...too sublime for words
I met William Tyler on the Exeter line out of London, and never such an autodidact had I met. He’ll tell you about James Kunstler, about Rudy Wurlitzer, about how Michael Cimino got a raw deal with Heaven’s Gate. We were both far hungover and lugging plenty gear, guitars and records and books, more than we could carry.
William Tyler comes from good Southern stock, a Nashville lifer who’s played with Lambchop, the Silver Jews, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, Charlie Louvin, Candi Staton. People love this man, rightfully so. When you meet him, you’ll feel that compulsion. William’s father Dan came from Mississippi; he wrote songs and lawyered around Music Row in the 1970s and later worked with Eddie Rabbitt, who toted a monkey on his shoulder and smoked grips of weed. Dan was once accosted by David Allen Coe, who chased him with a knife. (...)
I could lay in the far rolling fields of North Somerset and listen to Willy play all day long. What kind of world would that be for me? Better than the one ahead? So call it the Extermination Rag. The Glory Rag. March of the Jokers, you know? A hillbilly devotional with the lateness of dancers. I call it Impossible Truth.
MC Taylor, Durham, NC