Over the past 25 years, Scott Klass (the name behind The Davenports) has built a reputation for sharp, introspective songwriting wrapped in timeless pop melodies and glacial production. You might know his songwriting from the theme song to A&E’s Intervention. Now with the release of his fifth album, You Could Have Just Said That, Klass leans further into raw honesty and vulnerability by crafting a series of tracks that feel as personal as they are universally relatable. Recorded entirely at home, this DIY album marks a shift in both process and tone. It’s less polished for sure, but by the same token it’s more immediate, and undeniably intimate. As you’ll hear throughout this album, he explores the human tendency to evade the truth, to sidestep uncomfortable conversations and the messy, heartfelt complexity of our relationships. For this special On The Record interview, we spoke at length with Klass about the making of the album, the joys and challenges of self-recording and the personal stories behind the songs.
Welcome to Unrecorded! For those who aren’t familiar with The Davenports, can you introduce yourself?
Greetings. It’s sort of a band and sort of not. Maybe more of a “project.” I write everything, and sometimes record everything (as is the case with this new record). And sometimes I have this rotating set of friends come in and add their greatness to records, performances, etc. I gave it a band moniker, I think because it felt uncomfortable – and probably less fun – just using my name (even though Klass kind of sounds like a stage name).
I never have an easy time putting it into a category; years ago, most people lumped it into “power pop.” But I think/hope it evolved away from that – people have likened songs on this record to everything from Crowded House to Of Montreal to The New Pornographers to Elliott Smith.
Let’s start right off with talking about your new album You Could’ve Just Said That, which you’ve described as “charmingly unfiltered” and “moment-in-time expressions.” Were there any specific songs or moments during the recording that felt particularly revelatory or cathartic?
Well, the bio writer came up with “charmingly unfiltered” and such, haha. I think part of what was revelatory came out of the act of recording this by myself, which is something I had never done. Without anyone looking over my shoulder, guiding me on arrangements or performance or whatever, I could really just do whatever I wanted. So it was self-indulgent, but really honest too, and it led to a record that I really love.
Subject matter-wise, yes there was plenty of “relief” that came from writing these songs. Some are just made-up stories based on conversations and such, and some are kind of like venting (even though it’s not literal venting). “Full-length Mirror,” for example, is about selective memory – about people who try to brush their past bad behavior under the rug. I know plenty, and it bothers me, and this song lets me express it through a made-up past of someone named Emily. But what’s really interesting is the totally random moment that spawned the idea. My daughter was hanging a mirror in her room, and she ended up hanging it too low, so she couldn’t see her face. So I just thought what if someone deliberately hung a mirror too low so they didn’t have to look at their own face? That became the Emily of past bad behavior 🙂 .
Do you have a favourite song? And why that one?
I think it changes – I’m sure I’m not alone in favoring the latest thing I write. The last song I wrote for the record (which is also the last song on the record) is “We Know We Want to” and I’m really stuck on it right now. It’s effectively a love song, but more specifically about how polyamory stops working for someone – one half of the primary couple falls so in love with their partner that they no longer want to share that partner with other people (based on a true story). I don’t know, all the musical and lyrical pieces just fell together perfectly.
Another might be “The Annabellas of the World.” It’s kind of an oddball – lots of melodic twists and turns. But I also love it because it’s the only song on the record that was done in a studio (pre-COVID) with many of those aforementioned friends – Danny Weinkauf (They Might Be Giants) on bass; Rob Draghi on drums; Chris Collingwood (Fountains of Wayne) and Philip Price (Winterpills) on harmonies; Jack Mcloughlin on pedal steel.
Compared to your previous releases, this has a more personal, introspective and intimate approach. What inspired that shift?
A lot of that came out of the solitary nature of the process this time around. I started these songs in COVID when we were all home and sad, and that probably blended into the writing and recording. Technically, I didn’t really know what I was doing – I just bought Logic and a versatile mic, had my two guitars and a bass, and just started playing around with it. While other people added parts remotely – strings, pedal steel, etc – and talented folks mixed and mastered, my home tracks based on a rudimentary knowledge of recording technique could only be homespun and intimate sounding. The songs themselves aren’t much different from what I always write, but they took on this different vibe based on the above.
What was the biggest challenge in creating this album and how did you overcome it?
Probably the limitations of my engineering skills. I think I got “reasonably” decent sounds but probably couldn’t do everything I really wanted to do, and the process probably wasn’t that efficient. I overcame it by asking others who know more than me, and otherwise just plowing through with the skills I had. That likely gave this record its own unique sound – kind of a happy accident.
There’s such a narrative quality to the record, how do you balance storytelling with emotionality?
I dont have a great answer for that. I pretty much just write what I write and whatever comes out comes out. If the stories are based on real experiences, interactions, etc. – mine or someone else’s – the emotion is there.
Is there a lyric that you feel encapsulates its overall spirit of the album?
That’s kind of a great question (he says, running through the lyrics). There’s a lot on this record about being elusive – dodging your truth for one reason or another, and how “normal” that is to do. So one might be from “Full-length Mirror,” where that Emily character I mentioned just keeps redirecting focus away from her bad behavior:
She left out the batter till it started to smell
Then she brought you a yellow hydrangea
To go with your pretty arrangement
“To me,” she says, “this is what you remember.”
In some ways, the harmonies and melodies have a timeless quality. What draws you to some of those classic songwriting motifs?
Thanks! I think they’re just hard-wired after all this time. All those years of Joni, Jackson Browne, Lennon/Macca, Paul Simon, etc., that get reinforced by their more modern torch-bearers – Chris Collingwood, Madison Cunningham, Laura Marling, and so many others – have helped build that.
You can also find the album’s title-track ‘You Could’ve Just Said That’ in our Folk This Way playlist.
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