True to the Roots: Americana Music Revealed

To Thine Own Self Be True

35 austin, texas | december 2003 Slaid Cleaves lives in a modest wood house not far from downtown Austin. His travels have forced him to become adept at basic automotive repair, and the old van out front matches the image conjured up by some of the stories from the road he has posted on his Web site, slaid.com. Slaid.com. Perfect. A simple web site name for a songwriter who specializes in simplicity. Cleaves tells stories about simple people with simple problems into which they descended simply. There’s sadness inherent in their plight but also a sense of hope. Cleaves’s tormented people still have hope. “That probably started with me being such a Springsteen fan,” he says. “I have an affinity for people who are struggling , and that’s kind of stayed with me all this time. “Oh, it’s definitely observations,” he adds. “Things someone in my family has gone through, or stories I’ve heard. I’m inspired by movies and other beautiful stories. Most of my To Thine Own Self Be True 36 to thine own self be true songs are observational. Usually there are one or two songs that are confessional.” His latest compilation, Wishbones, includes a song inspired in part by Laura Hillenbrand’s book Seabiscuit. “Quick as Dreams” is written from the perspective of a young 1930sera jockey who, many years later, in the twilight of life, composes an ode to a fallen colleague. Cleaves, like predecessor Jerry Jeff Walker, is a transplanted Texan, although he hasn’t reinvented himself as a Texan the way Walker has. Walker is a Texan; Cleaves just lives there. But like Walker, he grew up in the Northeast—Walker in New York, Cleaves in Maine and Massachusetts—and like Walker, he found a musical home in Austin after kicking around and living somewhat the gypsy life. “I never thought of that before,” Cleaves says. “I just met [Walker] last week for the first time. He organized a caroling thing and brought a bunch of people over to his house. We all got on a bus and went to the hospice and the children’s hospital.” There is an appealing naïveté to Cleaves, so much so that there seems to be a disparity between his quiet personality and his song content rife with tempests and inner conflicts. This interview seems more notable for Cleaves playing off and complimenting my questions than, well, complementing them. He is almost painfully nice, and the answers are thoughtful. There just isn’t much to them. I ask about his views on religion, and he replies: “Churches are political organizations. That’s what it comes down to.” Continuing on this theme, I offer my own view that people who suffer from aids are kind of the lepers of this age, to which he replies: “Wow, that’s perfect, yeah. I agree.” Maybe he plays all his cards in the writing of songs. After all, he makes money off those choice nuggets. He doesn’t have to rhyme to stir the soul, though. Cleaves’s Web site in- to thine own self be true 37 cludes commentaries from the road that are masterful, most notably a tale titled “The Perfect Gig,” which almost reads like a short story. “My folks were really into music,” he says, finally elaborating a bit. “I lived in Virginia until I was five. My folks, from high school on, were real music buffs. My mom was into folk and jazz and some country. She was into Pete Seeger, Mahalia Jackson. My dad was more of a rockabilly guy: Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, and others.” I offer my notion that Elvis was overrated. “Yeah, songwriting-wise,” he says, “but Elvis was such an icon. He was so beautiful.” Cleaves is almost itinerant in wandering across the country from club to club. Well, not always clubs. His schedule lists appearances at Unitarian churches in New England; the venues are as disparate as they are extensive. “I was on the road almost constantly for a couple of years, yeah, just because I had gathered up all the things I needed to tour, which I had always wanted to do,” he says. “I had a band together, I had a record that was getting some airplay, and I had a booking agent, a little bit of history and a little bit of momentum. When my last...