Feeling Taos with Rodney Crowell

SITTING IN WHAT Rodney Crowell’s manager referred to as the “Green Room,” which in all Taos reality was a disheveled backstage dressing room at the Taos Community Auditorium, we could hear the not-so-distant sounds of the musicians on stage at the Big Barn Dance. Crowell was in town for Michael Hearne’s 20th Barn Dance where musicians, sound crews, back stage staff, and most of the audience were wearing cowboy boots and adorned in coordinating attire.

Not Crowell. The Houston-born, Nashville-based musician who had just wrapped the rehearsal for his headlining performance scheduled for later that evening was wearing black and white checkered Vans — the identical surfer-dude sneakers made popular by Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

A little bit gangly, endearingly quirky, and deeply thoughtful, while Crowell’s shoes may have been surfer dude, his presence and talent quickly became the oxygen in the small room — and the oxygen was of the premium variety.

Born into a family of musicians in Houston, Texas, by the time he was a young teen, Crowell was a drummer playing in bands throughout the Lone Star State. At the age of 22 he moved to Nashville, was quickly discovered by Jerry Reed, and soon befriended fellow Texan, the iconic Guy Clark. Crowell has dipped his surfer-dude shoes in both the alternative country and mainstream country musical ponds and has been successful in both. His career has spanned decades and not only included five number-one singles, but most everyone recognizes his song ‘Shame on the Moon’ that Bob Segar made famous. There are many more. He has written songs for Emmylou Harris and performed in Harris’ popular Hot Band for three years.

Crowell’s 13-year marriage to Rosanne Cash, meant that for a time, Johnny Cash was his father-in-law. While married to Cash, he placed his singing and songwriting on the backburner to produce her albums which resulted in another layer, and level, of success. When that marriage ultimately ended, Crowell took the advice of none other than Joni Mitchell.

“Joni told me to go to New Mexico,” explained Crowell, “and I took her advice. I came to Taos and I let nature talk to me. I have good memories of this area. I later returned with my new wife at the time, Claudia, and our relationship blossomed here.” In addition to his nearly 25-year marriage to Claudia, Crowell has experienced his fair share of blossoms from seeds he planted and judiciously cultivated.

When asked about the best advice he had ever been given, the introspective Crowell didn’t rush his response. As the sounds of the Barn Dance everso-slightly infiltrated our non-green “Green Room,” Crowell thought about the question. As he considered his response it was easy to wonder where his mind was and the memories he was conjuring as his expression changed in reflection.

“I’d have to say it was Guy Clark,” he quietly commented as he returned from his bank of memories. “I’ve listened and learned from so many people, but he told me years ago that I was young and talented and to go for what I wanted. He told me if I wanted to be a star, I could be a star. He told me if I wanted to be an artist, I could be an artist. I’ve never forgotten that because at the time I didn’t know the difference. I wasn’t sure what he meant.”

Clark explained all those years ago to the then budding young talent that there are stars and there are artists, but there aren’t that many who are both.

“He told me I could define what those two words meant and yeah, it took some time. Johnny Cash, Paul McCartney — they’re both. They are stars and artists. I’m an artist who has experienced some stardom. I like being an artist. That’s what I want. I like the feeling of the carrot dangling in front of me.”

And then, once again, there it was. The word Crowell had used throughout his rehearsal, the word that seemed to be the common denominator in everything he sang, in everything he said. The word I had heard him say dozens of times: “feeling.” When presented with the fact that the feeling word had proliferated nearly everything he had said, not only to me but also to his band, he grew quiet. I watched as he once again retreated to his space of thoughtful reflection.

“You’re right. It’s not really a conscious thought and I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it but it’s all about the feeling. Everything I do is about the feeling. Joni talked about the feeling here. Music is about the feeling and it has a color and that color has a feeling. I’ll tell my band we need something to feel more blue or red and they know. They feel it too. My job is to convey that to our audience. Big or small, we’re sharing feelings and if they aren’t feeling it, I’ve let them down. It’s sensory. I think that’s what being an artist is all about,” said the artist who has experienced being a star. “Yeah, it’s all about the feeling.”

As we walked out of the decidedly non-green room “Green Room,” Crowell said, “I like your boots.” Knowing that a born-and-raised Texan living in Nashville recognized my boots that are so worn and lived-in they’ve become their own version of real, I heard (and felt) the ultimate compliment. I replied simply, “Thank you.” I wanted to ask about the Vans but decided to leave that question for another day.