Late at night, after his wife and his two teenage daughters go to bed, Kurt Vile heads down to the recording studio he built in the basement of his house in Philadelphia. He calls it OKV Central \u2014 \u201cOKV\u201d stands for Overnite Kurt Vile \u2014 and he rolls with the flow from midnight to 3 a.m.<\/p>\n
\u201cI get a lot of my KV world and my KV mind together around then,\u201d Vile said as he showed me around the rooms stuffed with analog audio gear, instruments, amplifiers, effects pedals, stacks of cassettes and paperback biographies of his musical heroes. \u201cI\u2019ll be staying up late listening to whatever, you know. Recording loops on the fly. Songs come to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vile, 46, is the slacker poet of modern indie rock<\/a>, with a clean guitar sound and conversational lyrics. He is a shy man who, until recently, had a habit of hiding himself from concert audiences behind his long mop of hair. On a warm afternoon in May, he seemed to be doing his best to be outgoing in the hours we spent together.<\/p>\n He started out more than 25 years ago, making bedroom recordings and passing out his homemade CD-Rs to fellow music nerds. In the 2010s, he graduated to professional recording studios, releasing low-key underground hits like \u201cPretty Pimpin\u2019\u201d<\/a> and an offbeat album of duets with the Australian singer Courtney Barnett<\/a>. He earned favorable comparisons to older artists like Neil Young and gained fans among younger artists like Role Model.<\/p>\n Vile\u2019s new album, \u201cPhiladelphia\u2019s been good to me<\/a>\u201d (Verve Records), which comes out May 29, was largely made here in the basement with his band, the Violators. The bassist, Adam Langellotti, set up the equipment, including a vintage mixing board Vile scored from the R.E.M. producer Mitch Easter<\/a>.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m really coasting at home, self-producing, hanging out with my friends,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Though not quite a concept album, \u201cPhiladelphia\u2019s been good to me\u201d is full of lyrical references to his home city. \u201cI wanted to call out Philly as my town, put it in writing,\u201d Vile said. He grew up in nearby Lansdowne. Except for a stint in Boston, where he followed his girlfriend (now wife) as she attended college, he has spent his adult life here.<\/p>\n In addition to this two-story fieldstone house in the Mt. Airy neighborhood that he shares with his wife, Suzanne Lang, and their daughters, Vile has KV chill zones in a warehouse in nearby Germantown and a rowhouse in Northern Liberties. He has shot several music videos around town, including one for his latest single, \u201cChance to Bleed<\/a>,\u201d which was filmed in Fishtown, at the music venue Kung Fu Necktie.<\/p>\n \u201cThe older I get,\u201d Vile said, \u201cthe more I know every nook and cranny of the city.\u201d<\/p>\n The love flows both ways. The city honored him by declaring Aug. 28, 2013, Kurt Vile Day<\/a>. The Philadelphia-born street artist Stephen Powers, who goes by ESPO, painted a Kurt Vile mural in Fishtown. (It became a local scandal when someone defaced it<\/a>.)<\/p>\n The release of his Philadelphia-centric album seemed like a good enough excuse to bump around town together. Vile was dressed in jeans, purple sneakers and a Waylon Jennings T-shirt \u2014 his meet-the-press outfit. He had done some laundry the night before so he would have options for a photo shoot scheduled for later that day.<\/p>\n \u201cMy quote-unquote style is whatever\u2019s at the top of the pile,\u201d Vile said, letting loose a quick, loud whoop of a laugh.<\/p>\n Around 2 p.m., he suggested we take a ride to Northern Liberties, where he spent his formative years. \u201cLotta friendly ghosts there,\u201d he said. He mentioned that we could stop in for lunch at one of his favorite places, Honey\u2019s Sit \u2019n Eat<\/a>.<\/p>\n He stepped outside, into the sunshine, and slid behind the wheel of his car, a 2012 Prius with road rash and a bumper sticker that reads \u201cBlow up your TV\u201d \u2014 a John Prine lyric. These days, he said, he is often behind the wheel of the Prius as he chauffeurs his daughters to their many activities. \u201cWhat it\u2019s got is a CD player, which is priceless,\u201d Vile said.<\/p>\n He cued up a mix he had burned. The song that came on was \u201cRed Apples\u201d<\/a> by Smog. \u201cWe\u2019re going to take Lincoln Drive to Kelly Drive,\u201d he said, noting that the route would takes us along the Schuylkill River. \u201cThat\u2019s the beauty. That gets you set.\u201d<\/p>\n Vile sings about this particular drive on \u201cZoom 97,\u201d<\/a> the new album\u2019s opening track. Like a lot of his best songs, it is delivered in a mellow drawl over reverb-soaked guitars and electronic sounds. Hearing it, you feel light enough to float away.<\/p>\n Jump in my whip<\/p>\n My engine whines<\/p>\n Zigzag my way<\/p>\n Down Lincoln Drive<\/p>\n His lyrics have a funny specificity. Elsewhere on the album, on the song \u201c99 BPM,\u201d he sings: \u201cIt was 2012, but it felt like 2014.\u201d<\/p>\n We drove past the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Rocky Balboa statue<\/a>, toward Spring Garden Street. \u201cSpring Garden,\u201d he said. \u201cThis was always my main hub.\u201d<\/p>\n For more than a decade, starting in the early 2000s, Vile and his wife lived in this part of town. He built a fan base while working as a forklift driver for the Philadelphia Brewing Company. He left the job in 2009, the same year he signed with Matador Records. The couple left the neighborhood for practical reasons: They had kids, and it was impossible to find parking. Now, the area is filled with newly built condos and trendy restaurants.<\/p>\n \u201cNorthern Liberties back in \u201903 was beautiful,\u201d Vile said. \u201cIt was bombed out. It looked like a Rauschenberg painting. I didn\u2019t think it would be built up.\u201d<\/p>\n He pulled up outside Honey\u2019s Sit \u2019n Eat. When he stepped toward the entrance, he seemed befuddled. The door was locked, and the windows were dark. Closing time was 2 p.m., according to a sign in the window.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, man, I could have used a secretary,\u201d he said, embarrassed.<\/p>\n It was a short drive to Johnny Brenda\u2019s<\/a>, a bar and rock club that has long served as the canteen for the city\u2019s indie musicians and their fans. \u201cI think I played the first show ever here,\u201d Vile said, taking a booth by the window. Other local acts in the early 2000s included the War on Drugs and Dr. Dog. \u201cIt might have been the last organic music scene,\u201d Vile said. \u201cUntil things got sucked into the phone.\u201d<\/p>\n Vile, who said he had quit drinking and become a vegetarian, ordered a veggie burger and pierogies. He mentioned that, when he\u2019s on tour, he subsists on pistachios.<\/p>\n I asked him about his childhood and upbringing. His father, an engineer for SEPTA, the commuter railroad, was a bluegrass fan and gave him a banjo at age 12. Skateboarding was an early obsession. \u201cIt was my religion,\u201d he said. When music took over, he would ride the trolley from Lansdowne to 69th Street and find his way to the Philadelphia Record Exchange<\/a> on South Street.<\/p>\n I asked him what he missed most about Philly when he was on tour. He answered a different question, explaining that, when he\u2019s away from home, he doesn\u2019t feel the need to take a city by storm. He\u2019s content to chill on the tour bus.<\/p>\n While we sat face to face in the close quarters of the restaurant booth, Vile\u2019s anxiety was more apparent. He seemed like a wild bird who had been brought indoors. It was time to get the check and bounce to a more KV-friendly environment.<\/p>\n The Record Exchange had moved to a location a few blocks away. \u201cThis is Frankford Ave.,\u201d Vile said. \u201cIf you keep going, you\u2019ll hit the brewery where I used to work. I loaded boxes and bottled beer, Laverne-and-Shirley style.\u201d<\/p>\n He stepped into the record store. There were greetings of \u201cDude!\u201d all around.<\/p>\n