Tag: M.C. Taylor

‘Jump For Joy’ May Be Hiss Golden Messenger’s Most Autobiographical Album Yet

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s become commonplace in our culture for certain public figures to claim they speak for wide swaths of humanity – not just themselves and their families, but their community, nation and even beyond.

Then there’s Mike “M.C.” Taylor, guiding-light frontman of the North Carolina Americana band Hiss Golden Messenger. In speaking to the world through his songs, Taylor often approaches transcendence. But as for who he’s speaking for on this musical journey, well, that’s never in doubt. There’s a reason that pretty much every song Taylor writes is in first-person singular.

“It’s just what I find myself doing,” Taylor says when asked about writing in first-person. “I’ve never thought about it before, but it must be something I do without consciously thinking about it. This particular record really makes sense to me in thinking that way because it’s so autobiographical. Not all the scenarios are purely true, or belong to me. But it’s as autobiographically as I’ve ever written on a Hiss Golden Messenger album.”

The album in question is Jump For Joy (out now on Merge Records), the latest entry in what is fast becoming a sprawling Hiss Golden Messenger discography going back more than a decade. As listenable as it is plain-spoken, Jump For Joy is another earthy shot of country-soul love. It brings to mind some of The Band’s best work from their prime, conveying not just a journey of realization but how hard a trip like that can be.

Taylor’s longtime bandmate, Chris Boerner, describes him as “a deep, complicated human being.” And if he has a reputation as zen master, it don’t come easy. “The Wondering” finds Taylor asking his muse if he could “write just one verse that doesn’t feel like persuasion.” And the very first words Taylor utters on the album-opening, “20 Years and a Nickel,” are, “There’s no such thing as a simple song/I’m convinced of it, I should know.”

By way of explaining where that sentiment comes from, Taylor references an old legend about the late Spanish painter Pablo Picasso being interrupted by a fan at dinner one night and asked to dash off a quick drawing on a napkin. So Picasso quickly sketched a goat and named his price for it: $100,000. Stunned, the man asked how less than a minute of sketching could possibly be worth a price that high. Picasso took the sketch back and replied that it hadn’t taken 30 seconds, but 40 years.

“In my experience, I’ve come to realize that no songs are simple,” Taylor says. “Regardless of how long it takes – whether you get lucky and it’s one of those songs that comes in 15 minutes, or three years – I have come to believe that the same amount of complexity goes into both. Even when I’m trying to write a ‘simple’ song, which that one was, it bears the weight of my having worked at it for 30 years. Every seemingly simple line carries that many years and versions of itself beneath the surface.”

At the same time that Jump For Joy is as autobiographical a set of lyrics as Taylor has ever written, the album also has the most outside input of any work in the Hiss Golden Messenger catalog. It has an ensemble feel with a loose-limbed swing to the rhythms, and some genuinely unexpected sonic flourishes. Most notably, “Shinbone” is hung on a synthesizer riff that sounds like it came straight from Talking Heads, circa Speaking in Tongues.

“Mike is definitely responsible for all the lyrics and themes, and he’s the main driving force harmonically,” says Boerner, the group’s lead guitarist as well as Taylor’s main in-the-studio co-pilot. “The rest of it is a lot more contributions from the rest of the band than previously. It’s really something we made together, and I feel like you can hear it. I hope that comes across.”

Scattered across the album are three little atmospheric interludes Taylor inserted late in the process, each of them less than a minute in length. They’re highly idiosyncratic, almost functioning as in-jokes with old field recordings layered in. One of them, “Alice,” features the legendary folk maven Alice Gerrard (whose Grammy-nominated 2014 album Follow the Music was produced by Taylor) counting one to eight so quietly you’ll miss it if you’re not paying attention. She is credited in the liner notes with “counting.”

“I was just looking for a way to let this album breathe a little bit,” Taylor says. “I still try to make long-playing records where you start with side one, track one and let it roll all the way to the end of side two. With that intention comes a desire to let there be a little space between the songs with singing. Like pausing to take a breath. It just felt right.”

Those catch-a-breath in-joke moments serve as respite, too, because Jump For Joy finds Taylor’s thematic leanings as heavy as ever. “Jesus Is Bored (A Teenager Talks to God)” has a reference to the “Starvation Army.” The album-closing “Sunset on the Faders” asks, “Is this how the poets learn to die?” And “Nu-Grape” likens songwriting to stone-cutting.

“When I’m not being zen about it, I do feel like songwriting is that way,” Taylor says. “When I start thinking of it in terms of permanence and lasting forever, it can even feel like gravestone-cutting. When I think in those terms and start feeling like I need to get it exactly right, that kind of pressure is not going to improve the work. So ‘Nu-Grape’ is at root about the impossibility of permanence. A celebration of the attempt to step lightly.”

Indeed, Jump For Joy is actually an apt overall title because, for all the heaviness, it still feels like an attempt to buck up against the long odds of life on planet earth. Times are tough, but redemption is still possible. Or as Taylor puts it in the title track, “Nothing’s a given, in the Book of the Dead or the bed of the living.”

“Each new day seems to contain ever more challenges that can feel insurmountable,” Taylor says, “whether it’s politics, climate, or whatever else. How do I choose to express my energy? Do I look inward and get small? That’s the way I perceive (2021’s) Quietly Blowing It now, turning inward. This one is trying to do something that’s harder for me, which is to be more public-facing. Gather what strands of hope and joy I can and use those to guide me forward even when pessimism feels easier. I have kids, so my perspective on the way the world feels stretches beyond my lifetime. I want to learn to be the person saying, ‘It’s tough out there right now, but there’s still something about humanity that’s worth fighting for.’”

Photo Credit: Graham Tolbert

On ‘O Come All Ye Faithful,’ Hiss Golden Messenger’s M.C. Taylor Sees the Light

Posted on by Editor

When M.C. Taylor presented his idea of a Hiss Golden Messenger holiday record last fall, the label team at Merge Records began scratching their heads. Anyone familiar with the singer-songwriter would agree he just doesn’t seem like the type.

But this juxtaposition is at the heart of Taylor’s intentions to create a more relatable soundtrack for a season he felt has been oversimplified by an excess of enduring holiday hymns and hits. As an artist, he has never connected with the holiday music resounding in big box stores throughout the season. Last winter, in the face of inconceivable global hurt, this flamboyant backdrop felt particularly jarring.

After he wrapped up the Quietly Blowing It LP in the summer of 2020, Taylor still felt the tugging desire to create. While the year stormed outside the tiny window of his home studio in Durham, North Carolina, he was determined to capture authenticity within an often-romanticized season. What began as yet another coping mechanism soon took shape as a Hiss Golden Messenger album, O Come All Ye Faithful.

“There were definitely moments when I was making it when I thought to myself: ‘Am I insane? Has the pandemic made me lose my compass on what my music is meant to do?’” Taylor tells BGS. “But once we were a couple of songs into it, everything sort of clicked into place. I was like, ‘This totally makes sense. This sounds like a Hiss record, actually.’”

A self-proclaimed “second-guesser,” Taylor found creative refuge in a more interpretative state of mind, rather than relying solely on his usual songwriting process. His only directives from the start were to make a record that feels “lush, slow, and contemplative.” Despite these uncharacteristic parameters, his purist approach to the album captures the poignant emotions of closing out a season, or a chapter.

As the year winds down, enjoy our BGS Artist of the Month interview with Hiss Golden Messenger’s M.C. Taylor.

BGS: The holiday album has been done by countless artists. What did you feel you could contribute or expand upon within this enduring tradition, and why is that important to you at this point?

Taylor: Well, I should say at the outset that I’m certainly not an expert on holiday music. I’ve realized that even more over the past couple of weeks when people, knowing that I’ve just made this record, will be like, “Oh man, you’re into holiday music. Have you heard this or that record?” And I’m like, “I haven’t heard any of it.” My collection of holiday records is remarkably thin. I have a handful of “holiday records” that I consistently return to.

But I’ve noticed that often the music I hear, the stuff that seems to get played out in public during the season, doesn’t hit the emotional note that I’m feeling. And it doesn’t really resonate with anyone I know either. This big, brash, brassy, super uptempo, almost turbocharged holiday music seems to be the background to this season, but I started to feel like maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe I can come up with something that feels more in step with how everybody I know feels around this time of year.

When did you write these three original tracks, and how do they fit into this concept?

I keep hedging my bets by calling it a seasonal record; I’m not sure how that’s exactly different from a holiday record. But these were all written with this record in mind.

The first one, “Hung Fire,” is a very intimate song and a meditation on this time of year and how hard it can be on many people. It’s sort of a meditation on suicide in a way, which is a bit heavy, but I felt like there was a place for it on this record. Aoife O’Donovan sings on that one. That was the first stuff that she sent back to me after I asked her to sing, and I was just like, “Oh my God!” She is an absolute ace in the hole. She’s one of the greatest singers that I know.

Lyrically, “By the Lights of St. Stephen” is loosely based on this old seasonal song called “The Wren” that I learned from a record by an English family acapella group called The Watersons. So, if you ever find that song, certain lines are similar, and then I kind of take it off into a different place.

I felt it was incumbent on me to nod towards Jewish seasonal traditions. My wife is Jewish, and my kids identify as Jewish, so we put Woody Guthrie’s “Hanukkah Dance” on there. And I was trying to work on another one, but it’s hard to fit the word ‘Hanukkah’ into a song. I had this idea of a song that featured candles, a big part of the tradition. I don’t know if anyone else hears this. Probably not. But I think of “Grace” as the other Hanukkah song.

From your perspective, why did “Shine a Light” and “As Long as I Can See the Light” work well with this theme?

I had a long list of songs I felt could be seasonal songs by association. Meaning if I put them together with other songs like “Silent Night” or “O Come All Ye Faithful,” they could be, in that context, interpreted as a song as it spoke to this particular time of year. Thematically, the record returns to the idea of light and dark, searching for light or a spark during a season that feels quite dark. It also uncovers the notion that we don’t understand light without darkness. I’ve always loved those tunes, and I wanted to see if we could do something to them that made them feel like they were supposed to be on the record.

When we spoke earlier this year, you felt uncertain about getting back on the road after adjusting to life at home. With your tour starting up again, has that feeling changed?

One thing I’ve grown to miss over the past couple of years, aside from playing live in front of people, is routine. And a tour gives me the closest thing that I have to a regular, everyday routine. I’ve always been a creature of habit, but the past couple of years brought this idea home that I function best with like a daily regimen; I like to know what I’m going to be doing. And I can’t say that I had that during this pandemic. Certainly, many of the traveling musicians I know were at loose ends as to what to do with themselves.

How did the pandemic and all the political fury affect your approach to this record?

This idea came in the fall of 2020, a few months after I finished Quietly Blowing It. Again, the approach goes back to this need for routine. I needed to be working on something that kept me busy in the days, and I also needed to be working on something that made me feel peaceful at a time full of chaos and anxiety. So, that was where I went. Music has always been a pretty dependable place for me to go. I’m not even sure that I would have made this record had we not been living in such a chaotic time that felt so full of uncertainty and grieving.

Growing up, what were your family’s traditions surrounding the holiday season? How do you feel that translates in these musical selections?

We celebrated Christmas, and my family was pretty tight. I grew up in Southern California, so I have this specific set of memories, like a beautiful, sunny Southern California Christmas Day — not the norm for most. Strangely, the soundtrack to Camelot was a constant. If you were to ask anybody in my family what holiday music you listen to, everybody would say Camelot. It took me until I was a full-grown adult to realize that that is not technically a holiday record. But somehow, it’s still really associated. If you place songs in the vicinity of the holidays, your brain will start making a connection.

Are there any particular points of nostalgia within your selections here?

It’s kind of a nostalgic feeling record, but I don’t know that it comes from childhood. The songs are not necessarily from my childhood, but I feel like the emotions within the record speak to a bittersweet set of emotions that have been with me since I was a kid. When I was quite young, I remember talking to my mom about the holidays, and she said: ‘This is always a really hard time of year for me.’ And I understood what she was saying. There is a sense of grief that comes with the closing of a year. I feel like that grief can be echoed in the natural world outside as we see things closing up for the winter before the hopefulness that comes with spring. My feelings about the winter holidays have always been a quiet time of contemplation.

Photo Credit: Chris Frasina

Hiss Golden Messenger’s ‘Quietly Blowing It’ Blends N.C. Warmth With L.A. Glow

Posted on by Editor

When M.C. Taylor decided to make another Hiss Golden Messenger album, he instinctively knew it needed to be done in real time, in an actual studio, in his adopted hometown of Durham, North Carolina. Recorded in the summer of 2020, Quietly Blowing It reflects a joyful spirit even as a fog of anxiety hung over the sessions. And in some ways, Taylor believes that a sense of tension is what this album is all about.

But in contrast to the image of making a million minor mistakes, Quietly Blowing It may be his most accessible album yet. (His prior effort, 2019’s Terms of Surrender, landed a Grammy nomination for Best Americana Album.) As he’s done for years, Taylor asks a lot of questions in his lyrics without filling in the answer. One could say that he positions himself as a moderator who introduces a conversation, rather than an expert who knows everything about everything.

“That’s always been the way that I write,” he tells BGS. “I’ve been talking for many years about this idea of making an album that’s full of questions with no answers. In a lot of ways, I’m less interested in the answer than I am in the question, if that makes sense. Because the answer might change from day to day. I find the question often to be the thing remains steady, more or less.”

Not long before heading back to his native California to finally visit his family there, Taylor caught up with BGS by phone about Quietly Blowing It, releasing June 25.

BGS: One of the reasons I like listening to “Sanctuary” is because you can hear the band in the groove, in the space between the verses. It makes it feel like a band record.

Taylor: I think for the type of music that I make, the best light that it can be shown in is when you can hear everybody working together. The music is a collective music and it thrives on the collective energy of the players. That’s why I was hesitant to jump into making anything totally remotely. If my options were to either record remotely or do nothing, I would have chosen not to make a record because that collective energy feels really important to this music.

The second time I listened to this album all the way through, I really noticed the drums. It’s like its own energy coming through. Did you feel that too?

Yeah, in a lot of ways the record was written around the drum parts. I spent a lot of time coming up with the way I wanted the drums to work, at home, and sketching out drum patterns and drum parts, and layering different percussive elements over that. Then I brought those ideas to the two people that played all that stuff: Matt McCaughan played the drum kit and a friend of mine named Brevan Hampden played a lot of the percussion. It was meant to feel like this churning machine, almost. You know what I mean? A lot of the parts are pretty simple, but they’re sympathetic to the songs. Simple in theory, but very hard to play in a way that swings as hard as Matt and Brevan do.

To me, “Hardlytown” is about people who are staying the course against a world that’s pushing back against them. Is that pretty close to what that song is about?

Yeah, that song is addressing this idea of the way that we set up the systems in order to live our lives the way we think we want to. And how, so often, what we give feels like more than what we get back. There are many ways to do that math, of course. When I started out being a musician, I spent way more than I made back. That was like the first 15 years of my life as a musician, playing out in public.

However, there’s the whole existential math. [Laughs] Where you start to factor in joy and spiritual payoff, and that becomes another set of equations that start to figure into it all. I was trying to work my way through that, “Hardlytown” being the place where maybe you don’t get back what you put into it, but you keep at it anyway. It’s meant to be a little salty around the edges but it’s meant to be a song of hope. It may not be unqualified hope, but I think the heart of that song is a certain kind of hope.

There’s a line in that song that says, “People, get ready / There’s a big ship coming,” and that reminded me of your love of Curtis Mayfield. Why does his music resonate with you?

He’s the whole package to me. He has an absolute command of groove. His arrangements are so elegant and affecting. He really knew how to make you feel something, and his writing is second to none, in terms of finding that sweet spot between the sacred and the everyday. I’ve said this a lot lately, but he was really good about singing about the potential of hope. You think about the time during which songs like “People Get Ready” were written. It’s hard to imagine there was an abundance of hope for him and the communities that he moved through. But they somehow continued to write these songs that feel anthemic, in the way that they talk about the potential of hope, and how important hope is to carry, even if you can’t fly the flag at the particular hope at that moment.

In the video for “If It Comes in the Morning,” you have Mike Wiley, a Black actor, lip-syncing to your track. Why did that treatment appeal to you?

It’s been interesting to hear certain reactions to that video. First of all, Mike Wiley is a friend of mine that I’ve been doing work with, off and on, for over a decade. He’s an incredible stage actor. And I knew that I wanted somebody to be looking directly into a camera as they lip-synced the words. So, my thought was, who can stare into a camera for the duration of the song without flinching? And not have crazy camera eyes? I can’t do that, I don’t have that skill set. You put a camera on me for more than three minutes and I start to look like George Jones or something. [Laughs]

So, my intuition was to get in touch with Mike Wiley. He’s an expert at that. It certainly was not lost on me that Mike Wiley is a Black actor, so there was going to be added layers of information with that video. And heightened interpretations because of the moments we are living through collectively. I’ve heard some people say, “I don’t get this video. What is this video trying to say or do?” And plenty of people have not commented either way, whatever, they like the song. Other people have been angry about it. But when I see the video, I see my buddy Mike Wiley lip-syncing the words and Mike happens to be an extremely gifted actor who is Black.

What does the word “it” represent in that title, “If It Comes in the Morning”?

I mean, it depends. “It” could be victory, defeat. If things go my way in the morning, how am I going to behave to people that were on my side, or people who were on the other side? If defeat arrives in the morning, how am I going to behave to people that I was working with, or to people who were working against me? I was thinking about how I might behave to someone that might be my adversary in some situation. Would I behave with respect? Or would I kick sand in their face? I like to think the former, but sometimes I think the latter. And that’s a “quietly blowing it” moment. [Laughs]

How would you describe the room where you wrote these songs?

It’s about 10 feet by 12 or 14 feet. It’s pretty small and it’s full of guitars, books, records, and sometimes a drum kit and amplifiers. Depending on my mood, it can feel like an oasis or like a prison cell. [Laughs]

During that time when we were all staying home, I spent a lot of time on the greenway. Did you get a chance to get outside, too?

Yeah, we got outside a fair bit. We have a pretty big backyard. Durham is full of green spaces, so yeah, I found the outdoors to be a balm over this past year. No question about that. We did a lot of camping this year, and that was fun also.

How did you wind up in Durham?

Many years ago, I went to grad school at UNC. This was back in 2007 and my wife and I just ended up staying. I don’t even remember what our intention was, whether we thought we were going to stay for a long time or move somewhere else. But this was pre-kids and over time North Carolina just started to feel like home. We bounced around this region a lot. We lived in Chapel Hill first and we lived outside of a small town called Pittsboro. Then we gravitated towards Durham. It’s a perfect-sized down in my opinion. Lots of incredible food, art, music, so this is where we ended up and it feels like home.

Before this band took off, I’m sure you were doing a lot of odd jobs. I think I read at some point that you were selling swimsuits over the phone?

Yeah, I did. That was a long time ago, back in college in California. I didn’t last. I was selling women’s swimsuits over the phone. Like, I was a 22-year-old guy and didn’t know the first thing about anything about that. [Laughs] I had no business answering those telephones. They should not have had me there. They didn’t have me there for long. They fired me after two weeks. They could tell I was the wrong person for the job.

You’ve said elsewhere that you still feel the pull of California. Is that why the video for “Glory Strums” looks the way it does?

Yes, it is. In normal times I would be in California many times a year. California is where most of my family still lives. Like many people, I haven’t seen them since this all started and my kids haven’t seen my parents in almost two years. I’m really pining for California in a way that I haven’t before. Because I’ve traveled to California so frequently, I’ve kept that homesickness at bay. It never affected me because I knew that within the next month or two months I would be out there again. I haven’t been out there for a year and a half and I can really feel it.

It made me think about this article in the New Yorker in 1998 called L.A. Glows. It’s about a native Californian meditating on the light in Southern California. I remember reading it at the time and thinking it was interesting. I understood this theory that different places could have different qualities of light that would affect people that knew that place. But now I can feel that on an emotional level.

How did that video come together?

Vikesh Kapoor is the director and he is someone I have known for many years. Back in 2013 or 2014, I was playing in Portland, Oregon, opening up for Justin Townes Earle, and I was traveling alone. I was looking for someone to sell merch for me, so I put out a call on social media, I think. Vikesh volunteered to do it and we met that night at the merch table, where he sold my stuff. We kept in touch after that. He’s a songwriter himself and he’s made a few great records. And he’s a pretty respected photographer.

I knew that he was living in Los Angeles now and I got this wild hair that I thought Vikesh could make a video. We talked a lot about the light – the hazy, Southern California quality of light that I was missing. I asked him whether he thought he could get that into the video and he did, to his great credit. He didn’t have a whole lot to go on. [Laughs] He made something that is really beautiful and it does speak to the place where the video was made.

During that time when you were touring solo, what did you like most about just you and the road?

I still do that kind of touring once in a while, just to get that feeling again. I mean, there’s something about being footloose out on the road that can be really exhilarating, even still. I’m one of those people that picked up Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Desolation Angels when I was 17 years old and read them. I was just like, yep, this is the life for me. And the older I get, it’s a complex life, living your life on the road. You’ve got to work to take care of yourself, which I don’t think a lot of those Beat Generation writers did very well. But there remains a romance of just traveling through.

One thing I’ve noticed about this record, though, is that there’s a lot of other voices singing with you. What do you like about that?

I love the human voice as an instrument. Just like instruments, every human voice is different and resonates differently. It affects a microphone differently. I think that voices singing in harmony can really elevate a melody. It adds a very important color to a record, for me. We did have a bunch of voices on this record. It’s a pretty magical sensation to be able to sing in harmony with someone. It’s like an electric jolt is running through you.

Photo credit: Chris Frisina

WATCH: Hiss Golden Messenger, “Sanctuary”

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Hiss Golden Messenger
Hometown: Durham, North Carolina
Song: “Sanctuary”
Release Date: January 13, 2021
Label: Merge Records

In Their Words: “Over the past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we care for ourselves and each other, and how hard it is to live truthfully in a world that is so tangled. ‘We sell the world to buy fire, our way lighted by burning men,’ says the poet Wendell Berry. The song ‘Sanctuary’ is one small piece of my own personal reckoning with what it feels like to search for some kind of shelter in the storm. Fare thee well, John Prine, AKA Handsome Johnny, a speaker of truth if ever there was one.” – M.C. Taylor / Hiss Golden Messenger

Photo credit: Chris Frisina

Hiss Golden Messenger: Hope, Joy, and ‘Terms of Surrender’

Posted on by Editor

To make his eighth proper album as Hiss Golden Messenger, M.C. Taylor left his adopted hometown of Durham, North Carolina, and went… everywhere? He booked studio time in Nashville, tracked songs in New Orleans, and headed north to upstate New York, where he recorded at the studio owned by The National’s Aaron Dessner. There might have been even more cities in that list, but logistics and time cut his traveling sessions short.

“I wanted to make a record anywhere other than Durham,” he says. “I felt like I needed a change, and it felt like the songs were asking for a change. This is a wandering record. It just felt like the songs were wandering around a little bit. So I felt like maybe I should, too.”

Travel is a major theme of his music, both as inspiration and consequence. Working as a musician means touring; providing for his family means leaving them. Out on the road, however, he finds new reasons to make music. Taylor peppers Hiss Golden Messenger songs with place names, references to home and elsewhere. For Terms of Surrender he decided he needed to make that part of the creative process, which meant recording wherever he landed.

Taylor’s wanderlust extends to the music, too, which draws from a range of roots traditions: psychedelic folk and rural funk, southern soul and classic rock, American primitive guitar and ‘60s frat rock, J.J. Cale and the Staple Singers, Neil Young and composer Harry Partch. The result is a sober but hardly somber album that surveys America at the end of the 2010s, during a moment that is — to say the very least — tumultuous.

BGS: Place always feels so important to your music, so it made me wonder if getting away from a place was as important as getting to a place. Could you have made this record back home in Durham?

Taylor: Yeah, I could have made it in Durham. Definitely. But it would have a very different character. I try not to think of the records as the final form of the songs. I think of them as snapshots of the songs, snapshots in time — a documentation of the tunes as they exist among a certain group of people on a certain day in a certain city. So this particular version of Terms of Surrender is a document of that particular time in my life.

Given that these are wandering songs, and given that you’ve talked about the album coming out of a very hard year, how did that inform the music?

The trials and tribulations I was experiencing are obviously threaded through the songs. Some of that is maybe obvious lyrically, and some of it is a little more coded. It’s something that is obvious only to me. I was dealing with those issues in the composition of the songs, but the making of the record was pretty joyous. Actually, the writing was, too, because it’s always a cathartic experience.

So I can’t really say that I went into the writing of the songs in a tortured place and came out with all the answers. The songs were just a way for me to speak about that stuff, to process it in a way that made me feel like I was evolving emotionally. Not that I was solving my problems, but I was at least beginning to understand what they were. We don’t find an answer in an instant, but we can identify the issue and over time find ways to address it.

To what degree can you talk about the events that informed this album?

It’s a tricky question, because it was something that was part of the fabric of my life for the last year or two. It’s something that comes up in the one-sheet because every record has to have a story, but then when it comes time to talk about it, it’s tough. You never know how much you want to reveal, you know what I mean? I’m a pretty open person but there’s this curtain between all of the stuff that I make public and all the stuff that I keep private.

So I’ll just say that I had some personal problems with someone that I worked very closely with. It felt like over the years they had become an emotionally abusive person. I couldn’t even put a name to the things I was feeling because of that relationship. I thought I had lost my way a little bit. Over time I came to understand what was going on and was able to extricate myself from that relationship. That was important. And then to have all that against the backdrop of the way our country feels right now… it was a lot. I’m a sensitive guy, I guess.

That definitely seems like something that informs these songs, but it’s not a political record. It’s more about living at a certain time when these things are encroaching on your mental health.

And I want to be clear: I’m one of the fortunate ones. I’m a white man in this country. I’m living on Easy Street compared to people of color, queer people, women. But that was a question that came up on the last record, Hallelujah Anyhow. That wasn’t really a political record either, unless you realize that everything is political. The personal is political; the emotional is political. But that record and the new one were made a different times, so the relationship to hope is different.

That’s something I picked up on: this sense of optimism as well as something like joy. That’s not necessarily a word that I associate with this time in history, but it comes through on a lot of these songs.

On Hallelujah Anyhow joy and hope seemed like these bright, sharp things, a nice glinting in the sunlight. They could cut through just about anything. But they work differently on this record, I think, because you realize that we have to work at them every day. If we don’t, they’ll become dull and unwieldy.

And hope and joy are things that I have to work at. Some of these songs are reminders to myself to work at these things that bring me hope and joy. You have to keep that bright thing sharp. It’s like marriage: If you stay in a marriage long enough, you realize that it takes a lot of hard work to keep it going. I’m pretty sure that that’s the way forward for me if I want to survive.

Is it difficult to get into that mindset when you’re writing, to remind yourself of these larger goals?

There are days when I wake up and think, I don’t want to make this music anymore. I don’t want to make any music anymore. This isn’t something that’s making me happy anymore. There’s too much competition, too much saber-rattling, which is all so superfluous to what we all actually do. I guess I’m interested in people who have been making music for a long time, because I want to be in this for the long haul. How does their language change over time? How do they adapt to survive in the world?

You mentioned that you wrote these songs as reminders to yourself. Does that change how you relate to them on the road, when you have to perform them night after night?

That’s why I try to approach records as snapshots. I know the songs are going to change every night, because of the emotional content in them. That changes the phrasing of how I sing certain things. Part of that comes from my emotional understanding of the songs, you know? The other part of that is that my favorite songs are the one I write without totally understanding. Usually I’m not very satisfied with them when I get them down on paper, but eventually I realize that if I live with that dissatisfaction, it’ll becomes something different.

It’s like there’s a hand that is guiding this stuff. It’s not God-like; it’s more an unconscious feeling that it’s okay to feel that way. It’s OK to feel like, “OK, this is as good as I can do right now. I don’t have the time or the emotional capacity right now to make this any better.” And then you just leave it. It’s like planting a seed. It grows even though the words on the page don’t change.

Is there a particular song in your catalog that changed or grown like that?

I would say most of the songs that are in live rotation remain in the set list because there is that element of discovery from day to day or week to week. “Blue Country Mystic” [from 2012’s Poor Moon] is a good one. And there’s one on the new record called “Down at the Uptown,” which is about this dive bar where we all used to hang out in the Mission District in San Francisco. This was many years ago, late ‘90s. It was a formative place for many of us.

I knew that I wanted to write about that time in my life, and I did the best I could. But it felt clunky. I thought, I’m just going to leave these words here and hope that if something better does come along, it’ll be better than what’s on the page now. But the process of singing it in rehearsals has made me realize that no, this is really good. Not a great song, but for me it’s good. It does the thing that I needed it to do.

That one did stand out because it seemed like a very specific reference to a very specific place. I thought it might be in North Carolina, but I was on the wrong side of the country.

I don’t even know if the Uptown is still there. When my friends and I moved to San Francisco in the late ‘90s, we found this bar on the corner of 17th and Capp in the Mission District. It was pretty scuzzy, you know. But the Uptown was this little hidden waystation where all of us learned to drink. There were a lot of promises made at that place, some of which we kept and some of which we didn’t. It was a clubhouse. And the jukebox was very educational. Lots of stuff on there was way above my pay grade. That’s where I heard Patti Smith’s “Horses” for the first time. I’d be lying if I said I loved it immediately. But all of my favorite music is not something that’s immediate.

I was an adult, but I was still a child in a lot of ways. I was out of the punk rock phase of my life — at least musically, not spiritually. I wanted more, but I didn’t know how to do it. It was a time when I was discovering all of the music that has continued to inform my life. So Patti Smith, but also the Silver Jews, Johnny Paycheck, Merle Haggard. All of that stuff was coming into my life at that time, and it was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

That discovery of oneself is thrilling. It’s exhilarating to find a formative record one day and the very next day it’s another record that brings a similar emotional resonance. It happens less now because I’ve heard more. But every time I have that feeling, it’s wonderful.

That gets at something I’ve been thinking about regarding Hiss Golden Messenger. You’ve got eight albums in ten years, which is very prolific. How do you manage to keep things fresh for yourself?

Just trying to remember why I started doing this in the first place is usually the best way. I try to make sure what I’m doing feels vulnerable and genuine. Whether or not it feels fresh to other people? I don’t know if that’s something that I necessarily feel I should concern myself with. I hope people continue to find things in my music that moves them, because I’m still discovering new things in the music.

Photo credit: Graham Tolbert