Colin Meloy
The Decemberists' frontman talks about the violence of childbirth.
by Sarah Hepola
January 30, 2007
Sometimes when songwriters have kids, they — how do we say this? — start to suck. They pen over-earnest ballads about the future or, like, the beauty contained in the flutter of an eyelash. Colin Meloy's girlfriend Carson was pregnant with his first son Hank, now eleven months old, when he wrote the songs that would become The Decemberists' The Crane Wife. And not only are they the darkest, most grisly songs of his career, but they're arguably some of the best. Whether or not you agree with that last part may depend on how you feel about the band switching out their vaudeville/musical theater swing for a darker prog-rock aesthetic — a little less Sondheim, a little more Jethro Tull. But the linchpin of each Decemberists album is the blood-stained stories at the center. Here we meet serial murderers, slain soldiers, lovers pierced by revenge. You can accuse The Decemberists of a lot of things — losing to Stephen Colbert, for one thing — but you can't say fatherhood made Colin Meloy soft. — Sarah Hepola
It seems like more and more indie rock artists are making children's albums. Is that something you'd ever do?
I don't think so. I can understand the temptation, because when you have a kid you do most of the singing around your house and you start making up songs about putting on your shoes and putting diapers on, and don't pull the volume nob off the TV.
Are those actual Colin Meloy originals?
The last two are, and there's also a dinner time song.
Do they have lyrics
They do, but I'm not gonna repeat them, if that's what you're angling for. [laughs] The nice thing about these songs is that they're performed for an audience of one, an audience who is usually quite pleased. You can be completely unselfconsious and not consider what people think.
That's funny, because I always think of having a kid as hampering the creative process, not freeing it.
Well, it frees it when you're singing songs about putting on shoes. I haven't done that much songwriting since Hank was born, because we've been so embroiled in finishing the album and touring and promoting it. I've just now started to work on songs again. I mostly do that in the privacy of my working room. The nice thing about playing guitar is that it totally placates Hank. It's a last-ditch attempt to calm him whenever he's upset. He loves country songs. If I play a country song, he'll just stare at me, or maybe try to grab at the guitar. So I use it just in times of need. And then if he's in the mood I can play around with different chord phrasings. It's a great way to get him to stop crying. But, like every little trick that you come up with, he'll eventually figure it out, and it won't work anymore.
Is Hank named after Hank Williams, Jr.?
No, he's named after my great-uncle Henry Meloy. He has a really interesting history. He made his living doing paintings and illustrations for western magazines, so he did a lot of cowboys and horses, and he was the main portrait artist for Katherine Cornell, a '40s Broadway actress, and he taught art at Columbia. He died in his fifties, so I never had a chance to meet him, but his legend loomed large. And I always liked the name Henry. We didn't know whether we'd call him Henry or Hank, but we took him to visit the family in Montana, and that's what sealed the deal. I guess Hank is what they called my great-uncle, too.
©2007 Sarah Hepola and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Sarah Hepola has been a high-school teacher, a playwright, a film critic, a music editor and a travel columnist. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Slate, The Guardian, and on NPR. She writes the Scanner blog for Nerve and lives in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. |
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