Interview Todd Snider

For almost 20 years, country-folk troubadour Todd Snider has, by his own account, been traveling around and “making this shit up and singing it for anybody who will listen.”
That group of anybodies has been relatively small since the release of Snider’s 1994 debut Songs For The Daily Planet, though his songs have been covered by higher-profile country singers like Gary Allan and Jack Ingram. Snider’s brilliant seventh studio album, 2006’s The Devil You Know—and the record’s centerpiece, “You Got Away With It (A Tale Of Two Fraternity Brothers),” one of the decade’s great protest songs—finally earned him notice by critics for his slyly humorous and insightful songwriting. Inspired by personal heroes like John Prine and Jerry Jeff Walker, Snider writes songs about losers and deadbeats struggling to get by in Bush’s America, where there’s “a war going on that the poor can’t win.” Snider is poised for a breakthrough with his next album, due later this year and featuring guest spots by Loretta Lynn and Kris Kristofferson. Before then, he spoke with Decider about hanging with Lil’ Wayne and why country radio doesn’t suck.

Decider: You recently told a story about how you met Lil’ Wayne at a party and he called you “Rolling Papers.” Please tell me that actually happened.
Todd Snider: Yeah! I wouldn’t necessarily say it was a party—well, yeah, it was a party, I just wasn’t necessarily invited to it. I was staying in the same hotel as them, and I went down to the bar to get my pre-show drinks right at the same time they were getting their pre-show drinks. And we ended up doing that together. I don’t know if they’d remember that. I sat right next to Lil’ Wayne at the bar, but the other guy was there, too, the guy with the teeth—well, they both have the teeth now—but I remember he was 19 and he kept telling the bartender that. I thought that was really funny.
D: Why did he call you Rolling Papers?
TS: Because I was the only white person there. So he said, “I’m going to call you Rolling Papers.” My wife was with me, but she’s Mexican, and everybody else in there was black. It was a lot of fun. They seemed like fun people. And then they went and did their show, and we went and did our show. And there was a riot for their show. It was crazy. We checked out of the hotel because after their show there were people everywhere.
D: There wasn’t a riot for you, too?
TS: Oh no. Both of the people at my show were real cool.
D: The Devil You Know probably garnered more acclaim than any album in your career. Do you feel like you’re finally on the verge of becoming a rock star?
TS: [Laughs.] No. But I’ve met some. And I’ve shared some of their deli trays.
D: Which rock stars have you met?
TS: I just met Greg Brady this morning. He had that Johnny Bravo period that I thought was exciting. The suit, the way he fit that suit, it was touching. What’s his real name? Barry McWilliams or something?
D: You’re currently based in East Nashville. How connected are you to the Nashville country-music scene?
TS: I like those guys and I go to their parties sometimes. And I like that kind of music. That’s one of the things about East Nashville—we make country music but we don’t make that kind of country music, but we also don’t hate that kind of country music, which is what separates us from different parts of Texas, you know? I respect and admire the idea of, “If this song isn’t on the radio, it’s not worth anything, period.” That’s not how The Stones worked on Sticky Fingers. They didn’t care if “I Got The Blues” got on the radio, it just came out of them. But I can understand the guy who’s like, “If there’s a great song about going through a divorce we can get on the radio, I don’t care if I’m going through a divorce, I want to sing it.” I understand that thinking, it’s just not my thinking. My heroes didn’t do that. So if I can get away with doing it the way I want to do it, I’m gonna. But I sure ain’t going to begrudge Trace Adkins for wanting to make a record with 10 hit singles on it. And I’m sure not going to begrudge the guy driving home liking those singles.
D: Contemporary country gets a bad rap from country artists on the outside looking in, but you obviously don’t share that point of view.
TS: Not at all. It reminds me of when Hootie & The Blowfish was popular and we used to open for them. I’d go out and see them make 10,000 people have fun. I could see them having fun. Who are people to say that these guys aren’t doing something? When I hear some No Depression band guy running down modern country music, I always think, “Ah, I see! You were here for the money, too, weren’t you? They just didn’t give it to you.” I always feel sorry for those guys that want to sound like The Jayhawks and then be on the radio all the time. Well, shit man! If you can’t dig what that gig is, get a real job.
D: Those people always point to Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings as an ideal, but they recorded sappy love songs, too.
TS: I admire those two, in particular, because that would be the equivalent of the Drive-By Truckers taking over country radio without changing. Goddamn! If they do that, I’ll quit my job and carry their shit! But, the thing is, I brought up a band that’s not bitching about their life. If you ask Patterson [Hood, DBT’s leader], he’d go, “I like that one song Kenny Chesney does.” Almost every station I turn on I like. Jazz took me the longest to get, and now I’m really into that. But I didn’t mind the Backstreet fucking Boys. I really like music, you know? Almost all of it.