age, Chapman exists as proof positive that it’s a never-ending process. He remains hungry for more and, more importantly, has developed the necessary sense of humor to help him along his way.

Your mother purchased a guitar for you when you were in high school, and you used to play it in the back of history class. Did you never get in trouble? That seems wild.

I was always in trouble. The problem with me and school was, I was one of those bad boys, but that went along with a high intelligence. They could never work me out, whether I was just ass or intellectual.

So without any guidance, you channeled your own curiosity into projects?

It made me get used to the fact that I was going to have to help myself. Ever since I’ve been done with school, that’s what I’ve been doing.

That makes sense, considering you turned to the great guitar players like Django Reinhart and Wes Montgomery to learn your craft.

I’ve always looked upon it like you’re a child learning to speak and, at first, you learn a few words, then you get a few phrases and, finally, you get to make up your own sentences. I look upon guitar playing like that. You have to learn the language before you can start to say what you want to say. In the back of my mind, I always wanted to figure out me, but to get there, I had to learn how to play like a lot of other people.

Well, that is a nugget of wisdom, if ever I heard one.

I’m still doing it. In those days — we’re talking about the mid-50s — there were no books to teach guitar, there were no DVDs or cassettes. You didn’t see guitar players on TV. I’d hear a record and, if there were two guitar players on it, I didn’t know, so I tried to play like two guitar players at once. I had a guitar for nearly three weeks before someone said, “You have to use the other hand, as well,” and I said, “Nah, come on, that’s going to be far too difficult.”

I love how you and Steve Gunn reshaped “Memphis in Winter” for the album. How did you decide upon revisiting it in this way?

I asked Steve to ride shotgun on the album. When you play everything and produce yourself, you can sometimes get so close to it you can’t see it. I asked Steve to ride shotgun and make sure that I didn’t go wandering off on a track that was never going to be any good. We enjoy playing together, so I put down the basic acoustic track and it was just Nathan [Bowles] banging his foot because, in a way, it didn’t need much else. I love what they do on it. Basically, that whole record was made by a bunch of friends sitting around in a room seeing what we could do with some songs. The last few records I’ve made, I had a studio down the road I had an interest in and it didn’t cost me anything, so I could go in there and spend as much time as I wanted. Sometimes you’ve got to realize that it’s not a perfect world and I’m not a perfectionist. To me, if it feels right, it is right, but sometimes it takes me a long time to get it feeling right. It’s confusing, isn’t it? But it’s confused me all my life. I’m still trying to figure it out.

Do you think you’ll ever reach a place where that kind of questioning has settled?

I’m always looking. Some of the records I’ve made over the last five or six years, I would never have thought I’d be interested in getting anywhere near. It started with that noise record I made with Thurston [Moore]. It’s incredibly interesting to me.

Besides Thurston, have you discovered anyone more contemporary that sets your pulse racing?

It depends on what I hear. According to my record collection, my favorite guitar player is Graham Green. But I listen to all kinds of people. A friend of mine in Nashville — William Tyler — has just come out with probably the best album of last year, an astonishing album called Modern Country. What I’ve heard lately is what friends of mine have given me, like Steve’s album, or Hiss Golden Messenger — that’s a great album. You’ve got to check out Nathan Bowles. He’s done a banjo album that’s sensational, and I hate banjos.

“Memphis in Winter” and “The Prospector” contain this subtle psychedelic nod when it comes to guitar. You’ve played in many different styles, but I was most struck by that sound. Where is that impulse coming from?

That’s a really good question that I might not have an answer for. You’ve got the old cogs grinding; I’m going to have to think. I’m not a rock guitar player, by any means, but I sometimes enjoy people who are. Steve has, over the last five years, turned into a lead guitar player. He’s willing to take risks. He’s not your average clichéd rock guitar player.

Right, and then there’s his work with Kurt Vile.

Kurt’s an interesting guy, as well. I’ve done tours with Kurt.

I can’t even imagine what those green room moments were like.

Well, you know, I usually have a bottle of water and Kurt usually has a bottle of beer. I don’t drink when I’m playing. I mean he doesn’t drink much.

Speaking about touring, where does that energy and drive come from?

Red wine.

That is such a good answer. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone reply with that.

Only because it’s true.

You don’t ever feel tired?

To be honest — and I hate to admit to this — I’m getting tired. I was working in Switzerland at the beginning of December and I was tired, and I’m just beginning to wake up. I’ve got to realize I’ll never be 30 again.

The energy levels certainly change.

I’m trying to slow down. I’m going to get a driver next year, because I can’t do long distance driving anymore. I hate to admit it even to meself, let alone to you.

I think it’s such a disservice when creative types fail to admit there can be such lulls, and that’s not even considering the touring aspect. I can only imagine how much touring takes out of you.

The playing’s great. It’s getting there that’s the problem because there’s no pleasant travel these days. You get on a plane, it’s always full, there’s never a spare seat; you get on a train, it’s the same; you get in a car, it’s far to drive and then you have to get out and go to work. When you’re young, you don’t know. I used to drive myself and stay awake for four days. Those days are over. You’ve just got to admit it.

I’m in my 30s and I don’t think I could stay awake for four days, at this point.

You’ve got to try. You’ve got to practice. Come on, Amanda.

With age, so they say, comes wisdom, and you’ll be turning 76 shortly before 50 comes out. What would you say is the most curious piece of wisdom you’ve obtained?

Persevere. Not everything happens immediately. Guitar playing is a process that I haven’t finished yet. I didn’t get it right on day six or day seven, or even year six or year seven. I still want to be better than I am, and I think I’m playing pretty good these days, because I stopped being a guitar technician. I like to think these days I play more atmospheric guitar than technical guitar. Does that make sense?

Absolutely, there’s more of a mood coming across than perfection.

In those days, when I learnt all that Django Reinhardt, I could play the guitar really fast. It was crap; it was really fast crap.

I think your idea about perseverance quite interesting coming at a time when so many seem to expect so much so quickly.

They expect gratification.

Instantly and there’s an entitlement behind it, too.

I’m still trying to figure things out.

Which, I think, is a life-long process. It never ends.

It has been to me, yeah. I have friends around my age and, for the last 20 years, they’ve made the same record. They have a style and they’ve stuck to it because people know what it is. In a way, that’s been a drawback to me, because it’s “What the hell is he doing now?” They have to make a record every three years, but it’s just like the one they did before that and like the one they did before that because they put all their notes in the saddle and they think, “That’s my identity.” Well, my identity is that maybe I haven’t got one. We’re all influenced by what we hear. If you keep on playing and keep your ears open things are bound to stick.

Photo credit: Carol Kershaw

Kurt Vile with J Mascis, ‘Box of Rain’

Posted on by Editor

It wasn't always cool to like the Grateful Dead. There was a period there, in the '90s especially, where Deadheads were often regarded as deadbeats, clueless hippies who were clinging to some sort of departed ghost — all while the rest of the world grunged out or glammed up, basically turning anything associated with "jam bands" into a pejorative. Hemp? Patchwork pants? Thanks, but no thanks — or, shall we say, all apologies.

But the Grateful Dead always had way more to offer than just a culture, and their music — from those spiraling, dreamy licks smeared across the War on Drugs or the noodle jams picked up by Rayland Baxter — has been far more influential sonically than just the dancing bear-shaped imprint they left on aged Deadheads' bumper stickers. A new collection, Day of the Dead, curated by Aaron and Bryce Dessner — both members of the New Yorker-reading, Brooklyn-residing polar opposite of a jam band, the National — gives the group its proper due with a 59-song tribute featuring the likes of Courtney Barnett, Real Estate, and Fucked Up. In other words, people who make both perfect and imperfect sense — because beneath the flannel and the distortion pedals, everyone's a not-so-secret Deadhead.

One of the best songs on the tribute — and one that really showcases that not-so-fine line between the lo-fi, slow RPM weed-rock of today like Mac Demarco and the psychedelic days of the Dead — is Kurt Vile's version of "Box of Rain," accompanied by J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. The duo keeps those signature Telecaster riffs intact, along with vocals that touch softly on Phil Lesh's original mournful coo, and warps it into something that easily could have rolled off of Vile's recent catalogue, with its gaze half at its shoes, half toward the concrete skyline: Proving in one slick track that it's not just cool again to like the Grateful Dead, it's actually pretty essential.

7 Very Cool Kurt Vile Tunes

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Kurt Vile is one of those artists who might not, at first blush, seem like an obvious choice for the BGS. But he very much is. We're all big fans of his folky/bluesy riffs, quirky takes, and esoteric arrangements. Here are a few of our favorites:

"That's Life, tho (almost hate to say)"


Mix one part chillaxing, one part Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, many parts existential dread. Stir, sip slowly, and pretend you're a certified badass out for a night on the town.

"Wakin on a Pretty Day"


Waking up is the absolute worst part of every day … even the pretty ones. This song doesn't help, but we still dig it deep.

"Pretty Pimpin'"

This track is so bad-ass, Kris Orlowski wrote a whole short story based on it.

"Baby's Arms"


Because there actually is a woman with "shining, shining secret stones" in her hands (or, at least, in her pockets) and she loves this song.

"All in a Daze Work"


Because this one goes with that one … and you just know that any woman who comes "flying through like a traveling gypsy show tornado" is going to have some secret stones of her own.

"Life Like This"


The rhythm of his phrasing dances to a different — and fabulous — beat. It's almost hip hop-esque.

"My Sympathy"

On this one, the guitar work gets the point across so well, he only needs four lyrical lines to round it out:

So you wanna marry me, oh you got my sympathy
In a daydream, I saw my soul in a flashing neon sign waving to myself
So you want a baby, well it's got my sympathy
In a nightmare, I saw myself briefcase, watch, and a tie

Photo credit: Marina Chavez

Between the Lines: ‘Pretty Pimpin’

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I woke up this morning, and didn’t recognize the man in the mirror. Feeling more like the boy who played outside my window during those summer days … pretending to skateboard, lighting off firecrackers in the streets when he thought nobody was looking, sharpening wooden knives on the pavement and placing them in his red wagon for sale next to his driveway.

Those younger years were spent looking forward, never backward. I gotta say, back then, all I wanted was to just have fun. I was living my life like a son of a gun. When the fellas asked how you were doing, it was always “I’m pretty pimpin.” They were a different bunch. All I ever wanted was to be a man. I laughed more then. Now who’s in the reflection? Oh, silly me — that’s just me. Age has a way of sneaking up on me, it seems. I proceeded to brush some stranger’s teeth, already forgetting that they were my teeth, feeling weightless from the morphine stream that was moving through me.

I was a dreamer, going to bed every night with big plans. Then I woke up one morning in panic — it was a Monday, no a Tuesday, no Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Questioning my existence and reasons for everything. It wasn’t til the proverbial Saturday came around that I left my panic behind with the rest of the world before the next episode.

Unless you come from money, it’s hard to have any personal space in this place. There is one bathroom for every four tenants in this “not a hospital for old people.” About every other day, I find myself asking, “Who’s this stupid clown blocking the bathroom sink?” or “Maybe this is the last time I’ll have to listen to the muttering on the other side of this curtain.” When you hit half a century, I think feeling lonely starts to correlate directly with becoming senile. At least that’s the messaging I’ve started using on my kids to get them to visit me more often. Asking outright never was my style. I’m more of a Catholic guilt guy.

My oldest son is the only one that comes regularly. I know he misses me because he’s sporting all my clothes. All he ever wanted was to be someone in life that was just like his dad. I think he’s gotten a little crazy in his 40s, though. For example, during our regular debates, he says the strangest things like, “I could be 1,000 miles away but still mean what I say.” I couldn’t tell you what the hell it was supposed to mean. Anyone would agree he was always a thousand miles away, while still standing in front of your face. Fortunately, he was a little too cute to be admitted under marbles lost, his idiosyncratic hyperbola makes me smile.

For how self indulged I’ve been, it's funny, I’ve always looked outside of myself for the truth. Only now, when my doctor has given me an expiration, do I see the pace at which things have come and gone. The opportunities, memories, friends, senses, values, promises, dreams. They never seem to last as long as I want them to, but it reminds me how far I’ve come and what I’ve discovered.


Story by Kris Orlowski based on "Pretty Pimpin" by Kurt Vile. Photo credit: Diego3336 / Foter / CC BY.