Folk hero

Sep. 29—Josh Ritter can take a sentiment you've felt and put it into words about as well as anyone in the music world. That's why Paste Magazine named him one of the top 100 living songwriters in 2006 — and that's when he was just getting started. Ritter, born in Moscow, Idaho, to two neuroscientist parents, has made his living in the folk and Americana genre. Ritter, 46, released his latest album, Spectral Lines, earlier this year, and it runs the gamut, touching on topics ranging from the pandemic to the loss of his mother. Ritter will be playing Santa Fe for the first time on Monday, October 2, and he recently talked with Pasatiempo about his career and life.

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AMP Concerts presents Josh Ritter and the Royal City Band

7:30 p.m. Monday, October 2

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street

$30 to $45

lensic.org, ampconcerts.org, joshritter.com

You recently released a cover of Cyndi Lauper's song "The Goonies 'R' Good Enough" from The Goonies (1985) soundtrack? What inspired you to do that?

One of the great parts about having a band is you can carry through on your long cherished dreams of recording some of the songs that you really loved growing up. Cyndi Lauper is such a great songwriter and wrote so many great songs; hearing that song coming on in The Goonies as I was playing it for my daughter was a shock for the brainpan how well I remembered it and remembered everything about my life at that moment. I just wanted to record it and live in that moment a little while longer.

You played the violin when you were growing up; how did that affect your musicality?

When I discovered guitar after 13 years of playing violin, I thought, 'What the hell have I been doing with my time?' I was never going to be a great violinist, and I didn't enjoy the rigorous precision that's required. At the same time, it taught me incredible things about music at a fundamental level like dynamic and impersonation of the human voice with a musical line. Learning music by ear or how to construct a concert; these were all things intrinsic to the playing. I might have thrown the violin out the window, but I kept everything I learned.

You were 16 or 17 when you bought your first guitar at a Kmart — were you still sure you wanted to be a neuroscientist at that time?

I was sure of that for a few more years. As soon as I discovered guitar and realized how much I loved writing songs, I instantly worked it into my dream life. I would be like a Buckaroo Banzai-type guy who was a neuroscientist on the weekdays and then write music on the weekends. But that just got in the way of my songwriting; so eventually, I switched over.

An article from your hometown newspaper in 2004 said when you told your dad, Robert Ritter, that you wanted to pursue a music career, he said, 'What are you waiting for?'

That's true. I spent all this time worrying that my parents weren't going to appreciate the kind of thought that I put into that choice of life. But they're ... scientists or artists themselves; they realized there's an enormous amount of stuff out there that we don't know about, and we all are filled with curiosity. They just wanted me to follow my curiosity.

I often ask artists if the music comes before the words, but it seems as though in your case, the words come first and even stand independently of the music. Is that accurate?

Sometimes they do. I'm always writing, whether it's in line at a grocery store or waiting for a flight. Wherever I'm at, if I have my phone with me, I don't worry that music is going to be there. I typically find that verses — if they make sense — have a music of their own, which is pretty easily unlocked. Then you get creative with it. But having a line structure and a meter are so much more important than actual notes. The notes just will come out of all that.

In an NPR interview you said you discovered painting through doing art with your daughter (who's 10). Has discovering painting — and writing two novels — changed your creative process?

I found about a decade ago that I couldn't just be writing songs all the time. I couldn't be living in my head like that. It was just too much, and I needed a way to be able to get away from it all while still being able to cut it. Painting really helped me. And writing novels has really been a rich part of my life since then. I really enjoy it and need it. And it's also given me a sense of patience regarding music. You can get lost in accomplishments when sometimes songs come in 10 minutes; but you can't write a novel in a day. You have to be plotting and wild at the same time, and that requires energy you can sustain for only a little while.

You also told NPR that being a parent of two young children puts time constraints on when you can work. Can you elaborate on that?

Work, unless it has defined edges, is like a gas that can fill up everything. Some people make that choice and decide gas filling up that space is the perfect thing. In my experience, having a family and a stable life has helped me build channels for my work. There's less decay. It's more vibrant and energetic. I think it's the same as resistance on a wire; you set it up so the wire runs straight and smooth and is well housed and you're not going to lose all that extra energy around everything you do. I have to say that sometimes I only get a verse in a day, but I can stick a pin in that. And I can still have my life, which keeps me alive.

Is it difficult or cathartic to play songs that are about loss?

It is a different experience. Because the period of time in my life when I was working on this record was still so fresh. We're still all coming out of the pandemic. And everyone who's had a parent die or a close member of the family understands that's a real corkscrew process of its own. I think that certain emotions come up very fresh, night to night, singing those newer songs. But to be honest, if emotions don't come up for any of the songs I'm playing, I'm not doing a good job. Or I'm not doing a good job choosing the songs for the night.

During the NPR interview, you were vulnerable in sharing stories from your life and then had to play the song.

When I'm performing the song, it's because I've created the perspective for myself to be able to write the song to begin with. A lot of times, writing for me is definitely about figuring out things in life, and in some way, that's the only reason I'm interested in the song I'm writing about; I'm obsessed with the idea. By the time I'm playing For Your Soul or Strong Swimmer, these songs that are about a time of loss, it's because I was able to clearly contextualize it for myself already so that performing it can end up being more of a generous thing. I don't have to think about myself. I don't have to have the focus be on me and my experience. The experience of losing someone you love is so universal.

You have a lyric that really spoke to me in "Sawgrass": "And you'll know her at first sight, and she'll know you too. 'Cause she's one in a billion, but then so are you."

We all look up, and we all know the moment we see them. I think anybody who's fallen in love at first sight knows that feeling of certainty and that kind of tidal lock you have with somebody else. I guess that's something that I feel is one of those great human joys, that chance to have instant recognition.

You also write about the flip side of that; in "In Fields," you write about the moments where we wonder about how anybody can love us.

We can all come away from some arguments thinking, 'Why am I so ugly in my heart? Who is this monster in here who said these things or did these things?' Leonard Cohen once said the hardest thing we ever do in our lives is learn how to be loved by the people who love us. It's not an either/or situation. You can be truly good people and do terrible things.

You occasionally have to tell people that the late actor John Ritter wasn't your father. That still comes up 20 years into your career?

It does. I remember one time, I think I was in Philadelphia, and this guy came up to me. He was a really sweet guy, and he had this big binder full of people he had taken pictures with. He'd saved a spot for me right next to John Ritter. And he said, 'Your dad is in a better place.' And I said, 'I know he is.' He was in Idaho at that moment.

Josh Ritter has 10 albums including his latest, Spectral Lines. His books include Bright's Passage: A Novel (Dial Press Trade Paperback, 2012) and The Great Glorious Goddamn of It All: A Novel Hanover Square Press, 2021).