POKEY LAFARGE

Back in 2021, Pokey LaFarge moved from California to midcoastal Maine and soon developed an unexpected but life-changing fascination with farming. For much of the following year, the Illinois-born singer/songwriter/guitarist spent 12 hours a day tending to flowers and herbs and vegetables at a local farm and greenhouse—a turn of events that catalyzed an extraordinary burst of creativity and redefined his sense of purpose as an artist. On his new album Rhumba Country, LaFarge reveals his newly heightened devotion to making music that channels pure joy, presenting a boldly eclectic body of work likely to lift audiences into a similarly elated state of mind.

“The whole time I was working on this record, I felt peace, I felt joy, I felt ease,” says LaFarge. “I think the reason why is that I’ve come to a certain mountaintop after a period of time in a self-inflicted hell. I used to glorify sadness because I lost sight of who I was, but now I understand that my gift is joy and that I need to share that gift. It’s my mission to be a beacon for others, and to make it easier from them to move out of the darkness and into the light.”  

 The follow-up to In the Blossom of Their Shade—a 2021 LP whose many accolades include landing on PopMatters’ list of the year’s 10 best Americana albums—Rhumba Country mainly consists of material that emerged while LaFarge was deep in work on the farm. “I’d be pushing a plow or scattering seeds and the songs would just come to me,” he recalls. “It was tremendously inspirational, and made me realize that farming is maybe the world’s oldest art form apart from singing. It’s an incredibly humanistic thing to do.” In bringing the album to life, LaFarge dreamed up a kaleidoscopic sound informed by his love of music from far-ranging eras and corners of the globe, including mambo, tropicália, Jamaican music from the ’60s and ’70s, and mid-century American rock-and-roll. Co-produced by LaFarge, Elliot Bergman, and Chris Seefried and mostly recorded live in Los Angeles and Chicago, the result is a potent vessel for his profoundly infectious joie de vivre. “The songs that naturally come to me are upbeat, bouncy, with a strong rhythm and groove that make you wanna dance or at least bop your head—they’re all very colorful,” says LaFarge. “I used to think of everything in dark blue, but now I see it in technicolor.”

On the album-opening “One You, One Me,” LaFarge offers an immediate retreat into the charmed and rhapsodic world of Rhumba Country, sharing a sweetly breezy love song rendered with radiant simplicity. “The same way Picasso worked his whole life to paint like a child, I’ve been more focused on simplifying my music over the years,” he says. “The fewer the chord movements and the more streamlined the lyrics, the more direct the impact. It’s about trying to get to the point where the songs are almost like prayers.” In the case of “One You, One Me,” that benediction centers on LaFarge’s belief in “evolving and working hard to love and be loved, because that’s what we’re here to do.” And like all of Rhumba Country, “One You, One Me” serves as a prime showcase for LaFarge’s unforgettably distinct voice and ineffable charisma—an element he’s also continually brought to his work as an actor, including recent endeavors like his turn as Hank Snow on CMT’s Sun Records and his role in the forthcoming Southern Gothic thriller The Devil All the Time.

All throughout Rhumba Country, LaFarge achieves the rare feat of paring his songs down to the essential while ornamenting each track with the kind of strange and dazzling details that leave the listener indelibly delighted. On “Run Run Run,” for instance, bright and fiery percussion and buzzing guitar tones converge in what he describes as a “dancey tropical-gospel song.” Graced with the heavenly harmonies of his wife Addie Hamilton (a singer/songwriter in her own right), “Run Run Run” ultimately delivers an exultant call to overcome the obstacles and distractions that keep us from fully living our truth. “That’s based on the words of Paul the Apostle, who said to run the race that’s set before you,” LaFarge explains. “He’s using the metaphor of an athlete who’s training so hard to try to win a trophy, which is perishable. But as a Christian, the reward for the race I’m running is imperishable. It’s a daily discipline, but it’s also a daily joy.”

Over the course of Rhumba Country’s 10 effusive tracks, LaFarge dispenses hard-won wisdom in a way that’s never heavy-handed, often imbuing his songwriting with all the guileless magic of a fable or folktale. To that end, the sublimely effervescent “Sister André” tells the story of a French nun who recently passed away at the age of 118, arriving as a time-bending piece of R&B lit up in tender harmonies, soul-soothing grooves, and the shimmering tones of celeste. “Sister André lived through both world wars, the flu epidemic, all the way down the line through Covid,” says LaFarge. “After I heard her story I started singing about a character who’s got a lot of sage advice to share, and it turned into a song of encouragement for those who are lonely and hoping for love.”  

A true musical eccentric, LaFarge flaunts his more idiosyncratic sensibilities on songs like the magnificently loopy “Like a Sailor,” a dance-ready and dreamlike number that speaks to the inevitability of struggle on the path to peace. On “So Long Chicago,” Rhumba Country slips into a bit of lighthearted storytelling as LaFarge muses on the cultural phenomenon of those in colder climates heading south for winter. Co-written with Hamilton, the playfully cheeky snowbird ode mines inspiration from ’70s-era Chuck Berry, unfolding in freewheeling guitar work and fiercely stomping rhythms. Meanwhile, on “Home, Home, Home,” LaFarge reimagines a tune from reggae legend Ken Boothe, infusing a heartfelt longing into his vocal performance and breathing new life into the late-’60s rocksteady classic. “If you listen to the original of ‘Home, Home, Home,’ or so much of early reggae and rocksteady, you realize everybody’s got their own form of country music,” says LaFarge. “It goes back to why I named the album Rhumba Country in the first place: it’s poking fun at the futility of genres and asking, ‘What is folk music? What is country or soul?’ I’ve always bucked at all those boundaries, and found it much more exciting to create my own genre.”

 In the making of Rhumba Country, LaFarge’s boundless curiosity for music from other cultures played a vital part in shaping the album’s instantly captivating sound. “Listening to a lot of African music and South American music has really helped in simplifying my approach,” he notes, naming Brazilian singer/composer Jorge Ben among his key inspirations on Rhumba Country. “When you scale back the chord progressions and get a good rhythm going, the musicians have more freedom to play anything or to not play at all. There’s so much space everywhere, and as a singer it allows me to be that lead instrument and weave in and out however I want.” At the same time, LaFarge brought a more intense and focused rigor to his songwriting process. “I need to trust in what feels good to me, but I also have to ask myself, ‘Is the message coming through? Am I stimulating thought in a way that might shift someone’s perspective? Am I being honest in telling my story, and am I doing it in love?’” he says. “There are so many things you need to fine-tune your instincts for, it’s almost like having a different set of ears or a second heart.”

Looking back on the origins of Rhumba Country, LaFarge points to one of the most crucial revelations he experienced while farming: a newfound understanding of the uniquely human potential to be “conduits of continuous creation.” And in his effort to provide what he refers to as “medicine for the soul,” he’s dedicated himself to more carefully nurturing his own spirit. “You have to live the life you’re singing in your songs—no matter what you’re going through, everything will come out in your music whether you want it to or not,” says LaFarge. “I’ve realized that the more I can pursue goodness and live in peace, the more I can make the music I was put here to make. Because at the end of the day, I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it because I have a responsibility to go out there and create hope for others. I want to serve people with my music.”