It’s a dreary April afternoon, and we’re getting ready to talk to slacker indie hero Kurt Vile about his new record, Philadelphia’s Been Good to Me. The lead single, Chance to Bleed, begs to be blared from a car stereo at dusk on a humid August night.
Here in Michigan, a few 70-degree days in March had us hopeful we could place ourselves in Vile’s snapshot of Philly summers by taking the call from our back porch. But with grey skies and temperatures back in the mid-40s, we opt for the living room – a space mostly commandeered by this writer’s one-year-old daughter.
As we clear the books and toys she’s scattered across the floor to make room to move around during the call, we’re reminded of how often Vile has written about his own daughters.
“Girls are the sweetest and the best,” he says. “As soon as the kid shows up, life is completely changed. It’s psychedelic and beautiful, because that kid is part of you. They go through all the phases that you went through, and you watch through them.”
As we pace up and down our living room, we talk gear – we had to ask about the Gretsch Tennessean he picked up from Travis Good of the Sadies – but the conversation keeps circling back to a word Vile uses more than once to describe the record – “homespun.”
Much of it was written and recorded after dark in his basement studio, when he could lean into what he calls the natural cycle of life – catching up with himself and creating the loose, sprawling music he’s known for. That balance between family life and the habits of the past shows up in the lyrics, too.
On Zoom 97, you sing about trading substances for time with your girls. Are you sober?
I quit drinking in 2018. Alcohol is a tough one. You think it’s casual – which it is, because it’s ingrained in us – but before you know it, that’s kind of the nastiest one.
That concept – “my baby girls, they keep me high. Ain’t on no trips, no LSD, pure love drug for me” – it’s true. I definitely don’t party the way I used to, but I’m not straight edge. I like weed, probably because it makes me hear music like I was in high school. I don’t do it all the time, but it’s a nice vacation for anyone who plays music.
How do you come up with lyrics?
There are so many different ways to write a song, and there’s no rules. In the old days, I’d think about it too much
Sometimes the lyrics come out fast, but obviously it’s my trade. Zoom 97 is one I’m really proud of, because that one is actually the first song we got for this album that I knew was a quality song. I had that Gold Tone mandolin riff on a recorder. The people at Gold Tone down in Florida, they’ve hooked me up a few times. They gave me this little, tiny guitar. It sounds like a mandolin, but it’s just six strings.
Anyway, it was summertime. My new bandmate, Matt [Jugenheimer], was there – there’s always got to be something new to keep you going, or a new guy in the fold – and I just heard [the riff] back. I had some melody in there, but then I didn’t have the words. I just said, “I know this is catchy; let’s add synth here.”
And then, literally, just because I was there and because the mics were on, I sat out back and wrote the lyrics. They came to me because I was there to catch them. It turned out cool. If my brain is open, one thing leads to another once I start writing.
What do you do to try to get your brain open?
Ideally, you want to be present. There are so many different ways to write a song, and there’s no rules. In the old days, I’d think about it too much. “Why am I not writing a song?” You can’t force anything.
What about when you’re in the middle of recording and have to pick up the kids?
Yeah, that happens. You get used to that. You’ve got to embrace that. I’ve always been a nighttime man. After a certain point, everybody’s asleep, and then you’ve got the whole nighttime to yourself. But the reality is that during the day, ideas come.
It might be fragmentary. There are times in your life where you’ve got to think ahead or you’re just tired. In those interruptions, you get ideas from being in flux.
You’re at a point in your career where some of your heroes have become your collaborators. What’s it like to make that transition from fan to peer?
I’m definitely a shy person, so whenever I meet somebody at first, I’m nervous. I can’t help it, but you’ve got to make yourself uncomfortable. It’s similar to playing live; you’ve got to fuck up in front of lots of people to get it right. You’ve just gotta be a sponge – take it in and try to be chill.
What was it like recording with John Prine?
When he showed up at the studio, he was so nice. He said, “You know, I’d love to sing with you, Kurt,” and we recorded that song
John came into the studio last minute. I know people that work for his label and I had played with him on stage enough times. He heard my version of Speed of the Sound of Loneliness, and I knew he liked it. Over time, he would remember who I was.
When he showed up at the studio, he was so nice. He said, “You know, I’d love to sing with you, Kurt,” and we recorded that song [How Lucky from 2020’s Speed, Sound, Lonely KV EP] in two takes. That’s the way they do it over there in Nashville. It was unbelievable.
How did you meet Neil Young?
I finally did see Neil up in Toronto with my friend Travis from the Sadies, who’s one of my favorite guitar players of all time, and a good friend of mine. Neil loves Travis. Travis was the first person I ever was standing next to who knew me while Neil was around and actually said, “This is Kurt.”
The beauty of Neil is he’s 100 percent his own world. He’s got friends, but he’s just in his own realm. So you just say hi when you can, and you assume he won’t remember who you are until maybe one day he does. You see Neil on stage – he’s the same Neil Young he ever was.
Is that Travis’ Gretsch Tennessean you’re playing on the new record?
Yeah, and if you ever see him play, he just shreds so hard. When you watch him play, it’s unreal. If you look at the fretboard of this guitar, it’s just so worn in from his playing. He sat in when we played Toronto and lent me the guitar to see if I wanted to buy it. I immediately laid down something with the band.
Some guitars just sound and feel great and play themselves. It’s a genuinely great guitar. I just kept playing it. It sounds so good in the studio. It’s got really hot pickups. It’s the lead guitar on Zoom 97, 99th Song and Every Time I Look at You. It really cuts through.
Are you bringing it out on the road?
Yeah, I’ve started bringing it on the road. One of my favorite live guitars – I’m not sure if it made the record – is a sunburst 1965 Jazzmaster that J Mascis put into my hands when I was working on his record up in Massachusetts. He went to some store and the guy was trying to peddle this Jazzmaster, and J has so many of ’em.
He actually showed up at J’s studio and put it in my hands, which was the coolest part of all. I have reissue Jazzmasters that are made to seem vintage. I got them from Fender and I love them – but to have an old one is… it really plays. That was another example of a guitar that plays itself.
As far as guitars on the record that I played, shit, there were so many. I’m spacin’! [Laughs] There’s another Gretsch, an orange 6120. That’s my favorite lead guitar that I’ve played. I was playing the Travis guitar nonstop, but I wasn’t changing the strings, so they were dead.
Rob Schnapf came down to my studio and put the orange on the lead guitar in 99 bpm because the strings on the Tennessean were so dead, and he was right. The lead guitars really cut through and shine. We’ve since changed the strings on the Travis guitar.
Do you prefer the sound of dead strings?
I do. I have this Gibson J-45 that was my main acoustic at the start of the Watch My Moves tour. We had a new guitar tech, and the first thing he did – I wasn’t thinking about it – but the first thing he did on the first day was cut all the strings off.
It was devastating. [Laughs] Rob Schnapf is all about that too; I sort of learned that about him. New strings take a while to break in, especially when you’re playing live. When you’ve got to change the acoustic strings, you’re gonna have a weird show at first. They just sound so different, like bells or something.
What about practice? What does your practice routine look like?
I kind of just pick up and play whenever I want when I’m feeling psychedelic. Lately, I feel weird because I haven’t, but then you just get a show and you’re forced to play again, and your fingers get blistery.
That’s all part of it. It’s interesting now, because I have a career, there’s going to be a moment where all of a sudden I have to play. My music’s not like Led Zeppelin or anything too technical. In some ways, my songs feel a little more simple all the time, so I don’t sweat it.
What’s on the horizon?
I put everything into this record. It did take a lot out of me by the end. They always do. It’s my most organic record. It was homespun. I worked with other studios, people I really liked, who similarly work in an organic way.
I’ll definitely try to make other records, but I do feel in another way that this might be my last conventional record for a long time, and I’ll just get weird for a while. But yeah, you never know.
- Philadelphia Has Been Good to Me is out now via Verve Forecast.
- This article first appeared in Guitar World. Subscribe and save.
