“When the guns come out, get outta there!” AN AUDIENCE WITH RODNEY CROWELL
“Chasing the humour in conversation is a precursor to writing songs”
WHEN Rodney Crowell picks up the phone, he’s sitting exactly where you imagine him to be – on his back porch in Tennessee, guitar in hand, working on a song. “I live on top of a hill, surrounded by forest,” he says, describing the scene. “I’m looking at a mature weeping cedar of Lebanon, a couple of cedrus diadoras, some Japanese maple, some ancient cedar trees and an early spring vegetable garden. There’s a pool of water that’s reflecting the sun and a hummingbird just came by a moment ago. It’s pretty idyllic, I would say.”
Yet that doesn’t mean the songs always flow. “I’ve learned, after years and years of doing this, that inspiration is the byproduct of dedication and hard work. In my twenties, there were bursts of inspiration that came like lightning in a jar. But as time goes on, it’s a matter of finding new things to say and new ways to say them.”
At 70, Crowell remains dedicatedis probably the most urgent and socially conscious collection of songs he’s ever recorded – “more humanitarian than political”, he insists – and lockdown, while freighted with sadness at the loss of a close relative, has been productive.
