Guy Clark, a name synonymous with masterful songwriting and the soulful strumming of an acoustic guitar, has graced the music world for 38 years. His albums, much like his latest, My Favorite Picture of You, are not just collections of songs; they are carefully constructed narratives, vivid portraits, and poignant vignettes. Each piece is imbued with rich detail and resonates with genuine emotion, solidifying Clark’s reputation as a true craftsman and keeper of musical stories.
From the lively juke-joint rhythm of “Cornmeal Waltz” to the subtle yet powerful commentary in “El Coyote,” the heartbreaking beauty of “Rain in Durango,” and the touching farewell of “Death of Sis Draper,” Clark’s songs on this 11-track album reveal the depth and breadth of his artistry. These are not just songs; they are experiences, meticulously crafted and delivered with the raw authenticity that has become his hallmark.
Clark’s songwriting prowess has not gone unnoticed. His work has yielded hits for artists like Jerry Jeff Walker (“LA Freeway”), Ricky Skaggs (“Heartbroke”), and Rodney Crowell (“She’s Crazy for Leavin’”). He’s been inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Foundation’s Songwriters Hall of Fame and received the Americana Music Association’s Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting. Even a Grammy nomination for his 2006 album Workbench Songs underscores the critical acclaim he has consistently earned. His influence and respect within the music community are undeniable, evidenced by the star-studded lineup on the 2011 tribute album This One’s for Him, featuring contributions from peers and admirers like Walker, Crowell, Steve Earle, Lyle Lovett, Willie Nelson, and Emmylou Harris.
Born in Monahans, Texas, in 1941, Clark’s journey took him through Houston in the 1960s, brief stints in San Francisco and Los Angeles, before he found his songwriting home in Nashville, Tennessee. His collaborations are as rich and varied as his geographic moves, including his wife, Susanna, and a close circle of friends – Crowell, Earle, Townes Van Zandt, and many others. These legendary “guitar pulls” at the Clark house, immortalized in the 1975 documentary Heartworn Highways, became a breeding ground for creative synergy and musical innovation.
Within a catalog brimming with landmark albums like Boats to Build, Dublin Blues, The Dark, and Somedays the Song Writes You, My Favorite Picture of You stands as a particularly moving achievement. This is especially true considering the personal storms Clark weathered in recent years, including chemotherapy, a broken leg, knee replacements, and the profound loss of Susanna, his wife of 40 years, in 2012. Despite these challenges, and illnesses in 2013 that curtailed his performances, Clark’s spirit and artistry remain undimmed. While he played less acoustic guitar himself on this album due to physical limitations, he leaned on the talents of longtime friend Verlon Thompson and multi-instrumentalist Shawn Camp, ensuring the album’s musical richness. Even his beloved guitar building, a lifelong passion, has taken a backseat, as Clark candidly admits the toll age and health have taken on his ability to work at his workbench.
In a revealing conversation from his Nashville home, Clark acknowledged a recurring theme of “should have known better” in several new songs like “Hell Bent on a Heartache,” “Good Advice,” and “I’ll Show Me.” He delved into the family and Texas roots that nourish his songwriting, the power of simplicity, and the joys of collaboration. Despite his mastery, Clark remains open to the unpredictable nature of creativity, a quality that played a pivotal role in the creation of the album’s title track – a song that began as a love letter to Susanna and evolved into a deeply touching memorial.
“My Favorite Picture of You” is such a deeply honest and finely detailed song. Was it emotionally challenging to write?
“Actually, it came together quite naturally,” Clark reflects. “The real challenge was learning to play it! That photograph had been with me since the late ’70s or early ’80s. I believe John Lomax captured it at his place. Townes [Van Zandt] and I were, to put it mildly, quite intoxicated, and Susanna had reached her limit. ‘I’m going elsewhere,’ she declared. I suspect Lomax snapped that picture as she walked out the door. While I can’t say definitively, I’m inclined to credit Lomax with it.”
How did the song itself take shape?
“That photograph has been pinned up in my workshop all these years. It’s always been my favorite image of Susanna. Gordy Sampson, the songwriter I was collaborating with, came over with pages of potential titles and hooks. As I scanned the list, ‘My Favorite Picture of You’ jumped out. It was like a lightbulb moment. I glanced up, and there was the photo on the wall. I turned to Gordy and said, ‘Here it is, Gordy, I’ve got it.’ The whole song seemed to unfold in that instant. It wasn’t fully formed, but I knew instinctively that was the song. It flowed quickly because all that was needed was to paint the scene, which felt remarkably easy.” Clark explains, “It might have been the very first song written for this album. That’s where it all began.”
While you’re not known for overtly political songs, “El Coyote” and “Heroes” on the new album are exceptions. What sparked “El Coyote”?
“It originated from a news story, either in print or on television,” Clark explains. “It’s a true, heartbreaking account. A coyote, a smuggler, went south of the border, packed a truck with undocumented immigrants, promising safe passage for $1,100 each. He drove them across, unloaded them, and then turned them over to border patrol for the same $1,100 per person. It’s infuriating, beyond words. The only response I had was to try and write a song about it. The other story, ‘Heroes,’ is equally true, sadly. Eighteen people were locked in a truck, unable to escape, and perished in the Texas heat. I guess I’d simply had enough. Songwriting felt like the only way to respond.”
“Heroes” also stems from a real-life issue?
“Absolutely. It’s a tragic reality that’s more widespread than many realize. The number of young veterans returning from the Middle East who take their own lives is higher than in any previous US war, including Vietnam and World War II. They come home haunted by what they’ve experienced or witnessed, unable to cope, and tragically choose suicide. Hearing about this just broke my heart. Again, songwriting felt like the only way I could process and respond to such profound sorrow.”
Storytelling through song has been a constant in your work. When did this fascination with narrative songwriting begin?
“I’ve always been drawn to story songs and poetry,” Clark states. “Growing up, after dinner, we’d gather around the kitchen table and read poetry aloud. This was in the pre-television era. The whole family would sit together, reading Stephen Vincent Benét or other lyrical stories and poetry. Both my parents were literary in that sense. My father was a lawyer, and my mother was passionate about theater and literature. It was simply a natural part of our family life. So, I was exposed to it from a very young age, I suppose.”
Was music also a part of your family background?
“Surprisingly, no. Neither of my parents played any instruments, and we didn’t even own a record player. However, I believe there’s an inherent musicality in language itself. You hear it in great poetry and prose.”
How did you first encounter music then?
“My musical introduction came through one of my father’s law partners, a young woman named Lola Lee Bonner, fresh out of law school in South Texas. She played guitar and sang Mexican songs – mariachi and norteño music. I was absolutely captivated. I’d never seen anyone play an instrument and sing. It was a spine-tingling experience. From that first encounter, I knew I had to do it.”
When did you get your first guitar?
“I think I was about 16. In South Texas, you could find cheap Mexican guitars for around $12 at the border. For the first year, all the songs I knew were in Spanish.”
When did you move to Houston and discover the blues scene?
“I finished high school in 1960 and spent a year at Texas A&I in Kingsville [now Texas A&M-Kingsville]. There, I became increasingly interested in folk songs. I moved to Houston around ’62 or ’63 and met other guitar players and singers. The Houston Folklore Society, hosted by John Lomax, was already established. It was a gathering of 40 or 50 people in the park, sharing songs in a circle. Being around so many people doing that was incredible. The folk music revival was just beginning in Texas, with small clubs featuring folk music.”
What kind of music were you and others playing then?
“Mostly traditional folk songs. Songwriting wasn’t yet common among us. Bob Dylan was emerging, but his influence hadn’t fully reached Texas yet. But Lightnin’ [Hopkins] was always around, and Mance [Lipscomb]. Lightnin’ performed all over Houston regularly. As young white kids, 18, 19, 20 years old, it wasn’t always safe to go into the venues where they played. But because of our connection with John Lomax, we could get in. He could get us into those places. It was a real education. The amazing thing about Lightnin’ and Mance was that they were songwriters, writing about their own lives and experiences. That wasn’t really what the white musicians were doing at the time. But we could connect with these guys – they were authentic bluesmen, writing autobiographical songs. The lesson I took from them was that you could write your own story, whatever it might be. They were living proof. Otherwise, you were just another white guy playing the blues.”
So, the blues players inspired you to start writing your own songs?
“Yes, absolutely. I loved the blues, the sound, the feeling, everything about it. But as I said, simply learning and playing Lightnin’ Hopkins songs wasn’t enough. It gave me a reason to use that musical vocabulary to create something personal. Soon after, everyone discovered Bob Dylan, and Woody Guthrie was also a huge influence – just brilliant. Realizing that ‘This Land Is Your Land’ wasn’t just a song in a book, but that Woody Guthrie actually wrote it – that was a revelation.”
Did you realize early on that songwriting could be your career?
“No, I wasn’t sure at all if it could be a profession. I’m still not entirely sure!” Clark laughs. “I was just trying to create something. I’m not sure when that realization actually came. I had a pencil, paper, and a guitar. At some point, I just had to put them together. The first song I ever wrote was ‘Step Inside This House.’ I thought it was great. And thankfully, Lyle Lovett agreed and recorded it.”
What brought you to Nashville?
“I decided I wanted to try making a living as a songwriter, to get my songs out there for other artists to record. But first, I moved to LA. I’d met a couple of guys who convinced me to move there around 1970. But I didn’t really like LA, driving around in the smog. It was an experience, and I guess a valuable one, because I did it and learned a lot. I only stayed about eight months to a year. I worked at the Dobro factory, building Dobros all day. Whenever I could get an appointment, I’d drive into Los Angeles to play my songs for people. I didn’t have tapes, nothing but my guitar and myself. I’d make an appointment, take time off work, drive to LA, and play songs. One day, someone got me in to play for the head of RCA’s publishing company. He said, ‘Great, man, how much money do you want?’ I had no idea about money, and he offered me so much I just said, ‘Sure, I’ll take it.’ Then he asked, ‘Where do you want to live? I have offices in LA, Nashville, or New York.’ The answer was immediate. I didn’t like Los Angeles, and I had one friend in Nashville, Mickey Newbury. I said, ‘Nashville.’ We packed up our old VW bus and left.”
Once you settled in Nashville, your home became a hub for songwriters who were slightly outside the country mainstream – Rodney Crowell, Townes Van Zandt, Steve Earle, Billy Joe Shaver. How important was that community?
“It was incredibly important because we were all trying to do the same thing. It was like Paris in the 1920s – everyone hanging out and creating. There was a great sense of camaraderie. It was never competitive among the people I was close to. Everyone was supportive. In LA, it was very competitive. Just getting a gig at a small club was tough because of the competition. In Nashville, everyone was just, ‘Yeah, man, come on, I’ll help you.’ It was fun, and it made everything feel possible.”
In the pop and folk music of the late 60s and early 70s, there was a lot of experimentation and often excess in songwriting. How did you develop your economical writing style?
“I’m not sure I’ve mastered it yet,” Clark chuckles. “I’m still learning what to leave out. Looking back at my earlier songs, I think I often wrote too much, too much going on. It’s like with great guitar players – it’s not the flashy licks they play, it’s the spaces they leave.”
If you were teaching a songwriting workshop, how would you advise students to edit their work?
“I don’t know if you can teach someone how to do that directly. You have to encourage the listener to use their imagination, rather than spelling out every detail. Listen to a Hank Williams record. It’s incredibly simple. Listen to Lightnin’ Hopkins, Mance Lipscomb, Woody Guthrie. Anything truly great, that resonates deeply, is usually very simple.”
The opposite of something like Dylan’s “Desolation Row”?
“Well, that’s a unique case. The first time I heard ‘Desolation Row,’ I had to learn it. Nobody had ever heard anything like it before. So, there are exceptions to every rule, and that’s one of them.”
Many of your songs in recent decades have been co-written. What led you in that direction?
“It started mainly because I was stuck. I used to always write alone, but I reached a point where I couldn’t come up with anything new. I didn’t write much new material for several years in the 80s. But people with similar creative minds naturally gravitate towards helping each other. I really enjoy co-writing for a couple of reasons. One is simply the company of another person, hopefully someone intelligent and enjoyable to be around.”
Clark continues, “When you write alone, you often just mumble to yourself, humming along. You might have most of it on paper, but you haven’t fully committed to it verbally. You haven’t sung it out loud. But when you have to explain your ideas to another person, to articulate what you’re trying to say, it saves a lot of time. You get to the core of what you’re trying to achieve much faster.”
Do you have specific routines for collaboration, in terms of location or how you work on music and lyrics?
“When I co-write, people usually come to my place. We sit in a room, drink coffee, maybe smoke some dope, and work until we have something. If we don’t, we try again another day. It’s all about who has what. If someone has a good musical idea, they play it, and hopefully, the co-writer recognizes its potential. It’s never a structured process like ‘Okay, you do the music, I’ll do the lyrics.’ It just doesn’t work that way. You always end up contributing to both.”
You’ve often included a Townes Van Zandt song on your albums. Why did you choose to record “Waltzing Fool,” an early Lyle Lovett song, this time?
“It was simply time for something different. I looked through Townes’s catalog, and there are still many great songs to explore, but Lyle’s song has always been in the back of my mind. I’ve always loved it. There’s something so charming about it. Then Lyle called because he was receiving an award from ASCAP and asked if I’d sing one of his songs at the ceremony. I said yes immediately. He didn’t suggest a song, but I knew instantly I wanted to do ‘Waltzing Fool.’ I performed it at the awards dinner. The next morning, I had studio time booked for this album, and that song was the first thing we recorded.”
Coming near the album’s end, “Waltzing Fool” creates almost a bookend with the opening track, “Cornmeal Waltz.”
“I never really think about album sequencing in that way,” Clark admits. “I just choose the best ten or eleven songs I have and record them. I believe the less obsessive tinkering – ‘Oh, maybe we should put this here? No, let’s put that there’ – the better the album turns out.”
GUY CLARK’S ACOUSTIC GUITAR SETUP
Guitars: Guy Clark primarily plays a 000 model acoustic guitar that he built himself. “When I began building guitars, I started with nine flamenco guitars because that was the style I initially played,” he recalls. “I love their feel and sound. For stage performance, I need a steel-string guitar, but I wanted it to have a flamenco-like quality. So, I built a 000 12-fret slot-head guitar that comes close. I used Indian rosewood for the back and sides, old German spruce given to me by a neighbor for the top, cedar for the neck (it’s light and strong), scraps from the back and sides for the headstock, and ebony for the fingerboard, faceplate, and binding. It’s the finest guitar I’ve ever played. Almost everyone who plays it agrees.”
Amplification: RMC pickup system (rmcpickup.com), featuring individual pickups under each string and onboard tone and volume controls.
Strings: Medium-gauge D’Addario phosphor bronze strings.
Capo: Shubb capo, which he sometimes uses on the top five strings (leaving the low E string open) to achieve a dropped-D tuning effect.
Picks: A custom pick combination of a flatpick and thumbpick. “I initially used fingerpicks and a thumbpick, trying to learn Elizabeth Cotten’s style,” he explains. “But I didn’t like metal fingerpicks, and I injured my right thumb, making it impossible to grow a functional picking nail. Plus, my thumbs are double-jointed, so instead of being straight, my knuckle makes an L-shape, making it hard to grow a nail for picking. So, you adapt to your needs. I attached a thin, light flatpick to a Herco blue thumbpick for strumming. I trimmed both the thumbpick and flatpick, drilled small holes, and bradded them together.”
