A Conversation with Mark Erelli – HuffPost 8.28.14

Mike Ragogna: Mark, your new album Milltowns evokes the musical spirit of your hero, Bill Morrissey. What initially drew you to his music?

Mark Erelli: I first heard Bill on the radio here in Boston when I was in high school. I liked his work, and that of a lot of the other area singer/songwriters, but like a lot of young men I thought that the real deal was waiting out West. I somehow got it in my mind that the hardcore troubadours all came from Texas, where the highways were longer and the skies were bigger. I was a big fan of a lot of those Texas guys, like Robert Earl Keen. I ordered a record of his while I was in college and in the liner notes there was a picture of him wearing a Bill Morrissey t-shirt! From that moment on, I realized that New England was valid territory for American roots music. And all things I saw everyday–old milltowns, meandering rivers, the parade of seasons, regional history–it all became material I could use in my own songs.

MR: How did you decide on what songs to record?

ME: If I had known that I was embarking on a solo tribute record to Bill Morrissey when I started this project, all the artistic choices would have been more daunting. As luck would have it, I was just trying to hone my recording skills in my home studio one day and needed a song to record. I happened to have a stack of Bill’s lyrics on a nearby music stand, and I picked one out and tracked it. It felt so good that I did another, and then 10 more, plus one of my own. Once I lived with these recordings awhile and realized that I was going to make this record for Bill, I had to decide whether to do another session and record some more songs, including some of his better known material. I opted not to do that, as my initial impulses were just to sing songs I connected with for various personal reasons–some I remembered where I was the first time I’d heard them–and I thought it was best to hew closer to that very personal, smaller initial spark of inspiration.

MR: Were there any you really loved but couldn’t record because they were so distinctly “Bill Morrissey”?

ME: One song I loved but always avoided covering was “Birches,” which ironically now is the lead-off track of the album and I play it nearly every show. The last time I saw Bill, we did a gig together up in Maine. I asked him if I could back him up on some songs, and suggested “Birches.” He told me that he couldn’t really do it justice anymore but that he’d heard I had covered a few times and suggested that I should sing it in my set. I remember feeling very torn. On one hand, I was so incredibly honored. On the other hand, it felt like he was passing some mantle to me that I wasn’t sure I wanted, or was ready, to assume. But having had that experience, once I realized I was making this record I didn’t feel like there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do. It was like Bill had already given me his blessing to sing these songs.

MR: Which songs are you most connected to either from feeling a deep personal connection or because they changed you in some way?

ME: For all the reasons I explained earlier, “Birches” was always one of my favorite songs, one that showed me just how much a writer could accomplish with so few words. I lead a very different life than many of the characters in Bill’s songs, but I think sad songs help impart a very valuable evolutionary lesson. Much in the way that hunting, scary movies or roller coasters help us engage with elemental fears, I think sad songs help us engage with the darkness inside us all that can sometimes drag us down, and teach us that we can survive or at least endure it. Bill’s songs did that for me.

MR: How did this collection of songs come together in the studio? What was your intended approach and did it stay close to your vision or did it evolve into something different or unexpected?

ME: Each song started as a live acoustic guitar and vocal performance, performed in my basement. As I listened back to the initial tracks, sometimes I’d hear parts from the original version that I wanted to reproduce. Sometimes I heard those parts re-contextualized, like a fiddle part translated onto a different instrument. Other times, I would hear arrangement ideas that took a song in a whole different direction than the original version. I treated Bill’s whole catalog with an attitude I came to regard as “reverent reinvention.” I have great respect for his take on things–I love his records–but I never let that limit me if I felt moved to do something else. Regardless of the direction I took, each choice came to me organically and I never felt at a loss for ideas. I’d hear a part, an instrument or a countermelody, I’d go down and record it, listen back and it always felt right.

MR: Did recording this project give you any further insights into Bill and his music that you might not previously have had?

ME: Bill’s voice, which I love, was not necessarily a thing of beauty. It was very stark and unadorned and for some it could be an acquired taste in the manner of Tom Waits or Dylan, who I also think are amazing singers with great voices. But to hear Bill sing his songs you don’t always get a sense for the beautiful melodies he built into them. My voice is more conventionally melodic than his, and I had fun highlighting that aspect of the material.

MR: What advice do you have for new artists?

ME: I guess I would say that if you meet someone who seems certain about where the music business is going and how to conduct your business, than you just want to smile and nod at and then walk away from them as soon as possible. Nobody has any fucking clue where this is all going. The old paradigm has fallen, has been out of commission for some time. It’s possible that it won’t ever be replaced by another ascendant model, but rather by endless variations on a theme, each tailored to fit a specific artist’s needs. This kind of a la carte diversity sounds great on the surface, but in reality, everyone is stressed out and busy and doesn’t necessarily have time to figure out how to connect in 100 different ways with as many different artists. All I can say is try to do great work, not good work, but truly great work, and keep an open mind. It’s going to be harder, and take longer, than you thought to succeed, and even if you do, it may not look anything like you thought it would. You have to be flexible enough to recognize that if it happens, and then run with it.

MR: Would you liked to have lived Bill Morrissey’s life if the cosmos allowed?

ME: No! I certainly would have liked to have written “Birches” or “These Cold Fingers,” but not if it meant I’d have to die alone in a motel room in Georgia after a gig. I don’t claim to know exactly what demons Bill wrestled with–all that s**t is equivocal. What I know is that he left a lot of great songs behind, and his art is unequivocal and eternal. I’d be honored to leave the same sort of musical legacy behind when I go. But I have a beautiful wife and two healthy, handsome boys and I wouldn’t trade my life for Bill’s, or anyone else’s.