Though it’s been 15 years since his last solo release, Buddy Miller has hardly been absent during that span. He’s produced albums for everyone from Solomon Burke and Patty Griffin to Robert Plant and Richard Thompson, while his singular guitar work has supported Plant and Alison Krauss, Emmylou Harris, Steve Earle, Lucinda Williams and countless others. Miller has also worked extensively with his wife and songwriting partner, Julie Miller, and he continues to host The Buddy & Jim Show with longtime friend Jim Lauderdale on SiriusXM’s Outlaw Country.
Given all that, another solo album was hardly on the top of his to-do list—until a friend suggested he record Otis Redding’s “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long.” Miller wisely declined, as some songs don’t bear repeating. But the idea did resurrect a mental list he’d been keeping since his first solo album more than 30 years ago. Soon enough, Miller was sitting in his workroom with a guitar and a boom box, reveling in that easy space where country and R&B have frequently coexisted. Those casual explorations became the foundation for Buddy Miller (New West), a twang-soul album that quickly developed “a mind of its own.”
Sitting down remotely with MAGNET’s Hobart Rowland from his home in Nashville, Miller explained how a project with so many voices could still feel so deeply personal.
This is your first solo album in 15 years, but it’s not like you’ve been sitting around doing nothing.
For me, a solo record is just an excuse to get friends and people I love over to the house to sing and play. It turned into a little bit of a different record than I’d initially intended, but it’s probably not too far off.
Julie’s contributions began to find their way into the mix. What is it about one of her songs that makes you think, “I need to sing that”?
She’s a great writer. When I found her pieces, I thought, “This all fits together. It’ll all make sense.” And I think it does.
“Don’t Look Back” brings you together again with Dan Penn, who’s been a friend and musical hero for more than 30 years. What’s it like when the two of you get together?
When I’m with Dan, I still look at it like, “This is amazing.” He was one of the first guys I met when I moved to Nashville in 1993. I put an ad in the paper to sell a two-inch, 24-track tape machine. It wasn’t working out well in our house that we’d just moved into because there was too much buzzing going on. He’s the only guy who responded to an ad in the Pennysaver. When he told me who he was on his way out the door, I yanked him back inside. He sang on two songs on my first record. Dan’s always been one of my favorite writers, and he’s one of my favorite people and singers. He’s a soulful cat in every way. WhenI asked him about “Don’t Look Back.” I said, “It’s a Smokey song the Temptations cut.” We’re talking on the phone, and he said, “I don’t know it, but I can sing just about anything.” He comes over, and I put on my version of it. He said, “Oh, I know that song. I bought every record they made.” I knew he’d know it—the name just didn’t click at first. But he was buying all those Motown records.
How do you recognize an older tune as something you can inhabit rather than simply cover?
I just want songs that sound authentic and that I felt are part of me. As I was singing all this stuff, I felt like I was singing to my wife on some of them. So that became a secondary thing in the back of my head. I wasn’t really thinking about it as I was picking them, but it’s like, “Oh, feels like that’s for Julie.” Maybe that’s another thread in there.
“Till The Wheels Come Off” takes that connection to Julie even further. It’s a song about the two of you, written by Ashley Monroe, Elizabeth Cook, Angaleena Presley and Meg McRee. What was it like hearing someone else turn your relationship into a song?
It was very moving because Julie’s been going through some tough health stuff—that’s why I’ve pulled off the road. It was a good time for that to arrive, and it was very meaningful. We listened to it, and we were very moved. I just kept it around, ran into it again and thought, “You know what? This could be great.” Their version was very sweet and soft and much more folky. Mine is tough and probably insensitive—but it’s OK for a tough love song to be tough.
You’ve spent so much of your career producing records and playing guitar for other artists—listening closely and figuring out what somebody else needs. Is it more difficult to have that same objectivity when you are the artist you’re producing?
I think it is—and the older I get, the less I trust myself with what I’m doing. But I think I have pretty good instincts and know where to take things. And the people I call up to come over and play with—I do trust them.
Does Julie hear things while you’re working and tell you what she thinks?
She’s been way too encouraging on this one, so I don’t trust her. I think she’s just trying to get rid of me. [Laughs] No, I do trust her—and I talk to her about it. But outside of her, I keep a closed hand. Jim (Lauderdale) is one of my best friends—I’ve known him since 1980—and I didn’t play him anything from this album, including the song of his I cut … except for when he came over to sing. Then he had to hear something.
Now the obvious question: Why make this one self-titled?
Because I couldn’t think of anything else. [Laughs] I mean, that sounds funny, but it’s true. The title should come out of the record, whether it’s a lyric or something else—and nothing was. The more I’d sing the songs, the more I felt connected to them—even though most of them aren’t mine. I felt OK calling it Buddy Miller. I hope it’s OK.