BRUCE HORNSBY

For this restless keyboard innovator, the only constant is change

By Russell Hall

“It’s been 25 years since my first album,” observes Bruce Hornsby. “Most fans who got on this train early on aren’t there anymore. And that’s fine. Those who wanted me to stay the same or keep making the same album were probably disappointed a long time ago.” While many of Hornsby’s peers have become nostalgia acts, his own career has indeed been characterized by restless creativity.

Bursting onto the scene in 1986 with the pop smash “The Way It Is,” and earning a Grammy for Best New Artist, the Virginia native immediately demonstrated an almost perverse delight in defying expectations. More hits came—“Mandolin Rain” and “The Valley Road,” among them—but by the early ’90s Hornsby had moved beyond the strictures of pop radio. “If you chase radio success, you will end up looking back on years of chasing trends and always coming up a bit late,” he figures. “I turned my back on that a long time ago.” Hornsby instead turned his keyboard gifts toward a kaleidoscopic array of styles, including jazz, bluegrass, jam-rock and classical.

Hornsby’s latest, Bride of the Noisemakers, features 25 songs culled from performances with longtime band the Noisemakers spanning 2007 to 2009. A bookend of sorts to the 2000 live album Here Come the Noise Makers, the album touches on all facets of Hornsby’s work, from majestic rockers (“Cyclone”) to horn-laced funk (“Funhouse”) to show-tune excursions that defy categorization (“Michael Raphael”). True to form, what you won’t find are any of Hornsby’s biggest pop crossover hits. “People who have followed us through the years would have thought, ‘Why this again?’” he reasons. “I wanted to include songs that have been overlooked. Most of our best music flies under the mainstream radar. Only the real hardcore fans know my best songs.” Hornsby spoke to us about his iconoclastic career at his home in Williamsburg, Va.

What was your concept for the album?

I wanted to document how our band sounds today. Our approach is very loose, improvisatory and spontaneous. We’re constantly trying to make the music new. Consequently, if you hear a version of a particular song in 2003 and then hear it again in 2009, the two versions are likely quite different.

Why not include any hits?

This is the second live album with the Noisemakers. We did one 11 years ago that had four or five of those hits, so we’ve done that. There’s a compilation album that’s out, which I insisted be called Greatest Radio Hits [2004]. The true greatest hits, in my view, are songs like “White Wheeled Limousine,” “Spider Fingers” and “Rainbow’s Cadillac.” People live for 80 years, and 60 of them are spent listening to what they liked until they were 20. I was already moving on by the time I made the third or fourth album. It’s about continuing to stay inspired, being a lifelong student and going where inspiration leads. I can’t be that guy who supplies people with a stroll down memory lane.

What attracted you to the piano?

In high school my older brother turned me on to Tumbleweed Connection, the second Elton John album. It’s the only album of his that didn’t have a hit, but it’s my favorite. We were driving from Williamsburg to Yorktown and “Amoreena” started playing on the car’s eight-track. It blew me away, and to this day it still does.

Did the piano come easily to you?

Music came pretty easily to me, in the sense that I had a good ear. I could listen to a song and play it pretty quickly. That was true of simple songs, anyway. The “ear demands” get more intense, of course, with complex music. It’s difficult to hear John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps,” for instance, and instantly play it. But in the pop or rock world it’s much more diatonic, and involves more of the white keys. I just wanted to play the music on these records I was hearing.

Were you surprised “The Way It Is” was a hit?

It was a wonderful accident. Everyone felt it was a B-side song. I don’t think anything on my first album sounded like typical radio music. We were using fiddles and mandolins and hammered dulcimers, along with acoustic pianos. That was hardly standard then. It was a fluke that “The Way It Is” broke in England. The record company wasn’t pushing it. A guy on BBC Radio 1 [Mik Wilkojc] started playing it simply because he liked it. A lot of people have hits with songs they don’t like. But “The Way It Is” holds up well and has aged well.

Did that song accurately represent you?

The formula for my music was exemplified by that song, in the sense that it featured two piano solos. I was improvising, on the radio. And then that happened again with “The Valley Road.” I was playing McCoy Tyner-esque stylings on the piano over a sort of Steve Miller-style rock beat. My music-school friends couldn’t believe what I was getting away with. Of course I knew that would end. I think of “The Way It Is” as a novelty record, but in the best sense—it had a sound that was unique. It’s pretty, it goes down easy and it’s easy to like.

Are you more a writer or player?

I’m equally interested in both. I probably spend more time working at the instrument. It seems more hours are required for that, for playing the instrument well. As for writing songs, I don’t think you can spend as much time there as you can in practice.

What’s your writing process like?

There’s no set way. Lots of times I write the lyrics first. A good example is “Where’s the Bat?” It’s sung from the viewpoint of a woman whose husband is driving her crazy to the point that she fantasizes about taking a baseball bat to his head. One of my longtime musician friends told me a story about feeling that way. I told her it sounded like a song, and she said, “Well, I don’t write songs like that—but you do.” So I wrote it. Another song, “The Black Rats of London,” stemmed from an article I read in National Geographic about Jamestown. Song ideas can come from anywhere. I have scraps of paper in my wallet with ideas scribbled on them.

What’s your role as bandleader?

The guys in the Noisemakers rarely take their eyes off me, because I’m always looking to change things up. And frankly that’s because I’m always trying to entertain the band. I’m a lifelong musician. I’ve been a sideman, and I know what a drag it is to have to play the same songs, the same way, the same order night after night. Our way of doing things is the exact opposite. We keep things continually new and challenging. My role as bandleader is to stir the pot, to have nothing set in stone.

Do you review tapes of your shows?

Yes. I’ve listened to and assiduously graded hundreds of shows. I should have started doing that years ago. It’s very educational. I now know all too well the sound of me sucking. (laughs) I know what not to do. I also know the sound of our band hitting on all cylinders. It helps me make educated decisions about what we’re doing.

Do you consider the studio or stage versions of your songs definitive?

People who consider their studio albums to be definitive are better record-makers than I am. I’m a bit of a slow learner, and generally it takes me a while to figure out the best way to play and sing a song. There are some instances where the studio version holds up great, where we’ve never bettered it by changing it. But there are many more examples of songs that have been improved upon through the years.