I.F. : When I was a kid and I’d watch sports, I’d get this feeling that the longer I watched, the less I wanted to watch and the more I wanted to actually go play. I’d watch a few innings of baseball and feel a real desire, bordering on a need, to go out and play catch; or I’d watch a quarter of a basketball game then head upstairs and jump around with a miniature basketball and a plastic hoop hung over my bedroom door. My Dad gave me a guitar in my early teens, but it sat behind my bedroom door for several years. In the interim, I became a rabid fan first of The Beatles and then of Bob Dylan. That same feeling of needing to participate actively started building up until just before my senior year of high school when I pulled that guitar out and sat down with the Mel Bay chord book my Dad had given me and a book with the chords to some Bob Dylan songs. I had no intention of writing any songs at that point or even really of learning to play the guitar; I just wanted to play “Desolation Row.” Once I had that down well enough, I turned a few pages and picked up “Mr. Tambourine Man.” It wasn’t until about three years later that I tried writing a song. I’d recently discovered Ryan Adams, and I related to his music differently than I had to Dylan’s or Neil Young’s or others like that: those older songs seemed monumental to me, while his songs seemed more accessible. It felt like those older songwriters were hitting targets that I couldn’t even always see from where I was standing, but I could aim at the same target as Ryan Adams and at least come close. (Of course, I was allowing time to affect my perspective on those older songs. I was also giving myself much more credit than I deserved to think that I could just up and write anything like “New York, New York” or “Call Me On Your Way Back Home,” but I’m lucky that I allowed myself that misplaced confidence.) Part of that feeling of accessibility was the sense that I could write about my own life and small things happening it. So when I went to an open mic from then on, instead of singing someone else’s words to express nearly what I was feeling, I could write a song to say exactly what I wanted to say. An added benefit of having Ryan Adams as my songwriting role model at that point was that I read so much praise for the prolificacy of his songwriting that I figured it was best to write as much and as often as possible. My approach has since changed dramatically; but in that first year of songwriting, I wrote 80 songs, which got a lot of bad writing out of the way and taught me a lot firsthand about what doesn’t work.

I’m curious to know more about the role that your faith or spirituality plays in your work. Do you feel that informs all of your work? Have you ever written a song as a conscious expression of your faith? Do you ever use songwriting as a method of contemplating questions of faith? And if so, have you ever found unexpected answers in your own work?

HtH:   My faith has become an inextricable part of my personality and is an element that is ever present in my writing. Whether I address it directly or not, it is there, sometimes sleeping under the current of the theme or playing leading part. I have written songs as an open expression of my faith. Three are plainly obvious and others support those more upfront songs. I do also wrote to work through questions about faith stemming from my own doubt, but I try not to sing them publicly.  My doubts are my own, and my faith is something that is a powerful and often misunderstood thing. If I can spread hope, love, understanding and a message of kindness of compassion, I’ll choose to sing about that over any song that may display my own fear and doubt in something that’s already been through the wringer. There’s enough fear , and skepticism in this world and I don’t need to be adding to it. That is to say of course that I won’t write a song about loss. That’s different. Loss is also a powerful avenue back to faith.

I haven’t yet answered any of my own queries about faith or life through the writing process. I’ve remembered truths and sometimes eye opening ones, but I think I’d be somewhat of a fool, considering my songs to be a prayer asking a providence beyond all the wisdom man can muster, then expect to figure it out on my own. Where would my faith lie then? For me faith is something you cannot wrangle. It’s a bird you think you might have seen flutter by out of the corner eye in the deepest green of woods while in a torrential rain with no cover. You know you saw it, you know that bird exists now hiding out somewhere among the slick leaves of the canopy, but you can’t prove it, so you write songs about it.  Of course some would argue that you can absolutely “find a bird and proves it exists!”, but I think you understand what I mean. On its face, faith is easily misunderstood. Let’s face it, I believe in a God I can’t see, feel or touch and that is completely ridiculous, as long as you don’t take into account the human heart. I could go on forever, but this is about songwriting.

My faith is my mystery, my fortress, my home, my library and my toolbox.

I’ve known you for a few years now, and each time we meet, the strength of your character impresses me. It’s rare to find someone who gives of themselves on such a continual fashion.  I’ve heard the music business can be cutthroat and nasty, but I’m new here and the last few years for me have been a welcomed blessing and I’ve found artists and mostly everyone I’ve met so far to be incredibly supportive. What is your approach to music as an industry of creators in this current day? How do you see the relationship between creators and listeners evolving in the next few years?

I.F. :  I don’t know what the shape of the music industry is or where my place is in it or even if I have a place in it. I know that the majority of people who I spend my time with are creators of some kind: some are photographers; some are filmmakers; some are visual artists in other mediums; most are musicians. From among the musicians I know, I feel very lucky to count as friends a lot of very talented people: people whose music I love and listen to regularly and repeatedly. Rooting for these people to succeed comes naturally because that’s how I’d feel about any music or musician that I love. In spending more time involved in the business of music, on whatever low level I am involved, I’ve seen how much work it takes to gain even the smallest ground.

Recognizing that has led me to celebrate the successes of people I don’t know or whose music may not be my favorite: I know without a doubt that any person putting out an album or getting booked for a good show or a good tour or whatever has put countless hours of immeasurable effort into their work. Their success both demands my respect and serves as a constant reminder of how much work I need to be putting in, so I appreciate it on that level, as well. Any evaluation of the music industry on our level, of the business of what we do, would make an outsider cringe. I think that if listeners give that even a bit of thought and factor that into their evaluation of the music we make, it could only enhance their appreciation. There is nothing cynical about what we do. There can’t be. There is no motivation for us to do what we do other than that we love it and feel compelled to do it in a way that probably cannot be explained rationally. I hope listeners realize that if they find one of our songs catchy or pleasing in some way, that they can enjoy it purely, because that’s how it was created: the melody was not written to catch the ear of a radio programmer; the lyrics were not written to appeal to a concert promoter. I don’t have a sense of how aware the public at large is of the vast distance between one end of the music industry, where music is created to make money, and the end where we work, where we scrape away at the business of it just to keep afloat enough to maintain the ability to create. I know there are some people who recognize the difference: I’ve seen them at shows; they’ve let me play in and stay at their houses; they’ve bought my music and shared it with their friends. And thank God for them.

A few months back, Christopher Paul Stelling and I were talking about writing an album as opposed to writing a collection of songs, and he began to wonder about writing an album with a storyline and characters that recur from song to song. Of course, that’s just what you did with Jack Rabbit Jones. I’m curious to know more about your process with this album. Did you decide before you started writing that you wanted to tell this story, or is something that you saw developing after a few of the songs had been written? Did you have a plan of what you wanted each song to say and how you wanted each song to advance the overarching story? Were songs coming to you during the writing process of this album that you couldn’t use because they didn’t fit the story you had laid out? Your original concept included additional visual elements: how do you think the perception of the album might have been different if people had seen what you had in mind?

HtH :  I had been thinking about writing a concept album for a while. I kept writing songs that had a similar feel, usually without lyrics. But for me, music always invokes imagery and as I kept writing these songs, or partial songs as they were, I began stringing the imagery they invoked into somewhat of a story line. I finally wrote down a rough outline and realized what I had. I became very excited about it and planned to write the album. This process took a long time, it was gestating for almost two years. Songs changed, lyrics changed and characters spoke one another’s dialogue until I had something that made sense to me. A lot of serendipitous happenings contributed to that story line, including past experiences, news reports and one of my customers at the bar I worked at  calling me King Amish.

I’m really happy about how it ended up going. If it had a small book of illustrations like I had planned it may have been that much more marketable and given people a bit more explanation about its concept, besides being a really cool collectible thing to hold. My budget was tight, so none of that happened. Maybe next time.  I reached intentionally for a grander scheme, in hopes of having the option to whittle it down and compress it into a more simplistic package and I think it worked , regardless of what I personally feels it might lack. This was my first full length and first record with a band. In fact we only had one practice going into recording, so we were all pretty unprepared. I wouldn’t do it like that again. Thank god the folks at the Columbus Theatre are professionals, blessed with a great dose of patience and kindness. But we got through it, and that experience has lit the fire for me.

A lot of artists have been able to create personas for themselves thereby enabling them to distance themselves somewhat from the accessibility of their listeners creating an air of mystery which has it advantages, and I think for those artists it may be a necessary device given that many are socially awkward or may in fact be quite introverted. I identify with being introverted and admit that being onstage is terrifying and exhilarating all at once but haven’t been able to construct that persona, or that schtick per se.  You, as well as your music seem quite sincere. I’m drawn to that quality as I’m sure others are as well. I identify it as a quality beyond songwriting that can be implemented within a piece. Are you aware of this quality, and if you are, is it something you strive for, and if your not, what drives you to continue writing? Do you ever feel as if what you might say what others may not want to hear?  How important is authenticity in your songs?

I.F. :  I have very little idea of how people think of me or my music, and I’m fairly sure that what little idea I do have is mostly incorrect. I know that I am different on stage than off, but that is not intentional: I feel different on stage and react to that feeling. Whatever that feeling is, I come by it naturally and have very little control over it. I know there are some nights when I feel I don’t belong on stage, and I believe the audience can sense that. I do hope that there are nights, though, that the audience feels that I am giving them more than just a recitation of what I’ve written; even if a performer has strong songs, their performance should be more than that.

There are a number of things that drive me to keep writing. On a song-by-song basis, I  write simply because I have something that I want to say and I have some sense that this is how I should be saying it. I don’t write poems or short stories or really anything else; I write songs. I also have the performances in mind, and it’s always nice to bring something fresh to a performance. That doesn’t necessarily have to be a new song: it can be a new arrangement of an old song or even a new approach within the existing arrangement; a new song, though, is the most immediate and recognizable way to shake up a show.

I know I’ve said things in songs that others have not wanted to hear. I don’t know that I’ve written anything that’s been patently offensive, but people have told me about lines or whole songs that they’ve not been pleased with. I’ve also written things that I didn’t want to say: depending on how strongly I felt about them, some of those things remained, and some were removed.

I don’t and can’t know how others will judge the authenticity of my songs or my authenticity as a songwriter or performer or person or anything else. My standard for myself when writing is to be honest at all times. I try to maintain that standard when I perform and continue to believe what I’m singing; audiences are smart enough to recognize when someone doesn’t believe their own song or doesn’t feel that song deeply enough to share it in a way that would be worth the audience’s time. Authenticity is difficult to pinpoint, but I think it includes all of that and more. I certainly don’t want to give any less than what I’d expect from the music and musicians that I listen to.

Your transition from solo performer to bandleader seems to have occurred seamlessly.  Was your selection of bandmates driven by a sound that you had in mind for your new material, or did that sound develop as a result of the people with whom you chose to work? Was your plan to assemble a band that would stay together beyond the recording of Jack Rabbit Jones, or was your focus solely on that record at that point? You surrounded yourself with good musicians who are also good people: was that a conscious decision when you were determining who to pursue to be in your band, or was good fortune involved in that regard?

HtH:  “Seems” might be the operative word here, I find myself struggling with even the smallest of tasks sometimes, and putting a band together the way that I did felt insurmountable at the time. I think I stitched a lot of really great and talented people together and forced them to play and sing songs they weren’t familiar with.  Actually, I may have just asked. I’m the furthest thing from being intimidating or anything resembling a task master of any sort. The original plan was to stay solo after the album was released, with the exception of a few shows.  I think their enthusiasm and care for the work I wanted to present was an energizing and edifying component in the decision to keep the band going. I always knew I wanted to work with Allysen because she’s played such a supportive role in my life when it comes to music. We met digitally before we met in person and I was in love with her work. She was encouraging and enthusiastic and she is one heck of a friend to have in your corner. She’s become quite a close friend and confidant over the last few years, and has always gone out of her way to add me to a bill or send people my way that she thought would benefit from hearing my music or I would benefit by meeting them. So she was a shoe-in. Our mandolin player Stephen, was the other. He’s not only a great player but one of the kindest souls you’ll ever meet.  He seemed to get what I was trying to say musically even before Jack Rabbit Jones was a glimmer of a thought. We had met at an open mic down in westerly that my friend Keith Cowley put togetherness few years back. Stephen sat right up from and was wearing these round rimmed glasses that were all steamed up from the soggy New England winter rain. He was so incredibly intense, staring at me while I performed songs meant to be heard by nobody, that I thought the dude was angry at me or something, that I might be the next local news tragedy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. We talked that night and ended up fast friends. We got together a bunch of times in a church by the beach with some other friends, just to play and write music. It was great. Stephen has a great attitude and loses himself in the music. He simply loved what we were doing and it was contagious. I knew then that whenever I recorded my first album, that Mr. Stephen Lloyd Law would be on it.

Bessie, I met, when her band at the time (Castle) played Sandywoods Center for the Arts in Tiverton. She’s a box of talent,and I’ve seen more and more of it the longer I’ve known her. Every practice and show is a pleasure, not to mention her affinity for puns and odd humor.

The elements the upright brings to the band are immeasurable. Amato taps into a great many of them during one of our sets. I didn’t know either Bessie or Amato too well if at all when I first asked them to be part of the project, little did I know how invaluable they’d become in continuing the sounds we had created. Sadly, Allysen and Stephen are no longer with us due to conflicts in scheduling and the like, so Amato, Bessie and I have been playing as a trio and it works really well.

To answer the question without being verbose (too late, I know), as I tend to be, yes putting good people in the same room to create music was always my intent. But the benefits and serendipitous events that happened surrounding the making of this record, I can’t take credit for. Like Mandolin. That song was magical to record for me. My good friend Sister Mary dropped in for it, a few folks from Snakewagon and folks from Eastern Phoebes lent their voices. I don’t remember how many takes we did, but it was a lot and I loved every minute of it. All those wonderful people singing in the studio hallway of the Columbus Theatre while Ben and Jeff, two guys I have such great admiration for, toiling endlessly to get the right sounds, made my heart hurt in the best ways possible. I can’t fathom ever putting out that record now without any one of the many souls that were part of it.

I did have a “bigger, more orchestral/church choir” sound in mind, but instead of huge numbers of people, I was blessed with a handful, that possessed huge amounts of talent. Of course the sound evolved as we went but mostly after recording. Remember, we only had one full legitimate practice beforehand. Now as a trio I think we are a lot more sensitive to things like voicing  and spacing within the song. It’s come along quite nicely and it is something I’m very proud of.

The last time I saw you, I mentioned, half jokingly, that I would ask you what your favorite food was. Well, I wasn’t half joking at all.

What is your favorite food?

It might seem like a pointless endeavor to inquire about what type of materials you choose to ingest, but I find it can be a very revealing and insightful device of conversation. Also, what other interests do you pursue other than music, none of us are soley one dimensional.

I.F. :  My favorite food is turkey pot pie homemade by my Mom. It’s a post-Thanksgiving treat every year; in fact, I look forward to it much more than Thanksgiving dinner itself.

Well, a lot of my interests other than writing and performing are still music-based. Much of the reading I do concerns the history of the music and musicians I listen to. I supplement that with reading about music I don’t listen to, including artist interview, magazine profiles, and album and show reviews. The rest of the reading I do tends to concern history, primarily U.S. history. I don’t know or read a lot about any particular time or event, though; I’m not a Civil War buff or anything. If I’m just looking for something to do on a night that I’m not playing or attending a show, the first thing I check is what’s playing at the local cinemas. Though I don’t do much movie-watching, I do enjoy moviegoing.

I asked you last about the transition from solo performer to bandleader. Now I’m curious to know how that transition continues. While your last album was made after only one rehearsal, you’ve now been a cohesive unit for several months now, playing many shows together a developing a distinct and well-liked sound. So how does your approach change with your next project? Will the entire process be a collaborative one, or are there still parts that you will approach on your own before bringing in Bessie and Amato? Are you considering expanding your sound in any way, or would you like your next recording to be representative of this trio as a unit?

HtH: Being part of this trio has been a phenomenal experience. While the next project will most definitely be a distinct mark for us as that configuration, I am always looking to create new sounds, so other instruments and collaborations are in the works, but minimally. I think we’ve found a comfortable spot for us as a band, and that’s  just as encouraging as it is scary. Scary, because I never want to become stagnant. There’s so much music to make, and hardly any of it can fit inside a comfortable and neat package. Encouraging, because we are able to recognize our growth, and know we have a lot more growing to do. We are excited for the future and what that may hold, hopefully it involves continually making good music. I still write on my own and will always, but we have been writing as a band together. That’s been difficult but I think a good approach for us is to come to the table with ideas that we know may or may not stick, and that’s ok. It’s like making a stew for the first time and you know which vegetables you want but aren’t exactly sure if they’ll work together so well, so you can’t get attached to any one specific recipe until it’s a proven success. The kicker is that if you use the same recipe for a song, you get the same song, so there’s a lot of experimenting.

To wrap this up…You’ve recently recorded some things with Smith and Weeden, how did that go? What was it like to work with them, when will those recordings be available, and what would you like for Christmas?

I.F. : Aside from music altogether, Dylan, Jesse, Ollie, and Seamus are four of my favorite folks. Aside from the work I’ve done with them, Smith&Weeden is one of my favorite bands. It’s always hard to imagine what a song is going to sound like once you open it up to other people to add their own parts to it; but I knew I trusted them, and that trust was rewarded. Based on the reactions that other people have had just to the idea of this combination, I can tell that I’m not the only one who has that kind of trust in this band and excitement about what they’re up to. Trust was necessary for a lot of reasons: chief among them was that I’ve never worked with a band, so I felt at a loss to communicate in the language that seems to come naturally to musicians who work regularly with others. Questions regarding the recordings’ availability, both when and if, don’t have answers at the moment.

I’d like a Davy Crockett doll.

Thanks for doing this with me, Will.

HtH: Thank you Ian, my pleasure.

http://www.ianfitzgerald.com/

http://hauntthehouse.bandcamp.com/

Ian Fitzgerald photo courtesy of Matthew Clowney