John Paul White doesn’t just flirt with melancholy—he slow dances with it in an empty gym under a single flickering light. “I get that a lot,” he says when I suggest he’s the perfect man to close out a season of WFPK’s Winter Wednesday. “I’m the big gray cloud floating in.”
It’s a self-aware darkness that permeates his solo work, particularly on Beulah, an album he describes as “almost stream of consciousness.” Born from a need to create rather than a plan to return, the record poured out of him after years of musical silence following the implosion of The Civil Wars. “Once I finally turned on the tap,” he says, “it came out really quickly—and you get what you get, warts and all.”
You wouldn’t guess it from his gothic Americana persona, but at home, he’s Dad first and musician second. “I very seldom play at home,” he admits. “I’ve got four kids, and they’ll destroy my guitars.” Still, music remains a family affair. His 14-year-old has caught the bug, but with one caveat: “He said, ‘I want to learn guitar… but I don’t want to play like you.’” Instead, the kid’s shredding his way through Metallica and Megadeth, leaving Dad to quietly cheer from the sidelines. “He’s listening to the same records I did at his age,” White says. “I didn’t make that happen. That’s just who he is.”
But times have changed. His son has the entire internet at his fingertips. “Now it’s all available, all the time. He just glides over it all. Few things really hook him.” As a music fan, White finds this miraculous. As an artist? “It’s tough,” he sighs. “There’s so much noise. Everyone’s vying for your attention.”
That awareness bleeds into Beulah, where White doesn’t try to force a narrative or genre. The album is as much a reckoning as it is a release. “I tried to change some lyrics because I didn’t want people to think I was writing about The Civil Wars,” he admits. “But the songs weren’t as good. So I said, ‘Hell with it.’” He clarifies that he doesn’t write autobiographically—at least, not intentionally. “I find it boring. I’d rather the listener be able to put themselves in the story. It’s more powerful that way.”
And yet, the ghosts still linger. “Obviously, bits and pieces of you show up, especially if you’re just a conduit letting the stuff fall out.” But don’t mistake his vulnerability for a pivot to positivity. “I’m not going to mislead anyone and say my next record will be happy,” he says with a wry smile. “Because it probably won’t.”
As we pivot to genre talk, White addresses the alt-country elephant in the room. Does he think artists like Sturgill Simpson or Jason Isbell will change the Nashville mainstream? “No,” he says flatly. “And that’s not a judgment. The industry follows the dollar sign. Sturgill, Jason, Chris Stapleton—they’re writing songs first. That’s what matters.” In fact, White thinks the genre debate itself is tired. “Country’s probably the one genre that holds on so tightly to its own rules. But at the end of the day, it’s not about the twang. It’s about the quality of the song.”
He doesn’t aspire to fit into any box. Or sell one. “I don’t aspire to market share,” he says. “I sleep really well.” It’s a statement that sounds simple, until you remember that sleep, like peace, is something of a luxury in the music business.
White’s return wasn’t planned, and he’s not promising permanence. “Right now, I’m happy. But the moment I’m not, I’ll go home. I’ve got a great thing there.” He says he wants to keep doing this for the rest of his life—but what he really means is that he wants to stay fulfilled. The music just happens to be part of that. For now.
As he tunes up for his next song, he jokes about writing a happy tune, then quickly dismisses the idea. “You wanna hear a John Paul White song, not a happy song.”
Amen.
Listen to the full interview above and then check out the video below.
