guy clark, 1941-2016

guy clark.

guy clark.

A few years back, I discussed an ode to vegetable lore called Homegrown Tomatoes with its composer, Guy Clark. To ears perhaps unfamiliar with the works of such a masterful Texas songwriter, the yarn would seem a novelty. But Clark was in earnest when he outlined his intent with the tune.

“It’s a love song.”

It was, too – an unassuming and poetically plain-speaking love token. It’s just that the object of the author’s affection came from the garden and was edible. The design, though, was typical of Clark’s sense of songwriting. It was worldly in a way that songsmiths like John Prine have long been. But it was also conversational on an everyman level. He could be singing of the rigors in cosmopolitan stress (L.A. Freeway), cross generational relations (Desperados Waiting for the Train) or simple homesickness and regret (Dublin Blues). Clark’s music wonderfully examined the many faces of the human condition but ways that were wholly accessible.

Such songwriting intent would seem to fall under the definition of country music, which would make perfect sense as Clark resided in Nashville for over 40 years. But Clark was also a Texas native. It was that heritage, not the one offered by the headquarters of corporate country, that guided his writing. So did the company Clark kept, especially the renegade songsmith Townes Van Zandt. Clark’s songs were never as dark or desperate as those of longtime pal Van Zandt, but both shared a sense of sagely narrative told with simple, unspoiled candor. In terms of imagery and emotive detail, their songs helped define a generation of Lone Star troubadours and, in turn, a successive legion of writers from around the country.

News of Clark’s death at age 74 spread quickly today, so much so that when I commenced a phone interview with Gillian Welch this afternoon, the impact of his passing was very fresh.

“I’m just thinking about Guy so much,” she said. “So I’m probably going to be a tiny bit distracted.”

The song that came to mind first after hearing of Clark’s death was Boats to Build. Aside from being the title tune to a 1992 album that largely reintroduced Clark to a booming Americana audience, the song nicely summed up the kind of earnest but unfrilly affirmations that often populated Clark’s later music.

“Sails are just like wings,” it went. “The wind can make ’em sing. Songs of life, songs of hope, songs to keep your dreams afloat.”

“I’ve been doing this for 40 years and sometimes you think you’ve had all the good ideas you’re going to have,” Clark told me prior to an appearance at the 2011 Master Musicians Festival in Somerset. But I know there is always something new out there. That’s what keeps me doing this. Songwriting is something you never get through. You never get to be the best there is. You never get finished. There is always one more song.”



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