It’s 10am on Saturday morning, Philadelphia time, when I call Kurt Vile. Our midweek slot had been rescheduled,
so I’m aware that I’m eating into his weekend, and I’m at pains to make sure I’m as efficient as possible. I needn’t have worried.
Vile is in decidedly relaxed form and eager to chat, opening up further with each question and bubbling with enthusiasm,
not only for his own output but popular music at large.
He lists his tastes like a rock role call, whizzing through the last 35 years’ touchstones with breathless fervour.
“I just have a very specific personality that’s very obsessive,” he says, “and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consume, say, the Pavement discography.”
His language suggests a ravenous passion for modern music as an art form. As Vile moves towards his mid-30s,
happy daze it’s clear that he has found a certain degree of contentment.
One of the reasons for my trepidation in disturbing his downtime is that his wife recently gave birth to a second child, happy daze and he describes his current situation as the best he’s been in,
both musically and personally, in his entire life. His satisfaction, however, shouldn’t be mistaken for hubris,
and it certainly hasn’t fostered any complacency in his artistic philosophy.
Indeed, it’s clear that as he gears up for the release of his fifth solo album, ‘Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze’,
he intends to grab his opportunity with both hands.
His third effort on eminent NYC imprint Matador, it’s a collection that oozes sunshine and classic rock pomp,
tethered by a roster of his house band, The Violators, that’s so tight it sounds telepathic.
In my initial correspondence with Matador’s UK press officer I’m told of Vile’s industrious work ethic.
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