Portland Based Storyteller John Craigie Shares The Magic Of His Words (INTERVIEW)

Portland-based folk singer and storyteller John Craigie has covered a lot of ground, both musically and geographically, since the 2017 release of his studio album, “No Rain, No Rose.”

Since releasing “No Rain, No Rose,” which he recorded with contributions by Gregory Alan Isakov and The Shook Twins, among other musical friends, he released a stripped-down studio album, “Scarecrow,” (first only on vinyl, and then, after fan requests, on streaming media), he put out a live album, “LIVE – Opening for Steinbeck,” and he went on a stadium tour with Jack Johnson.

He’s recorded his next studio album with Bart Budwig, who was the engineer for “No Rain, No Rose,” and a group of mostly Californian musicians.

In between, he has toured relentlessly, and it’s at these shows, mostly at smaller venues, that he creates something unique and bordering on magical. His storytelling, which is funny enough to stand on its own as a comedy routine, leads into songs that are sometimes just as funny, and sometimes serious. But somehow, along the way, without any sense of sentimentality, he leads the audience to revelations that are inspiring and hopeful. He does the last thing you expect from a folk singer, from a guy standing alone on a stage with a guitar. He makes you feel good.

Before one of those shows—this one at the Evening Muse, a small venue in Charlotte, North Carolina–we talked about his music and his stories.

You open a lot of shows with “Dissect the Bird.” It starts out with this very narrow focus, hoping a song is well received, hoping that your fly is zipped, but then it gets really big. It’s talking about some really big stuff, like how unlikely our lives are when looked at through the lens of history, all the things that had to happen to enable us to exist. When you were writing that song did you start with the small idea or the big idea?

The big one, for sure. That’s a thing that I’ve thought about my whole life, especially doing math at Santa Cruz. We talked about infinity a lot and we talked about probability a lot. I think probably when I was in junior high was when we first started talking about human reproduction, on a scientific level. I had never thought of it in those terms. Being raised in the Catholic religion, there’s a sort of general sense of “Of course, your parents have you, as it was going to happen no matter what.” But then when you start thinking of it in more practical terms, it seems very crazy. You start looking at the odds of all that stuff happening.

And then also, too, my parents just met in a very random way. It’s not an interesting story, but my dad was jogging one day and walking back to his car, and my mom just happened to be walking to something. It was one of those kind of things where it wasn’t “destined to be.” And my father had two marriages prior, so a lot of weird stuff had to happen for them to just even meet, let alone get together. So that was always something that was in my head. I just never knew if it was going to make it into a song or not.

How did you get from studying math to being a working songwriter and performer?

I always wanted to be a musician but I wasn’t liking the music classes at Santa Cruz. Too technical, not very fun. So, I took a few math classes. At that time, at that school it was very esoteric and metaphysical. It wasn’t like most math classes. So, I really liked the philosophy of it. And it was cool, because I didn’t have to be really good at math to get a degree.

You’ve got that story about majoring in math at Santa Cruz (on “Opening for Steinbeck.”) There’s really some element of truth in that? I always thought that was kind of joke, the thing with the math.

No, that’s all true. I think that allowed me to stay in school and be in college, which is a good place to grow in a lot of ways, without being miserable.

When you were on the road with Jack Johnson, I’m guessing those were some of the biggest crowds you’ve played for. Did you learn anything from that experience? Did it change anything for you?

I never was much of a star-chaser or fame-chaser, but I think when I was younger I didn’t know of this in-between that existed. I figured you were either nobody or you were Pearl Jam. That was all I ever saw. I lived in LA and I would go to where the Lakers played, the Forum? And that’s where I would see most of my shows. Or at the smallest it would be like Universal Amphitheatre, which is still a few thousand. As I got into the business I only lived in the small world. It was great. I loved it. But still, I think there was that part of me that wondered about that stadium world. And so, to get a taste of it was wonderful, but I realized that it’s not as rewarding as you might think. It’s a spectacle. It’s a crazy thing. But it doesn’t beat what’s going to happen tonight, at The Evening Muse, in my opinion. And I think even Jack knows that, but it’s a matter of efficiency. If Jack played The Evening Muse, he has more people who want to hear him, and just physically, he just doesn’t have the energy to play 300 nights at The Evening Muse.

Also, you get to that level, and there are a lot of people who are making their living off you, and you have a responsibility toward them.

Exactly. It’s not like other corporations. Like with Facebook, Zuckerberg could take a week or month off, but when you’re a musician everything relies on that one dude walking out there. It’s so crazy. I learned a lot about the functionality and the necessity of the mega-show. And I loved the opportunity, but it was hard for me to do my thing up there. And I was glad for the exposure, but I was so happy when I got back into my little space. But I was so grateful. I learned a lot from Jack. Jack gave great advice as things started to pick up after I worked with him. He had given me advice on how to deal with all those things, and he still does. And not just him, but his bandmates, his agents, his sound guys, everyone. It was a huge learning experience.

When you’re working on a story that you’re going to tell at a show, what’s that process like? Do you write it down, do you record it, do you run it by other people?

I never write it down or record it. I just have to tell it a bunch. Usually a story comes out because I’m telling it to a friend and I find that they are relating to it. Then I tell it at a show and see how it goes. It takes a couple times before it figures itself out.

The last time I interviewed Gregory Alan Isakov he talked about those moments when he knows he nailed a lyric. He talked about writing a lyric at a coffee shop and being so excited about it that he ran home to his farm. Do you ever write a lyric and know immediately that you nailed it?

Well, I’m probably not as confident as he is, but for me it is a personal nail. I can remember when I was working on a song of mine, “I Am California.” I was trying to create this sort of picture and metaphor about a breakup, and somebody leaving, and always taking, and I just couldn’t get it until I was at Gregory’s farm. I don’t know what it was–I was just sitting there, I played at night, and the chorus came to me. I was just really happy because, for me, I never know how well it’s going to be received. I’m not like a pop writer, and so what works for me is if I nail the thing I’m trying to say. Sometimes you don’t, you know what I mean?

I think that what I struggle with the most is that you’ll write a line and it’s fine, but it’s not unique enough. But I remember that feeling of being really happy that that was exactly how I wanted to say it. Writing’s such a great thing. You have a thing that you want to do, but it’s not really up to you. It’s not like building a house, where you buy your tools and you know. You have letters in your head and words in your head, but there’s no telling that you’re going to jumble them right. And that’s what’s scary. If you build a house you know you did it exactly how you wanted to do it, but with a song it could always be better—maybe. But there are times when you’re like “that’s how I wanted to say it.”

Last time we talked you said that as long as you keep traveling and seeing enough things and people that it’s easy to come up with things to write about. Where have you been finding stories from lately?

The news, I think. The climate. Just people that I meet. Or myself, what I go through. I’ve never been like a John Denver type. I was in Yosemite a couple weeks ago. It’s so beautiful. I was looking around at all the beauty and I was like, “I wish I was that kind of artist who could compose a soliloquy to this mountain,” but it’s just not my thing. My inspiration comes from human interaction.

A lot of your songs, maybe especially the ones that are more of the live ones, have a great sense of optimism. I’m not just thinking of “Dissect the Bird,” but also “Presidential Silver Lining” and “Lucky to Be Alive.” Does optimism come naturally to you, or do you use writing to help you see the positive side of things?

I think it’s the latter. I don’t consider myself that optimistic of a person, but I want to encourage myself to be more optimistic. As a person works through their problems they will ideally write it out or whatever. I’ve never been a defeatist. I’m first trying to convince myself and then trying to convince other people.

When I’ve seen you live, performing songs like this, there are certain lines that you get to, these life-affirming lines, and people really respond to that. Sometimes, to me, it seems like it’s exactly what people need to hear at that moment.

I hope so, yeah.

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