Daughn Gibson

Harrowing small-town tales from a Pennsylvania punk-turned-crooner.

By Larry Fitzmaurice
April 19, 2012

There are moments of genuine noise and terror on singer-songwriter Daughn Gibson’s debut solo LP, All Hell, but not of the devil’s-horns kind. Instead, the 31-year-old Carlisle, Pennsylvania, resident fashions ghostly, haunting country-ish ballads out of Christian gospel samples and looping audio software while his rich baritone narrates small-town tragedy.

Gibson’s affinity for country music– as well as the genre’s cherished storytelling tradition– began when he started driving trucks for a living nearly a decade ago. “I started listening to country when there was nothing else to listen to on the radio when I was driving,” he says. “I started liking the stories, no matter how absurd they sounded. I liked that they were portrayals of people, or scenarios, or nostalgia.” To this day, he’s still working in the trucking industry, as an HR representative.

Years before going solo, Gibson took up the drums as a pre-teen after “staying up and watching Metallica and Guns N’ Roses videos.” He played in bands with names like Nokturnal Acid and Natal Cream throughout high school and eventually joined up with childhood friends Joel Winter and Randy Huth in the stoner-metal outfit Pearls and Brass, which presently operates as an on-and-off concern.

Gibson was inspired to explore the dusty, lonely, electronically decayed sounds on All Hell after moving further into central Pennsylvania, where there weren’t as many like-minded musicians to start a band with. With the moral support of Pissed Jeans‘ Matt Korvette, whose White Denim label is releasing the album, Gibson pieced the record together over the course of 2011. Later on this year, he’ll be touring with a band setup, too.

“Any parent would have reservations if their kid came home dressed like a skinhead, but mine understood that punk kept me focused on something when so many of my friends were out robbing 7-Elevens.”

Pitchfork: What was it like for you growing up in small-town Pennsylvania?

Daughn Gibson: I was into punk, but I didn’t go whole-hog. A lot of kids who grew up in small towns that were into punk music went the “safe” way– not doing drugs, being straight edge. But I definitely straddled the line and hung out with high-school dirtbags. I’d tell my parents I was spending the night at my friend’s but actually go to Philly and see a show at Starlite Ballroom. I would drink and do all that stuff, but I didn’t set any barns on fire.

I grew up in Nazareth, Penn., which was an hour and a half from New York, and an hour and a half from Philly. So bands that were touring came through one way or another. We got to see stuff people in other small towns didn’t, like Wesley Willis. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to grow up and be into music.

Pitchfork: How did your parents feel about you being into loud music as a kid?

DG: When I started getting into punk, they had reservations about it– I think any parent would have reservations if their kid came home wearing suspenders and was dressed like a skinhead. But they understood that it kept me focused on something when so many of my other friends were out robbing 7-Elevens or being pieces of shit. When I would bring certain things home from the record store, like Dayglo Abortions’ Feed Us a Fetus CD– which had Ronald Reagan and a fetus on a plate on the cover– they were like, “What the fuck? You’re 14, why are you listening to this shit?” I told them it was a joke and they took it pretty well, but I can empathize. If I had a kid and they came home with that, I would probably be like, “Whoa.”

Daughn Gibson: “In the Beginning”

Pitchfork: Are any of the stories told on All Hell based on real-life occurrences?

DG: They’re not necessarily true, but they definitely could be true. The song “Tiffany Lou” is based on a girl who keeps seeing her dad on “Cops”– I know that there’s a dad out there who’s been on “Cops” multiple times, and they have a family who probably sees them and feels shame. To me, that’s kind of hilarious, but also totally sad. “Ray” is about a terrible son whose mother has died. He comes home drunk and his dad is like, “Come on, man, can you please get it together?” I would say that every other household on my block probably has a situation close to that.

Pitchfork: All Hell is a pretty drastic departure from your previous work as a drummer. Outside of country music, what were your influences in making such radically different music?

DG: There were a couple of electronic artists that really shocked me. Demdike Stare did that for me– they’re just dark enough, but also oddly humorous. They made me think there was a whole different way to play music but still sound organic and emotional. Burial does that, too. So does Scott Walker. You can’t quite believe what you are hearing– and it’s not necessarily something that you can listen to all the time because it’s too intense– but it changes the way you go about making music.

Pitchfork: Lastly, do you have any crazy stories from your years truck driving?

DG: For my first experience driving, I got asked to do a load to New York. And if you ask any driver about their first trip to New York, it’s always crazy. I had a load in Brooklyn, so I dropped it off and started to head home. This was before GPS, so I get on the Belt Parkway and because it’s an expressway– and because I am a dumb shit– I didn’t realize that trucks can’t be on there. So I was driving along and cars start honking at me like, “What the fuck are you doing, get off the road!” Then, up ahead, I see an overpass that’s, like, 12 feet, eight inches tall– and the truck’s 13 feet tall. I’m like, “Fuck me, what am I going to do?” I’ve got white knuckles, sweating. There was nothing I could do but just attempt to get under it, so I basically scraped the shit out of the bottom of the overpass and the top of my truck. I probably cried a little afterwards.