Bio

Gregory Dwane is a lifer. From his humble “two turntables and a microphone” beginnings in rural North Carolina to eventually touring around the world as a tech and his recent work as producer for Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls, Dwane has seen many facets of the music industry first-hand. Add to his impressive pedigree a bit of alcoholism, burnout, and fatherhood, and you’ve got life experience in spades, all informing the songs on his self-titled debut record, an inspired collection of tales of rebellion and redemption delivered with a twang that recalls the worn and weathered sincerity of Tom Petty as often as it evokes the tongue-in-cheek humor of Joe Walsh. An in-the-pocket rhythm section, some smoking electric guitar and fiddle, and some classic rock riffs for good measure, all amount to an infectious debut that’s as refreshing as it is retro.

An interest in recording engineering inspired Dwane to relocate from his home near Trinity, N.C. to New York in the early ‘90s, which eventually led to his producing records and playing in punk bands. Ten years later, amid the crashing and burning that hit after years of alcohol abuse, a phone call to a friend and former manager who was working with Alanis Morrisette ended up being a lifeline. Dwane hightailed it to LA and joined Morrisette’s road crew as a keyboard tech, a serendipitous move that suddenly changed his trajectory in a major way. “I went from thinking my world was over to touring the world,” Dwane recalls. The Alanis gig led to tech work with Dave Navarro and Macy Gray, and eventually to getting sober. “That opened up my whole world,” he says, as it opened new doors to work with like-minded sober musicians, including a Sony record deal with the band Mellowdrone, which he joined as bassist.

Shortly thereafter, an unexpected entry into fatherhood led him to look for more stable employment. Enter friend Michael Fitzpatrick (of Fitz and the Tantrums), who introduced him to jingle writing, which he ended up doing for the next 15 years, a period that also saw him producing two albums for Amy Ray and working with others in the riot grrrl / queercore scene (Kaia Wilson of Team Dresch, The Butchies, and more). Despite the healthy paychecks, eventually he burned out on jingle writing and music in general, as he explains, “it’s a hard way to make a living … a fully produced song practically every day for 15 years.” Dwane left the music industry completely — at least as far as making a living — and instead took up fine art painting, which led him to launch a small gallery in Brooklyn. The change in focus proved to be just what his musical endeavors needed. “If anything, I probably liked music more after I quit,” he laughs. Learning how to paint also inspired a new interest in process, which bled into his songwriting. “It had always just been this thing; it either came out or it didn’t … I had never had a process around it.” 

Dwane experienced yet another shift in process and output in 2020 due to shutdowns stemming from the global pandemic. “I hadn’t had a six to eight-hour stretch with absolutely nothing to worry about in...forever,” he recalls. He found inspiration in the Kacey Musgraves album Golden Hour, Waylon Jennings’ Ladies Love Outlaws, and rediscovered his personal archive of old demos, some over 20 years old. He found himself diving back into songwriting and finding fulfillment in the process. Soon enough, he had an album’s worth of songs, which — much like his paintings — reflect the beauty and challenges of everyday life.

An intentional focus on process is evident in the meticulous arrangements of these 11 tracks; from the barroom intro to “Do You Really Want Me” to the moody breakdown and outro on “I85” and the stripped back, relaxed feel of tracks “When You Say California” (remarkably dark but appropriately sunny all at once) and “It’s Fucked Up,” featuring backing vocals from Amy Ray, there’s an effortless yet deliberate vibe throughout the entire album, with each listen uncovering even more nuance. 

 Thematically, Dwane’s songs reflect a man in search of balance and understanding. With lyrics that don’t so much take a bold stance as they acknowledge life’s tough lessons and joyful experiences, the record  finds the songwriter contemplating male fragility, social consciousness, and his own past wounds and traumas. 

All in all, Dwane’s self-titled debut establishes him as the alt-country songwriter we all need right about now; when we’re not sure whether to laugh or cry, turn off the news and drown our sorrows or go high-five a stranger, sometimes all we can do is say “it’s fucked up,” sit back, and listen.