by Rob Brind and Kathleen Larrick
More than ten years ago, my sister Rachel and I (Rob) attended a Tim Easton Show at the now defunct The Point. We stuck around while he signed autographs and were the last in line. We all got along so well, he invited us out for drinks. Five or so hours later, he’d lost contact with his host for the evening. He slept on our futon. Over the years, we have both caught up with him at various shows, chatting about life and music for a few minutes before heading our separate ways, but there had never been a repeat of the kind of night that began our initial friendship.
Fast forward to 2013. After attending Easton’s October 16th show and jotting down some notes for our review, he gives us a ride to our car from Ortlieb’s. We caravan to our next destination to continue the interview – Rachel’s new place just outside Philly. As we load gear up the narrow stairwell, Easton is promised that same futon. Four hours later, Easton looks at Rob as he lays down and asks, “Do you know it’s 4:17?” then immediately posts to his Facebook page: Up til 4:17 talking about music again? Played some, too, I guess.
The topics of conversation ranged from Nashville to Rachel’s upcoming World Music midterm – Childrearing, NPR, studio recording, slide guitar, Doc Watson, and the definition of a good song all made their way into the conversation as the hours slid by. And yes, he did play “Summertime” by request.
We also discuss his newfound fondness for playing slide guitar. “No, that wasn’t me on the album, but yeah, I’ve been playing a lot of slide lately. Man, I didn’t play any in the show.” Although his set that evening was neither short nor dissatisfactory to his audience (see: Tim Easton Shakes up Ortlieb’s), he feels as if he’d left a lot of songs in the guitar case. “I felt a little rushed,” expressing retrospective uncertainty about his decision to take the middle set of a triple bill.
Nashville is a common theme in our conversation. Although he only relocated there less than two years ago, Easton seems to have found a home for his music and his family. He talks about the songwriter circles and the gifted artists he’s met there. The conversation naturally migrates musicians like Gillian Welch, who Easton regards with a hint of awe. “I still haven’t seen Gillian at the Kroger… Nashville’s a small town, filled with talented and famous people.”
On the topic of popular country, we ask whether or not he’s fond of that music and its current popularity. In regards to “Cap Country”, Easton doesn’t hesitate. “I would write with any of those guys. Believe me, I’d like to pay for my daughter’s education. I don’t have a snotty feeling about it anymore. Maybe when I was in my twenties. You know, like, that’s not cool.” He laughs, and continues. “You become part of the mainstream when you grow up. I’m still a little rough around the edges and outside it all, but there’s, like my neighbor Will Hoge, he had a song covered by Lady Antebellum, and they made a hit out of it, and it’s a good song. And now he can do what he wants.”
Easton’s three-year-old daughter is a daily source of inspiration. When asked what lullabies he sings her, Easton describes “Ellington Songs – Songs about her day, I try to encourage the good things she’s done that day. Going poopy in the potty is a big one.” Seems she’s already preparing to follow in her father’s footsteps. “She’s making up songs. She’ll just… she does a lot of improv and she’ll just make up a song about whatever is in front of her, a glass of water, the computer.”
Easton also reveals his rediscovered love of puppetry. “Turns out, I’m a master puppeteer.” Punch and Judy style puppet shows on the stairs are usually a hit with Ellie. “I have like seven monkeys around the house. It’s pretty elaborate. I don’t know – I may not be good at all now that I’ve told you this. Sometimes Ellie tells me, “Not now, Daddy.” That’s a heartbreaker.”
We drift back to the study where Rachel is doing some active listening for her world music exam. During a study break, we put Easton’s guitar in his hands and request “Summertime,” a favorite of the small crowd assembled in Rachel’s living room. “I’ve spent so much time with a guitar in my hands. It makes me feel comfortable.” We chat a bit while Easton played bluesy riffs and, eventually, begins to sing. Back to Rachel’s studying, we’re treated to traditional Bahamian music and eventually, Chinese throat singing. Easton is helpful and encouraging; he even learns something new.. or rather very, very old. The next morning, he asks Rachel to remind him of the term used to describe music that is not as much about nature, as is nature. “It means you sing the mountain, not that you sing about the mountain,” Rachel replies. Mimesis.
Over black coffee, we learn a bit more about Easton’s latest album Not Cool. “The cover is actually a picture of me with my Homecoming date. She was the Homecoming Queen. Weird, right?” Not so surprisingly, Easton sports a black eye in the cover photo. “Yeah, that happened a couple days before the dance. Just a bully. Your run of the mill bully.” Other images from his high school yearbook can be found inside the cardboard wallet, a few more photographic studies on the album title.
Easton’s scheduled in Boston at 6pm. He has a bit of a drive ahead, so we begin to say our goodbyes. An hour or so of NPR discussions, Sir Paul McCartney musings and Big Bird political analysis later, Easton glances over his shoulder toward the window overlooking I-476. The sounds of rush hour drift up to the kitchen. Morning is waning, and his cup is empty. “Anyway, I hear the highway calling me. Literally.” Until next time, Tim- you’ve always got dibs on the futon.
