It’s rare to catch musician Robert Earl Keen’s name in print unaccompanied by the word iconic. As with the archaic bestowal of knighthood’s Sir, the ubiquitous presence of the adjective testifies to supreme achievements. And while, in most cases, such an affixation is worth little more than its ability to inspire an ironic chuckle, in Keen’s case it’s pretty much spot-on.
With 18 albums under his belt (including three Billboard chart-toppers), perpetually successful tours, numerous awards, songs covered by Lyle Lovett, George Strait, The Highwaymen, Joe Ely, Nanci Griffith and the Dixie Chicks, as well as the album Happy Prisoner: The Bluegrass Sessions (February 2015) presently holding down the No. 2 spot on Billboard’s bluegrass charts, Keen has proven himself to be an icon.
In advance of his show at The Jefferson Theater on January 21, C-VILLE Weekly talked with him via phone about his latest album, songwriting and the creative process.
C-VILLE Weekly: Your newest album, Happy Prisoner: The Bluegrass Sessions, is a pretty big departure from the style you’re most known for. What inspired you to take that leap and make the album?
Robert Earl Keen: I’ve been listening to bluegrass forever. I love it. And I feel I’m somewhat locked into it. Frequently enough, my own songs are formatted—not really instrument-wise, but verse/chorus-wise—like a bluegrass tune. It’s an affinity that developed over time, and I wanted to do something that reflected the depth of that feeling.
So, when I decided to do the album, I was working on the title and thought to myself, “I want something that’s unique and sounds original.” But at the same time I wanted it to reflect [all of the above]. It made me think about how my kids used to wear these crazy pajamas that had horizontal stripes, and my wife and I would call them the “happy prisoners.” That’s how I feel about bluegrass—like I’m a happy prisoner of bluegrass.
You didn’t write any of the songs on the album, and a good number of the covers are traditional standards. How did you approach the arranging process? Did you make a lot of alterations?
I worked with the band on this and, yeah, there were a lot of changes. Like, when we did “Poor Ellen Smith” and really made it soulful, adding some suspended chords that I thought really supported the lyrics. But there was other stuff, like The Stanley Brothers’ “The White Dove” that we did just solid and straight.
With Happy Prisoner I wasn’t out to reinvent the format. I mean, I love to do that, but at the same time, the risk is you just don’t do the song justice. So, as with my own [arrangements], I tried to think in terms of what would work for each song. Like, some things I’d say, “We’re going to keep this one nice and sparse.” Other things, “This one’s going to be really in-your-face.”
It was a fun process. I couldn’t be happier with the how the record turned out.
So many of your original songs tell vivid stories about unusual characters. Can you talk about where those stories come from and the process of setting them down?
It really varies with me. [Inspiration] can come from something small. Sometimes it’s me seeing some kind of scene or scenario in my imagination and then taking it on from there literally. An example would be the song “Gringo Honeymoon,” [which] is pretty close to a journalistic telling of an exact story.
But I think every good piece of fiction stems from a true story…that all stories come from some kind of point of truth. It just depends on how much your imagination kicks in. So I try to get a range. Sometimes it’s being as imaginative as I can, sometimes [it’s] trying to write down exactly what happened, because—to [risk] be[ing] cliché—in some instances truth is stranger than fiction.
Regardless, I always feel like I have this inner need to have some kind of wrap-up…some sort of dramatic ending. I like drama—in movies, books, songs, any kind of narrative. So, yes, that’s almost always my intention.
There’s another prevalent narrative strain in your songwriting concerning dead-end scenarios and relationships where things just don’t work out. What’s the attraction?
I think the only way you can tap into some kind of an emotional well is to always be putting yourself into the situation. Even with the smallest of relationships, I think there’s this inner need to have some kind of touchstone or some sort of connection with that other person. And many, many times you just barely miss it.
Those sleepless nights where you can’t figure out what’s going on, and you spend hours and hours trying to work it out—like, “Where did I miss that connection?” or “Why did it dissolve?” or “Why didn’t it come to its fruition?” That sort of stuff is great material for a song. I actually think about those kinds of scenarios more than I do any other kind of narratives. Those experiences fascinate me because it’s something everyone has to live with; it’s a part of life.
Check out tracks from Robert Earl Keen online at c-ville.com/arts.
–Eric J. Wallace