Events

[MUSIC] Singer-songwriter Diane Cluck, of Charlottesville, Virginia, makes magic out of the simplest ingredients: Each separate note, each signature modulation of her voice, each emotion pulled from guitar string haunts individually, and enchants when woven together. Sparse yet expansive, her folk style has been described by NPR as “an unlikely mix of Aaron Neville, the Baka people, and Joni Mitchell—unaffected yet unusual.” Touring with fingerpicking rambler Sam Moss of Boston, Diane has decided to make an unannounced stop in Buffalo on Thursday, October 26 for an intimate show at Nickel City Housing Cooperative. A $5-$10 suggested donation at the door is split between the artists and a cause of their choosing. Cluck spoke to The Public this past weekend:

Tell us a little about you and your story.

I’m currently living in Charlottesville, Virginia, and it’s a peaceful home base for me after having spent about 12 years in the New York City area. New York is where I became a songwriter, kind of by accident. Around 2000 I walked into the Sidewalk Cafe in the East Village and they had an open mic night there, and I was so amazed by what was going on that I just wanted to be a part of it. I made it a goal to write two new songs a week for quite a while so I could participate in the open mic. It was an unusual open mic in that everybody was playing original material, and that’s not something we see that often with open mics. At Sidewalk Cafe back in the day, you would get seven minutes or two songs, and most of the people I met there were self-taught—self-taught guitarists or singers or lyricists—and it was such a creative scene that it quickly changed my home base in New York. It just changed my life. I never intended to be a songwriter.

Others describe your sound as sparse and unusual, often focusing on your unconventional vocal modulations, but I’m curious how you describe your sound?

If you saw the term “intuitive folk” associated with my work, that is definitely a genre name that I developed over time because I didn’t feel that saying I was a “folk musician” really quite got it. I have a lot of respect for people who came up in a traditional folk sense and play traditional folk. That’s not something I’m able to do. I didn’t really learn guitar traditionally. I don’t really stick to traditional forms or song structures. And I also don’t know a ton of old songs. So I don’t want to be confused with people that have a really strong lineage that way. So by adding “intuitive” to folk…to me that embraces the side of what I do which is about nontraditional form and also the practice of listening very deeply to oneself—to what wants to come out in terms of the song. The song is shaping itself, like when a sculptor talks about looking at marble for a long time and then it comes out. Except it’s particular with songs, I suppose, that you’re sort of letting the song form itself. I imagine that traditional folk singers were also writing songs in this way, too. I have a very strong feeling about staying connected with intuition because I think that’s getting lost so much these days. I don’t think that intuition steers us wrong. In fact it’s the thing that steers us in the right direction. It’s about making enough space for modern life so that the deeper voices in ourselves come out.

What is the act of songwriting for you? Is it an act of love, an act of kindness, an act of justice, an act of something else?

It’s certainly an act of healing. I would say self-care, but beyond self -care, it’s also making music feel healing on a deeper level that’s not simply about me personally. Actually, I feel that more and more strongly as I get older. Initially, writing songs felt so necessary for me. It was almost like it chose me rather than me choosing to do it. And it brought so much speedy healing into my life—it was a lot of things really quickly. And at this point, I’m less focused on my internal landscape as it relates to me, and more interested in how my internal landscape might mirror what’s going on with other people in my community, or my country, or the whole world. I’m really listening for resonances over different distances.

You’re touring with Sam Moss. Can you tell us a little about him?

Sam and I were paired up for a show together in Burlington four years ago, and every time I’ve seen him play, he just gets better and better and better. He’s an incredible virtuosic fingerpicker, in terms of his guitar style, and he also has a really sweet voice that layers so nicely…over the sparkly guitar, which creates such a nice sound. He’s a great person and really good travel buddy. It’s been a great tour so far.

What does a stop in a Rust Belt city like Buffalo mean to you?

More and more, different stops in different places mean people to me; there’s generally people in each city that I’m really excited to see. Also, the Burchfield Penney [Art Center] is one thing that a stop in Buffalo means to me. Burchfield is probably my current favorite painter. The last time I played in Buffalo, I managed to visit the museum and they took me behind the scenes to show me some of the archives that weren’t currently exhibited. It was one of the best visits I had anywhere. In terms of the city itself? I took a trip through the Midwest last month and I was trying to pick up on what life is like in the Rust Belt for people now, and what the evolution has been over the last 100 years. It’s interesting for me to see the remnants of old industry and how that either turned over into new uses for old buildings, or not. Sometimes things are simply falling apart and not quite yet in a rejuvenation phase. But my sense of Buffalo is that there’s been a renewal phase for quite a while, and that’s exciting to see. I like to keep my eyes open for how people manage change in different cities.