Around this time I first met Hurley. He was staying at the home of his sometime accompanist and booking agent, Bob Jordan. He was out in his van, working on a repair. After getting as far as he could on his task of rethreading the station indicator to the tuning dial of his radio, he reappeared in the kitchen. He’d lost track of half a day, until inner rumblings told him dinner might be in order.
He also has a fondness for 8-track tapes. This was in part because they were cheap and plentiful, but also because the format suited his needs: he could put one into the player and not have to change it while he was engaged in painting. He has said he developed an ear for some jazz because of this. The same tape could repeat several times without him being aware of any duplication in his listening. When favorite tapes would break, he’d set them aside for the nights he’d find himself unable to fall asleep. The rhythm and concentration of repairing the inner workings would eventually pull a wave of sleepiness over him.
Ever resourceful, Hurley started putting out cassette-only releases on his own Bellemeade Phonics label. He’d sell these at live shows and via mail order, along with chapbook-sized volumes of comics recounting the adventures of his characters Boone and Jocko. Having graced every album he made except his first, Hurleys’ comic-based watercolor style was familiar to his listeners. In the ’80s, it was common to see a series of paintings leaned around Hurley when he was onstage. After the performance those with the wisdom and the dollars left the premises with a Hurley original. He’s continued to produce these colorful vignettes, with occasional commissions for album covers and murals.
The early ’90s found him migrating from Vermont to Richmond, Virginia. Additional Bellemeade cassettes of home recordings and live shows appeared. Adhering to his motto, “If I did the album, I’ll do the cassette,” he continues to “reissue” some of the out-of-print albums. A couple beautifully sleeved 45s were released: “Wildegeeses”/”Coloured Birds” on S.O.L. and “National Weed Growers Association”/”Slippery Rag” on Carnage Press. These were followed by the album Wolfways on Koch in ’94. This set featured new songs, including the one-two punch that opens the album, “The Portland Water” followed by “Eyes Eyes”. There were also a handful of selections from Watertower, and re-recordings of “Werewolf” and “I Paint A Design”.
This served as an exemplary introduction into the world of Hurley and was, at the time, one of his only recordings in print and available through traditional retail outlets. The German label Veracity released Parsnip Snips in ’96, which was basically more Bellemeade recordings, this time on vinyl. Far from a tossed-off collection, this album truly sparkles and is worth searching for.
Beginning in the mid-’90s, the industrious Irishman Brendan Foreman took to publishing the fanzine Blue Navigator, devoted to Hurley’s art and music, and that of his compatriots. As of this writing, it’s still rolling along, with a half-dozen well-researched issues floating about. Branching out, Foreman released a CD in 1998 to coincide with Hurley’s U.K. tour. Titled Bellemeade Sessions, this set was culled from assorted home recordings made between 1994 and 1998. Four Hurley originals rub shoulders with a telling array of covers by Tom T. Hall, Bob Wills, Blind Willie McTell and others. It shows him to be a comfortable interpreter, with his ease and familiarity so complete that the songs sound like they could be his own.
Hurley’s latest release, Weatherhole, was two years in the making and has just been issued on the new Field Recording Company. The label was started by longtime Hurley supporter Nicholas Hill, who previously issued the S.O.L. single and then brought him to Koch. Work on the album started in Richmond, then moved to New York City, and was completed in Ohio, mapping Hurley’s own wanderlust. That the varying personnel and studios form such a seamless whole is a testament to the strength of Hurley’s vision and the durability of his songs. As laidback and off-the-cuff as his presentation can be, he’s always in complete control of what he’s doing. Furthermore, his wise choices of backing musicians ensure the songs get the support they deserve. He knows when a song needs a band and when it doesn’t.
That’s Hurley’s history, more or less. However, Michael Hurley is a man of cloudy data and evocatively glimpsed tales. Happenstance and searching surround Hurley and his music. With both his paintings and his songs, there is the inference that a story is afoot. They all seem to be showing a glimpse of a tale. The songs, even when there is no overt narrative, give the impression that they are part of an ongoing tapestry, though they stand on their own. And when there is a storyline at centerstage, his narratives are always skeletal, supporting themselves with the purest and sturdiest of engineering. The songs feel like stories because they draw upon classic aspects of storytelling: strong characters (sometimes the singer himself) and a vivid sense of place (vocalized descriptions, or the sonic world of the recording).
With his paintings there’s a sense of place because they all do take place somewhere — on a dock, in a car, in the mountains, in the water, in a saloon, etc. Hurley describes the process simply: “When I think of a painting I think of some part of a story and try to put a little bit of it together in the painting.”
It was pointed out to Hurley that his characters seem to have a life that continues after the end of the song or outside the frame of the picture. “That probably also comes from doing comic strips,” he replied. “I’m still doing that, drawing panels that have a story.”
This also comes from a defining element of his own character. If word and deed are any measure, Hurley holds less faith in facts than he does in stories. He deals in stories more readily than facts; those who know and follow him do the same. Anyone who’s spent any time with him has at least one good Michael Hurley story.
Why and how this works is not something the artist himself cares to investigate. “I used to like to draw when I was listening to music, and some musics wouldn’t be right for it and other ones would,” he says. That’s about as far as he cares to go in the realm of analysis. Instead he has always trusted, and in fact protected, his instincts. When it’s right, he knows it.
Hurley may be out-of-step with modern culture (though e-mail seems to have now supplanted his previous passion for CB radio), but that is in part how and why he writes the songs he does. It is in the character of the man. His reclusive and solitary qualities inhibit him from sinking deep roots for himself. Yet his songs are incredibly rooted. He’s gone from decade to decade moving often, for reasons that are sometimes obvious and other times private. He’s created a spiritual sense of home and continuity for himself in his music and painting.
Hearing one of Michael Hurley’s songs for the first time can seem like you’ve known it all your life. His music has a timeless feeling; it invites you in, free of trends or movements, untroubled by the relentless march of time. Whether by himself or with a rough and tumble band kicking up dust along with him, he’s never released anything but completely believable performances. They linger, resonate, and become a familiar part of your orbit.
Michael Hurley has been a recording artist for over 35 years now — not that you’d know it from perusing your neighbor’s record collection, or browsing in your local music emporium. I don’t know if that situation will ever change, but the release of Weatherhole at least gives any of the faithful cause for hope, while providing the uninitiated with a reason to believe.
David Greenberger has been publishing the Dupex Planet since 1979.
