Marc Ford is brilliant.
Marc Ford is frustrating.
Marc Ford is not, however, easily shoehorned.
Welcome to his Machine.
One would be hard-pressed to find the proper stylus with which to illustrate a picture of Marc Ford’s career. On the surface of his seeming drought of activity, critics are quick to use the Crayolas. Fans, likewise, are all too eager to well-witch for the first sign of mud, anxiously waiting to Bob Ross the oasis they hope to find just beyond. Perhaps it is best to accept that both parties are wrong. After all, much like blues lore idolizations, some artists are simply rivers. And Marc Ford is a river.
To those who remain loyally upon his banks, Ford has never really stopped being creative or active. He has occasionally dropped from the purview of the less fanatical, and has certainly stayed closer to his Southern California roots. Yet, the last several years of his life have yielded a river bend or two, including a new daughter, while continually pouring downstream towards whatever delta calls him homeward.
Consider his last five years or so: three successful albums, two concert films, a Grammy and a NAACP Image award with Ben Harper; a lauded, successful tour with legend Booker T. Jones across Europe in 2009; three of his four solo albums were written, recorded and released; an international tour of his own in 2007; sit-in’s from Widespread Panic to Ivan Neville; around ten albums produced at his studio of choice, Compound Studio in Signal Hill- including Mescalito and Roadhouse Sun by Ryan Bingham & The Dead Horses, which caught the attention of T-Bone Walker’s entourage. That pairing earned a double Grammy victory for the Crazy Heart soundtrack. There is more, but it watercolors the same impression.
As much as he is a river, Ford is also his own dam, and in this self-made contradiction, he has found peace and what he considers a deeper, more sincere connection to his own art. And as much as this drives his faithful towards a certain kind of brink, it allows him to open the gates and swim in the floodplains, fully vesting himself in whatever he chooses to do, and those he chooses to align with.
More pointedly, every river has an undertow, and Ford’s can seem unusually strong. The quality of soulfulness that has earned him fans for more than twenty years of nearly nonpareil guitarwork can succinctly turn into something else when he falls off the radar, creating a vacuum that is not easily filled. Whether one chooses to look at such situation as self-preservation, or simply selfish, it is not for Ford to say, or truthfully concern himself with. He simply follows where his banks lead. And so his river flows.
Streams of both frustration and brilliance, and the life lived fully aware of both, form the confluence that is Ford’s fourth album, Fuzz Machine. Equal measures of exploration, explanation and exorcism twist and gnarl into Ford’s biggest sounding, most closely personal songset to date. To read Jamband.com’s review of Fuzz Machine, click here
Ford’s creative process seems akin to a millwheel; steadily and continuously diving below the surface of the delta to pull whatever is waiting to be found. The delta constantly, rapidly changes, though the millwheel remains fundamentally the same. A good machine does what it is designed to do, after all.
BF: Fuzz Machine was first a limited release that coincided with your tour through Spain with The Steepwater Band in February 2010. The widespread release was then held off for nine months. As an independent artist, what has the process been like for you to bring this album to the public?
MFF: I didn’t really have plans to release it, honestly. Both times, I did it just ‘cause I thought I ought to. Going to Spain, they loved it, [and] it was an opportunity to have something to sell, so I had some copies made, kind of last minute. Even this time, it was because a TV show (FX’s Sons of Anarchy ) said, We want to put a link to your site so people can buy it”:http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/soa/episode.php?season=3. “We’d like to link to it for a year.”
I love the record and I think in the back of my mind I wasn’t going to officially release it until I was prepared to go out and work and tour. And I really haven’t had the option to do that. I think the whole music industry is biting it, just like everything right now in this economy. But especially the music industry- it’s really trying to find its feet again. CD’s are going to be gone, that’s a reality. It’s a little bit daunting to see it all happening.
So, it’s a lot of work, and I haven’t found a good enough reason to go and do that. I had a daughter two years ago, and she’s way more fun than being on tour [laughs]. So I took some time off and decided I can be halfway home and halfway trying to do something, or I can be one place or the other. And that place is home.
BF: The Black Keys recently stated in an interview that 85% of their revenue comes from playing live. Do you see a point, maybe down the road, where most of your money as an artist comes from playing live?
MFF: I could see how that’s true. It’s a never-ending cycle, once you get going. You have people working, and they all expect a certain amount of income. You have families that you’re supporting. And then you can’t get off tour, because that’s where the money is. To try and build a thing on the road, and actually having a family… either they are going to live with you and be a part of [the road] or they’re just cool to have an absentee dad. That’s the reality of it.
I love to tour, but not when I have to, not when it’s the only source of income, because it becomes a drag, and it dominates your life. And I don’t want it to dominate my life. I want to be able to tour when I want to, and produce, and [do] so many other interests. Spending my life on the road doesn’t really seem quite so romantic in any way [laughs], because the reality of it is that it’s pretty rough.
BF: You toured fairly extensively behind your second album, Weary and Wired with the band Fuzz Machine, which included your son Elijah on guitar and bass. What was that dynamic like?
MFF: The dynamic was hard, man! Not only was it [about] getting to know my son, but it was also me running the band totally on my own, which was really the first time. In Burning Tree, the duties were kind of shared or fought over [laughs], but this was the first time it was all on my shoulders, every aspect of it. And so trying to navigate a relationship with my son as a father, as a bandleader, as a boss… I didn’t know what I was doing, but it was great!
He has since written me a long letter, thanking me for his life and how happy he is. Overall, it was rewarding, fulfilling and exhausting at the same time. And that’s why, until I was prepared to go and do that again, I wasn’t really thinking about releasing this record. It’s dear to me and I want to give it a really fair shot.
BF: Most of the songs on Fuzz Machine open almost in the middle of a dialogue between lovers. Is it fair to consider the album a statement on your love and relationships?
MFF: Yeah, the record was written on the road, and the upside of being on the road is that you get a lot of time to sit with your thoughts. You don’t really appreciate love if it’s in your face all the time- ‘hearts grow fonder’ and all that. And I was separated at the time from my wife. I [also] had Elijah with me, which I was building a relationship with him, which we never truly had, ‘cause I was on the road while he was growing up all the time.
So we were getting to know each other, while the same time I was realizing I didn’t necessarily want my marriage to be over. [The road] just gives you a lot of time to reflect, and there’s nothing more important than love, so you think a lot about it. Most songs are about it, one way or the other.
BF: You are the only connecting thread between your four solo albums, and the four bands that made them. Do you ever envision having one working unit that fulfills all your ambitions and needs?
MFF: No, I don’t think I’d want that. I think in a perfect world, these groups of players would be available to play every couple of years and to revisit. I get very interested in a certain kind of dynamic or style. Playing in a band is like a relationship. There’s limits, there’s freedom, in all of it. But if I start doing one thing for too long, I start to look for a little variety and I’m not at my best. I want to do something intensely, and then do something else for a while. You know, I don’t eat burgers all the time, and I don’t eat Chinese all the time. I like a lot of different food and I like a lot of different music.
If it was just a matter of calling somebody up and going “Hey, set a few weeks of touring”, I would do it in a second. But it’s like rebuilding a career every time I want to go and do something, mostly ‘cause I don’t stay on it. It’s probably not the smartest way to have a career, ‘cause you confuse people and it’s hard to keep an audience, and to keep a group of people together, but I don’t think I’d do any of those well if I could only do one of them.
BF: You sound the same through a range of different gear, which proves that an artist’s sound is much more about their approach. What goes in your basic toolbox, and how do you approach “serving the song”, cliché as that phrase can be?
MFF: A song is a song, and it can be dressed up in a lot of different ways. A song can be sung a cappella or it could be done in a metal group. You can dress up a great song any way you want to, and I think, depending on how I feel like dressing something up, is really what I grab out of the toolbox. If it’s a three-piece or a smaller band, [I’ll use] a Les Paul for a bigger, more spread-out sound that does what I like.
In the Neptune Blues Club, there’s six guys and there’s so much music going on, a Strat works great ‘cause it’s a smaller footprint, it’s more of a direct, “laser point.” I can maneuver around more, and not take up so much space. There’s only so much [space] in [a setting] and you don’t want to fill it all up. Sometimes you want to let the colors be ready to be shown, and not hog it up with a big cement brush [laughs]. I think, more so than anything, [it all depends] on the group and what options will work.
That said, on the Fuzz Machine record, I used a Strat, then a Tele, then I used a Les Paul. I used a gamut on it, depending on the song. I don’t think much about it. It’s probably a curse, and it is why things are the way they are. If it seems right, I’ll do it, and if it’s painfully obvious that it’s not right, then I’ll change it. Sometimes I’ll force my will on it, but I learn, more and more, to not get hung up about things that haven’t happened yet, and be prepared to do whatever I’m walking into and just [react] in the moment. Just being fully ‘there’... everything is right there so you’re at your best, you’re not distracted, or hung up in anxiety.
BF: It seems that the artists we remember most fondly were the ones who mixed quick, sure reactions with the best instincts. Do you think that’s true?
MFF: Yeah, I think it is, because truly great music isn’t “made”, it’s kind of “found.” Music is already going- we just get in a position to maybe grab it and be a vessel for it, and manifest it for people to hear it. And a great player is free enough to really only be listening to where the music is going. It’s coming through you and you don’t get in the way.
I think my guitar playing, singing and songwriting gets better because I’m not editing so much anymore, just kicking it out as it comes to me. You got to have that reaction- the purer it is, and the less work it is- I think it’s more potent. I finally really understand what [is] meant by “less is more”, or “you can say more with fewer notes”, because it’s so direct.
BF: An integral part of your life now is production. You’ve made a home for yourself at the Compound Studio with Anthony Arvizu [http://www.compoundstudio.com]. Of the more than 10 projects you’ve produced and played on there, Chris Lizotte’s “Signal Hill Revival” contains some of the most inventive and emotional guitarwork and production you’ve ever done, including a credit on “broom,” of all things.
MFF: Chris has been a great friend for four years now. We’ve kind of been peripherally in each other’s lives for ten years, but we met and really became friends. It was time for him to make a record, and he had really been liking what I had been doing at the Compound. He had been working at the Vineyard Church as the worship leader there for eight or nine years. My wife took me to hear him sing, and it was one of the few times in my life where I heard someone singing the way I play guitar, and afterward I went and talked with him.
So when it came time to make the record, he said he just wanted to make a record “like what was going on in church.” It’s the same people he’s been playing with for years and years, so that was an easy dynamic there. It was just about going in the studio and making sure everything was set up so that we were all comfortable, the machine’s rolling, and no one has really realized it- which is kind of how we make all the records there. Just set up and no one realizes they’re making a record- we’re just having fun playing songs together. I think he’s getting ready to make another record.
BF: Do you feel that since the record was based around the idea of “worship” that the spirit of the recording was elevated, more so than if it was the typical “let’s go make a recording to take on tour” type of process?
MFF: It was spirited for sure. Worship, in definition, doesn’t really necessarily have to have anything to do with music. It’s the state of your heart, a reflection of God’s spirit back at Him, really. So when you have a room full of people trying to do that, some pretty awesome things happen.
BF: Perhaps your biggest Compound production is Ryan Bingham. You produced the two albums that gave Ryan the momentum to build towards a Grammy victory, and now Elijah plays bass with him. What makes him special?
MFF: His authenticity, I think. That’s what really got me. What you see is what you get. He’s just the real deal and it was really powerful for me. And it was such a bizarre set of circumstances that put me in front of him in the middle of the night by chance- it was like divine intervention.
He was travelling through town with his drummer, and I said, “You know what? I really like what you do, kid! [laughs].” [I told him] I’d do [the gig] for free if he’d come down and record for just a day and see what happens. They were excited and had some new songs, so I got on the phone to Anthony and told him “Listen, you’ve got to give me a free day, you won’t regret this.”
So we ran through five of these new tunes, and then just let the tape roll so they could do some things. They had such a great time and they were like “Man, this is the first time we’ve heard what we sound like coming back at us- that’s what we sound like to us!” In the end, three of those five tunes ended up on Mescalito. I got to show them what I know, and they were more than willing and happy to listen. He wasn’t in it for anything other than the sheer love of it and the need to do it.
I love the guy, and I like Matt Smith, the drummer. So, over the years, they picked up a guitar player, Corby Schaub, a bass player who had to go, and it was time for another record. Elijah was kind of around, it just sort of developed, and now [Elijah’s] got a great gig with him and they love him, and it’s just really cool.
It was a little tough to watch Ryan go up to a whole other [level], but after I got over my initial pouting [laughs}, I sat with him and said “Absolutely no hard feelings, you have to go and do this. You deserve this,” which is what we had been telling him, and getting him ready for. Ryan deserves to be at the top right now.
BF: Have you talked with Ryan about doing another record down the line?
MFF: No, I think that’s obviously always an option, and that’s known between us. Right when [ Crazy Heart ] was being released, we were in Chicago at the same time, and I think all that stuff was said. He knows what’s up- he’s a good guy. He’s hard to get a hold of these days [laughs], but we see each other every few months.
I recorded a band in the last year that I’m as excited about as I was with Ryan- a band from London called Phantom Limb. They have just an unreal singer, they’re great songwriters and we had a great time making the record.
BF: Is that record out yet?
MFF: No, there’s no label yet. They paid for it themselves with some publishing money they made from some hits they had for other people. Last I heard, they’re talking to Atlantic, Atlantic is very serious, and they’re just waiting to find out.
BF: As you do more production work and build your connections, is there an artist or two you’d like to produce and play with?
MFF: I’ve always wanted to make a record with Willie Nelson. I really have. It would at least be fun. Who knows if it would be better or worse than any other record he’s made, but I think I have something I could bring that he would enjoy. He would at least enjoy making the music. It started out kind of funny, but I just keep thinking about it. At this point, I love producing so much that if I get what the people are doing, then it’s fun with anybody. But I think it’s Willie.
BF: You are a magnet for die-hard fans who tend to second guess your choices, but why is it always more important to follow your muse than anything else?
MFF: I respect music far too much to be on a treadmill trying to sell some songs. It’s not a job to me, it’s more of a privilege. It is hard work, and people don’t tend to get how difficult it is to keep it going. To keep it running as a source of income, even just one aspect of it- you start to get locked up in it. It starts to become one dimensional, and when I feel that inspiration isn’t on it anymore, I jump out of it. Because if I’m not happy doing it, if I’m not inspired by the music- then I’m going to be looking around to be inspired by something else. And I’m not going to be doing the music very good. But if I take a break and come back to it, then I will care.
It’s very personal, and if it wasn’t that personal to me, it wouldn’t touch people the way it does. I’d just be another guitar player, slinging some rock & roll licks out to people and be like everybody else that’s doing it. But if people like what I do, then it’s because of how dear it is to me- it translates to them. And I’m not afraid of being broke. Being broke is actually easier than having money. There’s a lot of miserable people with money, and I don’t really have any other reason to make music. Music is a gift to me, and taking care of it, being true to it, is way more important than what anybody thinks about what I’m doing.
