Writer’s Room: Ry Cooder

Photo by Joachin Cooder

With Joachim, his son, drummer and chief collaborator, Ry Cooder has spent the last year recording his first album in six years, The Prodigal Son. Building on Joachim’s evocative instrumental tracks, on top of which he layered a rich bounty of guitars and more, Ry merged timeless American spirituals with three originals. The result is a poignantly heartfelt song cycle about America at this moment. He took some time on his 71st birthday to talk about this album, starting with his song “Jesus And Woody.”

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Tell me about the song “Jesus And Woody.” What inspired that track?

Woody Guthrie was a dreamer. He was optimistic and believed democracy and freedom would triumph. How could he have known that this land isn’t your land anymore? Woody didn’t see that coming.

I thought it could be interesting if Jesus in heaven were to say to him, “You and I were both dreamers. We had hope.” I thought that puts a nice spin on the Woody concept.

I had words, but no music. A guitar phrase came into my mind, so I started there. It was one take and I didn’t try to fix it. If I start thinking too hard about it, that mysterious, unknown quality is gone pretty quickly, and we don’t want that. We want a statement of pure intuition.

Your guitar solos always reflect that unknown, intuitive dynamic. How do you get there?

It takes a certain mindset. I have to calm myself down. If I don’t, I’ll overplay and it won’t be there. You just have to let it happen. Don’t be distracted. Get into it.  Feel it. If you don’t feel it, don’t do it. Do something else. Run around the block or get a sandwich. But if you feel it, it will be your expression. Of course, if you don’t have the inner resources, it won’t matter so much.

Listen to gospel or country music. Those people are not faking it. That’s real. They’re living those songs, not just performing them.

These melodies are so poignant. Any idea what makes a melody strong?

That’s the question of the ages. When you hear a good one, you know it, such as “Over The Rainbow.” You’re there. You’re instantly taken or transported to wherever that song is going to take you.

The American song is unique in the world. The invention of verse-chorus came from here. Prior to that, there were refrains, but not a chorus. Dance music could go on indefinitely. The studio was the laboratory of songwriting, because people said, “Your whole statement’s got to happen in three minutes.”

When Ralph Peer (of Victor Records) heard  Jimmie Rodgers, he said, “I like when you go to the chorus.” Peer was smart. He knew what to say. A.P. Carter didn’t know how to write a song until Ralph told him how. A.P. started marching through the hills of Appalachia writing down the poems off of tombstones. “Will You Miss Me When I’m Gone” came off of a tombstone. That’s songwriting.

He came back and played, and Peer said, “You don’t have a chorus. You need one. Don’t delay. Get to the hook as fast as you can.”

If it hadn’t been for Ralph Peer and his recording machine, none of this would have happened. Of course, now it’s all being thrown away like trash. But, man, by 1960? It had all been said.

I also revere Flatts & Scruggs, and Ralph Stanley and Carter Stanley, and Harlan Howard. Also Willie Nelson, who wrote “Hello Walls,” “Crazy,” and “How Time Slips Away” all one night in a car! Or so the story goes. I hope it’s true.

Flatt and Scruggs wrote “Reunion In Heaven,” my favorite American song of all time.

You started playing guitar at four. Did you write songs back then too?

No. Never occurred to me. I thought I should learn the old style. You have to learn the language if you’re going to be authentic. And if you’re a white kid from Santa Monica, how are you supposed to do that? I didn’t have hillbilly uncles who talked that way. Nobody in Santa Monica talked that way.

Do you think songs will always matter?

I’m not so sure. The trend now is to minimize the idea of what a song is. To knock it down to two notes. This kind of weird banality. There’s so much reduction, nothing’s left in the pot, you boiled it all out. Where’s the melody? Where’s the poetry? Is it the fault of the digital world? Maybe because everything happens too fast, you don’t build build artistry in yourself. You don’t listen. If you don’t listen to music, how can you play? It’s like a child learning to talk without having heard people speaking. What are you gonna do, speak in abbreviations like texting? I think that is what’s happening with music.

Music is fundamental and it is human. That’s what it is. But will people lose their ability to appreciate a Beethoven quartet so that Beethoven becomes irrelevant? Can Bach become irrelevant? Can Jimmy Van Heusen? Will Picasso? We’ll see about that. Time will tell.

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