Rhett giles dating
But sonically, they did kind of remind me of Too Far to Care.” The Vance Powell-produced Graveyard kicks off on another classic gallop with “I Don’t Wanna Die in This Town,” as Miller observes his David Lynch-surreal surroundings and wonders how in the hell he got there (“There was a highway, Frank singing ‘My Way’ or maybe it was Sid/ Now I’m paying for what I did…
Step on the gas, get outta here/ I don’t wanna die in this town”).
“It has a lot of themes of judgment, and the apex moment is ‘Good With God,’ with Brandi Carlile, where she plays God as this female God,” he says.
“And this year’s iteration of the County Fair being so female-dominant?
If the last record was Saturday night, this was a lot of atonement.
So it was a creepier pile of songs I was working with.
After meeting Texas concert promoter Josh Florence—and playing one of the sleekly run Home Grown events—Miller knew he’d found the man to make his circus a reality.
For 2017’s second run, he and his bandmates (guitarist Ken Bethea, drummer Philip Peeples, and bassist/co-vocalist Murry Hammond) hatched still grander plans.
The inaugural festival featured the group, flanked by the like-minded alt-country artists Lucero, Deer Tick, Drive-By Truckers and Nikki Lane, plus traditional midway food and attractions, plus a monstrous ferris wheel.
Miller always imagined himself a ringmaster of sorts.
“Because we were trying to do a festival for a lot of years, but it was just such a pain in the ass with all the risk and all the insurance,” he says, sighing.
I didn’t know in advance that we were going to be living in the year of the Women’s March, or the year that women’s rights were the most threatened that they’ve been in 50 years. But maybe there was a moment of prescience there.” Maybe.
But Miller has always been one of folk-rock’s savviest songwriters, starting with 1995’s loquacious sophomore disc Wreck Your Life for Bloodshot and its even wordier 1997 followup for Elektra, the picture-perfect Too Far to Care, wherein he came into his own as a James Thurber-clever lyricist and a neighborly, campfire-warm vocalist who could combine groaner puns with keen social observations amid Link Wray-immense cowpunk hooks (courtesy of the seemingly effortless riffs of the knowledgeable Bethea).
“And it was weird, because it was such a late-career moment to have it be that overwhelming of a positive response.