Cintuckiana: Adam Faler on Life Between Cincinnati and Kentucky

Image from Adam Faler

By Conner Tighe

Adam Faler didn't grow up in one place so much as three overlapping ones. With Adam Faler, Cintuckiana isn't just an album title; it's the name he gave to a musical identity built across three cities. Raised in Indianapolis, shaped by a father and aunt who played bluegrass fiddle rooted in Kentucky, and formed as a musician while studying jazz guitar in Cincinnati, Faler spent years driving back and forth between cities before he had a name for what all of it added up to. That name is Cintuckiana, the title of his debut album and a word he coined after seeing regional mashups like "Kentuckiana" and "Cincitucky" on signs during his weekend commutes to gig at a Cincinnati club called Nostalgia.

Cintuckiana was made almost entirely alone, without a label or a band to hide behind, over a process Faler describes as a spiritual journey as much as a musical one. We talked to him about the record's origins, the vulnerability of writing lyrics on his own for the first time, the songs that took years to finish, and the one that came together in a single day near the White River trail close to his home.

Adam Faler on Cintuckiana: Origins of the Name

Most of the work to make Cintuckiana happen happened while I was living in Broad Ripple/Indianapolis but driving to downtown Cincinnati every weekend to play gigs at a club called Nostalgia. During the drive back and forth between cities, I would see signs and billboards that used words like “Kentuckiana” or “Cincitucky,” which are combinations of Indiana, Kentucky, and Cincinnati, and I always thought it was really cool, so I made one of my own combining all three. It also felt like a good representation of the region where my musical identity comes from.

I grew up in Indianapolis, and it’s where I first learned to play guitar and what it meant to make music. My dad’s side of the family is from Kentucky, and he and his sister grew up playing bluegrass fiddle. As a kid, listening to them was my first experience with people who made music. I went to school for jazz guitar in Cincinnati and got involved in an amazing scene where I was surrounded by and playing in the bands of some really inspiring artists on an almost daily basis, and it had a huge impact on me as a musician.

I was really happy with the title when I came up with it, but I knew it might need an explanation. I do get asked about its meaning, but it’s usually the follow-up question to how it's pronounced. Which is understandable, but I like talking about it. 

The second part to this question is awesome because I’ve never really thought about it that way, but I think the fact that it isn’t an official part of any map is why I like to talk about it. If I were to explain where Cintuckiana is on a map, I’d be explaining all of the places I just mentioned that made me the musician I was when I made Cintuckiana. 

What's the first memory that ended up somewhere on this record, even in disguise?

It’s gotta be somewhere in the song "Take a Piece of This" that I wrote in 2019. It was the first song I wrote that felt like it needed to be a part of something of my own. I wrote it while I was living in my first off-campus apartment in Cincinnati. It was truly falling apart, and in the second verse I said something about water-damaged walls. Eventually, the walls got so bad in there that you could see right to the outside through holes that had formed. My roommates and I didn’t stay there for much longer after the ceiling fell through.

Was there a moment while writing this album where you surprised yourself — said something you didn't know you felt until it was on the page?

Writing lyrics like this was totally new to me. I had written lyrics before, but that was in the context of Everybody Jaywalks, my first band. In a band with other songwriters, you get to hide behind a group, but on my own, I felt totally exposed. I think what would surprise me the most is when I would write something that I didn’t immediately shoot down. Or maybe the moment I allowed something to exist that I had immediately shot down when it first came to mind.

What's the one song you almost cut, and why did you keep it?

I can’t say there were any songs I almost cut; in fact, it was probably the opposite. I was determined to see all of these songs through because so many other ideas never made it past their conception. I needed to know what it felt like to finally get to the point where I say, "Okay, this is finished." And that was really hard. "Automatic," for example, I recorded five different times. All of them were different in some way, whether it was the tempo, the key, the lyrics, or the arrangement. It definitely felt good to make it to the end, and it gave me a sense of confidence when I start other projects, whether that’s for myself or for another artist. 

Take me through "Slow Daydreaming" — what state of mind were you in when that one came together?

"Slow Daydreaming" was by far the easiest song for me to make on the album. Most of the songs took me months or even years to finish, but "Slow Daydreaming" happened in just a few days towards the very end of making Cintuckiana. I live really close to the White River, and I spend so much time in or near the river. There’s a trail in Marott Park that follows William’s Creek, which is connected to the White River, and I can be on that trail in 30 seconds from my front door. I’m sure that song came to me while walking that trail, as a lot of the other songs did. 

What did you need to survive, or understand, or let go of, in order to finish this record?

Finishing this album was a spiritual journey for sure. Looking back now, I can certainly say I was overthinking so much of the process, if not every step of it. And that was a lot of overthinking to do because I was making this record almost entirely by myself. There was a lot of letting go of a perfectionist attitude I had. Whether it was lyrics that were intended to just be a placeholder that I could never find a replacement for or the way an instrument was coming through the speakers in the mix that wasn’t sitting how I wanted it to. For the most part, I took the time I needed to find exactly what I had in mind, but that took me forever, and it eventually started taking a toll on my desire to see it all through. So I knew I had to start being a little more instantaneous and permanent with my decision-making. Maybe that’s why "Slow Daydreaming" came so easily to me at the end. The majority of it just happened in a single day, and to me, it’s one that I’m most proud of. 

Is there a lyric on the album you're still not totally comfortable explaining? What is it, and why?

There’s definitely a lot of vulnerability on this album. Which is hard for me; I’m not typically one to broadcast feelings, but it was harder for me to write lyrics that weren’t vulnerable, which can feel like a curse sometimes. I think I’ll go ahead and admit I’m too scared to point out some vulnerable lyrics and explain them. 

You made this alone, essentially — no label, no machine behind you. What does it cost to keep making music when almost no one's listening yet, and what does it give you that nothing else does?

Well, certainly, it did cost me some time, money, and practice to get the things I needed to record the way I wanted to, but once I had that, I’d say there is no cost at all for me. I love making music, and it’s something I’d do stranded on a desert island. It gives me a sense of fulfillment and purpose in life, and to have anyone else listen to it and enjoy it is extra special. 

Who was the first person you played this album for, and what did you need them to say?

There were a lot of people listening along the way during its creation, and after it was finished, I can’t remember any particular unveiling that may have been the first, but I just remember sharing it with a lot of close friends and family. I was and still am curious about what anyone had to say about the album after listening to it, but there was nothing specific I needed to hear. I was really proud to have finished such a long and character-building journey, and nobody could have taken that away from me. 

If nobody ever hears this album beyond the people who already have — is it still worth it? What was it for?

It was absolutely still worth it. The education this process gave me far surpassed any expectation I had when I started. The rabbit holes I went down and the steps I had to take to achieve my goal taught me so much about what it means to be a writer, an arranger, a musician, a producer, an engineer, and someone who’s trying to do all that at once. Going through that process is something I love, and doing it for other artists has given me another passion. Even still, I’m learning more about what it means to be all of those things, but Cintuckiana was an incredible early chapter in that journey. 

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Cintuckiana is out now on Spotify. Follow Adam Faler on Instagram to keep up with new music, shows, and what he's working on next.