Darrell Scott – Dreams so real
“The irony is that I wrote those songs — the ones that have become hits — for myself,” Scott says. “I didn’t write them so they’d get cut or to be commercial. I wrote them for personal processing reasons. And the further irony is that they allow me to be able to not worry if I’m commercial or not, to just make my own music the way I want. So, for that, I feel very very fortunate. I keep having this sense that they’ll figure out that I’m really not a good songwriter and it’ll all end.”
Perhaps one reason he’s able to write material which seems so fresh to mainstream country is that he doesn’t listen to it. “It just doesn’t exist for me because that’s not where I find comfort,” he says. “When I want to be comforted, I pull out an old mountain record, or some jazz or something.”
It’s been a good while since he’s turned to country radio. “For me, I became disenchanted way back in the early ’80s,” he says. “What’s missing in mainstream country music is the country roots, the respect for what it’s about. The true essence of country music isn’t being realized by the very people who are singing about it on commercial radio. And it’s been that way since the Urban Cowboy days.”
This doesn’t mean, of course, that country music is anywhere near being dead. To Scott’s mind, it’s freer and more alive than ever. “The irony of it is that the roots of country music are completely alive and well, it’s just that we’re not hearing it on country radio,” he explains. “Instead, it’s at Merlefest, or at bluegrass festivals, or on stations that play Americana. It still exists, it’s just not on the radio. I don’t go to the radio because it won’t be there for me and then I’ll just get mad.”
Instead of getting mad, he listens to great music from his own library, and writes a lot. “I have so many songs, I’m actually many albums behind, in terms of albums that I absolutely have in my head,” he says. “I have them all arranged by themes, styles. I have a lot of material to mess with, and what that makes me do is just decide which songs belong together, mostly by looking at the thematics. Even though I have songs I would love to record — even songs I play live — I don’t have it recorded on an album because I know it’s on an album two albums away.”
Scott can take his time since Full Light is his own label. He stays out of its operations as much as possible and focuses on the music instead. “The music I want to play is broader than categorization,” he says, “so I just follow what I want to do since I’m lucky to not have anyone to answer to. If I want to make a polka album, I will.”
He’s not planning on cutting that polka record just yet. But he is determined to eventually record an album of classic country, and also a collection of instrumentals.
Scott is a man obsessed with and possessed by art, by the process of expressing himself through words and music. “I want to integrate music and writing and art into one form,” he says. “I try to use the observations of writing, the harmonics of singing and playing, the arrangements of music. I love being a player and expressing myself in all those different ways. I just want to get out as much art as possible.”
Scott allows that he’d be able to get more work released if he didn’t stay on the road so much. He loves being on tour and is always humbled to see the fans who come out to hear him, but he has limited himself from being gone too often. He plays about 60 dates a year; with travel time, he’s away from home about 90 days.
After last year’s Live In NC, Scott began to focus on The Invisible Man, most of which was recorded live in his living room with O’Brien, Danny Thompson on upright bass, Richard Bennett on electric guitar, drummer Kenny Malone and many others.
“The people on this record are my friends,” Scott says. “When we’re making an album, we spend more time hanging with the kids and talking about motorcycles than we do playing music. We have real relationships.”
Even more than thick friendships, the players also have Scott’s full respect. “I’m lucky to work with veteran players who still play like they’re 19. They have 40 years of chops, but [they play with] the excitement they had when they were kids. That combination is the greatest thing.”
There is something about Scott’s voice that sounds more alive than ever before on The Invisible Man, an album that runs the gamut from quiet piano-and-strings numbers such as “Looking Glass” (with its lyrics about opening “the doors on cool rainy mornings” and the suggestion that “songs are rainbows in disguise”) to the full choruses and electric, epic arrangements of “I’m Nobody” and “There’s A Stone Around My Belly”. The melodies are infectious and resonant.
And then there are the “war songs.” Although these songs are speaking to the national mood, they are also commentaries on the role of the artist in the world — as much of The Invisible Man is.