Buffalo Nichols: An Introduction, and a Farewell

Carl Nichols’s soul-baring self-titled debut is out October 15th on Fat Possum (he’s the first solo blues act the label’s signed in 20 years, and, as we discussed, with great power comes great responsibility). I loved Nichols’s work as half of critical folk duo Nickel & Rose, and his tremendous vocals, powerful narrative lyricism, and outstanding playing shine through brighter than ever on this new album. I had a great conversation with Carl, who called from Nashville while on the road with Drive-By Truckers, about how he got into the blues and guitar, how his travels through Europe and West Africa inspired him, and how performative inclusivity isn’t enough and how not nearly enough has changed in the world of roots music. Although Carl and I both feel a bit cynical about the current state of the music industry, Carl’s voice gives a lot of hope. As a blog that covers many genres, Petal Motel took this conversation as a call to action to do better. Now, onto the music.

LB: You grew up in Milwaukee, going through your mom’s and siblings’ records, so I’m guessing that you were raised in a household that appreciated music. What did you find in their collections?

BN: My mom had a lot of adult contemporary music. But a lot of, I remember a lot of jazz and Motown and just a little bit of blues. My brother was really into hip-hop, which was nice to be able to hear. As a kid, I was pretty aware of what is now the golden era of hip-hop. And I had a sister who was into more R&B stuff. And then another sister who introduced me to a lot of the alternative kinds of music that I ended up listening to a lot. So I got a nice variety from everybody.

LB: What drew you to the guitar?

BN: It was just the first instrument that I was exposed to. It had a sonic quality that connected with me. I remember really wanting to play the accordion because it sounded cool to me. For some reason in Milwaukee pretty much everybody has an accordion in their basement for some reason. There were so many orchestras in the last 100 years so there are just accordions all over the city. I didn’t have one unfortunately, but I did have a guitar, so that is what I went with. There wasn’t always a whole lot to do in my house, so playing the guitar was entertaining for me.

The first guitar that I really learned to play on was my sister’s. She had a guitar that she got for Christmas one year. And when she got bored with it, I picked it up. First guitar I ever got for myself was on the wall of Sam Goody. We’d go to the mall and see it there every day. And one year, I think it was the day after Christmas, I had a little bit of money and I went to the mall and I bought that guitar.

LB: How did you make your way to blues music?

BN: It was one of many things that I did as a guitar player. I tried just about everything. Any guitar music, I picked it up and tried it for a little while. But once I started playing electric guitar, I went back into my mom’s music collection and I found Robert Cray CDs and some BB King. I really enjoyed learning that stuff. So I went crazy listening to any blues that I could find and just kept playing and just playing.

LB: I’m really fascinated by the fact that you were raised secular, but you went to church to basically find open jams. Did you go there specifically seeking music, or did you also find a little spirituality that you kind of didn’t realize that you’ve been missing?

BN: No, nothing like that. That might be a more interesting story I should probably start telling people. I just wanted to play music and that was what people were doing around me. I don’t want to say it was reluctantly, but I didn’t want anything other than a gig. It didn’t really last long enough to have an effect on me really. I was aware of what was going on in these churches. But it wasn’t any kind of revelation for me. I’d go play the Sunday service or the Saturday night service, and I’d get my little $40 or $50 and just go on with my life. It was just one of many things that I did as a young man.

LB: I guess I’m especially curious about that because of the song “Living Hell” on your new album, which kind of explicitly ponders where you’ll go when you die.

BN: That song actually was inspired a little bit by the time I spent in the churches. I would go to play at a lot of the evening services, which usually had pretty low attendance, and I would hear the vitriol of the preacher and I’d be like, “Oh, this is why no one goes to see you. You’re telling everybody that they’re all going to go to hell.”

LB: You spent time overseas playing in places like Berlin and Ukraine, which obviously inspired some songs like “Lost & Lonesome.” It seems like there’s a deeper appreciation in Europe for American folk music, or whatever it is. Why do you think that is?

BN: I definitely felt that the first time that I started playing in Europe. The baseline level of respect for artists is a little bit higher there than it is here. Especially for people who’ve traveled overseas to get there. But I think the fact that there’s always a certain level of novelty to it, they like it because it’s different or foreign.

There are a lot of great artists in Europe making American roots music, but it’s not ever going to be what we produce here. And on that same token, I think people take it for granted because here, you always have known about it, it doesn’t seem like anything special.

LB: I always thought that maybe people have longer attention spans in places like England – not that there isn’t a thriving and vibrant scene there – but because it’s an island, there’s more time to spend deeply listening and paying attention.

BN: Yeah. I think that is a part of it. And I’m always careful not to give these people too much credit. But I think a lot of it is a certain privilege that you have in Europe. Not everybody obviously, but their standard living conditions are a bit higher than they are here. So people just generally have more time to take in the arts and to appreciate it. I think people can go out and enjoy things more because they’re not facing the constant threat of homelessness like the average American.

LB: I also wanted to hear about your time in West Africa and what you took away from it musically.

BN: I spent some time in Senegal and also here, I’ve played with a lot of West African musicians. The biggest thing I took away from that was just the value of culture. I spent some time with these Griot families and there, being an artist is not necessarily a profession, it’s like an actual position in society.

It’s not something that people are getting into for attention, or for money. It’s this valued role in society, which I think I would like to see more of here. Especially with something like the blues where people have told me, when I was younger, like, “Oh, don’t get into the blues. There’s no money in it.” But it has a value other than the monetary. It means something, it has a history, it’s a cultural art form. So that was what I learned from that time in my life.

LB: There’s an American problem with not placing enough value on arts and artists.

BN: Yeah, absolutely. And I think ironically, that’s why America produces the high level of art that it does. It creates this kind of desperation. You kind of have to give it everything you got, or else you can’t do it.

LB: It’s so commodified too. I’m thinking of what the Spotify CEO said, about artists needing to just put out more “content” and it’s just looked at as marketable assets, not what it actually is.

BN: Yeah. It’s really crazy now to be seeing how music marketing works in 2021. It’s like these words, content. It’s a general blanket term. I don’t see my music as content, but as far as these tech CEOs and the algorithms are concerned, what I’m doing, is the same as somebody who’s reviewing nail polish, or trying to sell weight loss supplements. It’s all about getting people’s attention on these algorithms.

It’s unfortunate that these people see music that way. People are deciding who’s going to get a chance this week. They see music as a product and not as a creative expression of a human being. Maybe I’m being a little bit too romantic about it, because I’m sure as long as there’s music industry, there’ve been people who didn’t care about art, but it’s a little frustrating.

LB: How did you prepare to record this album?

BN: The album is a collection of different periods of my life. There’s some stuff that was meant for another album on there. There’s some demos that I did it at home. There’s some studio sessions that I did in Austin. Every song kind of comes from a different place, with a different intention. And then it was kind of sort of consolidated after the fact. I could try to go and sort of retroactively apply some meaning to it, but it’s kind of just random.

LB: That’s interesting, because it sounds so cohesive.

BN: I didn’t stray that far from a certain theme throughout that time, but there’s definitely a much bigger picture. And this is sort of just the middle of the Venn diagram, I guess.

There was a period where I was trying to make a blues record and some of stuff stuck. And then there was a period which is obviously the not-very-blues songs on there. And then there’s a song like “These Things,” which came after that, where I was just focusing more on just songwriting and not trying to fit into any genre. There’s just a lot more that I’ve done. And that was the one part of that, that fit into this album. Sort of a window into I think what is to come for me in the future. I think I’m always going to revisit the straight blues stuff, because I do enjoy it. But I think this album, it’s an introduction, but it’s also a farewell to these kind of conventions. …If it’s up to me.

LB: Speaking of genre, I was thinking about the [Nickel & Rose] song “Americana,” where you blatantly state that you don’t want to be Americana. And I think in the last year, we’ve seen some changes in the genre, although there’s still a long way to go. And with every step forward, there’re steps backwards. But I inevitably can see your music being nominated for Americana awards and such. I’m wondering if your feelings have changed about it at all?

LB: No. I think one thing I’ve seen, which has been shocking to even me, has been the last year and a half of this sudden push for inclusivity. Everybody was saying “Amplify Black Voices.” Everybody had these catchphrases to show how great of an ally they were.

And a lot of this has dwindled to their varying degrees, some people have totally abandoned it. Some people are a little bit less enthusiastic about it. But I don’t see the genre of Americana as any different. I have to be honest and just say that this is just a diet version of country music.

I think the fact that people have been trying for years, many years to get them to change just a little, and now you’re starting to see a little bit more diversity and inclusivity, I think it’s just a trend. And I think when their bottom line is affected, they’re going to go right back to their bread and butter, which is their Tom Petty sound-alikes.

I’ve always been really confused about even the term because everybody wants to say on paper, it means all of this American roots music. But in reality, it’s very limited. So I think even now, it seems like it’s a big hat and they like big hats in Americana. But it’s a very big hat to wear, to say, “Yeah, we’re going to represent blues and jazz and gospel and rock and country and folk and all the different things.”

Maybe it can’t be done, but if you’re going to say all of these things are you and then 90% of you is one thing, I think you’re going to get a lot of criticism. You just got to be ready for jerks like me to be unsatisfied with everything that you do.

LB: The press release for your album says Black stories aren’t being told responsibly in the genre anymore. And this is your chance to tell your own story in the right way. So I wanted to know what the right way means to you. What responsibilities do you feel as a Black musician?

BN: The first half of that quote, is my own words. And the second half was press release fluff. I don’t even think that I’m doing it responsibly to be honest, because it always comes down to the audience. And the reality is that the audience for this style of music, is predominantly white and it’s probably mostly going to be like over 40 middle-class white men, who are spending most of the money in this particular genre.

If I’m not playing to this audience and I’m making art not specifically intended for white male listen, then I’m not going to get the same opportunities as other people. I’m walking this line between- “I don’t want to play to this audience, but I also realized that if I don’t, I’m not going to get these opportunities.“

There’s a way to be honest about the Black experience without exploiting it, or without watering it down for the white gaze. And I don’t know how to do it. I’m trying. I guess that was my point with that quote, is that I’m trying. I think some people don’t even think about it. So I think giving the effort is the first step.

LB: It feels like a lot of pressure to put on yourself too, to have to kind of look at what you’re creating through that sort of lens, and make sure that it isn’t going to feel exploitative, or for the white gaze. As important as it is, do you find that limits your creative processes whatsoever?

BN: It does, because there’re a lot of things that I would like to say, but I don’t feel like they’re appropriate for everyone. Like certain topics that I think aren’t really worth discussing in the public. I still write the songs, but I try not to release them if I can help it. Creatively I don’t feel these pressures, but commercially, I have to think about all these things.

I try to keep it separate. I just write first and then afterwards, I’m like, okay, what is the most responsible story that I could tell and live with it and also cross it off?

I look at the canon of the blues, which comes from a very different time. And honestly, a different culture when you’re talking about these very rural, living Black men in the South, in the 30s and 40s and 50s. Their reality is just different, so the subject matter is different. And I think a lot of that stuff hasn’t aged well for me. I think some people look at it as the kind of maybe are nostalgic about these things, or they just like the way it sounds or whatever.

But to me, it’s just a point in Black history and I’m glad we moved on from a lot of that stuff. I’m glad that there’s a record of it in the music. It’s great. I’m glad it’s there, but I think it needs to be left there.

I think a lot of blues artists today, they keep digging it up and it’s really painful. For me, there’s so much stuff in the music, that people maybe don’t even realize. There’s so much domestic violence and colorism and different flavors of misogyny in this music. And some people think it’s this funny thing that goes along with this music, but to me, it’s a dark part of the history and I would really appreciate it if people would see it that way.

LB: You’re very much someone who retains certain elements of these traditions that you find valuable, but you also are trying to insert freshness and bring it into the future. So how do you go about doing that?

BN: I don’t think anybody’s really pulled it off yet, so I don’t think I can claim to understand how it’s going to work. I’m just trying to take what I see, that still makes sense from the past and connect it with my own experience. Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to look back and say that I was part of a community that moved the genre forward and gave it some life in the 21st century. It’s not even a goal. It’s a mission.

LB: I would imagine that probably a large part of that process might be telling your own story, which I think this album especially does. Because between the lyrics and the fact that some of these songs are just your voice and guitar and maybe a little percussion, there’s something so intensely vulnerable about the songs. Is baring your soul like this kind of nerve-wracking for you, or are you just used to it at this point?

BN: It’s all of the above. Every moment of my existence, is nerve-wracking and vulnerable. (laughs) Obviously, it’s a lot more pressure to have this bit of attention from the world that I’m getting now. But to me, it’s not really worth doing, if it’s not vulnerable in some way. It doesn’t have to be giving people a view deep into my soul. But I think if I’m not giving something of myself, I can’t expect anyone to spend their time or money listening to it.

Buffalo Nichols is currently on tour and Buffalo Nichols is out tomorrow on Fat Possum. Order the record & check out tour dates on Bandcamp.

Photo credit: Dustin Cohen