Buddy Miller – Well I hate to see your sun sinking down and the path you take while you’re losing ground

Miller says he is able to walk this fine line of neither shouting from the rooftops nor hiding his light behind a bush because he doesn’t think anything about it. “I’m just what I am,” he says.

He also claims to have never suffered any kind of prejudice in the music world because of his beliefs, although he does acknowledge that “my faith might bother some people. It might bother some that we don’t talk enough about it, and might bother others because we talk too much about it, but I can’t help that. It’s an extension of who we are and really, I don’t know of anyone who’s upset with us.”

Miller often punctuates his sentences with “we” instead of “I.” Julie is present in spirit throughout our conversation, and he rarely refers to himself without mentioning her in some capacity. When his cell phone rings in a barking dog ring-tone he fumbles around, trying to find the correct button to divert the caller to voice mail, and gives a sly grin. “My phone is barking at me,” he cracks. Less than a minute later a tone sounds to alert him to his voice mail. He grows frustrated with the interruption of technology but laughs as he shoves the phone aside. “I used to have a cat meowing to signal my voice mail but Julie made me take that off.”

He also credits Julie with his continued faith. After she became a Christian, he says he witnessed a change in her that he appreciated, and he started thinking about making changes in his own life. God, he says, also started working on him. He says that he’s had many moments of having his faith reaffirmed, many times when his belief was only confirmed more deeply, but he likes to keep these times to himself.

Raised Jewish in the Northeast (he grew up in Ohio, Pennsylvania and New Jersey), Miller claims to have had a “pretty easy conversion” that he doesn’t “really think about too much anymore.” The change may have been a bit bumpy, however, as at one point he mentions: “We were in a cult for awhile.” He doesn’t explain further, but does say the experience taught him any kind of manipulation within religion was unacceptable. He says he and Julie are stay-at-home Christians who don’t attend a particular church: “We have our friends, though, and our own sort of congregation that way.”

Among the closest of those friends is singer-songwriter Jim Lauderdale, whom Miller has known for more than twenty years. Two cuts on Universal United House Of Prayer were written by Miller and Lauderdale; they’re among the album’s most rocking moments. “Don’t Wait” features some of the best picking on the record, driven along by the burning fiddle leads of Tammy Rogers and a background track of a preacher giving a fiery sermon. Their other joint composition is “Returning To The Living Water”, with Miller joined by Lauderdale and the McCrarys on a rousing harmony.

“I’ve learned so much from Jim about making records,” Miller says. “The most important thing he taught me is that you don’t have to have a plan. It’s actually better if you don’t.”

Besides not having a plan, Miller also knows that one of the best things an artist can do in the studio is to surround himself with friends who also happen to be great pickers. He’s joined on the new album by drummers Brady Blade (Steve Earle, Indigo Girls) and Bryan Owings (Delbert McClinton), and bassists Rick Plant (Alison Moorer), Byron House (everyone from Michael Bolton to Travis Tritt) and Alison Prestwood (Dead Reckoners). Steve Hindalong played percussion and a marching drum, while Phil Maderia, a frequent Miller sideman, joined in on Hammond B3, accordion and lap steel. Miller has known them for years. “One reason to do an album is just to have friends come over,” he laughs.

Although he doesn’t plan out his albums in advance, he does think about them a great deal, studying over ideas that will make for good records. Miller carried the idea of a “theme album” around with him for close to two years before he began recording. “Is that too grand, to call it a theme album?” he interrupts himself, worried again.

Miller says he always writes songs specifically for his albums and rarely composes anything out of the blue. He recorded Universal United House Of Prayer in his typically fast manner, putting the whole thing together in four weeks at his in-home Dogtown Studio.

Fans who have come to love the sound conjured up in that studio over the years need not fear it will be lost when he and Julie relocate to their new home across the street. “This new house is laid out just like our other one, so we’ll live upstairs and Dogtown will be set up downstairs,” Miller says. “Julie is very kind and understanding about this, so I’m lucky.”

Miller says he doesn’t have anything against recording in “real” studios, but he appreciates the freedom of being at home while he’s cutting a record. “I never want to do a record with a clock in the room,” he explains. “Doing it at home like that, I’m in such a comfortable space that I don’t even feel like I’m doing a record. That’s a good thing.”

Having a home studio also makes visits from family more enjoyable. When Miller’s sister recently came to town, he discovered that his 7-year-old nephew had a great voice, so he took him downstairs and let him cut a whole record. “We sent him home with his own little album,” Miller says.

He attributes his fast recording time to not messing with the album much once he’s laid down tracks. “If I listen to it too much, I’ll want to change it,” he says. “I try to do as little to an album as I can. I want it to feel as live as possible. I really hope the listener feels as if they’re there in the room with us.”

Miller also hopes Universal United House Of Prayer will act as a balm in these trying times. Perhaps if anything can stop a war, or heartache, or the search for answers, it’s music. Maybe it will even alleviate some of the worries that lead to those headaches.

“What I want more than anything is for the listener to feel something. Songs can do that, can make you feel, and that’s the best I can hope for.” Miller grows pensive and leans back in his chair. “It’s never a bad time to feel or think. Especially these days. You can get so closed up and feel so bad, being bombarded with the news. Music can heal you.”

ND contributing editor Silas House’s new novel is The Coal Tattoo. He’s had one migraine and hopes never to have another one.