Kip Moore on Failed Singles, ‘Effing Auto-Tune’ and New ‘Wild Ones’
It’s a little after 11:00 am on a Tuesday, and Kip Moore is sitting at a table in the back of a chicken restaurant called Party Fowl near downtown Nashville, sipping a glass of water and thumping out the bassline to the Temptations’ “My Girl” on his inky denim-covered leg.
He sings the famous intro in a pitch one or two notches higher than his unmistakable sandpaper howl, dipping his chin up and down to the beat as his brows — brown, with little specks of errant gold — rise. “I got sunshine. . . “
For all the gritty anthems on his much-anticipated second record, Wild Ones, released today, and all the Asbury Park-inspired licks that turn those Western collars blue, Moore, 35, has a diehard dedication to soul and R&B. “Sam Cooke is probably my favorite of all time,” he says in his tight, South Georgia drawl. “If I had my go-to desert island artist, it would probably be him.” Mostly, he admires those basslines — the way they swivel and curve, not just follow the groove like most songs that currently reign on country radio. If you listen to tracks like “Magic” and “That Was Us” on Wild Ones, there it is, loud and clear: a throbbing pulse, walking a different path entirely from the melody.
There’s no Cooke on the P.A. at Party Fowl, but there is Top 40 — a medley of hits like Brad Paisley’s “Crushin’ It” and, at one point, Moore’s own single “I’m to Blame” — the latter met with a subtle eye roll. It’s early, and Moore’s not particularly hungry yet. After some studying of the menu, he decides to stick with water but feels a little guilty about not ordering anything. Guilty enough to ask the waitress to charge him for a Coke he didn’t drink so he can leave a tip, but not guilty enough to ask for a basket of fried chicken skins just for appearance’s sake. That’s not his style.
“It all sounds great, but this is very fattening stuff right here,” he says, turning around in his chair to ask his publicist if they can swing by the local health food store when he’s done. It’s not that Moore doesn’t have bad habits: he has plenty, indeed. He smokes cigarettes (though only when he’s writing); he drinks his share of whiskey; he’s been known to sabotage a relationship or two. But he just isn’t in the mood for greasy snacks — he’s already feeling the physical effects from the promotional mayhem surrounding the release of Wild Ones, the constant touring and the long, uneasy road he travelled to get here. It’s all taken its toll.
“My body is just pushed to the very end,” he says. “I’ve done two-hundred-plus shows a year for three straight years, and I’m on track to do it again this year. I talk to my other [artists] buddies and they’re like, ‘Naw, we’re not doin’ that.’ What am I doing to myself?”