Slaid Cleaves
Images of the Not-So-Good Life
by Pieter Hofmann

Austin singer/songwriter Ray Wylie Hubbard once said, "He's got it. Whatever it is." Many would agree. While Slaid Cleaves may not and probably will never be a household name, the folk singer's appeal is apparent. A writer whose songs are character based in the vein of Townes van Zandt, Steve Earle, and Bruce Springsteen, Cleaves portrays suffering souls who dream of better lives. Sometimes they find them, often they don't. Yet a thread of hope always inhabits the composi tions of this Austin-based singer/songwriter.

Now based in Austin, Slaid Cleaves' latest album, Broke Down, is clearly a large leap in maturity and confidence compared with 1997's No Angel Knows. Produced by Gurf Morlix (Lucinda Williams/Butch Hancock), as was his previous recording, Broke Down evokes haunting images. His portrayals of rural Americana are stripped-down vignettes of the not-so-good life. The storyteller tangles his words with doubt and despair, yet small slivers of hope nonetheless are ever-present. There's always the belief that a better deal is just round the corner. With a voice reminiscent of Loudon Wainwright III, Cleaves delivers his best album so far.

From a pay phone off I-95 in Connecticut, the 36-year-old Cleaves sounded somewhat tired. "I woke up in Portsmouth [New Hampshire] this morning, and now I'm here. I've got a show in Pittsburgh tomorrow. I like to tour, but I wouldn't want to do it for the rest of my life." Yet, there are returns. "I do feel like I'm useful and getting something done. I actually just sent a big wad of money back to my wife. It's nice to support a family a little bit," he laughed.

Cleaves tours virtually year round, logging thousands of miles and inevitably stopping to repair his '77 Dodge van by the roadside. He left his '74 Dart back in Texas for this road trip. "It's been a rough couple of months, but that's what I ask for. I'll go out on the road for six, seven weeks at a time, come home for a few days, then I'm back out there."

When Cleaves met his wife-to-be he was already performing. "Well, I've been lucky. Karen knew what she was getting into, and she doesn't have any designs to calm me down just yet."

Originally from a small town in southern Maine, Cleaves moved to Portland after college and played the bar circuit around the city. Due to strong demand, he released a cassette, The Promise, in 1990. The cassette captures Cleaves at his rawest and most innocent. As well, Cleaves was fronting the band the Moxie Men, which became a major draw in the Portland area. It was an Americana band before that term existed. "We had the energy of punk/post punk — The Clash, Replacements — but just on acoustic guitar, bass, and drum. We would play Hank Williams, then Mahalia Jackson, Hüsker Dü, and Tom Waits. It was quite eclectic." Their first and only album, Looks Good from the Road, was released in 1991 and subsequently reissued along with The Promise on a double album/single disc by Rock Bottom Records. As Kevin Guyer, the original producer, states on the liner notes, the Moxies became the darlings of the Portland press but were "large fish-[in a] small pond."

Prior to the Moxie Men, Cleaves studied at university in Ireland. Originally an English major, he eventually veered toward philosophy. While in Ireland he busked on the streets of Cork and found that he could actually make decent pocket money, enough to buy the odd pint of Guinness. Back stateside, Cleaves decided academia wasn't his calling. "I realized that I could play the bar circuit and make enough to quit my 'real' job," he says. While the bar cicuit was preferable to standard employment, Cleaves "...got tired of playing Margaritaville. That was one of the reasons that I moved to Austin in 1991. I wanted to showcase my own music. I think it's been the right decision, but it's made for some pretty lean years as I tried to make my name known on the scene." Even though he won the new artist competition at the Kerrville Folk Festival in 1992 (as had Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, and Robert Earl Keen in the past), Cleaves still found Austin a difficult place to be heard. "I'm playing against some pretty heavy and established talent there, and the audiences are spoiled because the music has been so strong for so long."

Asked if they were indifferent toward him, he replied, "I wouldn't say that. The tough part was getting the people to come out. The only gigs I could get were the entry-level shows. In the beginning I played the street, open mikes. The only paid gig I could get would be a Monday night, 11 p.m. to 2 a.m., or a door deal where I handed my band $4 apiece for the night. It was a couple years like that, and it was demoralizing and frustrating but it made me work a lot harder."

In 1992 Cleaves released his first official solo album, Life's Other Side. A fine collection of songs, Life's Other Side formed the backbone of material that garnered him the Kerrville award. Cleaves changed direction slightly with his next album, For the Brave and Free, released a year later. Not unlike Springsteen's Nebraska, the writing is stark. Aided by Austin musicians, the disc veered more toward country. Yet the overall impression For the Brave and Free left was ominous sketches and stories. "At one point in my life I guess you could have considered me a punk. I loved the music and the whole DIY ethic and I still do, but when I heard Nebraska, that was the nail in the coffin. Springsteen blew me away with that album. Nebraska was so sparse instrumentally and the songwriting so well crafted that I wanted to capture that myself." Through Springsteen's music, Cleaves began to devour his parents' vinyl, which was stored in the attic of their home. Eventually that led to Hank Williams, Sr. and Woody Guthrie, among others.

In a sense the punk ethic still exists in Cleaves. "It's all still do it yourself. I write the material, tour the music, and until recently, when I just got too damn busy, I planned all the touring and financial aspects. A lot of that still survives. But we grow older, and you get married and everything else that comes with age — some things have to give. You have to be a realist."

For the Brave and Free was to be his last album for over three years. While playing Austin, touring and working on new material, Cleaves supplemented his income by being a human guinea pig for a pharmaceutical company, a not uncommon occurrence among the Austin music circle. Cleaves would check into a hospital dorm for durations of between a few days and up to three weeks. The drug company would test specific drugs on the volunteers to learn if the medications worked in the way they were designed to.

"You get paid quite well," he said. "There are a lot of tests and blood drawing. But the money was good, between $120 and $200 a day. You have to watch out for the sessions that pay $200 a day, though," he laughed. "Those are the nasty drugs."

Since 1992, Cleaves had kept in contact with Rounder Records, the label that eventually picked up his next album, No Angel Knows. It was during the Kerrville Festival that Ken Irwin, co-owner of the label, asked friends and associates who had carried the buzz at the festival that year. Cleaves' name kept popping up, and Irwin decided to catch a few shows of the young artist. He liked what he heard.

"He saw me play and showed some interest," Cleaves said. While the initial contact had been made, it would take a few more years before talk began in earnest. "I would send him songs, and then he would say why he couldn't sign me. I realized they [Rounder] wanted me to tour. But it was a catch-22. I understood the process, but to tour — it's really hard unless you have the support. But if they saw me work hard and tour, they would consider supporting me."

Eventually, after years of toiling on the club circuit, Cleaves recorded the demos for what was to become No Angel Knows and sent them to Rounder. When Irwin heard the raw takes, he decided Cleaves merited backing. It was then, five years after their initial meeting at Kerrville, that Cleaves and Irwin sat down and worked out a contract and the essential ingredient — a budget for the recording. Finally, Cleaves had real money to record an album. Irwin asked him what producer he would like to work with so a short list was drawn up that included the name Gurf Morlix. "I quite liked what Gurf had done for Lucinda Williams on Sweet Old World and thought that we might be able to put a good record together," he said. Once Morlix heard the tapes he agreed not only to produce, but to play on the record. With his connections, Morlix also was able to convince some of Austin's finest session musicians to join Cleaves on the album.

Recorded for Rounder's subsidiary, Philo Records, No Angel Knows was released in 1997 and received critical acclaim throughout the country. The new recording benefited from Morlix's production and having a "real" budget. While the desperation and compassion were still evident, the songs were more compact and polished. The tales had become tighter and more refined. Highlighted by the rebellious "Not Going Down" and the sublime ballad Around the Fire," No Angel Knows was one of the best albums of that year and found itself near the top of the Gavin Americana radio chart.

As David Okamoto of the Dallas Morning News said, "...combining the rootsy rowdiness of the early BoDeans with the gothic twang of Gillian Welch, Slaid Cleaves has made the first great album of 1997." Many agreed.

For the next two years he devoted a large slice of his life to the road in support of the album. Touring as a solo act, supported by his acoustic guitar or joined by The Cedarchoppers, a handpicked group of players, Cleaves logged thousands of miles nationwide to get the word out. When he pulled in to a town, the local newspaper's entertainment writer spread the word — "the next big thing." Another town, another stretch of highway.

It took three more years for Cleaves to record again. His latest installment, Broke Down, again has Morlix behind the board, and the pair continues to grow together. One assumes that since Cleaves takes such a long time between albums he must pay thorough attention to detail and the crafting of his music. "Nope, I'm a slow songwriter," he laughed. "Normally a song takes me a few days to do. But the problem is it takes me a long time to get inspired. It took me about three years to write seven songs for the new album. It's probably going to be another two or three years before I get the next batch of songs off my chest."

Asked if the people at Rounder Records are concerned about the dry spells, he says they understand that he is constantly touring and "...I could put out an album every six months if I wanted. I have that in me. But they would probably be lousy. I think they realize that. I'd rather take my time and put out something that I can believe in. And the cool thing about being on Rounder is that you have total artistic control of your work." Complete control? What if they decided that the album would sell better if the songs were sugared up a bit? He laughed. "That's my job."

Broke Down could be the album that introduces him to a wider audience. If not, it may be the next record or the record after that. After all, when you are the next big thing....

Asked why he picked the title Broke Down, he says, "I kind of think the record has a lot of stories of broke-down people. Most of the people on the record are real in the flesh. Very few of the songs are conjured up, but sometimes they do come straight out of the air. Quite honestly though, I don't like baring my own soul for the world to hear. I'm not really comfortable with the autobiographical stuff. A lot of it is what I hear on the streets, what I hear from friends and family."

And with that he leaves the phone booth and gets back in his car heading for the next gig in Pittsburgh. More highway, more miles logged.

This is the full text from Dirty Linen #91.