Q&A: Jimmie Dale Gilmore
The Flatlanders’ resident cosmic hippie songbird reflects on the legendary Lubbock trio’s epic run, their new album and the bonding power of laughter.
BY RICHARD SKANSE
If you’re ever stuck in Austin traffic and find yourself next to a van that looks like it’s been attacked by a swarm of paint-happy munchkins from the Lollipop Guild, don’t be alarmed. That’s just Jimmie Dale Gilmore, proudly going about his merry way in his rainbow-colored Gilmoremobile, which was custom painted by his daughter and a friend. “It used to be all white, and Terry Allen said I either needed to paint it or get rid of it,” Gilmore laughs, showing off his van outside of an Austin Java. “I don’t think he’s seen it since this.”
As unique as Gilmore’s wheels are, though, that van’s got nothing on the man’s pipes. As showcased across a solo career highlighted by gems like 1991’s After Awhile and 1996’s Braver New World, Gilmore’s nasal tenor vibrato has long been one of the most distinctive instruments in Americana music. And you better believe a voice like that comes in extra handy whenever Gilmore hits the road and studio as one third of the Flatlanders; friendship goes a long way, but when it comes time to hold your own alongside the formidable likes of Joe Ely and Butch Hancock, it sure helps to be able to sing like that. All three Lubbock expats take turns singing each other’s songs these days, but if the Flatlanders ever found themselves in dire straits and forced to perform just one song to save their skins, odds are Ely and Hancock would pass Gilmore the mic. And they’d all live to sing again another day.
The Flatlanders took 30 years to follow up their 1972 debut, One Road More, with their widely acclaimed “comeback” album, Now Again, then spun off Wheels of Fortune a mere two years later. After that, they all happily resumed their solo careers — but it was only a matter of time before their roads converged again for the new Hills and Valleys, arguably their strongest collaboration to date. We caught up with Gilmore over coffee a few weeks before the album’s release to find out what it takes these days to make a Flatlanders record — and what keeps the three amigos laughing and singing together nearly four decades after they first sat down and tried to write “the longest, slowest song in the world.”
The other day when we set this up, you said Hills and Valleys was your favorite record you’ve ever done. Did you mean with the Flatlanders, or period?
There are individual cuts all through all of our different records that I really love. Both on our own albums and as the Flatlanders. But as an entire album, I think this is the one that’s got the most … well, whatever the weakest point is in it, isn’t very weak! [Laughs] I like every song on it, and I like Lloyd Maines’ production — the texture of the sound is just beautiful to me. It just touches my taste, and I think it’s a record that I would have really loved even if myself and my friends weren’t all involved in it.
Now Again came about after you, Joe and Butch wrote a song together for the Horse Whisperer soundtrack. And then Wheels of Fortune came out of the momentum from all the touring you did. But Hills and Valleys seems to have taken a bit longer to make, and everyone’s been doing their own thing in the interim. So how exactly does a new Flatlanders record start? Does one guy call the others out of the blue, or do you set a date ahead of time to reconvene?
Because we’re on New West now, we knew we were going to do more. But because of Butch living so far away from us now [Hancock lives in Terlingua, while both Gilmore and Ely are in the Austin area], for us to be able to have any kind of slice of time together takes a whole lot of planning. And it’s expensive, because of hotel rooms and travel and stuff and — for Joe especially — having to take time off from touring. What’s ironic is we still hang out with each other all the time anyway, but to get all three of us together at the same time is kind of rare. And then what happens is we never can predict how productive we’re going to be if we sit down. The first time we got together for this particular round of stuff, it was the day after Katrina happened. So on our first day blocked out to sit down and write together, all we could do was watch CNN all day, having our minds blown by what was going on.
It’s hard to work with a natural disaster going on.
All of us were thinking, “We really need to use this time well, because it’s a precious commodity nowadays.” So we would kind of mess with a little bit of music, but then we’d start watching again. But at some point, Butch had a little lick on the guitar that had a melancholy feel about it, and Joe and I both liked it. And then one of us, I can’t remember who, said, “Sitting on the levee …,” and pretty quickly we got a little verse going. It was real obvious that it had a lot of intense feeling, and it wasn’t going to be something we could just toss off, but we got a start on it and recorded a little bit of it. And then it took us about two years to finish writing that song, which became “After the Storm.”
So you got a really good song out of it, but you still picked a hell of a time to start working.
Well, even if that hadn’t been happening on the TV, it’s always particularly hard at the beginning. Especially if we haven’t been together in months and we’re catching up — we really have to force ourselves to get into the mind of, “OK, we’re working now. We are going to write music.” Which we can do. But there has to be a conscious effort … I think the real point I’m making here is that we have to just reinvent it every time. When we’re working alone, we’re songwriters. But when Joe and Butch and I are hanging out together, we’re like a bunch of kids, telling jokes or talking about what we’ve read lately or what all is going on with our families. It’s just a real social thing. And the songwriting together thing isn’t real natural to us. So all of us have to adjust a whole lot to working with each other. And that’s what makes it so particularly wonderful when something really comes out of it, which consistently has. Even the older stuff, like “The South Wind of Summer” and the stuff on Now Again and on Wheels of Fortune. The process was different every time, but the stuff we’ve co-written, I think it’s all been really high-quality writing. And on this last one, I think we were at the top of our form.
Do you always make a conscious effort to write these records together, as opposed to everyone coming in with their own stuff?
Yeah. That’s what got it going. When we did “The South Wind of Summer” for that Robert Redford movie, that was fairly easy for us to do it. And we loved it. I was surprised that it came out so good, and that it was so much fun, because even though we’ve always collaborated on stuff and we’ve all influenced each other, writing together was new to us. So that’s sort of what led into, “Let’s do it, let’s do a whole record.” But that meant that we had to squish it in to all of our separate careers. And then each time around, there’s been different circumstances, different time problems, so there’s never been a pattern we follow.
As hard as it always is to get started, was anything about making this record easier than the last two? Between having had some time off from each other, and the fact that you at least knew you could write together? You knew you weren’t trying something new for the first time.
I don’t know. It’s hard to say. Because this plays into that thing that the recipe is always different. You can never pin anything on just one fact. You can’t just say, “the producer changed,” or “the studio was different.” Everything added up together is just a different experience. All the circumstances are different. In certain ways, I think just the very fact that we can … you know, Butch and Joe and I, we’re not just civil to each other, like some band members are in their later days. Some aren’t even civil. We’re actually still really close friends.
You’re not the Eagles.
Yeah, right! I wasn’t going to mention any specifics. But we’ve never had any of those kind of issues at all. Probably because we didn’t do touring together when we were young. I don’t know. I’ll never know. I think we were just so compatible from the outset, that even if we had played together for forever, I think we still would be friends now. But you speculate about everything.
Who out of the three of you would you say is the best musician?
Oh, Joe! There’s certain things that I can do really well, and there’s certain things that Butch can do really well, but Joe has a broader musical understanding, I think, than any of us. Now, Butch has an inventive musical mind, melody wise, that I think is superior to me and Joe both. But as far as an actual, being-in-control-of-the-instrument-and-playing-with-finesse, or — well, I don’t know about finesse, none of us are virtuosos, so I don’t think that’s part of the equation — but I think Joe is all around …
The big-picture guy.
Yeah. He hears harmonies and things like that. Joe was, from the beginning, always more of a band guy than either Butch or I. We played in bands, but it’s more like we’re a singer up here doing our thing, and the band is helping out. But with Joe, it’s like the band is the whole thing. The way the band works together, all the parts … he hears it that way.
Joe produced the last two albums. What made y’all decide to go with Lloyd for this one?
I don’t think it was any kind of a specific, conscious decision. It was more along the lines of the way we’ve always been. We like to experiment. I’d thought about how great it would be for Lloyd to produce something by us for forever, but I think I’d gotten it in my head that he wouldn’t want to — that’s he’s out of our league now or something! But when we approached him with the idea, he just immediately went, “Oh, wow. Yeah!” And there was no debate on our end. Lloyd just knows so much about how he wants things to sound, and how to make it sound that way. And another big factor that always plays into the whole thing is just the interworkings of the band members. Lloyd and Robbie Gjersoe — who’s like my favorite guitarist now in four or five different ways — are playing all the way through the record, and it’s almost like there’s telepathy between them. And then it’s got Glenn Fukunaga on bass and Rafael Gayol on drums, and I just don’t think there’s any group in Los Angeles or New York or anywhere that could top that.
You’ve got the rest of the “original” Flatlanders lineup on the record, too, right?
Yeah. The bass player for the very first record, Syl Rice, passed away several years ago. But Tony Pearson flew in from Portland to play mandolin and sing a lot of harmonies, and Steve Wesson, who lives in Salado, came in, too — you can hear his saw in there pretty clearly.
Your son, Colin Gilmore, doesn’t play on the record, but you did record one of his songs for it: “The Way We Are.” Did he have to pitch that?
Oh no. Joe and Butch really like Colin’s songwriting. I just played that one day out at the studio — I think I was playing Colin’s CD — and everyone went, “We oughta try that.” Lloyd thought that was a great signature kind of thing. You can take it like it’s the band saying “the way we are,” or … there’s just levels of meaning to it. And Colin was so thrilled! That was probably the greatest pleasure that I could get out of this whole record — just Colin’s reaction when I called him and told him that we recorded it.
Since you’re writing so many of the songs collaboratively, how is it decided who sings what? “After the Storm” sounds so natural with you singing it. Is that how it’s usually determined?
I think sometimes that’s what happens, but not every time. And it’s funny, because people tend to think that who’s ever singing lead on the song must have been the principal, but that’s not true. In our case, you can’t really tell. That song “There’s No Way I’ll Never Need You,” Joe sang that song while we were putting it together. And when we were in the studio, Joe said, “Jimmie, why don’t you try that one?” But again, there’s no pattern, and anything can happen.
Despite the three of you being such good friends, I would have thought there’d be a fight over who got to sing “Homeland Refugee.” There’s a lot of really good songs on this album, but that one … it’s hard to top.
[Laughs] Joe had the original idea for that one, though I would say it was totally a three-way in regards to what we put down on it. But it was really clear immediately how well it suited Joe’s delivery; there was never any real question about that one. But yeah, I think that song is amazing. I think I’m pretty objective about this stuff, and I don’t build any of us up unduly. But I can tell what’s good and what’s not in our stuff, and I’ve told several people that I think that song is like a Townes Van Zandt or a Woody Guthrie song. It’s rich, you know? It’s kind of a work of art. It’s such a topical song, but at the same time, permanent.
Speaking of the topical nature of that song — is it safe to assume all three of you were pulling for Obama?
Oh yeah. We very definitely were all for him. I’ve never met him, but I know quite a number of people around him. Many years ago, Robbie Gjersoe and I were doing a show in Chicago, and this guy came up to me and introduced himself. He said, “Mr. Gilmore, I want to come to your show tonight. I’m a real fan.” And then he told me he was a representative — I guess he meant a state representative. He said, “I really am!” I think he was very new at it, really a rookie. But that was Rahm Emanuel, who’s Obama’s chief of staff now.
Wow. That’s a nice get-out-of-jail card to have if you ever need it.
[Laughs] Yeah. Well, I don’t know him apart from what they say in the paper. I put him and his family on the list that night, but I don’t know if he came to the show or not. Other than that, Butch and Joe and I have never been really radical activists, but we’ve always been very definitely, intensively on the liberal side.
After knowing each other now for four decades — do you have any way of describing what it is that allows the three of you to click so well together? From music to your sense of humor to your politics, what keeps you on the same page?
I think in different realms, each one of us tends to acknowledge each other’s strengths. We actually are all fans of each other. I would have been a fan of Butch and Joe’s even if I wasn’t a musician. I think. I’m pretty sure. It’s not just my friendship with them. I’m continuously amazed by Butch’s new songs, and this has been going on for 40 years now. He still comes up with new songs that I am just amazed by. And Joe is still my favorite stage performer, even after all this time. And I feel a mutual respect from them; I feel like they both really like my voice a lot, and they respect my judgment. I do tend to get more carried away analyzing stuff than either one of them, but even when I try Joe’s patience with that, it’s still real obvious that he takes me seriously. We all kind of recognize the uniqueness of each other. And the blend of us sort of lets each one of us blossom. There’s kind of a standard always being lived up to, a quality control. And it has something to do with each one of us being real different from each other, but at the same time … well, it’s just whatever the mysterious thing is that makes friends.
You said Joe is the most naturally musical of the bunch. Out of the three of you, who’s the most evil?
[Laughs] We’re all equally evil in different ways!
Some might say that you’re the slowest, productivity wise. Butch had a new record a couple of years ago, and Joe probably finished three last week. But apart from your collection of classic country covers (Come on Back) in 2005, it’s been nearly a decade since you put out an album of new songs. You working on anything?
Yeah. I’ve been working on a ton of stuff. But I’ve always been so hypercritical of my own work, and I’ve always been slower than Butch or Joe. Slower than Joe, and a lot slower than Butch, coming up with material. And it seems as I get older, that gets more so instead of less so. But I’m actually pretty close to having enough songs to fill up a whole album, so that will be happening soon.
Speaking of slow … the three of you have told the story before about the time you all tried to write “the longest, slowest song in the world” — which didn’t get very far at the time. Did y’all ever finish that song?
I think it’s still going on! [Laughs] I think every bit of this is still a verse in that song. That was the first time that the three of us ever sat down together to play music. And it’s still one of the funniest events that I can remember. We nearly made ourselves sick laughing. It was that kind of thing where the funniness itself started being funny. I can’t even explain it, but it happened another time when we were all living together and Joe and I were playing chess one night on a little portable chess board. It was probably 3 o’clock in the morning, and we finished a game and set the board up again, and one of the white pawns just disappeared. We looked everywhere for it. And finally, one of us took this little orange seed that was laying on the table, put it in the hole on the board in place of that missing pawn and — well, Joe and I looked at that little seed on the board and just lost it. And one by one, everyone else in the house woke up to come see what was so funny, and they started laughing too. It was just an orange seed!
The saddest pawn in the world.
[Laughs] I really don’t know what was so funny about it. I guess you’d really have to see it to understand.
