“Even when I abused drugs and alcohol as a young man, it was fueled by those Kerouac and Gary Snyder adventures,” explains Charlie Peacock, the artist/producer/songwriter, speaking of what drives him. “It was always about the journey and the search, the dreaming and thinking and doing, and that hasn’t changed.”
Peacock might be best known as the man at the helm of The Civil Wars-driven seismic music industry shift via their demi-lo-fi, high-roots Barton Hollow, but the 56-year- old musico has always sought deeper creative wells. He’s labored in the vineyards of glossy pop, progressive jazz, alternative rock-pop via platinum stealth-Christians Switchfoot and yes, as writer of Amy Grant’s wildly exuberant “Every Heartbeat,” but those are only aspects of who he is.
Closer to his essence is the resonantly organic No Man’s Land, his first solo project in 12 years. Equal parts an exploration of his family’s Oklahoma/Louisiana origins and his own soul-searching, it is a mélange: reels whirl, National guitars quiver like highway heatwaves and the metaphysics of life rise weightless from its dusty, earthy loam.
Whether the jaunty caution of “Death Trap,” the ethereal pledge to love amid the eternal quest “Till My Body Comes Undone” or the slinky consumerist indictment “Beauty Just Left The Room,” Land’s as much about what Peacock believes as the music emanating from his sub-cellular self.
“I am a student of epistemology,” he offers. “How we know what we know…It’s funny how many young artists can’t tell you who their influences are. There’s such a lack of skill and history and gumption. They just don’t know. Don’t know where any of it came from, and it’s sad. There’re simple doors of entry: Know the stories. What are the stories of your people?”
For Peacock, raised in Sacramento with legendary concert promoter Bill Graham’s musical eclecticism, it’s vast. Entry was via the blues—even through The Rolling Stones, as well as Latin music and Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew, Jackson Browne “for the girls we were pining for” and the Mahavishnu Orchestra “if you were really committed.”
Even what you rejected was part: “I grew up where Rose Maddox was playing down the road—and we weren’t gonna be hillbillies; we were gonna transcend that. My grandma picked peaches, but we were gonna be more sophisticated than that.”
Just as the formative music shaped Peacock’s curiosity, the things about his family’s past had a hand in No Man’s Land’s overarching reality. A song cycle that considers God, love, life and one’s roots, its essence is more personal than even his influences.
A Louisiana Redbone—a murky miscegenation that’s neither black, native, Latin or white —Peacock’s people lived on the fringe, family-oriented and musical. They also wanted a different kind of life.
“My father’s grandfather was murdered by a nephew,” he explains. “There was enough darkness over the land… definitely some rascals… They heard about big trees being logged out West. They were tired of living where they were neither black nor white, just this potpourri; in California, they lived as white people. My mother’s side was a pruner and a picker with the peaches. So that’s how they got out there.”
And that’s how—along with a desire to know his past—No Man’s Land became a cocktail of Dust Bowl feels, Cajun beats and shuffles, raw banjos and fiddles, steel guitars that pool and spacious arrangements. This is music of red dirt and high humidity, different worlds that share the same sort of soul.