Jackson Scribner
Depression Kids
Out Now on State Fair Records
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The name Jackson Scribner is synonymous with precociousness—among Americana tastemakers and indie folk listeners alike. The Texan released his self-titled debut at twenty years old, drawing rapid acclaim from American Songwriter, The Bluegrass Situation, No Depression, Folk Alley and more. Recorded during an impromptu two-week stint in the studio and comprising the first songs Jackson ever penned, that album revealed a young songwriter’s distinguished instinct. Jackson Scribner’s highly anticipated sophomore offering, Depression Kids, retains the veritable troubadour grit that can’t be taught, while benefiting from a slower, more considered process.
"I knew what I was writing about this time," Jackson says. The aptly titled album emerged from a personal struggle with mental health. “It's funny how depression is this isolating thing, and yet, almost everyone experiences it at some point. The feeling of isolation, ironically, can be a point of connection." Jackson and his brother Levi Scribner, who prominently features on the record as co-writer, vocalist, guitarist, and bassist, embraced that realization as the album’s overall intention—to transform the divisive into the unifying. “That's what making music is about, bringing people together.” The brothers took the concept of a club, subverted it, and started calling themselves “The Depression Kids.” Jackson says, “We have just one rule: Only everyone allowed.”
Jackson grew up in rural Melissa, Texas, immersed in the country tradition; his dad managed bands including Somebody’s Darling and John David Kent. Jackson picked up the guitar around age nine with the hope to emanate modern idols of his own—Shakey Graves, Gregory Alan Isakov, Kings of Leon. Playing became a soulful practice, while writing remained an abstract aspiration, though Scribner didn’t envision either as a professional pursuit. “I always loved music, but I was planning to go to college in Boston to run cross-country and track.” When that plan fell apart—“Tuition is expensive”—Jackson decided to go live with his brother in San Antonio while he dreamt up a new direction. “My dad drove me there, and on the way, I mentioned that I’d like to write a song someday but I didn’t know how to begin.” The senior Scribner saw no reason to delay trying. Upon arrival, Jackson sat down with his father and brother, each with an instrument of their own, and got to it. According to Jackson, “That was that.”
Jackson’s songs tend to contain vivid settings and memorable characters, often presented with the poetic epicness of a tall tale. Listeners may be surprised to learn that his approach to writing isn’t narrative. “I’m a very visual writer. I find most of my inspiration from images—looking at old photographs or postcards, or just imagining scenes in my mind. It’s more about creating an atmosphere or a soundtrack.” The album’s title track emerged from a mess of sticky notes strewn across Jackson’s bedroom floor. “I had written out all the different ways I feel depression—it’s easier for me to look at it laid out like that, rather than piece it together in my head.” The song “1983” came from a daydream about what Halloween in the neighborhood might have looked like during the title year, while “Greater Motel Times” drew from a fake album cover Jackson had designed for fun. It’s a kind of write-by-osmosis style which enriches Jackson’s music with texture and cinematic movement. To listen is to live inside a feeling, rather than be told to feel it.
Jackson’s voice is the driver—a warm coarseness that may call comparisons to CAAMP’s Taylor Meir, or a tenderized Tyler Childers. On ‘Depression Kids,’ he’s backed by fuller, more rock-leaning band arrangements than ever before, a development he attributes to collaboration. “This time in the studio, I wanted everyone to feel really free to do their own thing, bring their individual them-ness to the part they were playing.” In addition to Jackson and Levi, the album features Jeff Ryan (St. Vincent, The War on Drugs, Daniel Johnston) on drums, Jerome Brock (Cryptolog) on guitar and keys, Kim Herriage(Songhoy Blues) on pedal steel, and Tony Hormillosa (Pleasant Grove) on bass. The songs have a heartening, homespun quality still, but it’s easy to imagine their provenance shifting from the front porch to the garage.
“One lesson I learned while making the first record is the power of stepping back and letting a song be what it’s going to be,” Jackson says. The tracks populating ‘Depression Kids’ gracefully straddle a narrow line—between universal, human complexity and the heart-hitting simplicity that makes a song stick. “You can keep changing something forever, but then it never gets to be a song.” It’s tough to know whether Jackson’s ability to end the process at its best point is a matter of natural knack or hard-earned insight. In all likelihood, probably both. After all, precociousness with time, is simply wisdom.
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