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Over the Rhine's album
Drunkard's Prayer continues to dazzle and delight fans and
newcomers. But the story behind it... of the near-collapse of the
marriage of Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist, and the remarkable
salvation of their relationship and music, is a moving one, and a
challenge to all who would know the hard-earned joys of marriage.
This week I talked with
Linford about the album, the experiences behind it, and the future.
Jeffrey: There was a documentary film this year called The
Story of the Weeping Camel, in which a violinist sits down and plays
music for a camel and the baby that she has rejected. As the song plays
out, something mysterious happens: the mother and the child reconcile.
Tears run down the mother’s face. It’s extraordinary to watch. I sat
there with tears in my eyes, because it just seemed so powerfully,
profoundly, mysteriously true. I thought about how, when I listen
to your music, things within me that I didn’t even know were
broken are somehow repaired and made right.
Detweiler:
What a
compliment. Thank you. We never quite know how to respond when people
tell us our music has been helpful or even healing in some tangible way.
But it keeps us coming back, I guess.
After we
made our first handful of recordings, I remember trying to process why I
wanted to be an artist. Was it ambition? (I had grown up in a large,
thrifty family that lived simply and often went without.) Was it a need
for acceptance and approval? (I was always a bit of a misfit as a
child.) Was it a way of getting out of doing hard work? (No. There were
some kinds of work that I hoped to avoid, but I didn’t mind working
hard. I wanted something I could really throw myself into.)
Anyway, I
tried to come up with a job description, some underlying motivation, a
bottom line that would define my desire to be an artist, and what I kept
coming back to at the time was I just wanted to try give the world
something beautiful. That’s what we’ve always limped toward as a band,
even if we found we could not dance.
Intuitively, I still know that the desire to give the world something
beautiful is a useful pursuit for a life, but I often can’t put my
finger on why I believe that. I suppose it comes down to the fact that
like you, when I encounter something truly beautiful, significant parts
of who I am begin to come to life, parts of me that I care about, but
may have forgotten even existed.
I remember
trying to explain one time what I felt a definition of good art might
be, and all that I could come up with was that I know it when I
experience it because it always makes me want to be a better human
being. There’s a chemical reaction that I can feel all over my skin.
That in itself is a kind of healing. I suppose we have always dreamed
that our music could do that for people.
Jeffrey: Am I wrong to assume that these songs are not just
documents of your healing, but in some way the songs are the actual
agents of healing for you?
Detweiler:
We often
end up writing the music that we need to hear at the time. In the case
of Drunkard’s Prayer, this collection of songs in many ways celebrates
the healing and even survival of our marriage. The songs were mostly
written during a chapter in our lives where Karin and I were struggling
with the stuff of staying together, when it would have been so much
easier to drift apart and be yet another statistic. So yes, the songs
themselves are very much tangled up in our healing process.
Jeffrey: What's different about the Over the Rhine we'll see on
tour in the coming months, compared to the band that was readying for a
tour last year? (And I'm not just talking about the lineup ... of
course.)
Detweiler:
Well, we
made Drunkard’s Prayer in our living room, so we want to be
sensitive to the acoustic nature of the record. But increasingly for us,
playing live is all about catharsis, so we want the songs to evolve and
have an energy that’s undeniable. We want it all I guess.
But I
think the biggest difference might just be that Karin and I have a
newfound sense of what’s important. Our work is vital to who we are, but
it’s not all we are.
Jeffrey: It was a brave decision — and, I'm sure, a difficult one
— to cancel your tour last year in order to attend to your relationship
with Karin. But your fans cheered the decision. Was it also a difficult
decision to share these songs, which clearly translate a lot of that
pain, growth, and healing?
Detweiler:
It felt very natural to us. We’ve always been amazed by the enthusiasm
and dedication of many who discover our music and support it. There is a
sense of community that has grown over the years that’s been a huge
encouragement to us to carry on. We felt like we wanted to be honest
with our community of listeners about what was going on when we
cancelled the tour. Honest about our human-ness, the fact that we have
to do the hard work of growing up and learning to take good care of
those we love just like everyone else. Sharing the songs was just our
way of saying, Sorry about all that, but here’s a little consolation
prize we think you might like! And yes, at the time, there was an
outpouring of goodwill toward us that was humbling and extremely
generous.
Jeffrey: You mentioned in another interview that Drunkard’s
Prayer might be your favorite OtR album of all. Why is that? If you
had to name which song has its roots deepest in your heart, the one that
feels most personal and potent to you, which would it be? And why? Would
Karin choose the same one?
Detweiler:
I suppose I should temper that by saying that just about every record
we’ve made was my favorite at the time. But some projects do feel more
deeply rooted in a season of life or whatever, and none more so than
Drunkard’s Prayer. I think Karin and I brought a fresh appreciation
of each other to this record that made it a lot of fun to make.
Also,
Drunkard’s Prayer achieves a simplicity that I believe is quite
special, and captures the heart of what Karin and I are about musically
in a more immediate way than some of the other records. It feels honest
and real. Straightforward. When we can achieve that in a recording we
are then free to say, Well, it may not be for everyone, but at least
it’s authentic, and we can feel good about that.
I think
the heart of the record is the song “Born.” Again, it’s a very simple
song, that grew out of this chapter of our lives. It was a true
collaboration – we couldn’t have written that one without each other.
I
think the sentiment of the song is universal and timeless, but some of
the language feels fresh. That always feels like a gift.
Jeffrey: In any given year, popular music has its share of breakup
songs. Last year, Sam Phillips gave us a shining example of how to turn
pain into poetry on her “breakup album” A Boot and a Shoe. And
P.J. Harvey turned in an album of rants over her own turbulent
relationships. But it's rare that we're given an album that reflects the
growing pains of people doing the hard work of reconciliation. You’re
taking “the road less traveled.” Is there anything in particular you
hope to inspire within your listeners, anything you've gleaned from this
experience?
Detweiler:
I guess
we’re going on record with the reality that any rewarding, enduring,
monogamous relationship requires effort, energy, creativity, humor and a
dash of luck and prayer. That’s normal. That’s reality.
Falling-in-love-good-sex is easy. If there’s good chemistry, it’s
more-or-less effortless. Being-together-for-15-years-good-sex requires
an entirely different level of skill, creativity and intelligence.
Being
deeply connected to someone you’re just discovering and uncovering is a
no-brainer. You more-or-less can’t think about anything else. Being
deeply connected to someone you wake up with everyday for years, work
with everyday, sit down to eat with everyday is actually something that
requires thought and real investment. The problem is, we tend to assume
that if we’re together all the time, we must be connected, when
actually, people often live very separate lives together.
Karin and
I made the mistake of thinking that because we were artists, we could do
whatever we wanted, we’d just make up our own rules in regard to our
relationship. When Karin and I first got married, we still had separate
apartments for instance. We never would have dreamt of doing pre-marital
counseling – that’s for losers who live in the suburbs. We’re artists!
Actually,
we had to learn that it doesn’t matter who you are – attorney,
professional baseball player, high school janitor, Pulitzer prize
winning author: if your relationship lacks certain things, it will
suffer. We were pretty naïve in some ways. If anybody wants to have a
garden, they’ve got to do certain things to get a garden to grow. The
garden doesn’t care who the hell you are or think you are. A
relationship is the same in that regard.
Jeffrey: For some artists, personal struggles remain personal, and
their work only hints at their interior lives. Others exploit their own
autobiographies for the sake of spectacle. You and Karin are generous
with your personal sentiments, and yet the songs do not feel
exploitative or unnecessarily "telling." Is that a difficult balance to
strike?
Detweiler:
Well
thanks for the compliment. Yes it is a difficult balance. We try to be
open, while still keeping parts of our lives private for just the two of
us. It’s a “feel-thang” I guess. If our desire is to encounter and
produce art that by some mysterious chemical reaction leaves us wanting
to be better human beings – more understanding, kind, empathetic,
generous, brave, loving – then part of that picture is the willingness
to be open and invite people to participate in the struggle, the
disappointments, the tiny victories.
Jeffrey: "Spark" has a riveting refrain: “Sleep with one ear
close to the ground / And wake up screaming / When we lay our cold
weapons down / We'll wake up dreaming." That sounds like a sentiment
with a story behind it — something that could be about a relationship,
or about the drama playing out on the world stage. (It strikes me as a
“sequel” to “Changes Come.”) Can you give us a window into the genesis
of that song?
Detweiler:
You’ve
nailed it. It applies to relationships for sure, but it’s basically a
protest song at the end of the day -- very much in the spirit of
“Changes Come”. It’s a simple statement that addresses the reality of
the fact that as long as we rely on massive military solutions to
supposedly resolve conflict, we deny the possibility that there could be
more innovative, creative, helpful solutions. We deny the fact that
America, the country that gave the world Jazz and Bluegrass and Blues
and Gospel music, could be equally as innovative when it comes to human
conflict. The fact of the matter is, when we ignore the lives of people
like Jesus, Gandhi or Martin Luther King and rely on force to bring
about change, we do irreparable damage to the psyche of our nation.
Jeffrey: Another song — "Firefly" — seems to bring the album
farthest from its simple, personal opener to one of your more abstract,
metaphor-heavy works. Is there a story behind that one?
Detweiler:
Karin
wrote that one primarily, but to me the pivotal line in the song is “My
memory will not fail me now.” I like the idea of learning something or
experiencing something so deeply that forgetting becomes physically
impossible.
Jeffrey: You’ve seen “the landfill rainbow.” What’s that about?
Detweiler:
We were
traveling once and I literally saw a rainbow over a landfill – I think
it was somewhere in Indiana or Illinois. I thought is was a powerful
image, a sort of hopeful mess, and it came back to my mind when I was
processing the potential wreckage of a relationship, relieved that our
own relationship hadn’t ended up on some junk pile. “We’ve seen the
landfill rainbow, we’ve seen the junkyard of love, baby it’s no place
for you and me” was my way of saying, Let’s take care of each other and
never go through that again!
Jeffrey: Is that you singing backup on “Bluer”?
Detweiler:
I did sing
back-up on that song, thanks to Karin’s encouragement.
Jeffrey: In the last year, you’ve also joined the rest of us in
trying to comprehend the devastation of the tsunami, even as you’ve
struggled with the loss of a close friend’s son in a car accident. Where
do you and Karin find comfort in the midst of these things? You wrote
in a recent Web site letter, “We can't imagine, but we hope in small
ways to bear each others burdens. We think about our faith. We believe,
and we pray for help with our unbelief.” In the face of these losses,
what prompts you to keep believing? What challenges that belief?
Detweiler:
Whew,
that’s a big one. Some days are better than others. Some days we believe
that theologians got it wrong somewhere, that God isn’t all-powerful.
Otherwise, how could you pull for someone who idly stood by while
unspeakable cruelties were perpetrated? (C.S. Lewis wondered during a
difficult time of loss if God was just some “cosmic vivisectionist” who
played recklessly with human suffering.)
Maybe God
struggles along with the rest of us to move the world to a better place.
Or maybe God needs us to help move things forward, and we’re limited and
broken so that limits God. I guess we don’t have the answers. I think
Anne Lamott was talking in her new book, Plan B, about the fact that the
opposite of faith is not doubt, the opposite of faith is certainty.
Interesting.
We cope by
trying to learn along with everyone else, grow, experiment, love well.
We cope by talking, slowing down, lingering over a glass of wine.
Recently we decided we needed to cope by moving out of the city, out
into open tree-lined fields, open sky, cleaner air. We cope by trying to
give the world some tiny gift with our lives, by some miracle, something
beautiful.
Jeffrey: Another loss — another transition: Saying goodbye to the
Grey Ghost, the house where you’ve recorded so much music. What do you
miss most about that place? Does the new house feel like home yet, and
is it likely we’ll hear any kind of influence that it has on future Over
the Rhine recordings?
Detweiler:
The only
things I miss about our neighborhood in the city are proximity to our
friends and the mockingbirds. Norwood had the most amazing collection of
mocking birds. We had good, memorable years at The Grey Ghost, but it
was time for that chapter to end. Our new chapter feels like home. I
can’t explain it, but being out here under the sky, and having a garden,
and some land to look after, and fields full of fireflies, and being
able to see the stars properly at night and build proper fires, and
shower under what we thought was an apple tree, but what turned out to
be a cherry tree – this is all very healing somehow as well.
Jeffrey: Anybody who knows you knows to ask about what you’ve been
reading, and what you’ve been listening to, lately. (Thanks to you and
Karin, I’ve been enjoying Turin Brakes for a while now, and I went back
to re-read Kathleen Norris’s Amazing Grace.) Do you have a
recommended summer reading list for us? Or a few discs that we should
pick up after we pre-order Drunkard’s
Prayer?
Detweiler:
We’ve been
reading Anne Lamott’s new book, Plan B, and laughing a lot. Also,
some books by Jon Katz: A Dog Year and The Dogs of Bedlam Farm. I also
picked up a book called, The Future of Music that’s kind of interesting
and revolting and thought-provoking. Karin listened a lot to “The Garden
State” soundtrack, and we picked up the new Bruce Springsteen, the new
John Prine, the new Van Morrison and the new Coldplay. When we first got
into the farm house, pretty much the only cd we had unpacked was a Nick
Drake cd, so we let that wash over us for a few weeks.
Jeffrey: What’s growing out in the garden this year? What’ll you
be carting in for salads, etc?
Detweiler:
Well it’s
a late garden by some standards, we’re still getting some things in, but
we’ve been working on tomatoes, yellow, red and green peppers, sweet
corn, butternut, zucchini and summer squash, green beans, cucumbers –
the normal. Next year we’ll tackle an herb garden and a grape arbor and
maybe a strawberry patch, and start planting trees.
Jeffrey: What’s growing in the corner where you cultivate new
songs? More of the hardwood-floor, homestyle music of Drunkard’s
Prayer, or is the new soil surprising you with something else?
Detweiler:
I like
that “hardwood-floor” description. We’ve got a lot of those in this
170-year-old house. Hopefully, Karin won’t be surprised by the big snake
living in the attic above our kitchen. We haven’t seen him, but he left
us his skin a few days ago laying up there on the attic floor joists.
Karin really doesn’t appreciate this gift AT ALL, but has named him
Herman, to take the edge off, and walks around singing a little song:
Herman, eats vermin… She’s trying to look on the bright side. Karin’s
got it all: she’s a babe, can sing her ass off, can crack me up, makes a
mean Tilapia, can write a classic sounding song. But I think she’s going
to be quite a country girl when it’s all said and done.
Jeffrey: Oh … one last question: When you and Karin perform “Hush
Now (Stella’s Tarantella),” how do you restrain yourself from just
jumping over the piano and sweeping that woman off her feet into your
arms? (Wouldn’t that be a concert highlight!!)
Detweiler: Sort of
like “The Kiss” in A Mighty Wind? Yeah, we’ll try to come up with
something.
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