With his “Now Then” album (Compass Records, 2025) out, AUK asked Robbie Fulks ten questions about one topic – songs…
You would expect that country rockers are very good at making music about getting old while getting old(er) themselves. They seem to exist outside of time. Some have spent their whole careers absorbing the past – for example: Steve Earle, Merle Haggard, Roger McGuinn, Dave Alvin – into their music. So, when their personal past lengthens behind them, they’re better prepared to handle it.
Robbie Fulks has been weaving the influences of honky-tonk, troubadour folk and old school country rock into an act that is hard to categorise, especially since he has a penchant for funny or spoof songs. Only Fulks would release cover albums of Michael Jackson or Bob Dylan’s “Street Legal.” Peter Applebome of “The New York Times” describes his music as “one part artful country, one part artful sendup of country, and one part a little of everything else.”
Fulks celebrated his 62nd birthday this year with an album, “Now Then,” which includes one of the best-ever rock songs about getting old. The album opener ‘Workin’ No More Blues’ sums up our bewildered reaction as we cross one of the frontier boundaries to retirement or worse: 60, 70, 80, gulp. He is quietly resisting a world that demands greater conformity by the day: Now I’m weary of those around me/And I know for sure they’re sick of me/They say I won’t do as I’m told/They say I’ve lost the thread/I’m too old. The aged narrator of ‘Savannah is a Devilish Girl’ dreams of disappearing into rural life while watching those around him fall away. Fulks sings plaintively over a subdued banjo and an exhausted fiddle: I was not born kickin’ just to get along/A Georgia boy with a lot to prove, next summer I’ll be 62/Hell if I know what I’ve been waitin’ on.
Fulks continues the theme of ageing on ‘Ocean City,’ which details a couple, his elderly parents and a dog strolling the boardwalk, picking shells out of the sandy beach, showering off in a beachside rental as ‘Then Came You,’ the ’74 hit by The Spinners played (Ever since I met ya/Seems I can’t forgetcha.) The album ends on the bleak outlook of ‘Nobody Cares,’ which pulls back the curtains on the loneliness of old age to see an old man sitting alone with a dog, his only pal at his side. There is no screaming about how the world grinds a man down. He’s not being naïve; he acknowledges that death is rattling like a viper nearby, but nonetheless, he’s grateful to feel the wind on his face one more day and declares: A burden to none and content to be/Nobody cares about me, and man, that’s fine.
Fulks has provided himself with some stellar material to explore. “Now that I’m 62,” he mused, “I think I consist mostly of memories. I’m not looking forward nearly as much as I am a creature of the past.” Still, the album covers a lot of ground with genres, ranging from folk to power pop, jazz to old-time country. “I love the range of it,” Fulks said. “I tried to shoehorn as big a range as possible over three or four records in the past, and this is one of those. I feel I keep getting better pulling that off as I go along. This is the most successful one. The name for it is probably “americana”.
Robbie Fulks on songs
Song of yours that reminds you of an artist who was an influence
‘Angels Carry Me’ rips off Jesse Winchester and Paul Simon. I started with a Jesse-like progression, and later couldn’t think how to finish it, so turned to ‘Darling Lorraine’ for help.
Song of yours that reminds you of your home town or state
‘One Glass of Whiskey’ reminds me of my current home town, Los Angeles, and the horse farms there. I wrote it on my front porch, watching the horses, the river, and the mountain beyond. They’re just as LA as surfing and homeless people.
Your most joyful song
‘Easter Song,’ Keith Green. I listened to a lot of CCM as a teenager. This song still has the juice even for an old atheist.
Your saddest song
‘Flowers,’ Billy Yates. Singing to someone you love whose death you caused — surefire.
A song you wish you had written
‘If It’s Really Got to Be This Way’ by Arthur Alexander. Arthur has a way of cutting to the emotional chase, and a knack for simple, unforgettable melody lines.
Song of yours that people want to hear at shows
‘Fuck This Town’ – I think the mark of a true artist is happily denying people what they say they want.
The song that people think is about you
‘Oh, Pretty Woman’, of course.
The first song of yours that you recorded
‘Rockin’ at The Econo-Lodge’ – It’s not exactly the first, but of the first half-dozen, it’s got the best title.
The last song you couldn’t get out of your head (earworm)
Tie: ‘Music Life’ by Mia Doi Todd and ‘Little White-Washed Chimney’ by Bill Clifton. A song like Bill’s that carries nostalgia for what never existed is mysterious in its charm. And Mia’s song clears up the mystery of song. Anyone who gives it an honest listen should be deeply moved.
If you had to play one song of yours to get into heaven, what would it be?
Anything but ‘Fuck This Town.’
