Get Over It, Underdog

Aaron Lee Tasjan on finding profound joy in a rotten-to-the-core business.

A couple years ago I became excited about a DIY alt country artist named Clayton Nile Young. I’ve written about him before—things are really coming together for him. Exciting times.

Clayton, who at the time was based in Jacksonville, had an opportunity to record an audiovisual session for the fashionable Americana-branded media company Western AF. The session would be on YouTube, social media, and streaming platforms such as Spotify. It’s a high-profile look that required a band. Clayton could get himself and his bass player to Nashville for the session, but I offered to put together the rest of the band for the session.

The first hire was easy: me. I happily worked for free and had a blast. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.

Then I had to find a few more skilled players that Clayton would pay out of pocket. Since Clayton didn’t have a lot to spend, that meant asking some favors. A 5-song session meant players had to learn the songs, spend several hours in rehearsal, and spend a full day one hour outside of Nashville cutting and filming the session.

I called a former lawyer colleague, Peyton, to play drums. I felt Peyton was a good choice because he was a founding member of Clayton’s favorite band, Futurebirds. As a lawyer and father, he doesn’t get many chances to play out—I correctly assumed he’d have fun.

Next I called Jonathan, a pro guitarist with a friendly disposition and the right skills for the job. The key skill was a strong right hand for fast strumming, a hallmark of several of Clayton’s songs. As a left-handed guy who plays guitar right-handed, fast strumming isn’t my strong suit.

For the final piece, I needed to find a true unicorn. I needed one individual to cover banjo and keyboards. If we wanted to replicate the record, we needed both. I called around seeking a pro who could do both when it occurred to me that I knew the right person, Aaron Lee Tasjan. Aaron is a virtuoso keyboardist, but he doesn’t play the banjo. Still, he cheerfully agreed to learn the banjo parts on the record.

I’m proud of that session, thrilled Aaron was part of it. When it occurred to me to ask him, I knew he’d do it if he could. Aaron is a curious musician who loves a challenge. He’d get why the music is special. And most importantly, he’s someone I feel comfortable asking for a favor. It isn’t so much that he “owed me” any favors; rather, it’s that he has a strong sense of gratitude. He shows up for the people who show up for him. That’s true friendship.

I’ve known Aaron for nearly fifteen years, first as a law client, then primarily as a friend. I never actively pursue friendships with my clients. It’s nice when it happens, but I certainly don’t expect it. I found it easy to become Aaron’s friend because he exudes joy. More on that later.

I experience joy in his company, and I also experience joy in his music—including his new album, Get Over It, Underdog. I’ve loved every one of his albums, each of which has shown real creative growth. But Underdog is his best. It draws on every phase of his career and brings a cohesiveness that plays to all of his strengths.

Aaron’s early work fits well within the big tent definition of “Americana.” His evolution, however, has brought him deeper into psychedelia, surrealism, and experimentation. He’s equally comfortable with a talking blues as a freakout, with a through-line of world-weary, often ironic observations delivered with a droll, Midwestern twang.

It’s my opinion that Aaron’s music should be much more popular, and he probably agrees. Nevertheless, despite his not being a household name, Aaron has been all-in on music since his teens. He’s struggled like so many musicians to maintain a livelihood, but I’ve never sensed that he’s ever considered packing it in.

I’m confident Aaron is a strong enough guitarist to make a living as a session or touring musician. I'm equally confident he could do very well writing songs for the commercial markets. He chooses to pursue creative music on his own terms, which is one of the hardest ways to make a living.

Aaron has been making records under his own name for more than a decade, and in my opinion each album is better than the last. His songs are funny, poignant, ideological, often satirical, and always original. No artist is owed anything for effort alone, but his effort has been superhuman. I do not accept that he’s too edgy or obscure or topical to achieve wide popularity. I hope I live to see Aaron break through to the audience his work deserves. And I hope you will take the time to experience his work. If you’re a music lover like me, I know you won’t regret it .

I’ve shared his “Wheels Off” podcast appearance because he explains his own worldview and thoughts on creativity far better than I ever could. He explains his full commitment to creativity, how he forewent college to move to New York to figure it out.¹ I met him at the end of his decade in New York, just before he became a beloved and widely admired figure on the East Nashville music scene. He befriended many iconic musicians, primarily his mentor, collaborator, and close friend Todd Snider. Snider’s recent passing hit him hard, and that’s a strong subtext on Underdog.

In his interview with Rhett Miller of The Old 97s, he reveals deep wisdom on the creative process. Rhett asks Aaron about the thread of joy that connects all of his work. He explains that his complete commitment to joy is a kind of shield against the darkness of the world. “[Joy] is like a set of armor that I can wear, and I find that if I inhabit that joyful place authentically, it becomes contagious—other people gravitate towards that feeling. It’s a way to never be lonely.” I’ve seen this play out many times. It explains why I always feel better after I talk to Aaron.

Rhett asks if he believes that great songwriters have to be suffering to write authentically sad songs. Aaron responds that he does his greatest work when he is vibrating “at a higher, more positive frequency.” He clarifies that he can write about sadness if he’s had time to process his feelings so that it comes from a place of reflective wisdom, not visceral emotion. This is a profound insight from someone grieving a devastating loss.

In conclusion, the two veteran songwriters discuss a topic I’ve thought about a lot lately. They both acknowledge that it becomes harder to create as we age. I’ve experienced this with songwriting. I find it more difficult to get into a creative flow state. I’m more in my head, more critical of myself in the moment, more questioning and therefore less free.

Aaron explains that creativity is a childlike state that comes naturally when we’re young. As we take on more responsibilities and spend more time doing the mundane tasks of everyday life, it’s an effort to find that childlike openness. “If you can find ways to give yourself that time and space to inhabit that childlike sense of wonderment and curiosity [to be in the moment].” I’m grateful for this insight because I’ve never really put that together. Creativity requires time and space the way a garden requires sunlight and water.

That’s just the sort of encouragement that will get me back writing songs again.

There’s a selflessness in a commitment like Aaron’s to creative life. When I start to get down about the Nashville entertainment machine, I remember that this is the place where so many massively talented, truly creative lifers choose to make their home. It’s a blessing to be in these communities, these rooms, these moments where creative expression is the highest priority. Aaron’s a big part of that, carrying on a tradition in Nashville that has produced some of our greatest cultural treasures.

Now go listen to that damn record. You’ll be glad you did. Find all things ALT here.

1. He doesn’t mention one of the most fascinating footnotes (see footnote) on his diverse experience. Not only did he get his start as a touring musician as a member of the glam metal band Semi Precious Weapons, he was also a member of a late 2000s touring lineup of The New York Dolls.