Features

No-Confidence Confidence Man

by Bill Colrus

June 20, 2007

A Todd Snider show is a memorable experience. Usually barefoot, Snider humorously and disarmingly strums and slogs through a profound collection of alt country Americana rivaling other performers of his generation, first gaining national attention with 1994’s alt rock radio staple, “Talkin’ Seattle Grunge Rock Blues.” Since then, he’s released a string of acclaimed albums on MCA, John Prine’s Oh Boy label, and, starting last year, Universal. His debut release for the label, The Devil You Know, was a critical smash, landing at number 33 in Rolling Stone’s year-end top 50 albums list, as well as earning a number 25 ranking in No Depression and a number 14 ranking in Blender. A live album recorded at Grimey’s in Nashville was released earlier this year.

Snider, who plays Midtown Music Hall Friday night, talked with The Pulse about fame, free drinks, and singing for Kris Kristofferson.

Contributed Photo

Your first hit was a borderline novelty tune. These days, you’re increasingly regarded as more of a serious and important songwriter. How do you think the content of your work has changed, or has it changed at all?

If there are two things I cant stand it’s things that are important and people who crave being taken seriously. Confidence, too. I hate confidence. Even my own. I think it’s overrated, but that’s three things, so my bad, hoss.
But I honestly believe with all my heart that I sing the saddest shit on the circuit, and I do kinda like the idea of being “increasingly regarded” as anything really as long as I don’t have to dress up for it. Wait? Hit? When did I have a hit?

How have you changed as a performer?

Last year, I was wearing a tannish gold shirt with a vest and a black tie and a Bob Marley button. Then, I switched to a black, checkered shirt with a red tie and a Rolling Stones button. And then recently I got a blue shiny shirt to wear with a brown tie and a button that says “Fuck Art, Let’s Dance,” so I’d say I’ve changed quite a bit. But never the vest. The vest stays.

How did you wind up on John Prine’s label? How was that experience?

I was his driver. He was defenseless. Plus, I grifted his manager, which was easy. His name is Al Bunnetta. He’s an ass hat, and was too busy looking at himself to see me coming. Great friend, though, I’d kill for him. Not a person but an o’possum or a snake or something if the occasion called for it.

What brought you back to a major label?

A guy named Bob Mercer. Old friend. He grifted Universal, which was easy. They were too busy looking at themselves to see him coming. Also, money. I wanted a bunch of it.

How does being on a major label differ than being on a smaller one for an artist like yourself?

Very seriously, none. All the labels I have worked with have been pretty much the same. And by that I mean gracious and giving. No joke. I don’t know how all these other people end up hating the music biz.

How has the Internet helped your career?

My computer is real slow and can’t play music or videos, just E-mail, and I don’t know how to save stuff on it. But when I get a new song, I put it in mail waiting to be sent so I can save the lyrics. And then there’s the porn, which I think just helps everything.

I would imagine that the current goings-on in the world today might provide almost too much to write about for a songwriter like yourself. How do you pick and choose?

I’m always working on stuff. And I agree with you about the world today, and I find myself typing and singing around the house a lot. It makes me feel better, but then, which song leaves the house is always the question for me. They gotta show up for work, and by that I mean gnaw at me during a gig, “Play me man, play me.” My songs are all medicine to start with and some grow up to be tools.

Kris Kristofferson asked you to sing when he was inducted into the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame last year. How does it feel to be singled-out by artists that, I would assume, are heroes of yours?

I have every album and know every word. He’s very much a hero and, to be honest, that was one of the best nights of my life sitting in a room with Guy Clarke, John Prine, and Billy Joe Shaver—waiting to go on and wondering how the fuck I got in this room.
Kris has agreed to sing on my new album. I love him and his family. I would kill for him, and not just a snake or possum.

When you first started out, did you ever imagine that Rolling Stone would list one of your albums as one of the best of the year?

Uh-uh. And you wouldn’t believe the free drinks that come with an honor like that.

Did that praise have any noticeable effect on the number of people coming to your shows or your album sales?

I have a rule in my camp: nobody gets to tell me how many records I’ve sold. I’ve never once asked and never once known and, during the shows, I usually have my eyes closed. But I bet so. You know, I mean, probably.

Do you find yourself rethinking the way you do things now, hoping to match or top a nod like that?

I don’t have enough brain cells left to “rethink.” In fact, I often blow off thinking the first time.

Who are you listening to these days?

Last night, I sat out and listened to Exile on Main Street and then Some Girls
by the Stones. Heaven. But then, I went to get more beer and got pulled over
because I didn’t have my lights on, which was a bummer. Good thing I can handle my booze, or I would be in jail this morning. Cool cop, too, I thought. He said he’d been listening to the new White Stripes, which I also like, but mostly I dig the oldies. They remind me of my dad.

What’s next for Todd Snider?

We’re gonna have breakfast, and then later tonight I’m playing in a softball game with a bunch of musicians from the neigborhood and I can’t imagine not going out for drinks after. My nephew is coming, too, so I may make him listen to Exile on Main Street to clean that Trace Atkins shit out of his ears. His mother listens to Nickelback. Oh, the humanity.

What can we expect to see and hear at your show?

I’m going to wear the new blue shirt with the brown tie. Probably my Jed Clampett hat, too. And then, I imagine they would hear my songs with scattered conversation in the background and maybe some cheering and clapping between the songs.

I also have a new song about a baseball player I may try which reminds me of a funny story about my own hallucinations, but the story is probably to long to tell in an interview.

He’s right. The story is too long to tell in this interview. But it’s not for the Pulse Blog, Go to ThePulseBlog.com to read how Todd Snider’s account of how he became a “tree-hugging peace-loving pot-smoking porn-watching bare-footing folk-singing lazy-ass hippie.”

Todd Snider
With Jennifer Daniels
$18
Friday @ 10 p.m.
Midtown Music Hall
820 Georgia Avenue
(423) 752-1977
MidtownMusicHall.com