The New Yorker Radio Hour - Kurt Vile Talks with Amanda Petrusich

Episode Date: February 2, 2021

Kurt Vile—that’s his real name—helped found the rock band the War on Drugs. But he left that band shortly after its début to make records of his own. His albums include “Childish Prodigy,” “Smoke Ring for My Halo,” and the recently released “Speed, Sound, Lonely KV (ep.)” Vile’s music has been characterized as “slacker rock,” but he takes songwriting seriously. He’s popular enough to have been honored with Kurt Vile Day in his home town of Philadelphia, but he tells the music critic Amanda Petrusich that he still can’t get a reaction from his hero, Neil Young. He joined Petrusich in the fall of 2018, at the New Yorker Festival, for a conversation and to perform a live version of “Pretty Pimpin.”    This segment originally aired April 12, 2019.   New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Welcome to The New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Kurt Vile was a co-founder of the rock band, The War on Drugs. But he left the band shortly after its debut to make records all on his own. And they're sometimes characterized as slacker rock. His recent EP is called Speed, Sound, Lonely KV. She is deliciously tall, sort of a long girl, He's delightfully small, sort of a song.

Kurt Vile, that's V-I-L-E, it's his real name, has also appeared on the comedy show Portlandia and on HBO's animated series, Animals, where he played a singing squirrel. Vile came to the New Yorker Festival in 2018, to talk with our critic Amanda Petrusich. You were a clue on Jeopardy last year. This is one of my favorite Kurt Vile facts.

Well, it's kind of a weird clue. The clue was the violators assist this pretty pimping rocker in his foul work. Yeah. It was like, it was a real, he's the riddler. Like, how nobody could even understand? Even if they knew the answer, they'd be like, wait, what? It was a complicated clue.

Nonetheless, I would imagine being a deputies clue has to be some sort of milestone. That's got to be super weird. Who was the first person who told you? You don't know her. You grew up one of ten children. Can you tell us a little bit about what it was like growing up in your family? Yeah, it was pretty annoying. No, it was pretty cool, but it was like, um,

No space, you know, for like the boys' room had five boys in it. Because of that, I can, like, sleep through anything, and I can just tune in and out whenever, you know, whenever people are talking, I can, like, be listening or not. And now you yourself have got two young daughters. How would you characterize yourself as a parent? Father of the year. No, it's awesome having kids, and they're still pretty young. and they're really into music and reading.

And yeah, they're total brats in the best way. Did they like your songs? Yeah, like the one, my oldest, Owildas, she listens intensely to words. And the youngest Delphine, she'll go straight to a piano or guitar and just start playing. When did you start writing songs? Well, I started playing a string instrument, like a banjo when I was 14. I probably started writing songs right around them, but I made my first cassette when I was 17.

I would put out a tape or a CDR, but I would call it my album, as if it was like really, really, you know. But they didn't really become real albums until I was 28. Did you make your own cover art from the CDRs? I used to do that for mixed CDs. So the banjo was your first instrument, and that's kind of what you learned to write on? Yeah, my dad wished I was like a bluegrass musician.

So, like, a year before, maybe when I was 13, he hung it over my head later. He's like, we were going to get you a guitar for Christmas, but you were really bad this year. So the next year, he's like, I could get you this banjo. And I wasn't sure, but then he worked for a septa, like drove trains. And a conductor, he basically was going to buy the banjo off this conductor. And the conductor played it over the phone, you know, the telephone, not the cellophone. And it sounded really cool through the telephone. So I was like, all right.

But I kind of just treated it like a guitar. I just drum it. But yeah. Who are some of your favorite songwriters? So many. Let's see. You know, there's like the classics, of course, like Bob Dylan and Neil Young, and then there's like Towns Van Zant.

Well, you had the chance to open for Neil Young last year. John Prine. Yes, I opened for Neil Young recently. It was pretty funny. I was terrified. There was like 80,000. people and I just kind of just kind of like what I'm doing now but with the guitar in my hand I came out real cocky I was like I was like joke singing like some kind of stevie nick's thing

and then I was like I got the crystal vision then I was like did you get a chance to meet Neil I met him multiple times but only for a split second and the the best time was a couple times before I got backstage. It was the first time I saw him with Promise of the Real. And these kids, Willie Nelson's son, sons, and other kids, they back them up really good. And I wheezed my way backstage with my wife, Suzanne, and she egged me on to, like, say hi. And so I did. And I was like, oh, Neil, I've seen you like 10 times. And it's always amazing. But this is the best by far down by the river, which was like 30 minutes long. I was like, It's like you are underground in outer space at the same time.

It was unbelievable. And he was like, he was smiling all nice. And then when I said that, he was like, oh, yeah, we can go in outer space whenever we want. And then I got a picture with him. That was cool. Every time I see him, it's where he just played a show. And even if we have friends in common, it doesn't matter because you're just like, I'm still a fanboy.

But this last time, as bandmates, I'm hugging all them. Like in between, they're all passing around a jazz cigarette. I'm usually scared to do this. I used to love it as a kid, and then I can't. It's harder to deal with it. But I'm trying. But anyway, I grabbed it from the drummer, and me and my wife tried it out for the first time ever. No, just kidding.

But then, anyway, they came off the stage, and we're feeling really weird, and everybody's sort of just around him. And then he's just about to get away as he usually does. And then I was like, well, I should just give him this Sadie CD, which is my friends that we have, he knows who the Sadies are. And usually I'm just, it's just, it just makes more sense than being like, oh, I'm Kurt Vile again. So I was like, I'll just give him this Sadie CD.

So I literally jumped down. And I was like, hey, Neil, you get the new Sadies. And then everybody was like, ha, and they all, like, And like his manager, Elliot Roberts, he's a legend, but he's old now. And he was like about to check me, like a hockey player. But then I got it to him, though. There is, I think, a dryness and a kind of absurdist humor to a lot of your lyrics that I just find so sort of intoxicating and beguiling.

Some of it recalls, I mean, you mentioned Dylan, you mentioned John Prine, I think, to lyricists and writers who do this really well. A line like, girl, you gave me rabies. And I don't mean maybe. Yeah, well. I mean, how do you sort of think about lyrics in relation to rhythm or in relation to melody and kind of where does the lyric writing fall within your songwriting process? Well, and I don't mean maybe.

I plagiarized from like Bo Didley or other people, you know, they always say this. Or other bloops people they say, and I don't mean maybe. And then the girl you gave me rabies, that's a true story. How did you get rabies, Kurt? From a girl. I'm not, this. No, I don't, yeah. I'm not buying this.

Well. Is this like rabies the new mom? No, I'm lying. I'm lying. I figured. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. More to come. Why don't we, here's some music.

Okay. All right. All right. Why I woke up this morning didn't recognize the man in the mirror. Then I left to the, And I said, oh, silly me, that's just me, then I proceeded to brush some strange as teeth, but they were my teeth, and I was weightless, quivering like some leaf come in the window of a restroom. I couldn't tell you what the hell it was supposed to mean, because it was a Monday,

not Tuesday, not Wednesday, Thursday, Friday then, Saturday came around, and I said, Who that stupid clown block in my bathroom Saying He ever wanted was to be someone in life That was just like all I want is to just have fun Live my life like a son of a gun I could be 1,000 miles away But mean what I said

And I woke up this morning Didn't recognize a man in the mirror Then I laughed and I said, silly me, that's just me that I proceeded to knock home. Some strangers had never worth my style. But I couldn't tell you what the hell it was supposed to mean, because it was a Monday, not Tuesday, no, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday then Saturday came around and I said, Who that stupid clown block in my bathroom? song sang but he was sporting all my clothes the guy say pretty pimping he ever

wanted was to be a man but he was always a little too cute to be a minute and the mom was lost he was always a thousand miles away while standing front his face then he woke up this morning didn't recognize a boy in the mirror laughed and said and said Silly me, that's just me, then I proceeded to brush some stranger's teeth, but they were my teeth, and I was weightless, quivering like some leaf come in the window of a wrist. I couldn't tell you what the hell it was supposed to mean, because it was a Monday, not Tuesday, no, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday then Saturday came around, and I said, who that stupid clown blocking my bathroom? same but he was sporting all my clothes

that got say pretty pimping Kurt Vile from a live performance in 2018 at the New Yorker Festival his new album is called Speed Sound Lonely KV and he talked with Amanda Petrusich you can read her on music all the time at New Yorker.com

I'm David Remnick and I want to thank you for joining us as always and if you want to keep in touch find us on Twitter at New Yorker Be well. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbus of Tune Arts, with additional music by Alexis Quadrado.

This episode was produced by Alex Barron, Emily Boutin, Ave Carrillo, Riannon, Kuale, Galilea, David Krasnow, Gauphin and Putubuele, Louis Mitchell, Michelle Moses, and Stephen Valentino, with help from Alison McAdam, Morgan Flannery, Meng Fei Chen and Emily Mann. With additional help from Joe Plort. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.