Brett Bass is being really patient. “Where do you want to do this?” he asks. “Do you have a press pass and does it let you backstage?”
I do not have a press pass. In fact, I have never interviewed an artist face-to-face before. Calling myself press would be a stretch.
He suggest the VIP. I don’t have that kind of clout either. They barely let me in the park. The gatekeeper is a woman in her fifties. The lines on her face suggest she knows she is clever.
“He’s a journalist. We are gonna do an interview. Can he come back for a few minutes?”
“Sure. Who do you work for, Rolling Stone?” she asks flashing her wrinkle-maker.
The VIP sits stage left. The music is loud but this is a bluegrass festival so we can hear each other with just a little more than normal effort.
I flub a compliment about his Unknown Hinson shirt. “My girlfriend’s band opened for them.” Them?! Yeah, lady, I’m the next Cameron Crowe.
I lead with some Man, what are you doin’ here?! questions. “These are such great songs and you are one of the most incredible guitar pickers I have ever seen. Your tunes should be in heavy rotation on every country station. Why do you think they play Florida Georgia Line and that bullshit instead of music like this?”
My phone is recording the conversation. We had agreed on twenty minutes. It’s been seven according to the screen. Despite seven minutes of me fellating the lead singer’s ego, Grandpa’s Cough Medicine is nowhere near the top of the country charts. Time to switch gears.
“When you sit down to write, are the lyrics coming first or do you build on the melody?”
He casts an imposing figure. Brett Bass is probably 6’4” and built like an offensive lineman in retirement. He leans back. Takes a satisfied breath. Almost as if he had been bottling up the urge to tell me how dumb my questions had been to this point.
I’m not sure what to expect. Am I doing well or is this a disaster? He rewards my moment of self-awareness by going off about inspiration, process, his love of playing guitar, the difficulty of being a bandleader, and more. Twenty minutes is over in a blink.
My blood is pumping with the high you get from falling in love or besting a long-standing challenge. I’m making wrinkles of my own. My father is there to witness the birth of this new chapter. He leaves me alone on the hill overlooking Spirit of the Suwannee’s meadow so I can listen to the recording and start writing.
What is this piece? Will it be a straight transcript? Maybe part of a larger review of the festival? Listening to my conversation with a stranger whose music I love is disorienting. It sounds much as I remember from ten minutes ago but as an outside observer I notice some things that were not evident during the chat.
As I remembered, Brett is polite and professional. But the Grandpa’s Cough Medicine frontman does not want to talk about why his band is not a household name. While I kind of picked up on that in the moment, it is so clear on tape. My line of questioning is like asking a teacher who has been busting their ass for years why they aren’t making six figures.
His tone shifts at the seven minute mark. Voice almost skips into the conversation about process. He sounds loose, at home. I wish my readers could hear this! How am I gonna explain it in print? Maybe these interviews should be a podcast. How does one make a podcast? Gonna have to do some research but how hard can it be? Thirty minute conversations about the creative process. Short intro. Make up a theme song.
Now, what are we gonna call it? The...
