Stuart A. Staples

Tindersticks’ inimitable voice kneels before Townes Van Zandt’s Our Mother The Mountain (Poppy, 1969).

Our Mother The Mountain is an album I often return to. Like old friends, we have an understanding. And like the best of friends, there is never a need to impress. Townes’ songs never try hard to gain your attention, you always feel like you are happening on them. There can be immense sadness but it’s never overwrought, and his natural humour always balances. The insights are conversational, never presented – take them if you want. And the plain beauty and honesty of it all.

In 1990 I got a job at the Rough Trade shop and moved from Nottingham to London. I was used to working in record shops. Some days are really busy but there are also many dreamy afternoons discovering music. I started to notice the final CDs in the filing system were by an artist called Townes Van Zandt. These albums had been sitting there since the shop opened some four years earlier.

One of those afternoons I decided to see who this guy was, arbitrarily picking out Our Mother The Mountain. Nothing really happened, then Kathleen came on, I played it again, then again: “But I ain’t in the mood for sunshine anyway.” I know…

In ’91 I was at the Reading Festival. I made the decision to not watch Nirvana, and find the small tent on the edge of the festival where Townes was playing with Guy Clarke. It was a watershed moment, I left something behind that night and gained something much greater. I experienced a real humanity in music, maybe for the first time.

Over the last 30 years Townes has become a musical companion to me, the songwriter I return to most. In his lifetime people didn’t give a shit about his songs but I am not sure that mattered to him. There was bigger stuff going on.

Past Imperfect: The Best Of Tindersticks ’92-’21 is out on March 25 on City Slang.