Trying to keep up with Foy Vance these days is like trying to follow a man who accidentally walked into the wrong movie theater and just decided to stay for the plot twist. One second he’s putting out From Muscle Shoals, a swampy soul record tracked with actual Swampers. Blink, and suddenly you’re holding To Memphis, a two-day Americana sprint cut with a roomful of Tennessee ringers who treat first takes like a religion. And he’s not done—he’s got another album (maybe two) coming next year, because apparently the man found a forgotten folder on his hard drive and took it personally.
“I set out to make two EPs,” he says. “Just to tide you over while I worked on the next record. But then they quickly turned into albums.” When you stumble on a stash of old demos and realize half the songs are better than what most people build entire careers around, what are you supposed to do—leave them there?
Vance talks about finding those demos like he accidentally discovered a secret passage behind a bookcase. “I write a lot,” he shrugs. “Things stockpile. I forget about them.” After finishing a stretch of heavy touring in 2017, he finally took two years off to “find himself again.” Step one: go through the digital attic. Step two: realize you’ve been accidentally hoarding bangers.
Some of the songs on To Memphis had been hanging around for years. “They couldn’t all fit on a record or even in a set,” he says. “If I don’t record them, they’ll sit on my hard drive forever.” So he sorted, sifted, and followed the thread—straight to Memphis, where producer Matt Ross-Spang assembled a house band who only speak in perfect takes.
“This was the first time I ever walked into a studio not knowing anybody,” he admits. “You trust the producer to pick the musicians, and then you walk in thinking, ‘Well, here we go.’” He showed up ready: “I demoed everything so they knew how the songs started and finished.” Once inside, it became clear this band didn’t need much direction anyway. “If you don’t get it first go, you’re not the guy for the gig,” Vance says. “Those players are upper echelon.”
Muscle Shoals was a different kind of trip. “You walk in thinking, ‘The Swampers, the Swampers…’” he says, “and then thirty seconds later it’s just Spooner doing what he does every day.” Still, he did have a moment. Recording “Never Hurt Me Like Love,” he looked out the vocal booth window and realized he was staring at the room where Spooner Oldham helped shape “I Never Loved a Man.” “The water stopped for a minute,” he says. “Then you snap back and get on with it.”
The magic is all over To Memphis, especially in songs like “I Was Born”—an accidental hymn with the emotional weight of a river baptism. “I loved those old hymns,” he says. “Not the ‘Jesus is my homeboy’ nonsense. The real ones. Gospel music I grew up with cost somebody something.” The song’s connection to “Cradled in Arms,” written about his mom, wasn’t intentional, but he admits the thread was there: “If you’re writing about origins, it’s going to be spiritual.”
Then there’s “Alice from Dallas,” a song so charmingly simple he laughs at how obvious the rhyme seems in retrospect. “I wrote it years ago for a bit of fun,” he says. “But I always liked it.” And “Have Me Maria,” his long-gestating Roy Orbison swooner. “I had that title for years,” he says. “It was always there in the background.”
“Make It Rain,” though—that’s the wild one. Ed Sheeran released a version years ago, but Vance never gave his own take a proper home. “I recorded it once,” he says, “but releasing it would’ve cost a fortune. I didn’t have the money.” Meanwhile, the song started popping up everywhere, from Sons of Anarchy to Sheeran’s live shows. “There was no proper representation of it on an album,” he says. “So I stuck it on. And I probably needed one more song,” he adds with a smirk. “Easy three chords.”
The real twist—he doesn’t want to tour much anymore. “I like being home,” he says. “I like writing songs and going to the studio every day like a plumber. Monday to Friday. It’s good for my head.” He’s already planning his next record with the same Memphis crew. Maybe more. “I have no one breathing down my neck,” he shrugs. “If I take ten years or make ten albums next year, nobody cares.”
We care. Because if sticking close to home means more records like From Muscle Shoals and To Memphis, then honestly—stay home, man.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the videos below.
