Nathaniel Rateliff’s soul: torment and healing of the soul | Culture

Lounging backstage at the MadCool festival, just minutes before facing the audience at this Madrid event under a cruel and just sun, Nathaniel David Rateliff —hairy, good-natured, prone to cuddling— seems the very picture of calm. But the procession, as so often, is going on inside. Behind that façade of a friendly, sensitive and self-made man beats a heart prone to torment, surely because he drags along a biography rich in traumas and sleepless nights. And that collision between apparent sweetness and internal turbulence ends up translating into his music. Even if you have never met him, a careful listen to his music will help you to understand the meaning of his music. South of herethe recent (and fantastic) fourth album from Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, leaves you feeling like you know this guy reasonably well.

Rateliff, the paradigm (as we shall see) of a human being who overcomes adversity, embraced the faith of music as a teenager to escape from a discouraging existence. Over the years, and against all odds, he has ended up becoming the great white hope of Stax, the legendary Memphis record company that laid the foundations for the best black music in the 1960s based on the teachings of Otis Redding, Sam & Dave or Carla and Rufus Thomas (strong suggestion: don’t miss it on HBO, under any circumstances). the three-chapter documentary on the label’s eventful history).

Promotional slogans continue to honor this big man from Missouri as the great contemporary guardian of the essences of soulbut the 11 cuts of his brand new LP show him more eclectic than ever. Think of a Van Morrison (or, even better, Glen Hansard) contaminated not only by the spirit of James Brown, but also by Springsteen and the entire Americana genre. And be even more amazed by the original cut, David and Goliathan intricate melodic labyrinth around the piano that no one would be surprised to hear in the voice of Rick Davies, from Supertramp.

Echoes of British progressive pop in the throat of the man who inherited the Muddy Waters or Led Zeppelin vinyl records from his father’s collection? Rateliff doesn’t seem particularly pleased with the diagnosis, judging by the grimace on his face. “It’s funny, because I’ve also been told that this song shows influences from Paul McCartney or, more specifically, Harry Nilsson. And I’m not convinced by any of the options. It’s, quite simply, a song that I, Nathaniel, composed late at night…”

Perhaps this emphasis on claiming full paternity is influenced by the decisive character that this metaphor about David and Goliath acquires not only in the album as a whole, but when it comes to defining the vital moment that this 45-year-old gentleman is going through right now. “I talk about all the times when I feel small, very small, and inhabitant of the wrong world,” he explains. “That David in the song is me. And Goliath alludes to depression, which is always much bigger than its opponents. Anyone who has suffered from it knows that things can become gigantic inside your head…”

And so we enter, in effect, into that troubled world of shadows and anxieties through which our protagonist has spent more than half his life walking and surviving by stumbling. Nathaniel David experienced bullying at school by those who made fun of his humble origins in Denver, where he arrived as a child from his native San Luis. The son of a carpenter and a saleswoman in a rotisserie chicken shop, he lost the religious faith of his parents after being abused by an uncle. He was orphaned at 14 when his father died in a traffic accident. He did not have the opportunity to attend university: for years he earned his living as a truck driver, with endless night trips that at least served to discover thousands of songs on local radio. And, yes, he fell into the trap of alcohol, like so many other colleagues with unmotivating existences.

“My mental health problems come from back then,” she admits bluntly. “The fight against those ghosts began back then, when I was 20 or 30, but now I have managed not to drink or depend on any medication. And that makes life’s problems seem more tangible and real to me. I have them more present, but they were always there.”

That unequal fight with the Goliath of his song is now translated, more than in any of his three previous works with The Night Sweats, in a repertoire of raw and exciting sincerity. “I write in a very personal way,” he confirms, “so I don’t consider the option of being modest. I think that my vulnerability transmits to the listener the possibility of being vulnerable around their own personal circumstances.” And the same “stylistic openness,” he admits, makes it easier for him to approach new themes. The album even slips in a cut with a candid, acoustic feel, I would like to heal (“I Would Like to Heal”), which is probably the most hummable and sunny thing he has ever recorded. “Sometimes I notice an inner healing process when I finish my songs,” he confirms, “just as listeners sometimes approach me to thank me for making them feel better. But no, I don’t consider myself a therapist: the songs simply give listeners the opportunity to examine and get to know themselves better.”

You see: behind the calm and carefree appearance there was a brain in permanent turmoil. Nathaniel can make you dance with cannon shots like Time makes fools of us allbut above all he wants to encourage reflection. Also at a political level, of course. In 2017 he founded The Marigold Project, a non-profit organization to fight for social justice, and he lives with passion and undisguised nerves the decisive electoral process in which his country is immersed. After having campaigned in 2016 and 2020 for Bernie Sanders, representative of the most left-wing sensibilities within the Democratic Party, he believes that now is the time to, at least, avoid any setback at all costs and combat police repression. “In the United States there are still episodes of black people being killed by members of the security forces. As long as things like this continue to happen, we cannot argue that the country is changing. And I, as a white man, need that change to happen.”

And perhaps it is for this very reason, because of his very personal and straightforward discourse, that Rateliff recoils from any comparison with other artists, however complimentary it may be. He accepts with indifference that Mojo, The bible of the British music press hailed him as “the new Springsteen,” and he also does not take kindly to the fact that Remember I was a dancer may remember Paul Simon from the years of Graceland. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “and I’ve always admired Paul. We even had a chance to collaborate a couple of summers ago at the Newport Festival, although everything that happened at that edition was overshadowed by the reappearance of Joni Mitchell…” So when Rateliff and his Night Sweats are told to head to the stage—where they will open with David and Goliathof course—we take the opportunity to address the last delicate question:

– In 2018 he lost his great friend and almost brother Richard Swift, another troubled musician whose memory is once again present here with Get used to the night. How would you like to be remembered?

And Nathaniel David Rateliff, vulnerable and bewildered for a moment, takes a few seconds before summing up:

– I would like to be remembered as a good man, a guy who tried to do good things. But the best thing would be to be remembered as a great singer and composer.