Dave Rawlings Machine: Pilgrim’s Progress

Dave Rawlings and Gillian Welch dish on the writing of Nashville Obsolete.

[caption id="attachment_157714" align="aligncenter" width="6000"] Photos by Henry Diltz[/caption] First agenda item of the day: try not to kill Dave Rawlings. It is early afternoon in East Nashville, and Rawlings and I are cruising down Fatherland Street on a roundabout path to the house he shares with his creative partner, Gillian Welch. A minute ago, I had confessed to the lanky, denim-covered singer-songwriter – seated in the passenger seat of my Prius, trying to find space for his boots next to my toddler’s Elmo books – that I am not the most confident driver. This does not seem to alarm him one bit. “Oh, you’re fine, you’re fine,” he says, chuckling, telling me to take a right, and then a left, adding, “but if we got into an accident, that would be really good for album sales. And you’d be, like, the person who killed that songwriter guy!” Since Rawlings and Welch have a new Dave Rawlings Machine LP out in a few weeks, Nashville Obsolete, I feel all the more nervous at the mention of such a ghostly scheme, gripping the wheel tight as he instructs me to pull into an alleyway and park on the grass behind a mustard-colored…

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