Interview: Dylan LeBlanc

Dylan LeBlanc was 10 years old when he first stepped into the renowned FAME Recording Studios in Muscle Shoals, Ala., where his father James was a staff songwriter and musician. He immediately fell in love with the music of Etta James, The Allman Brothers Band, and other luminaries who’d cut records in the legendary studio, and spent late nights as a fascinated fly on the wall during sessions his dad played on.

FAME owner and producer Rick Hall, the mustachioed protagonist in the 2013 documentary Muscle Shoals, took the young LeBlanc under his wing, encouraging him to take a disciplined, business-like approach to songcraft that would ultimately land him his first record deal at 19.

LeBlanc returned to FAME last year to record and self-produce his fifth album, Coyote, recruiting an A-list cast of studio players (including his dad) to bring to life the semi-autobiographical storyline of the record’s namesake narrator. The linear narrative of a wanderer living dangerously on the edge — a recurring theme throughout the now 33-year-old LeBlanc’s younger, more reckless years — unfolds song by song, his hauntingly unmistakable voice blanketed in gothic, Southwestern atmosphere.

Asheville Stages spoke with LeBlanc a few days before kicking off a lengthy U.S. tour, which includes a Saturday, Jan. 20, stop at Eulogy. The singer/songwriter spoke candidly about the full-circle experience of recording Coyote — which he calls the “record he’s always wanted to make” — his struggles with addiction and recalibrating his vision of success as an artist.

Jay Moye: This will be the first time playing the new record for fans in the U.S., right?

Dylan LeBlanc: Yes, and I’m so excited. We just did a pretty big European tour, which was great. It felt good that people were responding to the new album. We sold out a bunch of shows. Spain was probably my favorite. Those audiences just go absolutely nuts, and the energy was great.

JM: Your music first found an audience in Europe. How would you compare the response you’ve gotten overseas to here?

DL: America is a huge melting pot of all different types of people. And musically, it's the same. I’ve got fans here who are metalheads, for example. But in Europe, what I do is very niche and there's a certain market for it — people who really love the type of music I play. They’re really loyal and enthusiastic because it’s foreign to them, I think. I have more of a base over there. In America, there's just so much to compete with. It’s a tough market to crack. I’m still working really, really hard to get people onboard. For 13 years, it’s been one fan at a time. 

JM: How did you go about picking the players you had in the studio with you for the Coyote sessions, and what vibe were you going for?

DL: I was listening to the J.J. Cale record, Naturally, that came out in ’72, especially the rhythm section. To me, it’s a perfect-sounding record, sonically. So, I picked musicians I knew could catch that vibe. I went to a NRBQ session in Nashville my dad was playing on with Fred Eltringham. I got to know Fred and was kind of freaking out about how great of a drummer he was. I didn’t think I could get him — I knew he played with Sheryl Crow, was in The Wallflowers, and played with Willie Nelson — but he just so happened to have the four days we needed him free. I couldn't believe it! 

And Jim “Moose” Brown [guitarist with Bob Seger’s band], who played keys on the record, I’d worked with him on [my 2021 covers EP] Pastimes. He comes to Muscle Shoals all the time and is real tight with my dad. He's an A-list Nashville session player, and I knew I wanted him. And I had my dad play bass, guitar, and some utility instruments just because he's such a badass. He also mixed the album. It was the first we’d ever worked that closely together on a record, which was a real treat.

JM: You also had our very own Seth Kauffman, aka, Floating Action, on bass. How'd you first hook up with him?

DL: I've been a Floating Action fan since I was about 19 years old. I’d see them every time they’d come to my hometown of Shreveport, Louisiana. I love that first record — “50 Lashes” is one of my favorite songs — and I love Desert Etiquette. Our little circle of “real” music fans listened to those records all the time. Whenever I ask other musicians if they’ve heard of Floating Action, they're always like, “Fuck yeah! I love that band!”

So for me, getting to make a record with Seth was like getting to make a record with one of my heroes. And he’s become one of my really good friends. I just respect him so much, musically. He's so prolific, always doing something creative. I hold him in such a high regard, and it's been great to work with him a lot these last three or four years. He toured with me in 2020 and has done a few short runs with me here and there. He's one of those guys it’s just a real privilege to have in your band. You can’t have him all the time, but when you do, it just fucking rocks.

JM: Was it surreal to record in the room where you'd spent so much time as a kid, and to have your dad with you?

DL: Yeah, it was cool. We have a similar ear, and I trust his instincts in the studio. He's got a real knack for hearing parts and is also really focused and knows how to organize a session. It helped to have him there to keep everything in order. It was probably the most focused album I've ever done. We didn't put anything on it that didn't need to be there.

Everything was very intentional. We knew exactly what we were going for, so it didn't take much time. We cut 17 tracks in four days. Sometimes it can be like pulling teeth to get the vibe going and get everybody in the room focused. But when you have people that good in the studio, it goes by really quickly and the workflow is easy.

JM: Strings have always played a key role in your music. Do you hear string parts as you're writing songs? What character does string arrangements add to your sound?

DL: I can't write music, but I can sing string parts. It reminds me of listening to AM radio as a kid. I even love the cheesy ones. “Wichita Lineman” and “Rhinestone Cowboy” [by Glen Campbell] are so cheesy, but I fucking love ‘em. I like really cinematic music. Strings make me feel like I’m in a movie scene. I want to be transported when I listen to music. I want it to hit me in the heart and in the feels. I'm all about vibration. I sound like a fucking hippie, but strings do that. They add that cinematic, transportive quality to the music.

JM: Your 2016 album, Cautionary Tale — which you recorded with John Paul White [Civil Wars] and Ben Tanner [Alabama Shakes and former house engineer at FAME] — was my entry into your music. Why was that record such a turning point for you?

DL: I was going through a really tough time. I was in and out of trouble. I like to drink and I have a lot of pain. And a lot of pain, alcohol, and drugs don’t mix well. I remember being in such a dark place. The police were called. The girl I was dating started seeing somebody else. I was just really sad. I was 24 or 25. And it was all coming to a boiling point in the middle of making that record. 

I remember doing a few sessions and sitting by myself in my apartment on Christmas Eve. I hadn't slept and it was about seven in the morning. I said “Fuck it,” got in my car, and took a couple of Xanax bars, drove all the way to Shreveport and went straight to the bar and got absolutely smashed. I didn't even go home to see my mother. I got way, way off into some shit.

When I came back to record and was all you out of it on drugs and alcohol, JP [John Paul] and Ben sat me down and said, “Dude, you need help.” Everybody was angry at me. I love that Mitch Hedberg quote where he says something like, “Alcoholism is the only disease people hate you for.” It’s so true. Because I do think it is a disease. It's a mental illness and an obsession, and it’s geared toward people who are in a lot of pain.

I started to realize at that point that there was a problem. And that I was a problem, not anyone else. That's why the record is called Cautionary Tale. I wrote that song and just knew I needed to make a change if I was going to continue doing things I love and keep people I love around.

I started to try — and “try” is the key word — to do better. I was still fucking up left and right for several years, but the trying and real self-awareness started. I took a step towards the right direction and feel like the universe took a step toward me. I had been struggling so bad, playing to nobody, and felt like such a failure. I wanted success so bad, but it just felt like it was never going to be attainable.

I still have a drink sometimes, but I don't abuse alcohol. I'm not hurting like I was, and I pray to God I never hurt that way again. From 22 to 26 were really rough years, man.

Cautionary Tale came out when I was 25, on January 15 of 2016. I turned 26 on March 9.

JM: Is it hard to revisit those songs now, given where you were in your life when you wrote and recorded them?

DL: Not at all. I love that record and still think it's one of my best. It’s so honest and raw. There's nothing on it — just drums, bass, acoustic guitars, keys, and strings. It was recorded in a house that was a makeshift studio in a couple of bedrooms on a half-inch tape machine. It was about as analog as it gets. When the 16 tracks ran out, we were done with that song. We did it like that on purpose. 

JM: How do limitations like that serve your music?

DL: Too many things at your disposal can oversaturate and cause you to do too much. The limitations of the recording and the space you give are what create the dynamic — the ebb and flow. I like saying, “We're done.” Knowing when to stop is a huge part of it. The first thing is to have a good song to go in and record, and when that happens, everything else sort of just falls into place. It's more about the vibe and singing your ass off.

JM: Speaking of singing, you’ve talked how underdeveloped your skills as a singer and performer were when you got your first record deal at age 19. How would you describe the evolution of your voice, which is such a signature part of your sound?

DL: I think every singer in the world develops their voice. It became important to me to be a dynamic singer. And what that means is just stretching yourself. I remember being in the shower when I was, like, 22 and going for notes I knew I couldn't hit. I’d keep going for it and eventually I’d hit it because your vocal chords are like muscles. The more you exercise them, the stronger they get. I just tried really hard, because I was not a good singer. I had no range. You can hear it on my first record [Pauper’s Field]. My voice is low, with not a lot of body to it. I still like that record. But as far as a singer — and damn sure as a performer — I wasn't ready. As a young person, I thought people would automatically like my music and things would take off just because I had a record deal. It was a really naive way of looking at things, and I was in for a very rude awakening.

So, I decided to develop my voice because I wanted to be a good singer. I loved Cat Power and Jim James and Ray Charles. I remember listening to [Cat Power’s] You Are Free and Crying Time, that Ray Charles country and western record with “Let’s Go Get Stoned.” And It Still Moves [by My Morning Jacket] and Andrew Bird’s A Mysterious Production of Eggs. I listened to them over and over because all of those singers are so dynamic. I felt something in all of their voices and wanted to be able to have that in mine because it helps tell the story.

JM: You split time these days between Muscle Shoals and Norway, where your fiancée and young daughter live. How has becoming a dad reshaped your priorities?

DL: Everything I do now is with her in mind. There's a lot less selfish motivation. The artist thing is a self-indulgent lifestyle. It requires you to constantly be thinking about you. And now I think about what I can do to sell myself that will benefit my family. I chose this life a long time ago. It's all I ever wanted to do. And I've lost a lot of people to trying to do it. I feel like if I don't see it through, it'd be stupid to turn back or quit. At this point, a lot of my blood is in the game. And I don't want to spill it for no reason. I just want to make it work. And I do also want to make it work primarily so I can pay the bills and keep my daughter and fiancée happy. That's my motivation now.

I still stop and say to myself, “I played to 30 people last night. It's a 250-cap room and the promoter’s pissed, but guess what? I played to 30 people and those 30 people were fucking stoked to be there. They knew my music and liked it. And I earned every one of them by working really hard.” That's been my career. I know at this point in the game that I'm never going to be a rock star — those aspirations left in my early 20s. I just want to keep going and as long as I have the opportunity to get in my van and play for whoever, I'll be grateful.

IF YOU GO

Who: Dylan LeBlanc with Jarrod Dickenson
When: Saturday, Jan. 20, 8 p.m.
Where: Eulogy, 10 Buxton Ave., burialbeer.com/pages/eulogy
Tickets: $26.45

(Photos by Abraham Rowe)