In country music, it’s rare to find a talent who’s achieved commercial success and maintained artistic integrity. Luminaries such as Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson and Willie Nelson come to mind, but no list would be complete without Rodney Crowell. His professional achievements (too long to list here) include scoring five consecutive No. 1 country hits off his 1988 album “Diamonds and Dirt,” producing successful albums by his former wife Roseanne Cash, and scoring a 1990 Best Country Song Grammy for "After All This Time." And here’s just one more: His song “Shame on the Moon” was a pop rock hit for Bob Seeger.
But all along, Crowell’s sought to achieve songwriting mastery as seen in the work of Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt, whom Crowell studied closely. And at 63, he demonstrates the pinnacle of the form on “Tarpaper Sky” (New West Records) an album recorded live in the studio without any gimmicks or electronic trickery. From the racy, steady rollin’ “Fever On The Bayou” (complete with a verse sung in French) to the rockabilly-tinged, heartfelt prayer “Jesus Talk to Mama,” Crowell shows himself off as a performer and songwriter in clear command of his faculties.
We shared some time with Crowell to learn more about what informs his art, his illustrious past and the instruments he’s played along the way — including the ones that, as he puts it, “got away.”
Reverb: Your call to record live in the studio goes against the grain of what’s going on today, especially in Nashville. Why do you think that’s so rare?
Rodney Crowell: I think its probably happening more than we realize, that particular way. I was talking to Tony Garnier, who plays bass with Bob Dylan, about taking off headphones, and he said, “Yeah when we record with Bob we have to do it that way, because headphones fall off his head.” It’s just a way of doing performance oriented-recording as opposed to production. In country music—or what’s called country music anymore—it’s about very meticulous production. The more I get into the music, the more I go back to those live things: The early Beatles stuff, Lightnin’ Hopkins, that’s performance, Howlin’ Wolf is performance. Ray Charles is performance. Production technique has it place, but as time passes it fades away, because that particularly style of production fades away. When songs are put together and people just go into the studio and sing the shit out of them, that attracts me.
R: So how much of the album was planned out before you started recording?
RC: Very little was planned, though we sort of hit on a plan: “Let’s sit in a circle, take off the headphones, and see what we can do.” Michael Rhodes and Eddie Bayers, who have played on a million records, will be the first to tell you it was disorienting. But by day two they had it. It was such an unexpected thing; we didn’t know what we would get into. And Justin Niebank the engineer, who’s constantly on call making high-production records, he was really getting into it. He said, “Now it’s 1958, and I feel like I’m a real engineer.” It was roomful of producers, and no one producing.
Rodney and Emmylou Harris rocking out with a band of allstars at Austin City Limits
R: You were a protégé of Guy Clark. How did he influence your songwriting process?
RC: Easy. First of all, when Guy Clark I intuitively learned the art of self-editing. He’s just the best self-editor; had he taken another path in life he could’ve been a great literary editor. He had a great jeweler’s eye. I learned from him by osmosis, I’d watch him write a song and he’d throw away a line that most people in Nashville would build a song around, and he’d take it out because it wasn’t a part of his song.
R: When you were in Emmylou Harris’ Hot Band, what were some of the guitars you were playing?
RC: Ahh. I had a 1952 blackface Fender Telecaster that every guitar player I know would salivate over. And it was stolen. The Hot Band’s equipment truck was stolen; it was a theft ring in Champaign, Ill. We got a note saying, “We’re returning Emmylou’s guitar and Albert Lee’s guitar. Don’t ask any more questions.” I still have a Martin D-35 guitar that I played. And I replaced the Tele I had with a Blue Tele that I gave to Danny Flowers. Fortunately I’ve been given a lot of guitars. Johnny Cash gave me a wartime herringbone Martin D-28 that he played on his television show, and it was stolen, too. So my stories about guitars are all about the ones that got away.
R: What about the guitars you play now?
RC: They’re pretty fantastic guitars, all of them. Sterling Ball gave me a1932 Gibson L-00 and a Collings C10 that I’ve played for 10 years. I also have a wartime Gibson J-45 that Ben Bullington gave me. Those are exactly the kinds of guitars I’d be buying if they weren’t given to me. So I guess my belief is that guitars are meant to be given away … or stolen. (Laughs.)
R: You were on top of the country scene for a while, but you’ve settled into this groove of making records that have a strong personal stamp to them. What’s the shift been like?
RC: I had my 15 minutes of fame. And it wasn’t that cool. I like the money, there’s nothing wrong with money, but things got a little weird, a little phony. And if I stayed on that path, I wouldn’t be on the path I’m on now. How good of an artist I am is for someone else to evaluate. But I can stand up and say that I am a true artist. You won’t catch me chasing some sort of trend or vanity to keep my name out front. I’ve just got to do the work that feels true and aim for that timelessness. And even if you get below the bar, you’re still shooting for the right thing. You won’t make a lot of money. But I’ve never known anyone where having a lot of money made them happy.
R: What’s up for you next?
RC: After this I’m headed over to sit down with Emmylou Harris and we’re about to undertake another album ourselves. Our conversation about the songs we’ve written and what we’re going to do is a continuation of the conversation you and I are having here: Which one of these songs makes a connection, and is true, and has no artifice? It’s like putting on clothes: Which one doesn’t look like who we are? Let’s just make music that’s who we are.
Collings Acoustic Guitars