What do you feel you’re communicating live? You’re a pretty hard-working live performer, and it’s how many people find your music and fall in love with it. It’s not a big social thing! I mean, I wish I could write songs like that – but I haven’t yet. I’m just writing the songs because I feel like I have to write them. I guess when writing it I’m not exactly trying to keep it so self-focused, but also not trying to make a big point about the rest of the world either. It definitely deals with a lot of the struggles I’ve had over the last few years. There seems to be a lot of reference to a higher, abstract struggle – where a wider perspective meets your personal, every day life? I was on the road a lot, alone, and a lot of it came down to feeling isolated and alone, even when you’re surrounded by people. There’s a lot of loneliness in it, and there was when I was writing it too. What themes did you find yourself returning to when you were writing this record? Even if the songs are slightly depressing I still want there to feel like there’s hope. I don’t want there it to feel like there’s a negative attitude. Well, I don’t feel like I’m trying to reach out musically. Though there’s supposed to be a feeling of distance between them – the woman’s pulling away, and the man’s still there.ĭoes that reflect the record? A reaching out? The music’s not wholly pessimistic, but there’s a lot of negative experience going on? I think it’s supposed to be someone that’s reaching out, for sure. I’m torn as to whether the hands in the photograph are moving towards each other, or pulling away? In the context of the record, it feels like it might be the latter? I wanted to start with the cover for your latest record, Falling Faster Than You Can Run.
As the phased swirl of an organ in soundcheck dies away, we discuss taming negativity, a rural upbringing and his new soul band – the Night Sweats. But just like his songs gently unfurl their textured tales, so does Rateliff betray his wit, warmth and wisdom. Having experienced the honesty of his songcraft, and the geniality of his personality in the dimly lit atmosphere of the pub, Rateliff initially seems reticent to share directly. These worlds meet in the music of Rateliff – a man of simple means, and simple wants – who inspires in his rich, rustic folk the nostalgia of another time, and the desperation of a man pushing through in the present. His ability is in bringing traditional folk imagery, be it the tatty brakeman and his old time revivals, or the first three-fingered step into stupor, with the muck and mire of everyday struggle. For the roots of this man’s ability extend far beyond mere image – spend an evening with the aforementioned tipple and the oaky, sozzled heartbreak of Rateliff’s three full-length records, or even better, the intensely compelling presence of his live show – for hard evidence. In the context of a modern wave of fresh-faced folkies, the authenticity of his demeanour is doubly striking.Īnd you wouldn’t want it any other way. Ensconced deep in an armchair, nursing his whiskey jar through a thick thatched beard, whilst engaging in warm, gentle conversation with his broad, Mid-western accent, he perfectly embodies the conventional troubadour aesthetic. Setting eyes on Nathaniel Rateliff reminds you that tradition can sometimes feel as refreshing as anything.
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