One Of Us Must Know

I’ve seen one Dylan concert in my life. It was at Bonnaroo, back in 2004. The day was a scorcher. Bob wore a white cowboy shirt, dark sunglasses, and played organ most of the show, serving up covers of Townes Van Zandt’s “Pancho And Lefty” and Merle Haggard’s “Sing Me Back Home” – two of my personal favorites in the American songbook.

Maybe he played these songs because he was in Tennessee and then again maybe not. I remember getting vaguely emotional during the performance of these tunes: my endorphins and ketone bodies were kicking hard that day, as I was undernourished, dehydrated and had been imbibing for what seemed like a month of Sundays at the time.

In that fevered dream I stood by myself and took in the show. I tried to attach weighty significance to the experience. I half-convinced myself that I was in the presence of a quasi-religious figure and that the show transcended mere entertainment … Of course this sounds ridiculous now, but it was my first Bonnaroo.

A friend marred the sanctity of my experience later that day when he said: “God that Bob Dylan show sucked! You couldn’t understand a thing. I didn’t even know what songs he was singing.” My face colored but I held my tongue. I felt like he’d just insulted my granddad or something.

Looking back on that show, the fact that I remember cover songs and not Dylan originals is a bit ironic, given that Dylan’s generally regarded as the cream of the crop when it comes to songwriting. But in a way it’s fitting.

In this issue, Ruth Gerson tells a great story about a private jam session she had with the maestro. “Don’t let them call you that [a songwriter],” he says, pointing to a critic’s blurb on the back of her album. “You’re a song performer, not a songwriter. You don’t write the song to sit there on a page. You write it to sing it.”

An interesting take by a man responsible for elevating songwriting to the level of high art. Most of the songwriters that have been featured in these pages throughout the years are indebted to him, if only for the fact that he created the pathway, as it were. Other artists interviewed in the issue, like Joan Baez and T Bone Burnett, have a long, intertwined history with the man. The Avett Brothers and a host of other young artists weigh in on Dylan’s influence and stature. The White Buffalo, an ascendant California singer-songwriter, says that “Dylan set the possibilities of songwriting free. To an utterly limitless level. He dissolved the notion of song structure even before it was discussed.”

Tracking Dylan down for an interview is no easy task. But Senior Editor Paul Zollo managed to do it back in the early ‘90s, when he was working for SongTalk magazine. The circumstances surrounding the talk were as cryptic as one might expect. Zollo was told the interview would happen sometime in the middle of the week, at a hotel somewhere in the wilds of Los Angeles.

We publish the interview here in its entirety for the first time, in honor of Dylan’s 70th birthday. In the wide-ranging discussion, we hear Dylan expound on a multitude of subjects. He declares that Hank Williams is the best songwriter that ever lived, and speculates that Jim Morrison may still be alive, riding piggyback on a donkey in the Andes. Some classic lines for sure. And his thoughts on songwriting are priceless.

And don’t miss Stephen Deusner’s thought-provoking essay on the modern Dylan albums, “The Reawakening Of Bob Dylan,” in which he argues that Dylan has redefined “how a legendary figure can age and grow and become more human without sacrificing quality or mystery.”

It’s that mystery which still keeps us listening – and guessing. How he’s managed to maintain it for fifty years is beyond me.

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That Old Time Feeling

Guy Clark rolls another cigarette, fires it up, and then proceeds to spread his poison across the room. We’re sitting in his workshop at his Nashville home, where he’s agreed to play a few songs for us on camera.

For the last decade or so, the workshop has served as his sanctuary, so to speak, the place where he writes songs, builds guitars (which he marks with his own blood thumbprint), and gets down to the business of being Guy Clark.

It’s a surprisingly small space, given all that he does in it, but it’s not unlike the way he dreamed it, he says. A library of cassettes blankets one wall, with numerous offerings by Rodney Crowell, Tom Waits, and Mance Lipscomb, among others. At the other end sits his guitar work-station, where his tools are arranged neatly on the wall and in coffee cans. There’s also a poster that details the specs of a flamenco guitar. The first guitar Clark ever built, back in the mid-60s, was modeled after a flamenco model designed by esteemed Spanish luthier Domingo Esteso, and he’s made several like it since.

During our visit, the West Texas native plays three new songs, because “ya’ll need to hear them and I need the practice,” he says. He talks and smokes between tunes, tamping his cigarette into an ashtray decorated with skulls, a gift given to him by his friend Emmylou Harris.

One of the songs, “My Favorite Picture Of You,” is based on an old Polaroid of his wife Susanna. He pulls the picture out to show us. “Me and Townes were in that house drunk on our ass, being totally obnoxious,” he says, pointing to the pic. “And Susanna had finally had enough, and said ‘I’m leaving.’ I think John Lomax was outside and he took that picture. And for some reason, that has always been my favorite picture of her.”

The fact that Townes was complicit in this episode is not surprising. A long-time compadre of Clark’s and a fellow outlaw spirit, Van Zandt is a constant theme this afternoon, constantly cropping up in conversation. A black-and-white photo of the late Texas songwriter, taken in the early ‘90s, hangs high on the wall and looks out on the whole scene. “Townes always said he wanted to die here in this house,” Clark says. (Rodney Crowell is also referenced constantly. An oil painting of Crowell that Clark did hangs next to his own self-portrait in another room.)

Sitting here, listening to the songs and stories amid the heavy smoke and old photographs, you can’t help but feel the magic –especially if you’re steeped in the mythos of the Texas songwriting canon. We’re still smack in the suburbs of Nashville, to be sure, but it sure doesn’t feel like it. The plasticity of Music Row feels worlds away.

Clark turns 70 this month, a milestone that has birthed a double-disc tribute album, with guest turns from Crowell, John Prine, Hayes Carll, and many others. Willie Nelson serves up a great rendition of “Desperados Waiting For A Train,” a tune Clark wrote in his 30s about an old-timer of 70 years with a tobacco-stained chin. Talk about full circle.

It’s already been a pretty good year for the songwriter. On this day in late summer his new live album, Songs And Stories, recorded at the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville, is the number one seller in Amazon’s mp3 store. But he doesn’t seem to be too impressed by it. “My record label called to tell me that … I said, ‘Great, send me the check.’”

In his later years, Clark says he’s turned to co-writing more, due to the fact that “he got stuck and ran out of shit to say.” He says the last song he wrote completely by himself was “Dublin Blues,” back in the mid-90s. Instead, he now collaborates with whatever young gun he can.

Even at 70, Clark refuses to quit. He’s still lighting out after inspiration.

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50 Ways To Write A Song

I discovered Paul Simon on MTV when I was in third grade, back when the video for “You Can Call Me Al” was on constant rotation. It featured Chevy Chase lip-synching the words to the song while a dour-looking Simon traded off on a variety of instruments. As I was unfamiliar with the work of Chevy Chase at the time, I assumed that this tall, tan, hysterical guy was Paul Simon. I now had a new musical hero. He was cool, funny, and made great music to boot.

This illusion lasted for about a month. I told my parents about my newfound discovery, which prompted my dad to pull out a dusty old Simon & Garfunkel vinyl from his record collection. The short one was there, with much longer hair, mind you, but the other guy was clearly not my Paul Simon. My mind had been officially blown.

I got over the hang-up, and the Graceland cassette entered into my possession not long afterward. For Simon, it was a watershed album that re-energized his career and earned him a whole new subset of fans. It now stands as one of the best albums of that decade.

As a songwriter, Simon is an American titan, one of the few that can be mentioned in the same breath as Bob Dylan. The writer Cormac McCarthy once quipped, “Simon told us what was happening [in the ‘60s], Dylan told us what was going to happen.” Indeed.

And why they haven’t awarded Simon – or Dylan, for that matter – a Presidential Medal Of Freedom is beyond me. So, Obama, if you’re reading this ….

In our exclusive interview, Simon comes off as modest and unassuming. He says he doesn’t write with any grand themes in mind, and is not trying to make a major philosophical statement.

For his new album, So Beautiful Or So What, Simon says he’s mainly just interested to see where the road takes him, given that the commercial landscape for music has changed so dramatically. He seems buoyant about prospect of continuing to write and play music, even at age 70, proving that age is only the province of a defeated spirit.

There has always been an elusive spirit to Simon’s music, and his songs, more often than not, are tinged with melancholy. The movie Almost Famous has a great scene when Zooey Deschanel’s character Anita plays Simon and Garfunkel’s “America” to explain to her mother her reason for leaving home. Today, in the age of Twitter and Best Buy, that song sounds like an elegy for a lost time, when running away from home was still a romantic pursuit.

Stevie Nicks is another seasoned artist who refuses to give up the ghost. Her latest album, In Your Dreams, her first solo effort in nearly a decade, features what she considers to be some of her finest work. The ‘70s icon discusses her unique approach to writing, and relates a funny episode with ex-beau Don Henley about writing “Dreams.”

Another great American writer, Brian Wilson, offers a lesson in synesthesia, explaining what colors he associates with the different keys of the musical scale. He also makes the case that pop music began to descend in quality after reaching its climax in the ‘60s. The reason: he says songwriters went out of business. To call Wilson self-effacing would be a grand understatement. The genius behind Pet Sounds – quite sadly – says he’s unsure if his music has brought any joy into the world. Well, we’re pretty sure it has.
And we certainly don’t think the quality of music has declined since the ‘60s. There’s as much good music being made now as ever before. It’s just a little harder to find sometimes, that’s all.

But if you’re looking for some great new artists, check out Nikki Lane, a live-wire from South Carolina whose debut album Walk Of Shame marries the twang of Loretta with classic punk swagger. Another standout is Beirut, the lo-fi orchestral folk project from Zach Condon. His new album The Rip Tide is definitely one of the year’s best.

Editor’s Note: American Songwriter, July/August 2011

It’s late May in Nashville, and Justin Townes Earle is back in his hometown amid a short break from touring. For the first time in a long while, he finds himself walking the streets of Music Row – ground zero for a type of music he certainly doesn’t consider “country.”

Earle’s own songs possess a strong sense of location, and he appears to be an artist inspired by the spirit of a place. Music Row clearly isn’t one of them. “Should have waited to take my shower ‘cause now I just feel dirty!” he posts on his Twitter feed.

Justin’s father, Steve, developed his own allergy to Music Row in the mid-70s, where he moved in and out of a series of publishing deals, before finally releasing the critically-acclaimed Guitar Town in 1986. The elder Earle never considered Music Row to be a nurturing place for a songwriter. “Me and everybody like me … we have to take what we’re given,” he told American Songwriter in 2007. “Songwriters, especially the kind of songwriter I came to be, have to live in the margin.”

And live in the margin he did. In the late ‘80s, Earle released a handful of albums on MCA Records that moved from country to heartland rock to a sound he termed “heavy-metal bluegrass.” Today, Earle considers himself to be a folk singer more than anything else, a songwriter with the chops to make a living busking in the subway if push came to shove.

New York currently serves as the adopted home of both Earles. Steve pulled up stakes in Nashville several years ago and settled in Greenwich Village, paying tribute to the neighborhood’s folk music heritage on the album Washington Square Serenade.

For this issue’s photo shoot, Nashville’s Joshua Black Wilkins caught up with father and son on the boardwalk of Coney Island, that carny section of Brooklyn that was home to Woody Guthrie in the decade after World War II. Woody even wrote about the boardwalk, describing it as a place where “the prettiest of the maidulas, leave their leg prints in that sand/ Just beneath our love-soaked boardwalk, with the bravest of our lads.”

It was a fitting locale for our cover shoot, given that Woody is a guiding light for both songwriters. Steve paid direct homage to the legendary singer in the song “Christmas In Washington,” at once a prayer and call to arms for left-wing activism that also summons the ghost of Joe Hill, the songwriter and labor-activist for the Wobblies. “The Gulf Of Mexico,” off of Steve’s new album I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive, also invokes Woody’s spirit. A modern day folk-ballad with a strong Irish lilt, the song traces the lives of three generations of workers who made their living on the water. The song’s denouement comes in the form of the oil spill, and we’ve seen a Gulf that has turned from blue to green to blood red.

Guthrie served as one of the touchstones for Justin’s album Harlem River Blues, an impressive song-cycle that imagines a cross-section of southern music through the prism of big city life in the 21st century.

“When Woody Guthrie was around, he wrote about what was around him,” the younger Earle tells AS. “He wrote about all these amazing new inventions, like the Grand Coulee Dam. He was taking an old form of music that he had learned in Pampa, Texas, and was translating it to a modern time.”

Earle’s most Guthrie-esque tune on Harlem River is “Wanderin,’” a roustabout tale that casts the protagonist as a sort of latter-day Huck Finn.

Now, my father was a traveler and my mama stayed at home
And she cried the day that he walked out and left us on our own
But now I’m older than he was when I was born and I don’t know
Which way is home so I’m wanderin’

In our story, the younger Earle says he’ll always consider himself “white trash from Middle Tennessee.” Buried beneath the wanderlust of his songs is the search for a home. Here’s hoping he keeps searching, at least for the sake of his songs.

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Editor’s Note: November/December

It’s early October, and Nashville is still reeling from the moveable feast of music and madness that was Next BIG Nashville. For two days, the city hosted a music industry conference that attracted some of the best minds in the business. Top that off with four nights of music at venues throughout the city, with more than 150 bands from across the country that ranged in style from country to indie rock to hip-hop and electronic music.

It was a success on all fronts.

Music City, of course, has always been about more than twin fiddles and steel guitar. Anyone who lives here knows that. But, thanks to events like Next BIG Nashville, the city is emerging on the national stage as a hotbed of talent, for music and entrepreneurs of all stripes.

Kings of Leon, our cover subject and one of the biggest rock bands in the world, just happen to call Nashville home. Though they spent much of their youth traveling the byways of the South with their dad, an itinerant preacher, the band cut its musical teeth here, recording its first EP in Nashville, in 2003, when bassist Jared Followill was a stripling of 16. Buy the issue to read more.

“Revenge”

Originally published in Richmond’s Style Weekly. May 2008.

Last summer Wayne’s granddad gave him a vial of poison. The bottle was small and green and featured a skull and crossbones on the label.

“I think you’re old enough to have it now,” his granddad said. “I stole it off a German at the end of the war. Maybe you can use it one day on one of your enemies.”

“Thanks, granddad. Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said. “I know you will use it wisely.”

Aside from his Rambo survivor knife, the poison was Wayne’s most cherished possession. He kept it hidden on the top shelf of his chest of drawers, along with his Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card.

Wayne never told anyone about the gift. His grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few months earlier, and Wayne had been told to report any unusual activity.

“If he does anything weird, like complain about spies in the attic, let me know,” his mother said.

Wayne had the chance to use the poison a few weeks later, after his friend Jerry betrayed him. Jerry was one of the most popular kids at school. He was charming, athletic and excelled at Cub Scouts. He was also the first boy in class to put his hand down a girl’s pants.

But Jerry, for all his strengths, was insecure. One afternoon he began telling classmates that Wayne’s mother worshipped Satan.

“She and a bunch of other kooks go to City Park every night and make fires and praise Satan,” he told them. “Then they have sex with each other and do drugs.”

In recent weeks Wayne had begun selling chewing tobacco on the playground. Every Thursday Wayne stole all the chew he could from a drugstore, selling it to his classmates the next day for two bucks a pouch. The new business made Wayne the most popular kid in class. At least until the rumors started.

A kid named Pete finally told Wayne what Jerry had been saying.

“He says she wears a black robe and leads them through chants,” Pete said. “It’s scary stuff. I sometimes get nightmares.”

“Jerry’s a dead man,” Wayne told Pete.

The next week Wayne decided to put several drops of poison in Jerry’s pouch. Wayne sold it to his foe the next morning. Before class, Jerry had a chew on the basketball court. Nothing happened. “Why was it taking so long?” Wayne thought to himself. In the movies they died instantly. Maybe he didn’t use enough.

Jerry lived. He even had another chew that day at recess. Wayne went home that afternoon and tasted the poison. He didn’t die either. He had seen fake poison at the magic shop. This was probably the same stuff. He was pissed at his granddad. He decided to leave the bottle on his granddad’s nightstand. He wanted to humiliate the old fool.

Richmond’s Difficult Legacy

Originally published in The Washington Times – Saturday, May 3, 2008

On April 4, 1865, just two days after Union forces had taken Richmond, President Abraham Lincoln arrived in the Confederate capital with his son Tad. The city’s black residents gave the Great Emancipator a hero’s welcome, while the city’s whites greeted him icily.

Today, a bronze statue of Lincoln and his son sits at the Richmond National Battlefield Park Civil War Visitor Center. The president, who wears a melancholy expression, has his arm wrapped around his 12-year-old boy. Behind him, etched in stone, are the words: “To bind up the nation’s wounds.”

The unveiling of the Lincoln statue in April 2003 marked a turning point in Richmond’s attitude toward the historic conflict. “We in Virginia are glad to claim him as one of our own,” said then-Lt. Gov. Tim Kaine. “Abraham Lincoln is one of us.”

Richmonders, of course, have not always considered Lincoln “one of us.” Any visitor to Richmond recognizes what seems to be the city’s preternatural obsession with its Confederate past. Monument Avenue, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, boasts monuments to four Confederate generals, including Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson.

However, a new museum in Richmond is taking on the conflict in a different way. The American Civil War Center, which opened in 2006, approaches the conflict from three perspectives: Union, Confederate and black. The museum offers a more balanced interpretation of the war. “No side offered a monopoly on virtue,” a video tells visitors at the beginning of the exhibit.

James M. McPherson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author at Princeton, was one of several historians involved in the planning. Mr. McPherson, whose scholarship has dealt with all three perspectives addressed by the exhibit, says the museum is unique on the national stage. “Most of the other museums that deal with the Civil War have a particular perspective,” he says.

Though the museum opened in 2006, the foundation has been around since 2000. H. Alexander Wise Jr., a former director of the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, got the ball rolling back in the late ‘70s. Mr. Wise created a national board and enlisted the support of historians from different viewpoints. Those involved collaborated in a “harmonious and creative” manner, Mr. McPherson says.

The center’s founders felt it was important to have the center in Richmond. Also, the center is located on historic ground, atTredegar Iron Works, an iron foundry that was the largest munitions factory for the South during the war. Across the James River is Belle Isle, a former Union prison camp that has become a public park.

At the beginning of the exhibit, visitors have the opportunity to vote on what caused the war. The exhibit concludes with a look at the war’s legacy. Adam Scher, the center’s vice president of operations and interim president, says one of the primary goals is establishing a connection between the war and contemporary life. He adds that the legacy portion of the exhibit strikes the greatest emotional chord.

“We talk about issues that still linger,” he says.

The museum also has worked with several schools in the area as part of an effort to foster civic engagement and explore issues of race and reconciliation.

“Students are our most important audience,” Mr. Scher says, “and in many cases, they have not formulated a perspective about this story. It allows them the opportunity to see the story from different sides.”

Less than 1½ miles away from the American Civil War Center is the Museum of the Confederacy. Founded in 1890, it is one of the oldest museums in the nation, but it has struggled in recent years. Attendance is down, and funding has long been a problem. Not to mention that the Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Center has practically eaten the museum, making it nearly impossible to locate. Next to the museum stands the White House of the Confederacy, which is open daily for tours.

Waite Rawls, the museum’s president, acknowledges that the museum has suffered an image problem for some time. “There’s a big gap in the reality of what the museum is today and the perception the public has,” he says.

During the 1990s, Mr. Rawls says, the museum began an effort to change its image, offering exhibits on the struggle of blacks for freedom in the South and the role of women in the war.

Mr. Rawls insists that the museum is not in competition with the American Civil War Center. In fact, he says, Richmond as a whole is in competition with other historical cities. However, he thinks his town comes up short when it comes to marketing its historical offerings.

“If you look at Northern cities, particularly modern, progressive cities, they put [historical legacy] at the forefront,” he says, citing Boston, Philadelphia and Washington as examples.

Richmond, Mr. Rawls says, has an advantage in that regard. Cities such as Charlotte, N.C., he says, aren’t so fortunate. Still, Richmond is unique in that its history is sometimes considered an albatross, a fact that is often chalked up to race.

“Twenty-first-century racial politics have used the Civil War as a political football,” Mr. Rawls says. “Blaming that on the Civil War is a peculiarly local phenomenon.”

Nevertheless, the conflict is still a big draw for tourists in the Old Dominion. One out of every 10 visitors goes to some Civil War site, says Richard Lewis of the Virginia Tourism Corp. “There’s so much to see,” he says. “You’d be hard-pressed to do all the Civil War stuff in Virginia in one day.”

There has been a move recently by city officials to pay greater tribute to the role of blacks in the city’s past. Last year, the city unveiled the Slavery Reconciliation Statue in the historic Shockoe Bottom area. Identical statues have been erected in Liverpool, England, and Benin, in West Africa, representing three prominent focal points of the slave trade.

Virginia is planning its Sesquicentennial Commemoration — or 150th anniversary — of the war, beginning in 2011 and running through 2015. That will likely set the tone for Civil War tourism in the former capital of the Confederacy in the 21st century.

“We’re looking at this as an opportunity to improve the way Richmond has been marketed,” says Jeannie Welliver, director of tourism for the city of Richmond.