[Editor’s Note: Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter Greg Copeland will be releasing a new EP titled Empire State on Friday, September 6. According to the EP’s press release, “Greg’s comfortable, yet candid, way with words, raw emotion, and strength of character, coupled with the intricate nuances of these musical compositions, allow him to shed light on difficult circumstances.”
These qualities have been his trademark since he started releasing music in the early ’80s. In 1982, he released his debut album Revenge Will Come, which was produced by his longtime friend Jackson Browne. He’s also released two other albums – 2008’s Diana and James and 2020’s The Tango Bar. Like The Tango Bar, Empire State was produced by Tyler Chester and features longtime friend (and producer of Diana and James) Greg Leisz on guitar, pedal steel, mandolin, and mandocello.
Today we’re excited to share an exclusive essay from Copeland in which he discusses his songwriting process and some of the people that have influenced him.]
I don’t know, what do you think. I’m 78, and this is the weirdest time I’ve ever been alive. It’s the first time I’ve questioned my trust in human nature.
The first politician I ever knew about was Harry Truman. I liked him because he wore the same wool Stetson hats that my grandfather wore, and he had an accent like my grandfather’s quarter-horse friends. I didn’t know them, but with voices like that, I knew they would always keep us safe. I figured they would never do anything stupid. Why would they want to.
The first person I ever saw on television was Korla Pandit, playing an organ or a piano, often both at the same time. He wore a white turban with this enormous jewel right in the middle of his forehead, and he never said a word.
The first person I ever saw actually sing was Gene Autry. He had that same dry drawl, so he probably knew my grandfather. His outfit came straight from his ranch, the one where he lived with Trigger and his family and all of his friends, and he must have ironed the creases on his pants for about half an hour so he could get them straight as an arrow right to his jingly boots. If you look like that, you can do anything. Stand by your horse, you can talk to a pretty girl. Shoot a guy, catch him, take him in. Sing by the campfire a little after.
As I’m typing this, I just found out this very moment that Doc Pomus and I have the same birthday. Now you know everything I know about how this works.
I’ve always thought of songwriting as cooperative. If the idea is to create something you’ve never actually heard before, there’s you, and there’s wherever that comes from. The more “you” there is, the less that other thing has to mess with. As usual, 50/50 seems about right. Anything less you could say in prose, and what’s the point of that. You go out to the bus stop, no bus schedule. Sometimes the bus comes by.
Greg Copeland
Contributor
Greg is a singer-songwriter based in Los Angeles
