adrian varnam

This post was originally published in encore magazine on May 19th, 2010.

The story of Charlie Mars seems almost too cinematic to be true: Young musician from a small town in Mississippi scrapes together enough money during college to record an album. He tours relentlessly for the next several years, recording two more albums and building a following the old-fashioned way, only to wear himself down with touring, booze and pills. After a stint in rehab, he finds himself in Sweden, performing by the sea, living on a boat that doubles as a restaurant, and writing songs for what he hopes is a new album.

Upon returning stateside he wins enough money one night in a casino to buy studio time to record the songs. A major label catches wind and summons him to New York City and signs him to their roster, all without a band, a manager, or even a tour to speak of, within the previous two years or so. After three years of seeing his dreams come to fruition—radio play, tours throughout the U.S. and Europe, videos, famous friends, critical success—the label folds, and the phone stops ringing. He’s just another casualty in a corporate record industry that has a hard time staying adaptable, relevant and solvent in the digital age.

Independent once again, he has visions of what his newest project should be, and he assembles a core in the studio to make a record that sounds as true to him as anything he ever recorded. It’s his most successful album to date and the one of which he’s most proud. He’s come full circle, scarred but smarter, living the life he’s imagined for himself, and doing everything he can to make the best music he’s capable of making. Fade out.

Except that’s really what happened.

Now on his own, touring in support of his newest record, and seemingly in control of not only his present life but his destiny as well, Charlie Mars is able to reflect on his career with an honest introspection and knows the journey has lead him to perhaps his best days yet.

“When I started out, I was young and really just wanted to party, have a good time, play music, and I didn’t really have the discipline or desire to commit myself to being good,” Mars says in a recent interview with encore. “But as time went on, that became more important to me than being young and wild. I started asking myself, Why is it you’re doing what you’re doing? What is it you want, what do you want to say? What’s close to your heart? Over time I feel like I’ve gotten there. I feel like I’ve still got a little ways to go, but I definitely feel like I see where the light is pointing me, and I feel good about it.”

That place beckons the support of Like A Bird, Like A Plane, Mars’ fifth record and his most ambitious to date. In what seems like a departure of sorts from his more Americana-influenced previous efforts, his new material is more groove-oriented, with emphasis on the vibe and feel of the music, as opposed to nicely packaged, radio-friendly rock. He sites producer Daniel Lanois’ style as a jumping-off point, as well as albums like Paul Simon’s Graceland and even more obscure Dire Straits. To him it seemed to be a gradual shift in focus.

“As time progressed I started listening to a lot more atmospheric music, and I think it just naturally progressed into a sound that I feel like I want to be doing,” he says. “There’s more emphasis on percussion and drums, allowing that to carry the songs instead of loud guitars. I think I’ve gradually started to gravitate toward that stuff, and I don’t think I did early on in my career. But I definitely feel that I’ve gotten better at doing what I want now. I listen to earlier records and then listen to this one, and this one feels like home to me—like, it’s honest.”

Thus, Mars has comforted himself into his driving force. No longer is he solely motivated by the desire to be wildly successful, nor does he feel the need to create music that abides by some formula, in order to get it on the radio. No longer does he need to follow the whims of some corporate brass or create by committee. Today, his energy centers on being true to himself and creating the best art possible. The irony of it all is that honesty carries everything he strived for from the beginning: success, happiness and the added bonus of a clearer conscience.

“I realized in that whole process that I did some things along the way because I thought that it would get me where I wanted to be, and I felt a little bit like an actor playing a part,” he says. “Once all that went away—the major label folded, the manager stopped answering the phone, the booking agency stopped calling—I realized [most of] those people were never my friends, and I was naive to think that they were. I just decided if I was going to continue making music, I’ve got to do something I believe in. All that makes me happy now is doing good work, and nothing matters unless it’s coming from the right place.”

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