photo: Shervin Lainez

This weekend Lukas Nelson will return to Farm Aid, following an appearance at the Capitol Theatre with Del McCoury. The following conversation, which centers on Nelson’s songwriting, took place following the release of Sticks and Stones, his final record (for now) with his longtime band POTR. Nelson has since announced that he will take a hiatus from working with the group and focus on new creative ventures for the near future.

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“I felt that my last record was a bit introspective, having been written during the pandemic. So we wanted to make something upbeat for people who were in the mood to dance and have a good time,” Lukas Nelson says of his spirited album Sticks and Stones. “I noticed when I toured in the fall of ‘21, that the crowd needed to be lifted up a little bit because they’d been sitting in their homes and listening to introspective music for a long time. So I began writing songs with that in mind and picked a few I’d already written that were appropriate to that theme.”

His instincts proved sound, and following the album’s release in mid-July, Nelson began playing the material to ecstatic audiences at nationwide headlining gigs. Radio listeners responded similarly, as the title track hit No. 1 on the Alt-Country chart, while “More Than Friends,” with guest vocalist Lainey Wilson, topped the Americana Singles chart.

In September 2023, Nelson and POTR joined Tedeschi Trucks Band during The Garden Parties at Boston’s TD Garden and New York’s Madison Square Garden. “They’re like family to me,” he says of the band’s namesakes. “I’ve known them since I was a kid, and they’ve always been inspiring.” Nelson guested on a few songs during the shows, including a version of “Layla” at MSG that also featured Trey Anastasio. “There were a lot of guitars on that song,” he says with a laugh, “so I definitely felt like I was happy to be able to hold down the rhythm part.”

As Nelson initially envisioned, crowds have been expressing their enthusiasm for the Sticks and Stones material, and he notes, “I think that any artist is hoping to capture a piece of the moment and tap into something that people are feeling. The goal for me is to find a conduit to people’s hearts.”

The song sequencing on Sticks and Stones seems to present a narrative arc. Was that by design?

Yes, it’s a subtly autobiographical piece. It starts off with a sort of defiance, then there’s this youthful abandon with “Alcohallelujah” and the pitfalls of the party life. The narrator of the story then goes through some rock bottoms and is even in the streets in the case of “Overpass.” Then that character discovers a love—it could be a newfound love for someone or it could be something inside of him or her that pulls them out of the darkness and into a much more balanced and peaceful place.

Although there are serious themes, you also make a point to blend in humor.

I think the most compelling stories have elements of both light and dark. Stephen King is a great example of that. He’s an amazing writer in his ability to get inside the minds of these very dark characters, but he also understands what drives a character who isn’t consumed by darkness. It’s the interaction between those two characters that makes his work so compelling. He’s not just a horror writer. He’s a writer who deals with humanity, and humanity is at once horrifying and beautiful.

I think a lot of horror writers and movie directors are dark just for the sake of darkness, which is sort of self-indulgent. It’s also unrealistic because not everybody’s completely consumed by that. If you ignore the light, then you’re missing a whole piece of reality.

That sentiment surfaces in the opening moments of Sticks and Stones, which features a joke about not being called “late for dinner,” followed shortly by the line, “Dust to dust, we’re all just pushing dirt.”

That’s the whole idea. My favorite art makes me think about life. Now I’m not comparing my music to this in any way, but with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, when I listen to “Time,” it’s the story of life. It’s the story of aging and growing old and how we perceive time itself—what an amazingly heady concept to capture in such a beautiful way.

My little country song is nothing like that, but it does bring me back to my own mortality. It makes me less concerned with trivial bullshit when I can ask myself: “Is it really important what someone says to me when we are just dust?” Some people are uncomfortable with that, but I find the impermanence of all things very comforting.

A lot of people don’t think that because they want to keep holding on. But if you try and hold on, it’s going to be that much harder when it goes away. The great Eastern masters talk about life being best spent preparing for death. So it’s heavy, but when I consider my own mortality, I contemplate, “What am I going to be thinking about when I finally slip away? What will I be holding on to and wishing that I did differently? Can I make my life as beautiful and intricate as I can, so that when I do slip away, I don’t have many regrets at all?”

Since you mentioned Pink Floyd and you’ve worked in film, have you ever considered creating something in that medium, as they did with The Wall?

Absolutely. A lot of the stuff that I’m writing now is very intricate with a lot of unusual chord progressions and things that really lend themselves to visual art accompaniments.

I also like simplicity in lyrics and I think that Pink Floyd is a great example of that. They can be very intricate in their arrangements and experimental with their music while keeping their lyrics relatable and super core to the heart, mind and spirit. It’s not just flowery language. People can internalize it without thinking, “This person’s just waxing poetic.” That’s really important to me—not being overly indulgent with my lyrics.

You’ve also been very open to sharing your perspective via song when something tragic or consequential happens in the world. You’ll offer an intimate performance on Instagram that speaks to the matter at hand. Do you feel a responsibility in some way to use your voice in this manner?

As an artist, I think my role is to observe and interpret the world around me and express my interpretation. So when something goes down, whether it be a pandemic or a fire or something else that happens, it’s almost impossible for me not to feel it as a member of the world community.

As an artist, I don’t feel a responsibility, but I definitely feel compelled to say something, to write something. I prefer to do it in my music, though. I don’t really like making statements. The statement I think is better made in my art rather than me being some sort of spokesperson for anything.

For instance, I was in Hawaii when the fires happened and I felt so helpless. My heart was broken and I was praying in my own way. When you grow up on an island, you feel connected to the community.

In a moment like that I felt that there were a lot of people in the world who would relate to that feeling, that helplessness—the idea that there’s just nothing you can do while your people are suffering. That’s a really deep pain that I think everybody can relate to at certain points in their lives.

I think that music has an ability to really hit deep into the soul of a thing. Sometimes you can hear just a melody and feel emotional. When I hear “Moonlight Serenade” there are no words, but I feel something. When I hear Chopin, there are no words, but I feel.

So if you can combine a few choice words with a melody that’s emotional, you can really cut through all the fat. Some people feel that that’s as close as you can get to God or source or whatever you might want to call it.

Picking up on what you said about “Moonlight Serenade,” Lou Reed once declared that one should be able to enjoy a rock song without understanding the words.

There are a lot of rock songs where I don’t understand the words, much to my chagrin because I’m a lyrics guy. That’s why in rock, I tend towards more of the Beatles style. I’d rather hear something clearly said. Although there’s also a lot of indie music that I really like for atmosphere, even if sometimes I don’t always know what they’re saying, like with Animal Collective or Sigur Rós.

Mastodon is a great metal band and I don’t know what the heck they’re saying. I like putting it on and then looking down at the lyrics and thinking how cool they are. It’s like reading a book with this crazy soundtrack from a metal leviathan. It’s pretty cool.

Then there’s something like The Beatles’ “I am the Walrus,” which seems like it was written as an experiment. There are some 60s counterculture themes in that song—you can infer some sort of collective consciousness with “I am he/ As you are he/ As you are me/ And we are all together.” Still, it’s pretty much nonsense and I think John Lennon wrote it to be nonsense, then sort of looked on while everyone tried to find meaning in it.

Your songs are often so evocative of particular moments and sentiments. To what extent are you drawn to writing compositions that might be more about sounds and syllables or pure abstractions?

There’s a song on Sticks and Stones called “All Four Winds” that’s a little poem. I’m not saying it has no meaning to it, but different interpretations could mean different things. It’s more about the vibe of the whole song. The song “Overpass” has a little more imagery, but a lot of meaning.

A lot of times I tend to write very simply. Even with the song that I put out after the tragedy, it was more a simple expression of the heart. I like that simplicity. I don’t like to write all the words I can think of, just to make a song big and fancy sounding. That doesn’t really appeal to me.

I do like to play with imagery, though. There’s a song I’ve had it for a long time—although I recently started singing it—called “Desperately” that could be interpreted in different ways.

My brother and I sometimes send each other songs where I’ll just start playing my guitar and doing random stream of consciousness stuff. Those tend to be really fun, exciting and different.

Can you recall the first song you wrote that felt like something substantive to you?

The first song I ever wrote was called “You Were It.” The chorus is, “But now I’m fine/ All the pain is gone/ I once had a heart/ now I have a song.” That was when I was 11 years old and my dad loved it so much, he recorded it himself.

He put it out on his record It Always Will Be, which came out in 2004 or something. But I was a kid when I wrote the song and that gave me a lot of confidence to keep writing songs when he told me, “Hey, that’s really good.” He didn’t just say that, though, he liked it so much that he put it out on a record.

In terms of your process, will songs typically emerge spontaneously when you might be doing something else or will you make a point to sit down at a regular time to see what you can summon?

I sort of wait for the rain as they say. You can’t force it. I think that’s what songwriting is to me. There’s a muse up there that if you’re kind to her, she’ll keep giving you gifts. If you try and force anything from her, then she won’t feel so inspired and you won’t be inspired. You can’t hold the muse prisoner, you can’t put her in a cage. She’s a very special creature up there, and you’ve got to respect her.

I recently heard you reference a dinner you shared with Leon Russell a few months before he passed away. How long had you known him and what would you say about him to someone who might have heard his name but is unfamiliar with his music?

I’d seen him and hung out with him as a kid on the bus with dad when they’d play shows but I didn’t really know him on my own. Then I saw him at the airport gate when we were going to Curaçao to play at a music festival [the Curaçao International BlueSeas Festival on May 6-7, 2016]. It was a very interesting situation. He was hanging there, and then we ended up having dinner when we got to the island at this almost abandoned hotel on the water with oil rigs everywhere. It was a very surreal experience, and it was just months before he passed. I was so grateful to get that time alone with him and to be able to talk with him and his wife. They were very sweet.

My dad thought he was probably the greatest performer that ever lived. He grew up in Oklahoma near Tulsa, and he was a contemporary with J.J. Cale, who’s another sort of unsung hero in the music world. A lot of great English musicians like Eric Clapton and George Harrison looked up to Leon [they both appeared on his debut album, 1970’s Leon Russell]. He also put together the Mad Dogs & Englishmen group for the Joe Cocker tour that was recorded for a live album and film.

Leon wrote lots of songs and he produced and recorded with so many musicians. He was very integral in the rock-and-roll scene, but he and J.J. both had a great disdain for fame, especially at the expense of integrity and of peace of mind. He really was afraid of what fame could do to people and the ravenous, materialistic hunger that hung around that world. He did not want to be famous.  He was very wary of that and really loved music for the sake of music itself.

Since you’ve mentioned that your dad feels Leon Russell is an all-timer, who is on your list?

Oh man, there’s so many out there. I mean, Prince, Neil [Young] who’s such a great performer—when we went and did Desert Trip with him years back, a lot of people felt like our set was their favorite because while it didn’t have all the bells and whistles, it was just straight to the heart. It was sort of an anti-technology type of set and the audience really gravitated towards that.

But then on the other hand of that same coin, you’ve got the Rolling Stones. Roger Waters was there doing Dark Side of the Moon and I’m also a huge David Gilmour fan. His guitar playing is so lyrical and the performances that they put together as Pink Floyd with the visual art accompaniment was something else.

Then there are other types of bands out there that really have choreography. David Byrne is an amazing performance artist and with Talking Heads, that’s another type of thing.

Hendrix had his own flair and sort of created something entirely new in terms of performance and scared a lot of people.

Of course, Stevie Ray Vaughan was just so flat out, raw, talented.

There also was the punk rock sort of era where it was just performance art, even at the expense of the music in some ways.

I can’t say that I like one over another, though, they’re all different. They’re all so varied in the type of performance.

Speaking of that variety, a few years ago you had a weekly series in which you shared covers of songs that you’d played during soundcheck. One of your picks was Dire Straits’ “Romeo and Juliet.” Can you talk about how that song speaks to you?

Mark Knopfler is one of the great guitar players of all time, and he’s also one of the great lyricists. That song is so good and I’m also drawn to the way he delivers it, with his particular British phrasing that’s fused in the song.

He took a timeless story and put it into song in a way that makes it modern, sexy and cool. I think that’s one of the most beautiful songs ever. But I’m a huge fan of Dire Straits in general.

You’ve said that the material on Sticks and Stones was selected specifically for the way it would be received in the live setting. Since you’re such a prolific songwriter, how do you typically approach your work when it comes to a new record?

I have an archive of songs that’s over 200 songs deep. Every time I write a song, I throw it into the Dropbox—it’s an acoustic version of that song. Then when it’s time to think about putting out a new album, in order to get some semblance of organization, I start thinking about what kind of album statement I want to make at the time.

With Sticks and Stones I wanted to have an album’s worth of songs that really worked well for the live show. So that was the direction that we wanted to go and I thought about what my audience was gravitating towards in terms of moments in the show.

David Byrne talks about this. Whenever you write a song it’s a great idea to imagine where you’re going to be playing it—what stage, what type of venues and all of that. Is it going to be a theater? Is it going to be a honky-tonk joint?

So I imagined that based on the types of venues that I’m playing now, and I wrote songs that would really serve the live set. We picked around 20 of them and then whittled it down to the 12 songs that are on the record.

With the next album, I’m feeling extremely creative and I want to be a little more outside the box. I’m not sure if that will stick, but that’s how I’m feeling right now. I’m collecting a few songs and writing more songs that are somewhat different sounding, although who knows what the next album will be.

When the time comes, I basically choose songs out of the archives that serve the theme. It’s not that one song is better than another, it just fits a different place.