Q&A with Tim Showalter of Strand of Oaks

If anybody deserves the good year he’s had, it’s Timothy Showalter of Strand of Oaks. Born in Indiana, now living in Philly, Showalter had previously suffered a decade marred by infidelities, house fires, addictions, suicidal thoughts and near-death car accidents. All that gave his latest record, the bluntly emotional HEAL, its subtext of thriving in the face of disaster. Critics have praised his earnestly working-class synth-rock while his hometown has shown its appreciation by selling out his last three shows. There are still tickets available for Wednesday’s gig at Union Transfer, but I wouldn’t wait too long.

City Paper: Congratulations on HEAL, though it seems weird to say that since it’s often such a sad and harrowing record. Does it feel weird to get applause from such wrenching work?

Timothy Showalter: That’s a great way of looking at it. You never know how life happens. I hope this is me putting the sad stuff to bed. I have dealt with heartbreak shit for 10 years. I’ve lived in this cycle of repeating myself, destroying things. I just wanted to write a record as honestly as I could — this is what I am. Much of it was sad, but every time I play a show, it feels like a victory lap. I didn’t succumb to the darkness. And I’m I proud because this is as close to who I am, but was always too scared to admit.

CP: Other than selling shows and gathering accolades, what’s so great about this year?

TS: Music is the only thing that is stable in my life. We can share this together in concert, or if you like the record and talk to me about it. A lot of people assume I’m just depressed, and I do get intensely depressed but I also get intensely joyful. We played a show in Prague and people were singing along to the lyrics. One girl told me how much she liked “Goshen 97” and all I could think was it was a song about me being a weird kid in my old home town, nervous no one would relate to it, and there’s this girl who drove from Slovakia, relating to the whole small town experience — that’s what’s great.

CP: You’re touring so much. Are you getting a chance to write?

TS: As soon as I got off tour I wrote 12 songs. It’s important to me to write tunes that are empowering to me as those shows were. That’s what coming next. Empowering can be a cheesy word — but then again so is calling an album HEAL and writing it in capital letters. Maybe if I’m good at something it’s being sincere and not [being] cheesy hopefully. I’m not ironic and nor do I double talk. I don’t want to sound like there’s a fake sense of goodness at work but I’m writing songs that talk about life and how hard it can be but how fun and good it can be as well. We’ll see what happens. My life always throws a house fire or car accident in every few years.

CP: What are you editing so that you don’t sound cheesy? Or are you just throwing caution to the wind?

TS: The songs are as unedited as I would ever allow songs to be. I’m not regretful but when I look back it’s like, ‘wow, that’s emotional.’ But it was an experiment in not laboring over lyrics. I’m never going to be a spiritual person, but I do feel the power of being who you are and being comfortable sharing that. I’m getting closer to the raw nerve of something. It’s post-whatever. And I truly mean it, it’s just what I feel.

CP: How does the new record fit in with your first album, the fantastical Pope Killdragon?

TS: We play my old stuff so infrequently that the other day, when we considered doing one, I had to Google the lyrics. I love that people discover them — the songs still live — but it’s like a kid trying to figure stuff out. Killdragon is unique. It would have to be filtered through my life and through ideas like having Dan Aykroyd be a heroin dealer. Killdragon feels like when I was a kid in my tree house pretending that I was in Star Wars. Great imagination — fun place — but the songs are like children growing up: I love them but I don’t see them anymore.

CP: What was the first song that you wrote for HEAL and how did it set the tone for what was to follow?

TS: Good question. I was on tour in Europe, came home not in a great place, and the first song that I wrote was “HEAL.” I sat down with a drum loop and I just talked over the song. My head was full of wild ideas, but that first take, just me testing out my mic — they became the lyrics. And I said “HEAL” just like that, yelling it like it should be in caps. if I’m going to be this honest, I thought, let’s keep going with that.

CP: Sounds like scream therapy. How did you make your dad part of “JM,” which is also about Jason Molina?

TS: That song is three windows into three parts of my life, one of which has me fighting with my dad, getting into my rusty Buick Sentry, driving to a cornfield, smoking cigarettes and fuming over what happened listening to Songs: Ohia.

CP: Which is how Molina inspired so much of what you do.

TS: I don’t like that thing where art becomes too precious. I get mad. Hard work is not a dirty word when it comes to art. ... Molina worked his ass off and he wanted to live. He didn’t offer answers about his demise — he offered solutions, optimism. I took that very seriously. I want to carry on that lineage of blue collar work — not blue collar like John Mellencamp, but of true hard work. That’s why I like Philly bands. They earn every fan they get.

CP: Within a year of playing this album for people, what has been the best thing that you have heard?

TS: There has been a lot and it has been heavy. There are a few people who have told me some truly deep, dark and sad things — which I get, you know — and, I tell them sincerely I’m going to be back here again in four months and I want to see you. I’ll put you on the guest list, I’ll buy you a beer. I worry about their health.

CP: The bigger you get the harder it’s going to be to keep up this intimacy, personally and musically. Does that worry you?

TS: Look, I come from the church of Bruce Springsteen, someone who has made the giant seem small and the intimate seem epic. I hope I can do that with my own music as long as he’s done it.

Wed., Dec. 3, $15, 8:30 p.m., Union Transfer, 1026 Spring Garden St. 215-232-2100, utphilly.com.