Kurt Vile is pretty chill, a disposition that should be easy enough to deduce from his unruly mane and penchant for worn-in plaid shirts. It’s his characteristically laidback attitude that has become the envy of other artists it seems – including Fontaines D.C. 

The Irish band’s frontman Grian Chatten wrote the 2022 song Roman Holiday about the dazed Philadelphian’s unphased demeanour after watching him perform at a festival in Croatia some years back. Just days before we spoke from his hotel room in Trondheim, Norway, Vile was invited on stage by the Dubliners to play guitar on the song he inspired at French festival La Route Du Rock. “Apparently Roman Holiday was inspired by me. I can’t really tell,” he shrugs, “but it’s very sweet if that’s the case. Playing with them was awesome.”

Fitting that an interview based on the premise of his own guitar heroes, that Kurt Vile is already deemed a venerated picker by this generation’s generational bands. The adoration is reciprocated it seems. “I’m seeing this next-generation thing a lot. Even at clubs, you see a younger generation who may have heard me through their parents, or are just catching on themselves. To have that from a band like Fontaines D.C. as well is amazing. I’ve listened to them a lot. They remind me of some bands I grew up listening to, so it’s awesome that they’re fans. I love those kids.”

A classicist whose unhurried style of rock pays homage to the long lineage of guitarists that paved the way, Vile is more than happy to playfully reference his heroes in his music, much like he does throughout his latest record, Philadelphia’s been good to me, which he’s set to tour throughout the UK. Before he reaches British shores however, we caught up with the Philly icon about the guitar heroes who inspired him to play the instrument in the first place and the pickers that continue to inspire him still.

Neil Young

Kurt Vile: He’s one of my favourite artists, ever. For anyone who grew up in a more traditional rock’n’roll era, Neil is essential. His songs can be relatively simple, but you can tell he’s always in the moment. He’s also a technical whiz. He has a pedalboard he invented called The Whizzer that changes the settings on his Fender Deluxe – making it hot, clean, whatever. Most people stomp on pedals; he has a board that does those changes for him. He’s crazy like that. But what really matters is that his guitar playing is so emotional and so present, even when you’ve heard a song a million times. I once told him that I’d seen him do a roughly 30-minute version of Down by the River that sounded as if they were in outer space. He said to me, “We can go to outer space whenever we want.” That was basically the extent of our conversation – it’s not as if he knew who I was.

Tom Curtis-Horsfall: How many times have you met Neil?
KV: ‘Met’ is too heavy a word. I’ve been in the same room with him a good handful of times. I’m friends with some of the people who play in his band, and I’m good friends with Travis Good from The Sadies, who is another guitar hero of mine. Neil is close with Travis. People in Neil’s circle know who I am – not all of them, but a good number. I don’t know whether Neil Young knows who I am. But that’s what I love about him: he seems completely in his own world. That’s the beauty of it. He’s the real deal.

TCH: There are two distinct sides to Neil Young: the softer material and then his music with Crazy Horse, which is more jagged and heavy. Was there a first record that really hooked you and encouraged you to jam more on guitar?
KV: As a teenager, hearing Neil on classic rock radio, it was Heart of Gold. The first time you hear it, it’s beautiful. Then my wife’s aunt and uncle – cool hippies – gave me Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and Harvest. I was listening to indie rock, and to certain classic-rock artists like Lou Reed. I remember hearing Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and thinking it was weird in a cool way. After high school, I lived with a bunch of friends and they played After the Gold Rush. Only Love Can Break Your Heart grabbed me. But it wasn’t until my twenties, when I went to Boston, that I really got lost in Zuma. Some people were going to college; I was driving a forklift. We’d sit around listening to records, and Zuma hit me hard. On Danger Bird, you think the song is ending, then he comes back with that jab again. It’s like he goes to outer space again just because he feels like it. The guitar tone on Zuma, in particular, is the place to go if you want Neil Young’s electric guitar. Then an acoustic song like Pardon My Heart can show up out of nowhere. That’s the beauty. I carry that tradition today: I have the Violators as my Crazy Horse, then I play acoustic in between. It’s very traditional in that way. I can’t think of many people my age or younger doing quite the same thing. Maybe MJ Lenderman in some ways, but not exactly. There are so many different versions of Neil.

TCH: Is there a Neil Young song, which you’ve grown to love over the years, that has influenced your guitar playing?
KV: The title track of On the Beach. In the early 2000s, there was a lot of lore around finding a vinyl copy because it was difficult to get and wasn’t in print. These days, lots of people say it’s their favourite, but at the time it reminded Neil of depressing times. I love the lyrics. There are probably subliminal parallels between them and my song ‘Bassackwards’. They’re desolate, and he’s sad, laid-back and right in the groove with both vocals and guitar. Then he plays this solo in the middle. There’s one note that is a peak moment before the comedown: he bends up to a high B and hits that same note on another string. That riff changed my life. That note changed my life. 

“On Danger Bird, you think the song is ending, then [Neil Young] comes back with that jab again. It’s like he goes to outer space again just because he feels like it.”

John Fahey

KV: He’s a very distinct fingerpicker. He’s influenced so many people. In the late nineties and early 2000s, I was very into Jim O’Rourke, whose fingerpicking influenced me. Someone turned me on to John Fahey after that and said all the Drag City bands were influenced by him. What I liked was that he wasn’t far away from the music my dad was playing. Before I left home, my dad got Anthology of American Folk Music on CD. A friend in Boston, Chris Roberts, also had it, and he was the one who turned me on to Fahey. Fahey was influenced by the Delta blues greats. He helped rediscover Skip James, whose Devil Got My Woman appears in Ghost World. He was the kind of person who would go door to door looking for old 78 RPM blues records. Fahey was also one of the first DIY artists to start his own label, Takoma Records. You can get lost in his fingerpicking – it’s hypnotic. I read liner notes that said it’s all about the bass, all about the thumb. If you want to fingerpick, you have to establish the bass with your thumb first, then the other finger or two follows. With Fahey, it’s all about that tic-tac bass. For me, a peak record is Days Have Gone By, I think his eighth album. I was in my early twenties in Boston, driving a forklift, earning enough to buy my own music, and coming home from a blue-collar job. The whole record is beautiful. People who haven’t heard Fahey might say it sounds like me, because I’m so influenced by him, as are many people. There’s a song called My Shepherd Will Supply My Needs. At the very end, he strums these chords, and it just sounds like him. It feels like the end of a good church service, whether you believe or not – a comedown of organ-like chords. He played a lot of hymns, and it sounds so uplifting.

TCH: You played banjo before guitar. Was there a connection between that, your hammering and picking, and what drew you to Fahey?
KV: I think so. There was a bridge through fingerpicking. It all made sense when I heard him. Before that, my fingerpicking influences were mainly Jim O’Rourke and The Beatles’ White Album, when they were really into that. Then I heard Fahey and thought, ‘Oh my God.’ He was the raw, super-organic, less-filtered version. 

“I was in my early twenties in Boston, driving a forklift, earning enough to buy my own music, and coming home from a blue-collar job.”

Charley Patton

KV: They call him the founder of Delta blues. He came before Robert Johnson, and they were all influenced by him. He played in a very percussive style, with lots of palm muting while he strummed. I have an early song from my record God Is Saying This to You called Can’t Come, it was originally called Can’t Come Through and it has palm muting; it’s short but catchy. I didn’t think about the influence at the time, but when my bandmate Jesse joined, he said it sounded like Charley Patton. I realised he was right: it’s in the poppy strumming, but I’m muting on the beat every time. Patton’s classic Mississippi Boweavil Blues is hypnotic fingerpicking with slide guitar, about the boll weevil devastating crops in Mississippi. There’s also a story about Bertha Lee, one of Patton’s early partners. The legend is that he offended her, perhaps by cheating, and she slit his throat – but he survived. Some say that’s why his voice sounded so gravelly. I don’t know whether it’s true. 

“For anyone who grew up in a more traditional rock’n’roll era, Neil [Young] is essential.”

TCH: Are there any other songs of yours where you can hear Patton’s influence?
KV: My Sympathy, also on God Is Saying This to You. It has its Charley Patton-isms: really percussive open-tuning fingerpicking. It’s also very John Fahey. My Sympathy is from 2002, probably recorded just after I moved back to Philadelphia from Boston. I was briefly living with my parents before moving back into the city. Can’t Come is from 2004 or 2005. Those years – moving back, then living in Northern Liberties – are very strongly influenced by the Delta blues players.

“There’s also a story about Bertha Lee, one of Charley Patton’s early partners. The legend is that he offended her, perhaps by cheating, and she slit his throat – but he survived. Some say that’s why his voice sounded so gravelly.”

Kim Deal

KV: The first time I saw the video for Cannonball as a kid was when grunge and alternative music were getting weirder, and more fun. There was a real sweet spot in that era, and Kim was a pioneer of it. Of course, you hear her with the Pixies before then. I often get her monologue on an early Pixies song stuck in my head. Kim Deal is a genius. Her riffs get stuck in your head, and the time signatures did too when I was a kid. She gets so involved in the studio: she hears a sound in her head and chases it herself. She never lets the engineers run the show. I finally hung out with her backstage after she played Philadelphia on her solo album tour. It was magic to talk afterwards. She’s got a brain like mine. She said, ‘The last time I saw you was in 2010 backstage. We were hanging out with Sonic Youth. We’d just played All Tomorrow’s Parties.” I thought, ‘My God – that’s the way I think’. Her brain just flies. She’s the master of her domain. The first two Breeders albums changed the game. Listen to her unique voice and bass playing in the Pixies, then to the first two Breeders albums. I love the others too, but those two are especially important to me. I bought Last Splash when it came out, then went backwards and got Pod. Think about all that seminal, iconic work, then jump forward to her new solo record, most of which she recorded herself during the pandemic. We spoke about it. She always has her hands in everything; she’s a true genius with such a unique voice. She’s back out with the Breeders and absolutely killing it. It’s a testament to the fact that she has been chasing it this whole time and always evolving. That’s the kind of musician you want to be.

TCH: They’re getting exposed to a whole new generation because Olivia Rodrigo is a massive fan. They’re getting their flowers. To be fair, Kim Deal has always been an icon.
KV: True! I’d forgotten about Olivia Rodrigo! Definitely.

TCH: You said Kim is the master of her domain and can be obsessive about reaching a sound she hears. Is there a particular guitar tone in a Breeders song that feels especially unique to you?
KV: Last Splash starts with New Year, which is like, ‘Hello, here we are.’ It sounds insane. Then Invisible Man comes on: it’s fuzzy, hypnotic and sounds underwater. You lock into that groove through the chords and subtle time-signature changes, but it’s so melodic and pretty. Later there’s Roi and its reprise. As a kid, I’d get lost in that tremolo. I didn’t know what tremolo was at the time; I just knew that whoever was doing it had something special. That’s without even getting to Cannonball. The video was amazing, the song was amazing, and it was such a cool period when MTV was still super cool. She has that pop hit – one of the staple smashes of the era – but she wasn’t just trying to wow you with catchy jams. Within the album there are all kinds of dirges. The key is that it all works melodically and percussively. Guitar is a percussive instrument – think of Fahey, Patton and the people we’ve been discussing. Kim locks you into a groove, but she also has such an ear for melody. She locks you in percussively too. She’s the queen of that. At the end of the day, that’s the kind of music I make: hypnotic and cyclical music that locks into a groove. Kim does that while also having a great songwriter’s sensibility. Some of it is just her, and some of it may be more classic; she has more knowledge of chords than I do, maybe. She has the best of all worlds, and her unique personality makes it what it is. Even on her new record, there are classic arrangements from a bygone era. You can tell she’s listening to old music and taking it backwards into the future. That’s what I aspire to make: music that nods to the past, shows its influences, then moves them forward.

“Kim Deal is a genius. Her riffs get stuck in your head, and the time signatures did too when I was a kid.”

Travis Good

KV: Travis Good from The Sadies. I currently play his Gretsch Tennessean. It’s completely worn in. It’s my favourite guitar. I played it all over the new album. It’s so worn in because he’s a maniacal shredder. He’s the only person I’ve been in a room with when Neil Young has gone right up to him and said, “Hey, Travis.” Travis was in The Sadies with his brother, Dallas, who passed away a couple of years ago. It was tragic. Travis is an insanely good flatpicking guitar player. I think Gordon Lightfoot taught him a little. His dad was in a band called the Good Brothers, so he came up in the Toronto, Canadian scene through his dad and played in his dad’s band before that. If you ever see Travis live, you’ll witness guitar wizardry unlike anything else. It’s in his blood. That’s why Dallas’s death hurt so much. The brothers harmonised so closely, and could seemingly play each other’s guitars. They had those country licks down perfectly. When I first toured with The Sadies, I didn’t know them. I got in a van with them just after my first daughter was born; it was the first tour I went on while leaving her behind, and I’d stare at a picture of her. I watched Travis night after night. They were touring Darker Circles, and one song has a blazing acoustic-guitar solo that comes out of nowhere. It’s a great example of what he can do. The last time I saw Neil Young, I went with Travis to a show in Toronto. Afterwards we hung out backstage and said hello. Travis actually introduced me: “This is Kurt. He opened for you a couple of times.” Before that, nobody would have dared to get into Neil’s space like that. The next day, we played guitar at Travis’s ranch all day and recorded a version of Neil Young and Crazy Horse’s White Line with him in the band. It came out on one of those Uncut magazine collections for one of Neil’s recent big birthdays.

TCH: You mentioned Travis’s Gretsch. How did you get your hands on it, and why did it become such an important part of the new record?
KV: Travis and I talk on the phone a lot, especially after Dallas passed. The whole band are like brothers to me, and we’ve known each other for a long time. Somewhere along the way, I think he mentioned that he might have a Gretsch for me. When I brought it up before going to Toronto, I said, “Remember you said you had a Gretsch?” He said he had one he might sell me, though I could tell he wasn’t certain. He offered to lend it to me first to see whether I liked it. It had been a main guitar for him, though he’d since got a couple of newer ones and still had his old main one. When it finally sat in my lap, it just felt right. Travis is such a great guitar player that it was completely worn in. The pickup is really hot. There are a million guitars in the world, but it’s very hard to find The One. This one has so much juju in it – so much put into it – that it feels as if it plays itself. It really does.

TCH: Did you have it while writing Philadelphia’s been good to me, or did it enter the process during recording?
KV: I can’t remember whether I wrote anything on it, but its leads are on pretty much every track. It’s definitely on the lead parts of’ Zoom 97 and Every Time I Look at You, which is a very country-ish song; the solo is really cutting. It appears on a number of other tracks as well. It’s a golden, worn-in, brown, sweet Gretsch Tennessean – and it’s mine. At the start of the US tour, from Toronto to Chicago, maybe ten gigs or so, I started with Travis and The Sadies. It was full circle. It was beautiful.