Paul Curreri Discusses California

Photo Credit: Aaron Farrington

paul curreri on California

We were so excited when Paul agreed to interview with us, partially because Ad Hominem is a collective of artists who love to help spread the word about people we admire and think deserve more attention, but mostly because since it was released earlier this year, California has rapidly become our favorite album to put on while we barbecue and drink beer.

California is Paul's sixth album, and if this is the first you're hearing of him this is the perfect time to start shopping. If you're into singer-songwriter types, Paul is like all of those guys but better.

Never mind the fact that he plays all the instruments on the album, or even that it contains a special appearance by his beautiful and talented wife, internationally acclaimed artist Devon Sproule. How about the fact that California is good from start to finish, offers variety and replay value, and is simply a beautiful and versatile listening experience. Buy it now and wear it out before Christmas so you'll start feeling nostalgic for it again right about barbecue season, 2011.

an interview with paul curreri

Stave Magazine describes you as a "sinfully good" musician. You have also been praised for your lyrical ability, which, according to Emerald Magazine, "stands up as modern American poetry." What Ad Hominem would like to know: between writing music and writing lyrics, which do you most enjoy? Which happens first?

I always find the music first. That’s the easy part — sitting in a room, playing circularly, allowing ideas to develop and branch off. It’s meditation, it’s hooky. I do that every day — not to write songs, but to simply play music. Eventually it’s time to eat, and you put the guitar down and the music floats away to wherever it belongs. The next day you play something else.

Now, if the taxman and his cigar say it’s time to write a song — to write and FINISH a song — then those pesky lyrics come marching in, all cocky and declaring themselves necessary if y’wanna pay rent. Now, if you hear a piece of jazz, classical, any instrumental wordless piece of music, the tune hasn’t been narrowed; it could be about anything related to the SOUND of the music. Same goes for a song in a foreign language. And that’s beautiful, musical.

If I’m in the wrong headspace, lyrics can feel as though they want to nail the music’s foot to the train track. They aim to force me to declare what the damn thing is about, how many times I’ll play one section before another. They want to try and put a cap on the music’s content possibilities. But if I get lucky, I remember to take a second to ask why this particular piece of music feels so good to play, to determine how I’ve been feeling as I’ve been playing it. From there, it’s a matter of dashing to compose lyrics that match the findings, that accentuate, that somehow point in a direction but don’t hold anybody’s hand, that keep the lid open.

Do you ever hit "writer's block," either on the lyrical or musical front? If so, how do you surmount it?

I suppose so, but it’s been at least five years since a block was anything worth speaking of. If music seems a flat chore, I’ll put on a record of something that truly touches me, that always has. And boom, I’m reminded of my capacity to be inspired -- “Pray On, My Child,” by the Staples Singers. If I don’t hear anything novel coming out’ve my guitar, I’ll pop something in the player that has nothing to do with my personal understanding of my own technique or instrument. Maybe I’ll try and emulate the essential rhythm of a guimbre; maybe I’ll loop an odd Ethiopian beat and see what it drags out’ve my guitar, or maybe I’ll just listen to Television or Wire. If I can’t remember why I write lyrics, I’ll read short stories by Tennessee Williams or Steinbeck, or maybe just stare at Bill Steig illustrations.

Regarding that block five or six years back, I’m not sure what that was all about — all I know is that it was terrifying, man. Maybe I was suddenly aware that a few more folks had their ear toward the speaker, that a few more people might hear it. That sounds ridiculous to me now — worrying about how my work might fit into other people’s lives. After all, I don’t think my tastes are particularly on the absolute sonic fringe, and my life certainly doesn’t require any unusual nourishment. So in the end, if the music fits into my life, there must be a handful of others out there whose lives it will also dig into.

What led to the choice of dropping the guitar for the simple piano theme in the studio version of "Tight Pack Me Sugar"?

The piano in our studio is a gargantuan piece of space trash. It makes one sound — that sorta honky-tonkish thing — and one only. I’d get rid of it if I could fit it out the door. So every now and again, the damn thing just needs coddling. And thankfully, every now again, the right song comes along. “Tight Pack” seemed sorta like a boat swaying all seasick, and our piano majored in seasick in college. Honestly, I prefer the guitar arrangement to the piano (though I’m fond of the Randy Newman-inspired melodica section on that recording). But in the end, I knew that I could play the guitar arrangement every night if I wanted to, where as I’d only get one shot at making the piano version public.

The verdict is in, and most reviewers agree that California is a wonderfully versatile album that, as Tin Angel Records proclaims, "covers a lot of sonic ground." Ad Hominem definitely agrees, and enjoys the fact the album can be played through and through without any growing repetitive, falling into any tonal ruts, and without any track skipping. As you listen to folks discuss your work, however, are there any songs that you feel get neglected? To which you wish people would pay more attention?

Well, first off, thanks for that. To answer your question, I know it sounds like I should be wearing a beret or using words like “investigate the juxtaposition of” (“I am an artiste!”), but my brainhole doesn’t actually retain much of the info in the majority of reviews. I sorta skim them to see if they were positive or negative. And while I truly appreciate the positive ones, it’s only the negative ones that I really remember. Or the ones where I have to look up a word. ‘Hirsute.’ Yep, okay. ‘Bombastic.’ Well, now, that SOUNDS positive, but you better look it up before you include it in your press kit. I also remember the ones that are categorically incorrect, the ones where I had intensive surgery following a motorcycle accident, where every song is a love song on solo guitar, and where I’m married to Dawn Landes (all three of those were actually in the same review of California). So no, I don’t have any tunes whose hair I have to stroke to get them to sleep. I will say that when folks tell me that Spirit of the Staircase (third record) is their favorite, I feel a hint of pride for that little red-headed stepchild of an album dream-catching some love.

Does Devon have a favorite Paul song? Does Paul have a favorite Devon song?

Maybe she would say the rap video I made for her birthday:

Watch this immediately.

Truthfully, Devon is out right now, so I’ll answer for her: she thinks all of mine are pure genius. I tend to be a bit non-confrontational with her, so I won’t disagree.

From my end, no, I don’t have a favorite Devon Sproule song, but I sure do love “Stop By Anytime” (off of Keep Your Silver Shined), “A Picture of Us In The Garden” (off Don’t Hurry For Heaven!), and a new song of hers called “Unmarked Animals.” The variation of melody toward the back end of “Stop By” brings tears to my eyes — even her version of it on Jools Holland, where she was sick as a dog — real class, if you ask me. In “A Picture of Us,” she sings of her friend who recently passed away from cancer, “I can’t imagine that shit living in your beautiful body,” and it’s the intonation, the absolute vulnerability of the lyric atop a melody line that sounds so exhausted. Reminds me of certain Robert Johnson moments where the melody, lyric, and performance combine for something greater than the sum of their parts. And “Unmarked Animals” will make you shake your booty till the sun come up. I’m incredibly proud of her. She doubts herself on occasion, but her talent is relentless and constantly unfolding.

When you get back from your November Tour in the UK, what's next for Paul Curreri? Any new albums on the rise?

I’ve just finished a soundtrack album for a Discovery Channel documentary about young farmers called “Greenhorns” (both the film and album title). I’m recording a new record with my English band in Berlin this winter. At some point this spring, Devon and I are continuing our collaboration with a group of Kenyan musicians from Nairobi. We went out there in late 2009 (you can read about it online here). There’s talk of the players coming to the UK, and us meeting up for a tour. Meanwhile, I’m also wrapping up a few records I’ve been producing for other American musicians. Saying all that makes it seem like I’m busy, but it doesn’t really feel that way. Maybe I’m happy. In the end, I’m writing, but I’m also tinkering with my old Triumph Spitfire, I’m dragging my ass to the gym, I’m watching the leaves change, I’m wondering what’ll come next round the bend.

Do you plan on playing all of your own instruments for the foreseeable future?

Hell no! For the moment, I’m over greasing the foot pedal of a high hat stand. I want to be surprised by what my English band naturally plays, what comes out’ve them as human beings. It’s fun and worthwhile and interesting to see what comes from stacking the bejeezus out’ve oneself. It’s not straight multiplication. For some reason it makes me think of that crappy cartoon Voltron. I don’t know why though.

Around here, if we went to our editor-in-chief's car and turned it on, your title track, "California," would almost certainly come cranking out of his factory speakers. Who's playing in your car right now?

My car only has an AM radio, so I think the women’s UVA soccer team is cranking right now. But inside the house, I have a much better set-up — I play cds through the DVD player. So here in a little stack are... George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass, a compilation called The History of Jamaican Vocal Harmony, Captain Beefheart’s Clear Spot, Ry Cooder’s first album, Mississippi John Hurt’s Last Sessions, my brother Matt’s record Exercise Music For The Lonely, Waylon Jennings Honky Tonk Heroes, and Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way.

Do you still play with your motorcycle?

Alas, I sold that motorcycle. It was beautiful. 1976 CB 750 in incredible condition. I rode it 6,000 miles through the Blue Ridge Mountains in 2009 — the year I was off after hurting my throat in 2008. And I’d constantly pull over just to look at its lines. It was so beautiful. But when I started playing again in 2010, all of sudden something changed inside of me. Well, first off, I needed some money. But secondly, I realized I no longer NEEDED the bike. I WANTED the shit out’ve it, but I didn’t spiritually need it -- as silly as it sounds, that bike played an enormous role in my life that year. And following that realization, a flood of thoughts came pouring in -- “You drove all that way and you never crashed. If you keep riding you will crash. It’s only a matter of time. I know you hear me talking to you, and ignoring me doesn’t make me incorrect.” Next thing I knew, I was driving a 1979 Triumph Spitfire. I didn’t cry when I sold the bike, but I sure did get drunk.

Any good motorcycle stories?

I’m afraid motorcycle stories are a bit like drug stories.

Since we're primarily a literary blog, we have to ask: who are your favorite authors of the moment?

Steinbeck, Peter Carey, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Finally, do you have any words of encouragement or advice for those artist out there who are still struggling to get established?

I’m proud to make a living doing this, but truthfully, I don’t have a booking agent or label in the states. I sure would love to have those things, to help me draw 450 people in San Fran versus London, to draw half as many folks in Baltimore as Norway. So perhaps I’m not the one to ask as far as succeeding with business. But I do know that it’s very important to protect what you love, to actively pursue and embrace the reasons why you play, to not mistake the annoyance of booking yourself with a waning interest in music itself. That’ll allow you to keep going, to keep existing, and sooner or later you’ll stumble into the alley you were waiting for.

Learn more about Paul Curreri.

Learn more about Devon Sproule.

Buy California.

Ad Hominem Art and Literature Review. 2010.