Interview: Hayes Carll is losing his mind but he’s much less of an asshole

My grandparents lived a meager lifestyle. Nestled amongst the emerald West Virginia hills in what they called the “holler,” a local colloquialism depicting crumbling roads weaving in and out of woods-laden farmland, their homestead was damn near collapsing even when I was a kid. The roof would leak, and if a particularly-vicious winter dumped a half-ton of snow, well, they were in for it. Wash clung to the breeze; 10-gallon bucket tubs were toys; and the only sounds were that of crickets chirping and washing the lawn in a sea of harmony. That’s the American dream for you.

It was a beautiful thing. Even as an adult, with only their fading memories to keep me warm at night, their lives were both rich and tragic. That jagged dichotomy dances in circles throughout much of Hayes Carll‘s new record. What It Is (produced by Allison Moorer and Brad Jones) empties out into a ravine laced with yellowed greenery, too much dust and a lonesome chest-suffocating ache. He both confronts and soothes, slamming his knuckles into the bar top with stories of the heartland right out of Trump’s land. Tensions snap, and tempers scratch against each other, causing blisters to erupt into claims of “fake news” and other forms of ignorance. “It’s so hard to tell if this is heaven or hell / And I could never measure by degrees,” he quickly evaluates the uncertain tipping of the scales on “Times Like These,” a honky-tonk, line-dance jangler. Later, he seeks to understand personal implications of all the mayhem, “I hope and I pray at the end of the day / I can somehow get my troubles to ease / But I gotta say, it’s not looking good, not in times like these.”

With the snaky war cry “Wild Point Finger,” Carll slithers inside privileged machismo and complicit naivety with its many dangerous and rugged thorns. “It points at the fever and accomplishments of man / It points at all the problems that it don’t understand,” he seethes, harmonica wiggling and wailing in the background. “It points at Parisians across the sea / It points at anybody who thinks different than me / If you’re marching to your own drum or kneelin’ in the news / My wild pointy finger prob’ly pointin’ right at you.”

While lugging around his own baggage, the Americana music man has certainly situated himself as a powerful voice of reason and empathy amongst many of his conservative-leaning peers. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t fearlessly and ferociously cast hate-mongering right into the fiery depths. “Fragile Men,” a torch ballad co-written with soul-pop singer Lolo (real name Lauren Pritchard) back in 2017, goes right on the attack of the KKK and other white supremacist groups. “Fragile men, I wish someone could hide you / I wish someone could guide you through these most difficult of days,” he mocks in enticing, flippant phrases, the guitar breaking off into soul-consuming flames. He approaches with dark humor, which cuts right at the heart of today’s sociopolitical environment without being terribly sanctimonious.

“Lauren was dealing with patriarchy in her career and came into the writing session pissed off about it. She didn’t bring ‘Fragile Men’ in as a title,” says Carll, whose revamped version is a bit more languid and straight-laced (Lolo predominantly leads the original demo). “It just came out in anger as she was describing what she was dealing with, and I grabbed it and said, ‘This is our song!’ Soon after that, Charlottesville happened and the intent go the song became more aimed at the white supremacists, Neo-Nazis and Klansmen. We were just trying to belittle them, and it seemed like making a dramatic spectacle out of how poorly they felt they were being treated.”

“I think everyone has some obligation to make the world a better place and stand against injustice where they see it. I haven’t done that nearly as much in my life as I wish I had,” he considers his role as a straight white man over email to B-Sides & Badlands. Carll, whose “personal life has settled somewhat,” he says, finds himself even more connected to the world’s ever-trembling state. “I’m more engaged with the world around me, and I’m working hard on being present for my life. I learned that my art could line up with my life, that growth is healthy, the importance of being present for it all.”

The wind-up of “American Dream,” a four-minute drive-by through middle America, extends a bit of hope (dipped in melancholy, of course). “Spit and polish the ancient story / Love and glory, gold and greed / Nothing changes, even if it wants to / We go down into the American Dream,” he sings, a choir of strings prancing about the clothesline on a warm spring day. “It’s not so much a typical experience as it is different visions of what that American dream might be. That could be the literal, mythical or metaphysical,” he says.

Cheery quirks bleed out onto much of the record, too. Carll lassos the beauty and eccentricities of his fiancé, fellow country storyteller Allison Moorer, with lead single “None’ya,” a cheeky banjo picker. “Jesus and Elvis” burns slow as a tribute piece to the family watering hole and its colorful cast of wayward folk. “Lola told him Jesus loves a sinner / And his daddy told him music saved his soul / Between the drunkards and the band / It’s a fittin’ promised land / For the King of Kings and the king of rock-n-roll,” he sings. Later, “Beautiful Things” further punctures the tension, hanging thick as grapes in the air, as a boot scootin’ boogey splashed with neon bulbs and electrifying guitar grooves, while “Be There” mourns a relationship’s dying embers. “You got leavin’ in your eyes / And I don’t want to see it,” he craves before finally letting it all go.

Through all the raging storms he’s weathered, sunshine peeking through the clouds from time to time, Carll has come out far more self-aware and willing to challenge not only the world but himself. “Well, I’m still a work in progress. The first part has been accepting that I might have some biases. It came as big surprise to me when it started to sink in that I am not, in fact, perfect,” he says. “Once I got over that shock and found some acceptance with the idea, I started the lifelong process of trying to be aware of my shortcomings, biases and faults. It’s not easy, but I feel like less of an asshole the more I try to do the work.”

Photo Credit: David McClister

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