It’s no secret that Edward David Anderson knows how to make you think, feel and tap your foot. Anderson and Backyard Tire Fire spent a decade creating music that dwelled in a territory where twang and crunch roamed freely alongside of fetch-you-up-solid-on-the-first-listen hooks and cool melodies. Combined with Anderson’s knack for writing lyrics that could often stand on their own legs without a tune in sight, Backyard Tire Fire was truly the thinking-, working-, every-man’s band.
But Anderson and his Tire Fire mates reached a point in September of 2011 where it was mutually decided that it was time to put things on “an indefinite hiatus.” The band’s explanation that “We all just have lots of other things going in our lives right now” was an understatement: the period that followed was a particularly trying one for Anderson and his family. Part of the process of dealing with it all was letting his muse speak out – and Anderson managed to channel his feelings into some of the most powerful music of his career.
His new solo album Lies & Wishes (produced by Los Lobos’ Steve Berlin) is catchy and hooky and weird and cool – easy to listen to casually and deep enough to provide inspiration and hope if you’re in the market for such things. Anderson has pulled off the feat of baring his soul without making you uncomfortable; of putting a tear in your eye to go with the smile on your face; of providing insight that, at times, bumps hips with some fine, fine grooves.
In short, Edward David Anderson has crafted some beautiful music out of some hard times.
Edward spoke openly with us about loss, love and healing – along with the joy of a cheap guitar, the beauty of a woodpile, and the magic of a poor man’s theremin.
BR: Edward, when I first listened to Lies & Wishes Wilco’s Being There album immediately came to mind – not a soundalike thing, but a definite common vibe.
EDA: It’s so funny that you should mention that. Do you know who Dennis Cook is?
BR: I know his work – he’s a great writer.
Well, Dennis is an old friend of mine; I love Dennis. He’s done bios for me and liner notes … I’ve known him for a long time.
Anyway, Dennis sent me a questionnaire a while ago. There were, like, five questions – one of them was, “If you could have dinner with any three people in history, who would it be? And would dessert be?” Or something like that … “Here’s a handful of questions; fill them out when you have a chance.”
And one of the questions was, “Name an album which has a spiritual kind of resonance with you.”
And I kept thinking about what albums have changed me; have had a profound effect on me. And I kept going back to Tonight’s The Night … Blonde On Blonde … Exile On Main Street … Revolver … Rubber Soul … Los Lobos’ Kiko … all these old-school ones that helped shape who I am as a musician.
And then I was, “What’s something a little bit newer – in my adult life – that’s had a profound effect on me?” I got thinking about it – and the album I wrote down was Being There.
That was the album that kind of changed the course I was on. It made me want to be a songwriter; it made me want to experiment with arrangements and dissonance and interesting sounds. It’s an album where you can hear the Stones and Beatles and Neil Young … but it’s also fresh and different. It was one of those things where all of those worlds collided for me and I wore that album out – I loved that album.
So you’re right on with Being There – that’s one of my favorite records of all time.
One of the elements I feel is common is the fact that Lies & Wishes is so personal and reflective and honest – just a soul-wringer of an album – but it’s not a downer … not at all. That’s a rare feat to pull off, but you did it.
Thank you. I need to give a good bit of credit to Steve Berlin on that one. He took tunes that maybe were a bit down-tempo or whatever and reworked them into up-tempo songs … and I think that really changed the face of the record.
Steve’s one of my favorite people in the world; he’s like my father figure in the music business. We’re good friends; we talk; he’s always willing to give advice. The fact the he wants to work with me on my records is humbling and blows me away – he doesn’t work with just anybody. Steve’s not going to work with you if he doesn’t like your tunes. It’s really mind-blowing to me because I’ve been a huge fan of his for 20 years.
Steve has the ability to listen to a group of songs and almost visualize it as a record. The first time I sent him, like, 30 demos of new songs, he chose 11 of them. He already had an idea of how the sequence of the record should go before we even started. He was able to kind of see beyond to the big picture right from the beginning. And I think he sensed that even though there were good songs, the record needed some up-tempo to it.
And that’s the thing: you’re dealing with some pretty heavy subjects, but it’s not what I’d call a dark album at all. It’s simply real.
Thank you. “Nothing Lasts Forever” is a song that’s written basically for my father, for instance. It’s a song about my dad after my mom died: not having a clue; not having a direction; not having a purpose – completely lost and depressed. Even though he was surrounded by all of us, I know he felt completely isolated and alone.
When I first wrote “Nothing Lasts Forever”, it wasn’t anything like what it turned out to be – it was slower; I was playing mandolin, banjo, acoustic guitar … it was nothing like what it turned into. But Steve brought the tempo up; concocted a better arrangement on the spot. All that stuff happened organically – all those little parts.
He did the same thing with “Son Of A Plumber” – a down-tempo, Steve Earle kind of thing that I had going on, all capo’d up on the steel-string guitar with harmonica. Steve Berlin kicked the shit out of that tune, too. He said, “Let’s make it up-tempo; let’s change this; let’s make this more you than Steve Earle.”
It’s a sweet tribute of a song, but I remember thinking when I first listened to it, “Put a little more reverb on it, crank up the drums and you’ve got a surf tune.”
Yeah! It’s so hooky – I mean, it had a hook before, but I think Steve knows how to bring the hooks out even better. That’s one of the things that make him a genius. That’s why Leo Kottke said that “Steve Berlin is the only producer that knows how to be a producer.”
Now that’s a tribute.
Oh, yeah. (laughs) I opened for Kottke at a gig at City Winery in Chicago and we were sitting in the back. talking about Steve. Leo looked at me and goes, “You know that Steve Berlin is the best producer in music, don’t you?” I was, like, “This is coming from Leo Kottke – one of my heroes,” you know?
Steve has the ability to hear things that I don’t – and that’s why it’s a really good musical collaboration. It’s my tunes and his musicality … and it really yields good results. He’s able to see the big picture and recognize how an album should flow. I think those two tunes specifically – “Son Of A Plumber” and “Nothing Lasts Forever” – were completely changed around and I couldn’t be more pleased with how they came out.
And the result is as you mentioned: some of the subjects are very intense – very, very reflective – but they’re not downers, you know?
That’s the thing: I was glad that there were lyrics to refer to. The vibe of some of the songs is actually deceiving. It’s as if … say … you and I are in a room and you’re talking about some pretty heavy stuff, but we keep the lights up, you know? With a good fire going in the fireplace and not letting it get cold and dark.
That’s right – that’s good to hear.
If you don’t mind, just lay a little groundwork about all that was going on in the time leading up to this album.
It was definitely a hard few years there.
Backyard Tire Fire was a 10-year project. It started in a basement in Asheville, NC in 2001 and we basically – with no backing, no nothing – took that shit national and international. We had a good agent; we had a good manager; and we worked our asses off. We played in, I think, 46 states … played up in Canada … did everything from Mountain Jam to High Sierra to Wakarusa to 10,000 Lakes to Wanee.
We worked really hard … but it came down to the fact that Tire Fire just couldn’t keep on going. You could sense it; it was going to implode – and you could either put it on hiatus or we were all going to end up not being friends.
And to be honest with you, the timing of the dissolution of Backyard Tire Fire was right for everybody: our drummer and his wife were about to have their first child; my brother – our bass player – was just about to get married; my wife’s mom – who’d had a long battle with dementia – was in the final stages and declining rapidly … this was all stuff that was going on. As hard as it was to put Tire Fire on the shelf, the timing was right: we needed to be here ; we all needed to be around our families and friends and people we cared about. After 200-plus shows a year for a decade I needed to be here for my wife; our drummer needed to be there for his family; my brother was getting married … the timing was actually right.
And who would’ve thought that a year after my wife’s mom died, my mother would die? We didn’t see it coming; she’d been battling cancer for a long time, but basically what killed her was the treatments – the radiation damaged her beyond repair.
The fact that I wasn’t on the road meant I was around for that period: I was able to sleep on the couch and be there when she was in hospice; be there to help my dad and my family. I would’ve hated to have been on the road and trying to do both.
So, to be honest with you, being off the road for the first time in a decade was a good thing. It allowed me to be where I should be as a good person; a good husband; a good son. As difficult as it was to take something that we’d built up from basically nothing and put it on the shelf, in hindsight, the timing was right.
And this was the period that birthed the songs on Lies & Wishes.
I think in trying to wrap my head around losing my wife’s mom and my mom, I just needed to write. It makes you reflect on your own marriage, you know – seeing my dad and my wife’s dad watching their spouses go … you realize how temporary everything is and how lucky you are. It brought a lot of songs out; I was able to take this hard period of life and turn them into songs.
Which is why these songs feel so personal …
Yeah – that’s where I was coming from. This was songwriting in its purest form, coming from its purest place – not writing because I wanted a hit, you know? I was writing because I had to; I had to get this shit out.
The title song, “Lies & Wishes”? That’s the last song my mom ever heard when she was in hospice. I brought that song to her. What you hear is basically the demo, recorded in my basement. We recorded the drums in the studio.
I wanted to ask you about the arrangement of that song: it could easily tell its story, played on the back porch with just a guitar – but then there are all those great splashes of sound and the big ol’ drum. How much of that was Steve?
This one I’ll take credit on; that whole arrangement is from my basement. I cut the original drums in my basement, but I’m not that good of a drummer (laughs) so we recut them in the studio. The rest is the demo. There’s a moment in the middle section where you can hear me breathing – which you’d never hear on an album, but Steve said, “There’s a vibe here that we’ll never be able to recreate in the studio.”
And he was right: I was writing it in my basement that morning with the tears streaming down my face. It was the heaviest shot I’ve ever had to deal with: saying goodbye to the person who was always my number one fan.
My mom was the first person to say to me in my early twenties, “Why don’t you write your own songs?” Nobody’d ever asked me that before … I was playing all Neil Young tunes and stuff. Saying goodbye was really, really beyond painful … I was in the basement, exorcising my demons and that song came to fruition.
There’s something about writing from that kind of a place; there’s no bullshit – not even slightly. It’s very pure and honest and you’re trying to get raw emotion out because you don’t know what else to do with it. I’d never really experienced anything like that in my life. Watching my mom go was as intense as anything I’d ever dealt with; I really didn’t know what to do except to put some of this stuff into song and melody. That’s my religion; that’s what I do.
This I can tell you from experience, Edward: they don’t leave you. Every day there’s something you’ll do or say and you realize … it’s them. They’re still with you; it’s just a different relationship.
That’s true: it’s impossible for them to leave you … you are what they made you.
After my mom passed, I went out on tour with my friend John Hickman from Cracker. We did an acoustic duo thing together; I was playing some of the new songs and John was just kind of helping me get my mind off things. My old tour manager from Tire Fire was driving us around, actually. When he heard a couple demos of the new songs I’d written, he told me, “It’s time to do a solo record, man.”
So the songs themselves evolved over a couple of years or so; how long did the actual recording sessions for Lies & Wishes take?
Five days.
Wow. (laughter)
Yeah: John and I did a solo run last fall and went East. I played New York on a Saturday; drove to Columbia, Missouri on Sunday; and started recording the next day. Steve had just played a gig in St. Louis with Los Lobos the night before.
Like it was meant to be.
That’s right. (laughs)
We’ve already mentioned a couple of the songs on the album – let’s take a look at a few others. “Lost And Found” is another one that’s full of big thoughts and big feelings, but that old grunting bass and rollicking drum line keeps the overall mood from being too heavy.
You know, when I demoed that song, I was fingerpicking it like a folk song. Imagine Joan Baez picking with her fingers – that was kind of what I was hearing in my head when I wrote it. Slowly it turned into something else; I took this Tom Waits kind of approach to it … and that really turned everything upside down; it became this unstoppable groove.
What are you playing for a guitar on that song?
Just an old nylon-stringed acoustic guitar that I own. I put a rolled-up piece of paper towel under the bridge to mute the strings slightly so they wouldn’t ring out.
That track is just Steve and I: he’s playing the keyboards, the shaker, and the triangle; I’m playing the guitars, the bass, and the vocal. It’s probably my favorite song on the record – it’s eerie, but it moves you at the same time.
We talked about “Son Of A Plumber”, but I wanted to ask you: the keyboard part is so cheesy –
Yeah! (laughs)
But it’s perfect. It sounds like you found an old Casio at the solid waste transfer station and got it going.
You’re actually pretty close. I think it’s from the ‘70s – a Yamaha wind organ. It’s really chintzy and has this kind of hokey sound. We were playing that tune and trying to figure out what to do the melody on. At one point we were listening to the playback and I saw this weird wind organ sitting next to me … so I turned it on and started playing it.
And we all said, “That’s it.” It’s like something Jay Bennett would’ve used, you know? It just happened to work.
I take it that’s one of the many things you and Steve share: the appreciation for the “Jay Bennett period” of Wilco.
Oh, yeah – Steve was good friends with all those guys and he’s very familiar with those albums. I mean, his knowledge of music in general is through the roof – but he’s a big fan of those records. We’re on the same page.
Steve’s also one of those guys that never forgets a song. Like … “I Miss You” – I wrote that song 14 years ago in my head when I was driving my van from central Illinois to the mountains of North Carolina, coming back from a 2-week tour. I had it in my head and when I got home, I picked up a guitar and recorded it.
When we made Good To Be with Tire Fire in 2010, I thought I included that song in the demo I sent Steve for ideas of what we should put on the record. When I told him that while we were recording Lies & Wishes, he said, “There’s no way you could’ve sent me that for Good To Be because I would remember it. I can hear a song one time and if it’s good, 25 years later I’ll remember hearing it. I don’t forget a good song and this is a good song – you did not send me this tune.”
And I’m, like, “Okay …” (laughter)
And he was dead serious.
“Pins and Needles” – the gentle tumble of the drums establish the foundation, but those angular chord changes between the verses really set up a tension.
That’s totally what that was. I told you earlier about my wife’s mom’s decline with dementia – I would go visit her by myself and I’d take my acoustic guitar in with me. I would sit with her and I would play songs – Beatles songs. That’s what she loved – that and Motown stuff.
I don’t even know that she knew who I was at that point … she wasn’t able to really communicate and wasn’t very mobile – but when I played those songs, I could see her tapping her foot or moving her hand. I’d be playing something like “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and she’d react to that … where you wouldn’t get her to react to anything else.
Basically, I tried to write “Pins & Needles” from her perspective – from the perspective of someone who’s slowly losing her mind. She had this look of concern on her face – this furrowed brow … and I wondered if she knew what was coming. She looked like she was on pins and needles.
That’s what I was referring to in the lyrics – “A melody that bring backs a memory” – playing “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and having her move to that melody.
Edward, these are some powerful and personal things you’re sharing … I want you to know that if you decide after the fact you’d rather I didn’t write about them, all you have to do is say the word.
Thank you. I’ve actually talked with my wife about this; I asked her: “Are you okay with me telling people where some of these songs came from?” And she told me to go ahead.
Because I don’t have to – I don’t always tell people what the songs are about; it’s okay for them to slap their own thing onto it and claim it for their own. It doesn’t have to be exactly what I was writing about, as long as you get something out of it … that’s the main thing.
Plus, talking about it is almost like an exorcising for me; I need to do it. The songs on this record are the most heart-on-the-sleeve, honest songs that I’ve ever let anyone else hear, you know?
Do you happen to remember any of Steve’s reactions when he first heard these songs? Say, “Pins & Needles”, for instance?
Yeah: when I e-mailed the demo to Steve, his response was: “Fucking great – do you have any more like this?” (laughter)
I guess that said it all, right?
It’s fun to send one of your heroes a tune and you get a response back like that – yeah. It was like when Steve heard the demo for “Lies & Wishes” for the first time: he told me that was going to be the first song on the album. That was it. He heard it once and said, “There’s your opening song.”
And he was right.
Beyond the power of the lyrics and melody, I love your guitar lead on “Pins & Needles”. What were you using for that?
That same old, shitty nylon-stringed guitar I mentioned earlier. (laughter)
Really?
I will fill you in on this: I actually got that guitar at a pawnshop for sixty bucks. I was camping and didn’t have a guitar with me; I went into this pawnshop and found that guitar. The thing is, that guitar is the same one that’s sold on the late-night infomercials by that guy Esteban.
Wicked!
Yeah! (laughter) That’s an Esteban nylon-stringed guitar that’s played on almost every song on my record. I wrote all those songs on it. And I literally paid sixty bucks for it.
Who cares, though – it’s got a great sound!
I know. (laughs) I just had new tuners put on, because I’d completely stripped the original ones. All the finish is completely worn off the neck … but it’s an easy guitar to play.
That’s what Esteban says on the infomercials. (laughter)
I love that guitar.
Another specific moment I was going to ask about is on “Chain Reaction”: there’s a little bit of a yank – an unexpected note that takes this unexpected turn … you have a major-theme path started and suddenly there’s this yank in another direction – and a weird dissonance in the background.
Yeah!
Where did that come from?
One of the things I really like about that tune is the guy that owns the studio – Wil Reeves, who also plays bass on a couple of the songs – played the saw. I mean, an actual saw that a carpenter would use to cut 2×4s.
Oh, sure – I know about this.
Really?
Oh, yeah: my father would play the handsaw when I was little … just walk into the shop where we’d be working on the old wooden lobster traps, pick up the saw – and he’d put this sort of s-bend in the blade, right?
Exactly! (laughs)
I was exposed to that before I ever heard the theremin on “Good Vibrations”. Jimmy Page should’ve played a handsaw on “Whole Lotta Love”. (laughter)
It’s a really weird sound with its own vibe. I really love that section of “Chain Reaction” – the middle part with the weird, dissonant banjo coupled with the handsaw? It’s probably the strangest moment on the record. I appreciate strange – it’s right up my alley. (laughter)
I’m betting people will be using the lyrics to “Fires” for their wedding vows all over the world.
That’s funny, because that’s actually the first love song that I’ve written. People have used lyrics from my songs in their weddings … inscribed them on the inside of their wedding bands or whatever. (laughs) But you’re probably right. It is a romantic tune: “I want to live each day like it’s the last we have together” You don’t write that until you’ve seen your mom go and your dad’s just clueless, standing there befuddled and wondering, “What’s next?”
“I want to build fires for you forever” – simple words, but … Jesus …
Thank you. I came home from a gig late one night and I brought in a couple of armloads of firewood – I heat my house with wood. I stuffed the woodstove and got it going again … and I’m standing in my kitchen, looking out the window at all the stacks of wood that I’d split. And it dawned on me: “You know, there’s going to be a day that I’m not going to be able to do this – I’m not going to be able to carry loads of firewood in; I’m not going to able to split all this wood. Maybe it’ll be in my 70s or 80s or whatever … but at some point, I’m not going to be able to do this anymore. It’s a temporary thing.”
And that’s when I wrote down, “I want to build fires for you forever” on a little piece of scratch paper and left it on the counter for my wife to see the next morning. I didn’t realize it at the time that it would be the first line to a song; I left it as a note for her – and she still carries it with her in her wallet to this day. The song just kind of basically came out of that one line.
It really is beautiful.
Thank you.
And to me, “The Next Melody” had to be the closer – that’s your “Moonlight Mile”. It’s the perfect ending.
Exactly – you’re right. I knew that from the get-go. From the first time I did the demo in the basement, I was thinking, “This is how the record closes.”
“The Next Melody” gives you hope. That was basically my mom telling me, “Don’t ever stop doing this; don’t ever settle for anything; keep pushing; keep writing.” That’s basically where that came from.
There were times post-Tire Fire when I was depressed – my wife’s mom had passed away; my mom was sick – and I was, like, “Maybe my thing is I’m supposed to play these little shit holes in central Illinois. I’m supposed to sit in the corner for a couple hundred bucks a night and be happy with that … just try to enjoy the moment.”
And I remember telling her that and she was like, “No, no, no – that’s not who you are. Don’t settle; don’t get complacent; keep pushing forward. You’ve got something to say and you should be out there, doing it.”
I’ve never forgotten that. It was very motivational; very inspirational to get that feedback from her in the state that she was in.
I’ll be honest, man – that was a very, very dark period. It was easy for me to think, “Maybe I’m not that great of a writer – I’ve had my run; I’ve had my shot … now just settle in …” I had all kinds of shit going through my head at that time. Getting that advice from my mother was huge.
Edward, I can honestly tell you that these songs touched me, just listening to them … and hearing you talk about where they came from only adds to the experience.
Thank you. I really, really do hope in my deepest of desires that people get something out of it.
I hope that someone who’s lost someone close to them hears “Nothing Lasts Forever” and realizes that they’re not alone … and that they will get through it.
I hope that someone hears the song “Fires” and realizes that they might be taking something for granted in their relationship … and they should be enjoying the moment with the person they’re with – rather than thinking about being somewhere else.
Yeah … I hope that people do get something out of it, for sure.
*****
Brian Robbins hasn’t had a TV since April of 1995 – but if he did, he’d watch Esteban infomercials over at www.brian-robbins.com
