Tag: texas singer/songwriter

From Sad Bastard to Groove Master: A Conversation with Sam Morrow

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Apart from going all TSwift-style pop crossover, the easiest way to distance oneself from modern commercial country is to make loud and clear references to an old older era of the genre — or to just play it straight throwback style. But at a time when honoring the past has become so fashionable that it may elicit a blasé response from the more cynical of listeners, Sam Morrow remains grounded in the present through a commitment to his own ears and a desire to grow and try new things. He intentionally breaks up and flips sonic variables, but only to a degree that the studied listener will still recognize the presence of bygone innovators such as Gram Parsons, Little Feat, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Waylon Jennings, while guessing at the precise methods used to achieve those sounds. If the progression of his works to date means anything, and as Morrow continues to put forth new recordings, expect evolution and growth. It wouldn’t be surprising to see both deeper dives into and further departures from his current country funk/Southern rock sound.

Morrow is an artist committed to finding and refining his true voice, but on his newest album, Concrete and Mud, he doesn’t weigh that pursuit down with an agenda or a need to sound too profound. He laughs at his foibles and winks at his vices. Like so many artists before him, when the Los Angeles-based Morrow got clean from an opiate addiction, he had strange emotions to process, so he turned to songwriting in an effort to root out a bevy of conflicting feelings and past wreckage.

2014’s Ephemeral was his first artistic exorcism, expressed in the emotional, sincere style of a Damian Rice or a Justin Vernon. However sincere, Ephemeral doesn’t sound like someone who has quite discovered his authentic voice yet. Despite its title’s indication to the contrary, Morrow’s second album, There Is No Map (2015), sounds more like someone who knows where he’s come from and where he’s going. But his newest work, Concrete and Mud, displays the confidence, mastery, and winsomeness of an artist who knows exactly who he is, what he wants to say, and what he is doing. The set marks the moment Morrow rightfully claims his place among the very best that country and Americana have to offer.

You’re from Texas, which has a pretty rich musical heritage. What Texas musicians were you into growing up?

I’ve had a really weird musical journey. I started out playing in church, kind of a natural path for any musician from the South. I’m super grateful to have all of that because it got me practiced playing with a band. It got me a lot of experiential stuff that I wouldn’t have learned, if I wasn’t playing every Sunday with a band or had to learn new songs all the time. No matter how good the songs were, they were still songs. So I did that, and once I was maybe 15, I got into rap a little bit — like Screwed Up Click, Houston rap … Paul Wall, Lil Flip, all of those kind of dudes. I don’t real listen to them anymore, but that’s just kinda how it went.

So your Texas influence is not necessarily a Texas country influence?

No, I was very like — I didn’t listen to punk rock, but I had a punk rock attitude when I was a kid. So, being from Texas, I didn’t want to like country music because that was like … everyone in Texas likes country music, so I wanted to go against the grain, you know? So I liked rap. I liked ZZ Top, or emo/screamo, or whatever it was. I didn’t start really listening to country music until I got sober almost seven years ago.

I mean I’d always kinda heard it. I knew a bunch of Garth Brooks songs. I knew a bunch of George Strait songs. You know, all those Texas country musicians — Robert Earl Keen, Jerry Jeff Walker. I knew those songs, but I had an aversion to the whole thing because of my punk rock sort of attitude. Then I kinda saw the light, I guess, and realized that it’s just what I related to the most.

Country, traditionally, has that whole thing about the primacy of the song, and you seem to be quite the songwriter type of guy.

I mean, whenever you get sober, you’re super raw and vulnerable and everything feels weird. So, really, through the three years that I was just a gnarly junky, I used being a musician as a reason to not have a job. Or I would get out my guitar every once in a while during an acid trip, and we would all freak out about it or something like that. I wasn’t really into it. Even in that phase, I was listening to electronic stuff. I got really into dubstep and Skrillex, so it just blows my mind thinking about it now, but in any case that’s where I was. When I got sober, I wanted to start writing songs, and I had all these weird feelings and vulnerabilities.

Did you feel like it was a way to get out all the weird emotional turmoil that comes with getting sober?

Yeah, exactly. And naturally I kind of gravitated toward more folk and singer/songwriter stuff because that’s where that kind of songwriting lies. And it wasn’t something that was necessarily foreign to me. It was just something that I kind of pushed away for a long time. But yeah, my first record was just like sad bastard, super depressing shit.

I can definitely hear the progression from Ephemeral through There Is No Map. And even that one is not quite as straight-ahead country as Concrete and Mud.

Yeah, I don’t know. Concrete and Mud definitely has it’s country tracks and what not, but I didn’t want to make a country record. Everyone and their mom is making a country record right now, so I wanted it to be … like, obviously that’s kinda the music I play — Americana, whatever you want to call it — but I wanted to have a uniqueness to it. I didn’t want it to just have pedal steel and some violins here and there. Though there’s nothing wrong with that.

You definitely have some weird sonic stuff going on that’s out of the box.

Right. I wanted it to get a little weird in some spots. Four years ago, I got super into Little Feat and started listening to a lot of deep Skynyrd stuff.

Is Little Feat kinda where the funk element came from?

Yeah, and I’m very groove-oriented when writing songs. If I’m sitting at a desk or something, I’m always banging on it. I don’t know. It’s just kinda there. I’ve just kinda always had that funky element. One of my favorite things to see is people actually dancing to the music I play live. And a lot of the country covers I was doing, like Don Williams, I consider him like country disco. Even Willie Nelson’s Shotgun Willie, it’s pretty funky that record.

Going back to what you said about the dance thing, you never get people dancing to sad bastard music. So what was the turn for you? Did you suddenly discover your love for groove? What happened there? Because it’s a pretty hard turn.

Going on the road and playing more bar gigs, like, “Here, we’ll give you this much money to play three 45-minute sets,” or something like that … I don’t have that many original songs. And also just seeing how people would respond to my sad bastard stuff in a weird bar where people are trying to eat their pizza and shit. So I learned covers that had a good groove or were a little funky, or I could put my own twist on and make it groovy and funky. And a lot of the songs on this record are just grooves that I took from covers that I’ve been playing for the last two years. And to answer your question: I don’t know if I really did. I just kinda hit that point where I was playing songs that people were dancing to and I was like, “Oh, this is what I like to do.”

So it was a response to the joy that you witnessed?

Yeah, just people having fun. I’m not really a dancer, but I can dance with my guitar in my hand. That’s about it.

There are some serious themes on this record, but you have a lighter approach to those themes. Was that a conscious move? Do you think about being sincere without being too sentimental?

Right, yeah that was, of course, intentional. I was definitely conscious to make this record lighter and sort of more sarcastic. I almost didn’t even understand that you could do that — that songs could mean a lot but be light or sarcastic or whatever. I could have never written “Quick Fix” six years ago, just poking fun at all my vices, noticing all my vices in everyday life. That’s not something I would want to point out — my flaws — even now, and make fun of. Maybe “make fun of” is not the right word, but make light of them or talk about them in a naïve sort of light.

You’re sober, which to me says that you take care of yourself, but then you sing a song like “Quick Fix,” and it makes me think that you’re not heavy-handed about the way that you take care of yourself, or prescriptive or preachy in some kind of way. Right?

Right. I mean, I still do a lot of shit. Like I play poker all the time. I’m super impulsive. I still have these addictive behaviors, but I’m in control and I recognize them. I keep them somewhat healthy. And that’s just a sign of maturity, I guess.

Kind of like, if you can wink at them, you’re giving them less power?

Yeah, exactly.

You nod to some funky and psychedelic country sounds, but then, at times, you take them a bit further. What made you decide to push the sonic envelope, so to speak?

I think we tried to do that on a couple tracks on the last record, but just didn’t quite get there or didn’t think it out enough. For instance, on “Paid by the Mile,” we initially had my phaser pedal on my guitar, and I was like, “This sounds cool, but how many people have put a phaser pedal on a guitar? Everyone fucking does it. Why don’t we try to put the phaser pedal on the Wurly?” So that’s what we did. We put the phaser pedal on the Wurlitzer, and it sounded fucking killer. And it still gives the whole mix that phasey, wobbly thing, but it’s just coming from a different place than where you normally hear it in a guitar.

So me and Eric [producer Eric Corne] both were willing to take more chances, I guess, this record. And the guy that plays keys — his name is Sasha Smith — what I really love about the way he plays keys is, he’s so percussive and rhythmic that it couldn’t have been a better person to play on this record. He fills in all the spots and uses whatever he’s playing like a rhythm instrument.

Yeah, even the organ on “Weight of a Stone” is so precise and punchy that it works like a rhythm instrument.

Right, exactly. And yeah, we took influence from … have you ever seen Peaky Blinders? So the Nick Cave song that’s the show credits opener…

“Red Right Hand”?

Yeah, so we wrote the song, and it’s sort of a murder ballad sort of song, but we wanted it to be sort of droney and have a keyboard theme in it. It’s pretty close to it. I don’t know how many people I should tell that we took it from that, but it’s far enough apart.

You do have a way of nodding to influences without aping them. There are some nods to Gram Parsons, for example, like the amphetamine queen line in “Coming Home.” Is that an homage to “Return of the Grievous Angel”?

That’s kinda where it came from. I don’t remember if I exactly took it from that. I think I just wanted to use “amphetamine” in a song. Like Jason Isbell uses “benzodiazepine” …

Yeah! How does he do that?!

I know! Dude! And it’s so perfect, too, the way he phrases it and everything is so perfect. So I wanted to have an elongated, full drug name in one of the songs and it just kinda fit. But yeah, Gram Parsons … “Skinny Elvis,” we referenced pretty closely “Ooh Las Vegas.”

Right, but Concrete and Mud doesn’t sound like a Gram record at all.

And that’s what we wanted. I was a little bit worried about “Quick Fix.” At first, I was resistant to the Clavinet because I didn’t want it to sound too much like “Cripple Creek” [by the Band], but then we started playing it, and it just didn’t sound as good without the Clav, so we were just like, “Aw, fuck it.”

To quote our mutual friend Jaime Wyatt, “Texans like to sing the shit out of a song.” What happened to your vocal performance? You’re earlier stuff is good, but you sound like a completely different vocalist on this record. You’ve got a level of control that I’d say is as good and as professional as it gets.

Thanks! I really appreciate that. Yeah, I think just playing out a lot. I’d never really taken a guitar lesson or a voice lesson, and I took a few voice lessons in the past couple years just to kind of understand my voice a little bit. And since my first record, I was playing with a friend doing a show four or five years ago, and we were playing this song and he said, “Why don’t you add some growl to this part? You can do that.” And I was like, “I don’t really have a growl to my voice, man.” And he was 100 percent right. My voice is like 98 percent growl, just like howling and seeing what comes out, and I just didn’t realize that until he said that to me.

So that’s kinda shaped my tone a little bit, too. And then I sorta started growling and yelling too much, so it was a matter of honing that in a little bit, and I think I’ve found a balance. Once you figure out you can do a new trick, you just do it all the time.

You do that really well at the top of the chorus on “Weight of a Stone.” There’s a lot of power in the attack. It’s really cool, one of my favorite moments on the record.

That one, we were a little bit worried when we first started. That was the hardest one to sing in the studio, for some reason. I think it was just a weird key or something for me. Initially we wanted to keep that song kinda soft. I even toyed a little bit with doing it falsetto, but once we got that kind of cool growl in there, it sounded a lot more epic, I guess.

One more thing: I’ve seen a term thrown around a lot lately, and it’s been used of you, and I wondered if you have any thoughts about it — “left-of-center country.” Does that mean anything to you?

Honestly, it doesn’t mean anything to me. Cool, you can call it whatever you want. You know, when people ask me what kind of music I play, I say country music just because it’s easy. You don’t have to sit there and explain it to them. Although these days you kinda have to explain to most people that it’s not the kind of shit you hear on the radio. A lot of lay people don’t know what Americana music is. When you say “Southern rock,” they don’t know what you’re talking about. You can call it whatever you want. We just made the record that we wanted to make, and we’re happy with the way it turned out.

How It Must Remain: The Living Legacy of Jimmy LaFave (Op-ed)

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In light of the recent news that Jimmy LaFave has been diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer, some of his friends have set up a GoFundMe page to celebrate and support him. Singer/songwriter Gretchen Peters also wanted to share a few words about her dear friend and cherished collaborator.

I love Jimmy LaFave. I love him as a friend and as a fellow musician, and I’d love him even if I hadn’t known him for the better part of the last 20 years. As a songwriter, I’ve been graced with not one, but two Jimmy LaFave covers (“On a Bus to St. Cloud,” which appeared on his Texoma album, and “Revival,” which came four years later on Blue Nightfall). Whenever I play in Texas, I always joke that the former is a Jimmy LaFave song which I just happened to write. That’s the power of his voice. I don’t know how many new fans have come my way via Jimmy’s recordings of my songs, but there’ve been plenty. Many of them admit apologetically that they thought “Bus” was a LaFave original until hearing him mention me from a stage somewhere. They don’t understand that I take it as a compliment. A singer like that can sing anything. I’m lucky my songs found their way to him; even luckier that we met, became friends, and ultimately collaborated with each other musically, too.

Our mutual friend, music journalist Dave Marsh, said of him, “Jimmy LaFave has one of America’s greatest voices. It’s a unique instrument with startling range and its own peculiar sense of gravity, liable to swoop in and wreck your expectations at any instant.” That’s as good a description as I’ve seen. You can usually trace the influences in a singer’s style, hear obvious DNA markers in his phrasing. With Jimmy, it’s as if he landed on earth from a distant musical planet, where syllables and notes appear in surprising and serendipitous places you’d never think to put them. His phrasing is all his own, his sense of melody and rhythm unique. Singing with him — one of my great joys — is a zen meditation.

Lots of people sing cover songs. Mostly, they’re derivative of the original version. Jimmy didn’t just open a door, in terms of interpreting other people’s (most notably, Bob Dylan’s) material; he blew out the windows and shook the foundation. This is how you tackle an iconic song like “Just Like a Woman”: You blow it apart like one of those exploded diagrams and then put it back together using your own architecture, an intuitive kind of red dirt Okie genius that knows what it knows and is so sure-footed that it sounds like the song was written that way in the first place.

Here’s who Jimmy is, musically: He’s dedicated a good part of his stage life to spreading the gospel of Woody Guthrie, singing Woody’s songs and gathering us — his many friends and co-conspirators — to join in and make a mighty noise on the Ribbon of Highway shows. He’s made a study of American song, and his choice of covers proves it: “Walk Away Renée” sits comfortably next to Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country” on the Austin Skyline album. And if that doesn’t convince you, I can personally vouch for the fact that Jimmy can sing American rock ‘n’ roll songs for two hours straight without a set list and never drop a lyric. I know, because we did that just last month. I’m in awe of the music that’s inside of him (I also never had a better time onstage). His devotion to the song as an art form is total — that’s what makes him a great singer and a great songwriter. For my money, his “Never Is a Moment” is his masterpiece.

Here’s who Jimmy is, personally: He’s a devoted friend. He’s one of the kindest people I know. He’s an empathetic soul who roots for the underdog. He’s funny, and sweet, and gentle. He’s humble to the core. Virtually no one I know has an unkind word to say about him.

Last month, while we were in Chicago doing a run of shows together, I watched him closely during his set. I wondered if I’d ever get another chance to hear him sing. I knew he was in some discomfort, and that his energy was flagging. Backstage, he was visibly tired. Onstage, he was emanating pure light. I’ve always been in awe of Jimmy’s ability to go right into the zone from note one, song one and stay there until the last encore. But watching him sing during those last couple of shows was like watching grace embodied. So rarely do we get to witness someone doing what they were born to do — fully committed to the moment, as if the moment is all there is.

I’m so sad and so sorry that Jimmy is, as he puts it, “on my way off the planet,” and, selfishly, that we’ll all be deprived of more Jimmy LaFave music. But watching him sing that night in Chicago, I thought that he is living the way I want to live: inside the song, inside the moment, not doing but being. He has already created so much beauty in this world. I can’t think of a better way to spend my own moments while I’m still here. And I can’t imagine a better legacy. Godspeed, my friend. There never is a moment that you are not on our minds.

LISTEN: Wendy Colonna, ‘Every Second’

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Artist: Wendy Colonna
Hometown: Austin, TX
Song: “Every Second”
Album: No Moment But Now
Release Date: May 19, 2017

In Their Words: “I feel like we measure time by the seasons, sun, and moon and, yet, it still mysteriously bends and eludes us so strangely when it comes to family, love, and loss. ‘Every Second’ hopefully speaks to that undeniable ache that we all know in that magical and bittersweet space between the moments.” — Wendy Colonna

Photo credit: DeAnn Hoeft

WATCH: Jason Eady, ‘Why I Left Atlanta’

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Artist: Jason Eady
Hometown: Fort Worth, TX
Song: “Why I Left Atlanta”
Album: Jason Eady
Release Date: April 21, 2017
Label: Old Guitar Records / Thirty Tigers

In Their Words: “This song is about a relationship that ended through no one’s fault, but simply because two people grew in different directions and the aftermath of that. Casey Pierce (the director) came up with the idea of showing it from both sides, and I think it ended up capturing exactly what the song is about. The two people in this video are both handling the split in their own way, and the way that they are each handling it shows exactly how far apart they had become.” — Jason Eady

Photo credit: Anthony Barlich

LISTEN: Mark McKinney, ‘Bridge’

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Artist: Mark McKinney
Hometown: Austin, TX
Song: ”Bridge”
Album: World in Between
Release Date: February 24, 2017
Label: Texas Evolution

In Their Words: “I quit throwing matches on the bridge we burned” … “I had the melody for this song since my last album, but could never find the lyrics to fit the haunting ‘minor key vibe’ it had created. Then my wife Cassie and I collaborated on it and finished it together. It’s a song about making the most of every situation, and about letting go, and moving on from those toxic and dead-end relationships in life.” — Mark McKinney

Photo credit: Lindsey Thorne

STREAM: Hugh Prestwood, ‘I Used to Be the Real Me’

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Artist: Hugh Prestwood
Hometown: El Paso, TX
Album: I Used to Be the Real Me
Release Date: November 18
Label: Wildflower Records/Cleopatra Records

In Their Words: "Judy Collins discovered me back around 1978, recorded two of my songs on her Hard Times for Lovers album, and arranged for me to get my first staff songwriter gig. Simply put, she is entirely responsible for me getting my foot in the music biz major league door. It was — and remains — a huge stroke of good fortune. When she got the CD I'd sent, she loved the songs and immediately said she wanted to record some of them herself, and also put out a record of yours truly's on her Wildflower label.

Regarding the 13 songs, four of them have been recorded by other artists: 'The Suit' by Jerry Douglas and James Taylor, 'The Song Remembers When' by Trisha Yearwood, 'April Fool' by Colin Raye, and 'Laura Nadine' by Billy Dean — all wonderful renditions. Most, if not all, pretty much represent my attempts to write great songs without giving much consideration to writing 'hits,' although my basic style always aims at involving a wide audience. I am delighted with, and excited by, this record, and am permanently amazed at my having such remarkable validation and support coming from Judy Collins, a genuine artist whose body of work — recording the Great American Songbook — is peerless." — Hugh Prestwood

STREAM: Natalie Schlabs, ‘Midnight with No Stars’

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Artist: Natalie Schlabs
Hometown: Hereford, TX
Album: Midnight with No Stars
Release date: September 16
Label: Natalie Schlabs Music

In Their Words: "Midnight with No Stars was written out of the changes of the last few years. It seemed as though everything was painful, unfamiliar, and startling. I felt alone in a strange, new place. Writing about it was necessary for me to uncover and process what I was feeling. Now, as I step back and take in what this has come to be, I see the friends and fellow artists that came alongside me and helped in some way or the other. I see the truth that remains after a season of doubt. I realize I am not alone. I never really was." — Natalie Schlabs

STREAM: Michael Fracasso, ‘Here Come the Savages’

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Artist: Michael Fracasso
Hometown: Austin, TX
Album: Here Come the Savages
Release Date: June 10
Label: Blue Door

In Their Words: "The album came together over a period of time, actually as two separate projects with two different producers — an album of covers and one of original material. After we finished them, we realized that they were telling the same story. We compiled the best songs from both to present a story of redemption and hope after casting a shadow or two.” — Michael Fracasso

Photo credit: Valerie Fremin

3×3: Bonnie Bishop on Whole Foods, Choir Nerds, and Her Love for Mexico

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Artist: Bonnie Bishop
Hometown: Grew up in Houston, TX and Starkville, MS. Moved to Austin at 18 and have called it "home" ever since … even though technically my stuff is sitting in Nashville right now and my ass is always in a van on the road.
Latest Album: Ain't Who I Was
Personal Nicknames: Bonnie B, BB, Bon Bon

 

Seeing Nashville from a whole new perspective this morning #Prevost #aintwhoiwas

A photo posted by Bonnie Bishop (@bonniebishopforrockstar) on

Which decade do you think of as the "golden age" of music?
The '60s! Music had a cause and an edge, artists believed they could change the world with their lyrics — I still do!

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose?
FLY … or make people happy.

If you were in a high school marching band, which instrument would you want to play?
I was a choir nerd — all 12 years in the soprano section!

What's your go-to road food?
Whole Foods! We stop in every major town and keep the van filled with healthy snacks like carrots and celery with hummus, avocado, fruit, almonds, granola, etc. Also always keep lemons on hand as they are alkalinizing.

Who was the best teacher you ever had — and why?
Donna Wright — my theater teacher in early high school in Mississippi. She taught me that I was talented enough that I could do anything I wanted and fostered my confidence as a performer. She also told me I had no discipline … which has made me spend the rest of my life trying to be disciplined about working on my art.

What's your favorite culinary spice?
Turmeric

 

Signing day @thirtytigers @shorefire @highroadtouring #AintWhoIWas #dreamsdocometrue

A photo posted by Bonnie Bishop (@bonniebishopforrockstar) on

Boots or sneakers?
Cowboy Boots

Noodles or rice?
Rice noodles (They're gluten free!)

Canada or Mexico?
Me amo Mexico

Photo credits: Jason Lee Denton

Keeping the Door Open: A Conversation with Hayes Carll

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When last the world heard from Hayes Carll, he was stomping and hollering his way through 2011's KMAG YOYO (& Other American Stories). But five years can change a man. Hell, five minutes can change a man who has the heart of a poet that Carll does. That's why, on his new Lovers and Leavers release, he eschews the pomp and circumstance of records past. In their stead, he and producer Joe Henry gently placed honesty and honor, introspection and intention. The result won't rise above a barroom din, but it'll certainly sink into a listener's heart.

Between KMAG and Lovers, a lot has happened in your own life and the world around you. What's the one thing, though, that made the biggest difference in you and your music?

I don't know if there's one thing. I can just say that I changed. [Laughs] A lot happened in a lot of different parts of my life. My personal life had a lot to do with it. My marriage ended. That sort of forced me to take stock of where I was in my life and what was going on, and that influenced everything around me. I turned 40, which felt significant, in a way, in that I'd been living a certain kind of life for a really long time and kind of looked up one day and asked myself, “Is this how I want to live? Is this the kind of artist I want to be?” and just took stock of all that. That all influenced the record that I made.

Outside of that, in the world-at-large, I don't know that it influenced anything that I did, but it feels like people are appreciating an honest, sincere songwriter in a way that … that sounds really boring, but … [Laughs] “I don't know if I want to go to that show. He's honest and sincere. Yuck!” [Laughs]

But there's so much bullshit in the world right now that, when you find something that's a little bit True … capital “t” True …

Yeah. Yeah. Something with some authenticity to it. I do think that goes a long way. And maybe people are responding to it in a way that they haven't of late. I see a lot of writers and singers who are doing really well, and I think people are connecting with how they put their work out into the world.

Jason Isbell pops immediately to mind.

Yeah, absolutely.

Like him on Southeastern, you didn't give yourself a whole lot to hide behind on this one, sonically or lyrically.

That was a real conscious choice. I always had given myself something to hide behind. I always kind of couched my serious moments with humor or with musical pomposity. I never felt comfortable being that exposed. I think it had a lot to do with how I came up playing to crowds … you start out in these bars where, if you didn't get their attention, if you couldn't make them laugh or get them dancing, you didn't get the gig or you got something thrown at you.

So I always had this mix, as a performer and as a writer, that I was aware of both things. I aspired to be Townes [Van Zandt] or [Kris] Kristofferson and be able to capture people in a certain way, but I also felt a real need to make sure that people didn't lose interest. I think I was always a little insecure about whether my words and voice, alone, were enough to keep people there. So I always felt that — whether it was onstage and connecting to them through stories or jokes, or in the music being as super-varied as my limitations would allow.

I've seen you in a few different settings, and a song like “Beaumont” always goes over really well. So I think your fans have been with you on the poet side, as well as on the cowboy side.

Yeah, I've been lucky. I have a pretty broad fan base. I've tried to never pigeon-hole myself. Whether it was playing the Texas country scene or honky-tonks across the country or going over to Europe or playing the listening rooms and folk rooms or working with people outside of my respective genre, I never wanted to feel like, career-wise, that I was stuck somewhere. I always wanted to have options. The job is too cool to go out every night and feel bored or feel like you have to do the same thing every night. So I always wanted to be able to keep that door open.

With this record, I realized that, if I wanted to make a record like this, now was the time … because, if you don't do it and show that side of yourself at some point, then it gets harder and harder for people to accept it. It was where I was at in my life and where I was at creatively, and it just made sense to me. I thought, “Whether anybody likes this or not, it's the record I need to make and it will change where I'm at, and it's reflective of my search for connecting onstage every night and what I want my life to be like.” So, for this moment in time, that was what I needed to do. It feels weird. It feels naked.

The obvious way to look at songs is that they reflect their writer. But you can also turn that lens around, right? Do you sometimes feel like you want to reflect — or maybe even live up to — something you've written?

I think I've, at times, written to a certain audience. I've written mostly just for myself about where I was at, but I've also written individual songs or just a style that I wanted to keep open for myself. I think I've written, at times, for what I wanted my performances to be and what I wanted my career to be.

I love playing honky-tonks. I love having 1,000 people at a rock club going nuts. But I very much value my ability to go play solo in a listening room and have a completely different experience. That's kept me engaged, kept me alive. That's, honestly, how I feel most connected and comfortable as a performer, because I don't need to rely on a bottle of whiskey. I don't need to rely on volume. It's me, a guitar, and these songs. They either hold up or they don't, but I have a much more immediate understanding of whether it's working or not when I'm in a more stripped-down setting.

And to make a record that reflects that … yes, it's emotional and it's creative, but it's also a little bit practical because that's job security, if you know you can always go out and play your songs solo or you know that you can make a pretty simple recording. Those are the records that stand up and become classics for the generations.

A couple of years ago, I realized that, whatever happens — whether I become a big alt-country star or whatever — that I've got a collection of songs and I'll continue to write, and worst case — and it's not all that bad of a case scenario — I can go do house concerts and folk rooms and there will be some group of people that is drawn to that music. I think maybe even more than the financial side, I just wanted to keep that open for myself. And I needed to do it now or it might not ever happen.

I always talked about having a sonically cohesive record that was a songwriter record, that was sparse, and I'd never quite done it. I'd make attempts at it, but then I would cover it up with a joke or some bombastic rock and never just let that stand on its own. I'd always, I guess, been scared to put that out there. Maybe I didn't have faith that that was enough for me, and I needed to prove to myself that it was.

So that's why I'm excited about this record. There's no single on there. It's not going to get any radio play. It's not anything people are going to play at a party. There's nothing to dance to — all these things that I could kind of peg, like, “Okay, I've got that covered and that covered and that covered.” It's sparse and emotional and personal and intimate. But listening to that and not pulling people off in other ways can get you into a headspace, as a listener, that you can't get, necessarily, if you're jumping all over the place. I'm trying to have trust that this can work. So I did it. And, whether anybody likes it or not, I'm proud of the record. That probably doesn't sound like that big a deal to a lot of people, but for me, it was important to be able to take that step, creatively and artistically.

As you were writing, instead of checking off the things you wanted, were you checking in with yourself and checking off the things you didn't want? Like, “Oh, I just habitually took this song there and I need to pull it back.”

I don't know, as I was writing, how conscious I was of that because I wrote a lot of stuff that is completely incompatible with this record. I had a lot of those things that are funny or rocking or even were more subtle but just didn't feel like they were part of this story. There are very few songs I can think of where I sat down and said, “Okay, I'm going to write for this record.” I was just writing.

And they emerged as a group?

Yeah. Themes started showing themselves. I've never been able to sit down and write thematically. I've never had the attention span to stay consistent about it. There were definitely things I was writing about in my life, here, that came out. But there were also songs I'd written before a lot of this happened that sort of fit that narrative and that part of the story, though that was not my goal when I wrote them, initially. But I'd look at them and go, “I thought it was this one thing, but it actually fits really well with what I'm doing here.”

Setting aside music as your own artistic outlet, what role does it play in the Life of Hayes? Friend? Therapist? Pastor?

It's been all of those things — and none of them — at times. It sort of depends when you catch me. Certainly, growing up, it was my teacher, my inspiration. It was my joy. It was this very mystical, foreign thing. I grew up in the suburbs and these people I was listening to, particularly the songwriters — [Bob] Dylan, Kristofferson — they took me to another place, far from where I was, and that was something that I really needed. I struggled to find my identity and an ability to articulate some of the things that I had on my mind. A lot of these guys did all that for me. They gave me some kind of identity. I felt a connection with them. I felt, “These are my people.” And it moved me. I got into Townes. There's music that can affect your life in such a deep and powerful way that everything else seems trivial.

Something I've struggled with a little bit over the years is that I have that connection to writers like that and, then, I have a connection to Chuck Berry and Jimmy Buffett. There are a lot of different elements and that hodgepodge has kind of made up my style, for most of my career. But, yeah, it can turn my day around, for sure, and keep me going.

When I interviewed Lee Ann Womack last year, she commented that sometimes she feels guilty connecting herself to you through recording “Chances Are,” and she thinks, “I hope Hayes doesn't mind that I cut his song.” Various award nominations later, may we assume that you, in fact, do not mind too much?

[Smiles] Yeah, we're talking again now. [Laughs] I was honored that she recorded it.

It's done pretty well for the two of you.

Yeah. To have the life that it's had with the Grammy nominations was completely unexpected for me. It was very cool. It took a lot for it to set in when I got the news. I thought, “Okay. Yeah. Fine.” I had sort of trained myself to not care about these things. I didn't even know when the Grammys were being announced. I had no idea it was a possibility. I have tried to distance myself from needing those things. So, when it happened, I was like, “Oh, yeah. It's no big deal.” Then, as I started getting congratulations from family and friends, and seeing the reaction that this news had on them, I started feeling like, “Oh, this is significant.” And not that it validated me for myself, but it was important to a lot of people who are important to me.

So, anyway, I'm honored that Lee Ann cut it and couldn't have been happier with its life.

So maybe you'll let her have another one at some point?

Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely. I just did a tour with Aubrie [Sellers, Womack's daughter]. Hopefully, Lee Ann and I can play together some day.

I met Lee Ann up in Colorado in Steamboat Springs. There's a little country festival up there. I remember I was sitting in this room, like a suite, and a bunch of my friends were up there playing and picking. I played “Beaumont,” and there was this little person with a hat pulled over, in a chair, legs up in the chair … I had no idea who it was. And she goes, “That's a really cool song.” Or something to that effect. I went, “Thanks … whoever you are …”

[Laughs] “… little hidden troll in a hat.”

[Laughs] Yeah. I didn't put it that way! Then it was, “Hayes, meet Lee Ann.” And we got to do a thing here in Nashville with Sirius XM and [Bobby] Bare, Jr. and Bobby Braddock and Lee Ann, which was super-cool. He played “He Stopped Loving Her Today” and Lee Ann sang “Chances Are.” It was the first time I got to hear it, sitting right next to her.

Photo credit: Jacob Blickenstaff