by Sheldon Birnie
Prolific. Tireless. Uncompromising. Cantankerous. These and many more words could, and have, been used to describe Fred Eaglesmith, one of Canada’s finest songwriters and bluntly honest performing musicians alive today. For over thirty years now, Eaglesmith has been charting his own course in the Music Business. Fiercely independent and uncompromising in his artistic and commercial vision, Eaglesmith’s name is revered by songwriters and folk music fans, and simultaneously “cussed” by many in the Business. From his genre defining albums Things is Changing, Drive-In Movies, and Lipstick, Lies, & Gasoline to experiments in style like Dusty, Tinderbox, and Cha Cha Cha, Eaglesmith’s writing is always finely honed, throwing a light on the heartaches that fester behind small town diner counters, in dark corners of collapsing barns, and on the backroads, freeways, and Interstates of North America.
It’s no secret that Eaglesmith is held in high regard here on Hillbilly Highway, not just by myself, but among many of the artists I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with on my own travels. From Todd Snider to Andrew Neville, Hayes Carll to the Reverend Rambler, Eaglesmith’s reputation as an artist is held in the highest esteem. And now, as he prepares yet another tour, in a cycle of seemingly endless touring, to promote his latest album, Tambourine, Fred took some time out to speak with us here at Stylus about charting his own course in the Business. He takes no prisoners. While we in Winnipeg might have to wait a while yet before his next appearance, he provides us here, and on Tambourine especially, with plenty to chew on and ponder until then.
Stylus: I heard a couple tracks off your new album, Tambourine, when you played here in Winnipeg last summer. How are folks taking to the new record?
Fred Eaglesmith: The people are good. The record is barely out. We sort of put it out before Christmas, which is not The Business thing to do. But it’s a real nice thing to do for your fans, right. We really liked doing that, which is the first time we’ve done it. Nobody picked it up in the business, but the fans were really into it. And now the reviews are starting to roll in, and people seem to be pretty happy with it. Which is good. You never know, you know?
Stylus: I’ve noticed that the last few records you’ve put out have had this sort of, I don’t want to say “retro,” but there’s certainly a throwback sound to the production. Is this something that you’ve been doing intentionally, or is it just the product of the way the songs and the band have come together?
FE: You know, in the past I’ve been pretty current, and sometimes I was ahead of the game, or right on the game. Because the vibe was in the air. But, I was just talking to a friend of mine this morning. I was saying that since 9/11, it’s like, everybody’s hinting at some kind of vibe, but there really hasn’t been anything in the air. It’s like we’re all confused or something. I’ve sort of just found that place, where I feel like in the 60s, with this album here, I sort of feel like we were on to something there in the 60s. Maybe it got circumvented by The Business. The hippies went home. I think disco really screwed it up in the early 70s, and sorta I think that we weren’t really finished with that. That’s how I feel about it. We weren’t finished with what was available to us there. They were so experimental in those days, compared to now.
Stylus: Like, willing to more risks?
FE: Yeah, well, it’s lucky for me to be here in 2014 and to have an overview of 1966. I have better recording options, better gear. And at the same time, I can tap into that sort of vibe.
Stylus: How much does playing with the band you have now influence the way you write your records?
FE: Oh, always. When I had Willie [P. Bennet] and Ralph [Schipper], I made records for Willie and Ralph. You know, this is the way, this is what Robbie Robertson did with The Band, even though they got pissed off about it later. He wrote for The Band. It’s good to think about the band that’s with you, or the show you’re doing, when you’ve got a band that’s got a vibe. My band, over the last five years, has really got this vibe, which is based around the guitar player, who’s a great guitar player. Even Kori’s style of drumming is unique. You write the stuff, and when you bring it out, they totally get it right away to play it.
Stylus: As far as songwriting goes, from your perspective, is there anything that’s kind of changed over the years as to how you approach the craft? Like, do you songs come to you? How does that work for you?
FE: When I started out, I was very careful, very careful. I had to watch it, because I didn’t know what I was doing. But now, I’ve been doing it for over 40 years, I think it’s been 45 years now I’ve been writing songs. So, when you’ve written songs that long, you tend to know how to write a song. So what I do a lot of times, now, is I explore. On this album, there [are some songs] that are sort of like jingles. Those are deceptively hard to write. It’s taken me this long to learn how to write those sorts of songs, that sound so simple. In other words, I can write a complicated song very well. I can write one that people understand. But to write a simple song, like the Beatles did, or the Monkees writers, or Elvis’s writers did, that’s hard to do. It takes a lot of experience.
Stylus: Are there any in particular on Tambourine that were difficult for you to write? Any that stand out in that way?
FE: There’s “Nobody Gets Everything.” When I wrote it, I didn’t even like it, I didn’t understand it when I wrote it. And there’s that one, “You Can’t Dance” and “Nobody’s Friend.” Those were written around riffs, which is not what I’ve done too much in the past.
Stylus: A lot of your older stuff is definitely more rooted in a narrative style than some of the songs here.
FE: Yeah, and some people will be disappointed when I don’t write those narrative songs. But that’s okay with me. I always notice that their heads are bobbing when they hear the new stuff.
Stylus: Do you remember the first song that you ever wrote?
FE: Sort of. The first song I ever wrote, I was 11 or 12 years old. It was like “I love you, I love you, I love you,” right? I saw Elvis on television with all these girls around him, and I was like, “I’m gonna do that!” I didn’t realize he didn’t write his own songs! So I started to write songs that night, and I’ve never quit. But they were just little baby songs. The first song that I wrote that anyone ever took any notice of, I wrote a song about my parents sitting on the back porch, and a neighbour kid had drowned. Like that sort of narrative thing that eventually became my style. And I was about 14 or 15.
Stylus: Taking a look at your tour dates, I see you guys are on a Blues Cruise here. What’s up with that?
FE: I’m always on the Blues Cruise. My friend Delbert McClinton has this Blues Cruise, it’s sort of like we play three times on a seven day cruise, the band gets time off and a little chocolate on their pillow. It’s like a holiday in the sunshine for us, but we have to play a few shows. So it’s a bit of a break.
Stylus: Oh cool. I was curious about some of these things, like the Highway 66 tour you did last year, those sorts of things. It seems you always have some different way, some innovative way of engaging with your fans. Is that something you’re pushing for, or how do those come about?
FE: You know, I just keep trying to stay out of the Music Business. By doing that, I have to go around these sort of pretend promoters. There’s such a thing going on these days, the Folk Alliance, Americana, these conferences, you know? These sort of, these guys who form these tours for musicians, but take their merch money. I’m really down on that, it really pisses me off. These school teachers and doctors and lawyers, pot-smoking hippies who’ve decided they’re music promoters. What I do is try to get as far away from that as I can. So what I do is arrange trips. One year we went from Winnipeg to Churchill, which is one of the best trips anyone ever had in their lives. In fact, two or three people quit drinking after that, because they said it was never gonna be better than that! [laughter] And, you know, we’ve done these wild trips, like last year’s Route 66 trip was just amazing. Route 66 is really decimated, there’s nothing going on. That was kind of the theme of the trip. We were playing Elks Lodges on Route 66, in abandoned restaurants and stuff like that. It was so great, so far away from that organized thing.
Stylus: I’ve noticed you play a lot in southern Ontario, as well as remote northern Ontario towns, playing the Legions and stuff like that. Is that part of the same thing? Or is it just about getting to the audience, wherever that may be?
FE: I was about 18 or 19 years old and I saw David Wiffen. Are you familiar with David Wiffen?
Stylus: No, I don’t think so…
FE: Ok, he’s an old songwriter from Canada, and one of the best. He only made a couple albums, but they’re fantastic. He wrote that famous song, “I feel like an old engine, that’s lost my driving wheel.” He wrote that song, and another one, “Would you believe this happens more often than not?” You’ve probably heard his songs. Anyway, he had some stability issues, maybe bipolar or something. And he drank. Willie P, he used to be in my band, he used to drink. It used to be what they did. People would say, “Well, they’re poets. They have a right to do this.” So I saw him one time, I saw Wiffen on stage, and the promoter was standing right beside me. Wiffen was drunk, fall down drunk, but he was still brilliant! And I heard the promoter say, “He’ll never work in this town again.” He probably never did. The promoter was a failed minister. I remember being just a kid, but thinking, “How did you get any power?” You know? And now they have all the power, those guys. They don’t have it with me, but consequently the Globe & Mail said last year that I was one of the most cussed musicians in Canada. I’m not by the fans, but I am cussed by The Business. And I’m happy to be cussed by those guys. I’m happy to be cussed by those guys who are working off government grants. To me, this is the wreck of rock n roll, this sort of prop up thing. Consequently, it’s allowed a lot of musicians to be in The Business who shouldn’t be. And a lot of promoters who have no business being in the Music Business.
Stylus: The last few times you were in Winnipeg, one thing you’ve mentioned that I find really interesting is you’re always kind of poking fun at the big, corporate festivals — the Winnpeg Folk Fest and the Dauphin Countryfest. You don’t really play those festivals anymore…
FB: Those guys tend to insult me. They want to kind of “sunset” me as an Old Guy. I mean, I am an old guy. I’m 57 years old this year. But I’m not living like an Old Guy. I have some pretty good markers in there, I have some friends who will tell me if I start to get bad. If I can’t put on a show, I think I’ll be able to tell if that happens. But these [festivals], they want to sunset me because I’ve pissed them off so many times. I’ve always said the wrong thing. I’ve always done the wrong thing. I remember being at the Winnipeg Folk Festival years and years ago, getting a standing ovation at every workshop we played. I was young and new and nobody had ever heard of me. Guys told me, “You’ve just fallen into this festival, and we’ll never forget you.” It was like that, and that’s what they tend to do. I don’t mind. But my poor peers in this business who are struggling, they just abuse them. I don’t know how they have the power. Who gave them the power? My word to them, and I say this all the time: “Why don’t you go fuck yourself. You have no business being in my world. I’m an artist. I was born an artist. I felt the calling when I was 11 years old. Who are you?” You know?
Stylus: Your attitude, your style, is very DIY. Your bus runs on grease, you put out your own records. How important is that attitude, for an emerging artist, to take control of what they’re doing in every aspect? Is that an approach you would recommend?
FE: In my opinion, it’s the only hope they have. The douchebags used to be record companies. And now, believe it or not, the record companies aren’t that bad. You can actually deal with them to a certain degree. The douchebags, again, are the guys in between. The ones holding all these house concerts. Rock n roll has no business in people’s living rooms. When I say “rock n roll,” I mean “pop culture.” It has no business in people’s living rooms. It’s supposed to be in a club. It’s supposed to be where you can get a beer and dance a little bit. But this thing, they have watered it down so bad that now they’re playing in people’s houses. This is what they’ve done to it. The only way you can get around them is to do everything yourself, and it’s a hard road. It’s a hard road. Now you’re driving through Brandon, Manitoba and you can’t get a gig because you’ve pissed everybody off. You know? That’s my story! But I can go play in some backwater in Saskatchewan that nobody’s ever heard of, and I can draw 150 people, and I can do it year after year and have no problem. But I’m not going to get to play the big hall in Winnipeg, because they won’t return my calls. You know? That’s what you live with. And what does that cost? It’s cost me millions of dollars. Literally, it’s cost me millions of dollars, this attitude. But, I’m 56 and I have a really vibrant career. We’re too busy, even. Our staff at the offices are too busy. We actually just slowed it down again. We’re all working too hard! And that’s amazing, at my age. That’s amazing.
Stylus: Especially if you’re the one making the calls as to what you want to do and what you don’t want to do.
FE: Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve turned down in my life. You wouldn’t believe! And, conversely, you wouldn’t believe what they’ve tried to do to me [chuckles]. And not only am I really busy, but I’m not bitter. I’m really sort of like, “Ok guys, that’s your business, and you’re welcome to it. But that’s not my business.” They, however, are pissed off because I won’t participate. An agent once told me, “If you would only play the game, we could make so much money.” Money isn’t the thing. The thing is to be 60 years old and not be bitter. I’ve had this great life, this great career. I still have fans, I’m still doing it. That’s what I feel like. Like, “Wow. I’m still excited to play a show most nights.”