ERIC'S THOUGHTS:
Earlier this century, my band Last Train Home was based in Washington, DC, but we loved heading south to play gigs in Nashville. Back then, I was writing about music for The Washington Post, while Peter Cooper was (and still is) the music writer for The Tennessean newspaper in Nashville. I didn't know him, but I would mail him copies of LTH's releases, hoping for some positive mentions.
I was mighty pleased when he did in fact say some nice things about LTH in print, but I didn't meet him until we both found ourselves at a Nashville "guitar pull" one night. A "pull" is what happens when a bunch of songwriters get together to eat, drink, and take turns singing songs. I thought Peter was there as a journalist, but when the guitar was passed to him, he delivered one of the best songs of the night. It was one of those that makes you say to yourself: "Man, I need to go home and write a song that'll stand up to that one. That night was when I knew I was going to move to Nashville.
In 2004 I did, and it didn't take long for me and Peter to became great friends. I knew that meant there'd be no more LTH reviews with his byline, but it was a small price to pay for a friendship filled with long sessions of listening to vinyl of Tom T. Hall, the Seldom Scene, Willis Alan Ramsey, Lloyd Green, Charley Pride... accompanied by screw-top red wine and whiskey. By the time Peter had completed his debut CD "Mission Door," I was running my own record label, Red Beet Records, and releasing Peter's CD (which I did in early 2008) was a no-brainer. It's a great record. Get it.
Singing songs together in our living rooms inevitably led to singing songs together in public, and we've lately hit the road (Holland! Germany! Alaska!). That's when the notion of making a record together materialized. We each had a couple of songs to contribute, but we also went searching through songs by other folks--songwriting heroes of ours--that we could somehow make our own.
It was a pleasure narrowing down the possible tracks to the ones you hear on this record (did I mention red wine and whiskey?). We're proud of this record. Hope you like it too.
-- EB
PETER'S THOUGHTS:
Eric Brace and I knew that we needed to make a record. The necessity was brought on by many factors, including the universally shared conclusion that there are simply too few records out there in the world. We knew that just putting some songs out on iTunes or Rhapsody would not be enough, because only a small sector of the population possesses a high-speed connection to that newfangled "Internet." So physical product, the kind sold in tens of thousands of ever-burgeoning record stores, was a necessity.
Oh, also, we needed something to sell at gigs.
At risk of giving away our secrets, here's what we did:
1. Listened to music and thought of songs we'd like to record.
2. Called a core group of friends – Lloyd Green, Paul Griffith, Jen Gunderman and Dave Roe – all of whom happen to live on the east side of the Cumberland River and all of whom are spectacularly gifted and accomplished musicians.
3. Told engineer Mike Esser to mash the "Record" button.
There was a little more to it than that. We called guitar kings Richard Bennett (from Mark Knopfler's band), Tim Carroll (the only punk rocker we know who has played the Grand Ole Opry and had a song cut by John Prine) and Kenny Vaughan (Marty Stuart, Lucinda Williams, etc.). We called Grammy winning multi-instrumentalist Tim O'Brien and extraordinary singer-songwriter Jon Byrd. And we got Daniel Tashian to play the ukulele and Scotty Huff to play the ever-lovin' flugelhorn.
The result, I hope, is a portrait of friendship and song, and a peek into what makes under-the-radar Nashville such a groovy little place at the moment. This is what we do over here: We get together and laugh and make music. I was talking with neighbor Todd Snider one day about how fun it'd be to score some hit song jackpot, and he said, "Yeah, then we'd be able to just sit on the porch, watch baseball and pick." At the time, we were sitting on the porch, watching baseball and picking.
Within this album, you'll find world-class musicianship, artwork by Alaska's Jim Gleason, songs about birds, bones, mountains, pools, wells, and heartache, and a picture of Loretta the Dachshund. And you'll find 12 songs we wanted to sing to ourselves. Your "play" button is a ticket to eavesdrop.
-- PC
SOME THOUGHTS ON THE SONGS ON "YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIKE THEM BOTH" :
1. I Know a Bird (Eric Brace)
Sometimes we choose to head off into the unknown, looking for adventure, gold, solitude. Sometimes we're sent there. This started as a meditation on those who headed to the hills of California in the 19th century. It became a 21st century song about being sent overseas. It's one for searchers and mourners and soldiers. Oh, and banjo enthusiasts (thanks, Mr. O'Brien).
2. Omar's Blues 2 (David Olney)
Olney wrote part of this song on a Spartanburg, SC, porch, the same porch on which he pontificated about Shakespeare. "I've been reading Shakespeare all summer," he said. "And… uh, I suck." That's the one time we can think of when David Olney was incorrect. This song was inspired by twilight and memories and the poetry of baseball great Phil Rizzuto.
3. Down to the Well (Kevin Gordon & Colin Linden)
A red door on a green Cadillac. That's the stuff right there, from East Nashville's Kevin Gordon and Colin Linden. Such language calls for heavyweight backup, so we brought in Richard Bennett and Tim Carroll. Kevin is the Hemingway of East Nashville. Peter remembers that the first night he heard this song, his Martin nearly found the bottom of the Cumberland River.
4. Drinking From a Swimming Pool (Karl Straub)
When songwriter Karl Straub thought about the notion that in the Land of the Blind the one-eyed man is king, he figured that was about the wrongest thing he'd ever heard. Karl figured that guy was doomed. Fans of Eric's band Last Train Home know some of Karl's songs already. The rest of the world should.
5. The Man Who Loves to Hate (Peter Cooper)
"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice." That's what Martin Luther King, Jr. said. "The meantime is a mean time." That's what John Gorka said. And so frustration can set in. Peter found a new chord (new to him, anyway) in the Den Haag backyard of Joanna Serraris, and he wrote this entire song using that chord in conjunction with a few others, some observation, some confrontation, a revelation and the production wizardry of Jen Gunderman
6. The First in Line (Paul Kennerley)
Paul Kennerley speaks softly, loves rockabilly, has a bunch of fine guitars and sends hand-written notes. Oh, and he has penned a bucketful of fantastic songs. "The First In Line" is, we believe, one of those songs. But don't take our word for it: The Everly Brothers recorded this, and then Emmylou Harris sang it with John Starling. We thought it deserved a more professional approach.
7. Denali, Not McKinley (Peter Cooper & Todd Snider)
Fly to Anchorage, and then drive up through Wasilla (you betcha, wink, wink) to Talkeetna. Crest a hill and there it is. It's awfully hard to argue that the high, high mountain you're looking at should be named after a long-gone Ohio politician who never even visited the place. Mount Denali was a sacred place for native Alaskan tribes long before there was a Washington, DC. Peter was on a plane with Todd Snider when Peter first saw the thing and called it by the name he'd read in his fourth grade textbook. Derision and melody ensued.
8. I Know Better Now (Jim Lauderdale)
Of Jim Lauderdale's many gifts, one of the best is his way of finding kindness and hope in life's fractured places. Here Jim makes reservations for all of us at "some big hotel where weary hearts can rest." This track is a showcase for subtle musical brilliance, with Dave Roe and Paul Griffith laying down a lovely pocket while Kenny Vaughan, Lloyd Green and Jen Gunderman take turns leading the dance.
9. Lucky Bones (Jim Lauderdale, Eric Brace, & Peter Cooper)
Eric and Jim wrote the bulk of this late one night, somewhere in New Jersey after a wedding. Peter's two cents came later, since he wasn't invited. When we were recording this, we thought it needed a "Kenny Vaughan-type" guitar part. Now who should we call to do that? Peter: "Well, we could call Kenny Vaughan." Kenny picked up his end of the phone, and showed up soon with guitars and ideas. Our bones are lucky to reside in Nashville, Tennessee.
10. Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still (Traditional)
Eric left a junk shop holding a leather-bound songbook full of 19th century sea shanties. Turns out there was some guy out there on the ocean, navigating storms and tides and feeling just like us. Gunderman's accordion sounds like the night sky and O'Brien's mando sounds like the choppy, salty and deep water.
11. Just the Other Side of Nowhere (Kris Kristofferson)
Kris Kristofferson's parents were disappointed when he decided to ditch his career as an educator and military man in favor of becoming a songwriting bum. During his early Nashville years Kristofferson often thought of turning tail, and we figure this song to be an autobiography of his imagined retreat. This one may be our favorite Dave Roe bass line on the album. Roe came to Nashville to play with Kristofferson's old pal, Johnny Cash. Just one more wondrous thing Cash brought forth unto this, our music city.
12. Yesterdays and Used to Be's (Todd Snider)
A treasured friend, East Nashville's Todd Snider originally recorded this as a great mid-tempo rocker. We tried to record it that way, but we couldn't make it work. We were going to ditch it altogether, until we thought about what Snider would do, which is to find another door into the truth of the thing.
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