Back when record labels and radio largely determined what audiences heard, commercial potential often dictated which artists got to make records. If executives couldn’t envision a large enough audience, the music might never get made, regardless of its artistic merit. The streaming era has changed that equation, giving musicians unprecedented access to listeners. Of course, that freedom has also flooded the market with music that might have been better left among friends and family. But it has made room for plenty of work that deserves to be heard, including music from artists who spent much of their careers behind the scenes.
John Leventhal is one of them. A six-time Grammy-winning songwriter, producer, and guitarist, Leventhal has spent decades helping other artists realize their musical visions. Only recently did he turn that experience toward his own instrumental work, releasing his debut solo album, Rumble Strip, more than 40 years into his career. Now he’s followed it with National Drift, another compelling showcase for a musician whose creative reach extends well beyond his considerable reputation.
Leventhal emerged from New York City's late-1970s music scene, playing guitar in bands led by artists including Billy Vera, Steve Forbert, and Levon Helm. In the 1980s, he began a songwriting partnership with Shawn Colvin, going on to produce her Grammy-winning 1989 debut, Steady On, and her Song of the Year winner, “Sunny Came Home.” His production work has earned further recognition, including Grammys for Rosanne Cash's The River & the Thread, William Bell's This Is Where I Live, and Sarah Jarosz's World on the Ground. His credits also include Marc Cohn, Jim Lauderdale, the Blind Boys of Alabama, and Joan Osborne. As a guitarist, he has recorded or performed with an extraordinary range of artists, from Willie Nelson, Ry Cooder, and Dolly Parton to Jackson Browne, Elvis Costello, Donald Fagen, and the National.
Like Rumble Strip, National Drift puts Leventhal's musical instincts on full display. His command of acoustic and electric guitar is evident throughout, but virtuosity isn't the point. These instrumental pieces are defined by their economy, careful layering, and remarkable clarity of sound. Every note has room to breathe, every arrangement feels considered, and nothing stays longer than it needs to.
John Leventhal, National Drift, album cover.
The album wasn't the product of a long-planned solo project. It grew out of improvisations Leventhal recorded while co-writing and producing his wife Rosanne Cash's forthcoming Blue Note release. That spontaneous beginning may be part of what gives National Drift its particular warmth and sense of discovery. This is the work of a seasoned musician with nothing left to prove, yet plenty more to express.
This is a record best enjoyed on a stereo system in front of a steady fall fire, perhaps making your way through a tumbler of something stiff. Copper caught up with Leventhal to discuss the making of National Drift, the music that continues to inspire him, and the instincts that guide his playing. What becomes clear is how much he can communicate with a guitar, whether he's whispering, roaring, or knowing precisely when to let a note hang in the air.
Ray Chelstowski: It took you nearly 40 years to release your first solo album, and just two years later, you’re back with a second. It almost feels as if you’re making up for lost time. Has putting your own music out there opened a door you’re interested in keeping open?
John Leventhal: I had been locked into this thing of being a producer and a co-writer for 40 years. Then when the pandemic came along, I was lucky to have a recording studio in our home. I’ve always had this surplus of musical ideas and a lot of it never fit into a record or singer/songwriter-ish format. I’d been mulling over what to do with this stuff because there’s a part of my musicality that was never fully expressed as a co-writer, producer, or sideman. With the pandemic it was almost as if the universe had conspired to make me confront it.
RC: What changed?
JL: I was always super comfortable in the jobs I’d had before but it wasn’t in being my own artist, putting my face on the cover of the album. After the album came out, I realized that I didn’t have to make such a big deal about it all. Write music, come up with ideas that are moving to you, and keep doing it. The music industry is such now that it just makes sense. It wouldn’t have happened 25 years ago.
RC: The album feels almost like a sampler, with most of the songs clocking in at under three minutes. Was that a conscious decision? Were there songs where you considered stretching out a bit more, or does the music tell you when it’s time to move on?
JL: I didn’t put a lot of analytical thought into it. It probably deserves it and I’m certainly capable of stretching out the compositions, if with nothing else some improvisation. But I didn’t feel compelled to do that. They just stood on their own. I’ve never felt like I fit in anywhere in scheme of how things are categorized. People seem to see me as an Americana-ish kind of musician, which is valid because I do sort of see myself as a folk-rock musician. So I didn’t see the necessity to stretch these songs out. I like the simplicity and directness of the ideas. I thought they all felt complete and had a real visceral sense to them. It would have been more about me as a guitar player and less about the music.
RC: You were working on a Roseanne Cash record while much of this album was taking shape. Did anything about the songs you were producing for her find its way into your own writing or recording? Or do you tend to keep those creative worlds separate?
JL: I don’t think so. When I produce for other people, I often write with them as well. Even though I like to push my own boundaries, the work still has to serve them. That’s the job: making them sound great. The ideas on both records are simply more reflective of me. I’ll listen to any kind of music, because there might be a 60- or 90-second cadence that catches my ear. That’s what this represents to me. It’s not about trying to be a guitar player or fitting into a particular song form. So, these pieces didn’t come from working with Roseanne; if anything, they came from a different place.
RC: You use orchestration selectively on the album. “Everyone But Me Is Solo,” for example, brings in strings that add another dimension to the song. What did you hear in that track that made you feel orchestration was the right choice?
JL: That’s actually a song that I wrote a while ago with my wife. I always loved it. I actually wrote it on the piano and Roseanne wrote beautiful lyrics to it. Then I started playing it on the guitar. In full disclosure: I took the strings from the record I made with my wife and put them on here.
RC: “Curtis Thing” may be my favorite track on the record. The layers of guitar give you so much to listen into, and the solo is crisp and economical. When you’re building a track like that, how do you know when you’ve found the right balance and it’s time to stop?
JL: That’s a song I wrote for the soul singer William Bell. It was an idea that I had for him, but we never got around to it.
Good question. I generally don’t. I’ve gotten better at that over the decades. It’s really the art of taking things away even if they are really good ideas. That’s almost the sign of a mature artist. How do you say the most with doing the least is what it’s about. My radar for that has gotten better. I now know when to leave things alone.
RC: Now that you have two solo albums behind you, do you see this becoming a regular part of your creative life, perhaps every few years? Or does making a solo record depend on reaching a point where the material demands its own space?
JL: I think the latter, but I have thought about the former. I don’t think I’m the kind of artist where I can manufacture it just to manufacture it. So, it’s always going to be dependent on being something I think is worthwhile. It’s most important not to close the radar station to anything. I try to make sure my antenna is always out there trying to find inspiration from places that I might not normally visit.
RC: More broadly, what’s inspiring you these days? What are you listening to, exploring, or finding yourself drawn toward that might not have interested you earlier in your career?
JL: It can be anything. I can hear something in the grocery store. I’m friendly with Julian Lage and Bill Frisell and they both inspire me, but I try not to make it just about guitar. The guitar is such a seductive instrument and is so powerful. It has a massively seductive vocabulary, and a lot of guitar culture is just enamored with the classic genre-defining styles and languages of it. That’s not interesting to me. I have to try and find my way through it, and I like that.
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