David Huckfelt approaches songwriting with a sense of lineage and connection. Known to many as the founding frontman of The Pines, he brings that instinct to the forefront on his latest album, I Was Born, But…, as he revisits songs by writers who influenced him, drawing from deep cuts by artists like Jackson Browne, J.J. Cale, Tom Petty, Warren Zevon, and Bob Dylan, alongside work by close friends Pieta Brown and Keith Secola.
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The record also makes room for voices defining the present, including a contribution from Adrianne Lenker of Big Thief. Huckfelt places his voice in conversation with the voices that came before, creating something that feels less like a traditional covers album and more like an act of acknowledgment, guided by respect, curiosity, and care.
Our American Songwriter membership asked David about the album’s genesis, its making, and its impact:
Dean Fields: I Was Born, But… is made up of other people’s songs, but the song selection and performances feel deeply personal. Was there a moment when you realized this wasn’t just a covers album, but something closer to a self-portrait?
David Huckfelt: Honestly, the record was always meant as a self-portrait of sorts, from its inception to the twenty or so artists who played together on it. Singing another person’s song is like performing a little ceremony, and you’re driven by the desire to do the work justice… the bigger the song, the more room for self-expression. Wearing a crown doesn’t make you a king, but in the alchemy of songs, you can step into another artist’s world and bring the full weight of your experience with you. A Buddhist monk from Ceylon said that no one has attained enlightenment in the last 500 years, but nevertheless, it is our duty to keep all the teachings alive so that maybe one day somebody will click. This is our humble attempt at clicking…
Dean Fields: I Was Born, But… is an intriguing title. What does it mean to you, and how does it represent the songs on this record?
David Huckfelt: The title comes from a Japanese silent film from the 1930’s, but the way it hits me is by counteracting our collective insistence that we ourselves are the most fundamental facts of our existence, the heroes of our own stories. We have this egoistic impression that our world revolves around us, but the fact of our birth really just ushers us into interconnectedness. The dead far outnumber the living, and some of them wrote much better songs than us. I feel the title indicates the offering we make here, that we elevate the collective over the individual and acknowledge our lineage as artists and songwriters.
Dean Fields: How did you know which songs belonged on this record?
David Huckfelt: I probably know about 300 songs to sit down and play on the spot; it’s a blessing and a curse. Lately I’ve been playing “Desolation Row” at some of my concerts, all ten verses strong. For “I Was Born, But…”, I started with a list of sixty songs that had been popping into my shows here & there, and when we went into the studio in Tucson, it was this collection that felt fresh and vital. No lyric sheets, no rehearsals; we cut 17 songs in two and a half days, because I think it was easier to recognize we were just serving the songs. When I find myself drawn to performing other people’s songs, it’s usually a sign for me that it’s time to finish writing a new batch of my own. We just finished tracking 11 new ones at Pachydern Studio in Minnesota last month.
Dean Fields: Some of the songwriters on this record are deeply revered, but not as widely known as Dylan, Petty, or Jackson Browne. Which writers do you most hope this project helps shine a light on for listeners who may be discovering them for the first time?
David Huckfelt: Definitely the artists that I consider dear friends… Pieta Brown, Keith Secola, Howe Gelb… I never met Malcolm Holcombe, but we corresponded before his passing last year, and when I asked him if I could record “Yours No More”, in my opinion, the most poignant anti-Trump anthem of the last decade, he said, “Go for it!” Dan Reeder, too; he was one of John Prine’s favorite writers, but folks are just discovering his brilliance. Dan Reeder can help get you out of what John Prine gets you into; his humour is relentless. I sincerely hope people check out the music of all these artists… I don’t really need to tell anyone how insanely visionary Adrianne Lenker is, but if you’re someone who doesn’t know, maybe stop reading this now and go listen to “Bright Future”.
Dean Fields: When you’re interpreting someone else’s song, what helps you find your way into it while still honoring the original?
David Huckfelt: I think you honor the original by living up to your best guess at the original artist’s intention, not just posing there. My friend Keith Secola says, “The price of a song is for us to become what we are singing.” I’m not claiming any special prowess or power here; it’s the difference between walking into a sick person’s house and asking if you can help with anything, and just taking a look around and getting to work. I’ve heard it said that you don’t have to stay in your lane if you know how to drive and how to take responsibility for where you’re off. I find my way into a song by singing it all day in my head, by playing it for my five-year-old son, by trying it out at an old barn concert series on some summer evening in rural Wisconsin. By singing it for people, not at them.
Dean Fields: Is there a song on the record that feels closest to you as a fan, and another that feels closest to you as a performer and songwriter?
David Huckfelt: Interesting question. As a fan, “Changing of the Guards” is just a thing of pure and absolute wonder; if anyone tells you they know where a song like that comes from, they’re lying. It comes from everywhere; antennae open for miles & decades stretching along the edge of the abyss. There isn’t one character I can point to in that song that I would lay claim to, but I can understand why each one is doing what they’re doing, and why it must be so. As a performer & songwriter, I resonate so deeply with the spiritual intent behind Pieta Brown’s “Even When”; at this point in what’s left of the imploding “business” of music, I and my friends wouldn’t bother leaving the house unless we truly felt those lyrics: “All those pretty songs… out in the world… they can fix things, I know they can.”
Dean Fields: What are some of the lessons in songwriting you learned by tackling these songs?
David Huckfelt: I do think you can learn a great deal by singing someone else’s song; it’s the difference between studying the recipe and eating the meal. You could study your entire life and never come close to writing a song as well-crafted and emotional as Jackson Browne’s “I’m Alive.” I’m forever learning & re-learning the economy of language; what’s said, and more importantly, what isn’t, in the four or so minutes that most songs allow. If you’re looking for a ride to the corner store, and Bob Dylan rolls up and says, “Get in, we’re going to Jupiter”, you just hop in. Warren Zevon could cut your heart in half in two and a half minutes; Dan Reeder, too. It takes Keith Secola all of four minutes to paint a definitive portrait of the indomitable spirit of Indigenous resistance… and you can round dance to it.
Dean Fields: When you step back and listen to the record as a whole, what emotion do you hope lingers with the listener after the final song ends?
David Huckfelt: Well, I’ll tell you. The response I had after listening to it the first full time was absolute astonishment at the musicianship. The Tucson crew, Gabriel Sullivan, Winston Watson, Thoger Lund, Connor Gallaher, and Tom Walbank – these are the heaviest of hitters living off dust + stone out there on the edge of the country. And to watch my Minneapolis friends Jeremy Ylvisaker and J.T. Bates diagnose exactly what each basic track is calling for, and lay it down right there on top like an olive branch, is a thing of wonder. If I had to boil it down to one word, one emotion – I think it would be reverence. To me, reverence is not precious in the sense like, “That thing looks special, I shouldn’t touch it.” Reverence is an action word; someone or some group of people care very damn much about this, so I’d better hitch up my wagon and follow the signposts wherever they point.
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