Rich Pagano doesn’t trade in mystique. His songs don’t hide behind metaphor or play coy with emotion. Hold Still Light Escapes is an album shaped by what he’s lived through — love and ache, resilience and reckoning — and the truths here aren’t polished; they’re worn in, like the grooves of a favorite record.

At the heart of it all is a father, a son, and a fight that most families pray they never face. Pagano lays it bare — his son’s struggle with addiction, the long road through it, and the flickers of hope that music, somehow, can spark. He’s not sermonizing. The songs carry echoes — of Townshend’s wide-open heart, of Badfinger’s melodic ache — but they’re all Pagano. Vulnerable, sure, but also unafraid. They’ve already found ears among his peers, but what matters more is what they do to you when they land. We sat down to talk about the record, about the stories behind the songs, and about how you hold on when the light’s slipping through your hands.

Hi Rich, thanks so much for taking the time to chat — it’s a real pleasure to speak with you. You’ve recently released Hold Still Light Escapes—an album shaped by personal grief and your family’s experiences, yet it carries so much vitality. The guitars have bite, the rhythm pulses with life, and there are touches of Badfinger, Lennon, even the Raconteurs. It’s a long way from the kind of quiet, acoustic introspection people might expect. What led you to this particular musical language? Was it a deliberate choice to step away from the usual instinct to “sing pain softly,” or did this sound simply match the truth you were living at that time?

Thanks for asking me to be a part of Indie Boulevard. Glad that you all are spreading the word. With the body of music being about the journey of navigating through storm of substance use and it ultimately taking our son Nic’s life due to Fentanyl poisoning, the music becomes a bloodletting of, I guess, sonic emotions and delivery. Songs like Huntington Beach which was written about Nic being homeless and living on a California beach for a week felt best plaintive and understated. The vocal track on that one was my rough demo vocal that was sung at 2AM on an SM 57 while trying not to wake my wife in the next room. The nature of its delivery felt better than my final vocal sung a few days later. A song like Mother Teresa has a bridge filled with rage because I was yelling at the woman who brought Nic to the dealer. I am also aware that I’d like my music to engage and entertain even on a primal level. For that reason, I tend to honor groove and pulse. This makes for songs with sad lyrics yet with a locomotive groove like, “Like It Or Not” or “Slowly.” 

On some tracks, it feels like you’re trying to capture a moment that’s slipping away. Did you have a sense of trying to “re-record” reality? As if taking a personal tragedy and shaping it into a song structure was a way to make sense of it?

I think the reality of the five year journey is within the lyrics and ultimately, behind us. I needed to preserve it all as document of my journal notes, Nic’s texts and experiential memories. It definately represents a level of closure and a need to release it all through art. I won’t allow myself to re live it, though. I am looking for new extensions of love.  To be honest, I am only now starting to make sense of it all as we hit the four year mark. 

This album doesn’t lean on allegory or poetic abstraction. It’s pretty direct—you speak about what happened, what hurt, what remained. How important was it for you not to “encode” the story, but to tell it plainly, without filters or metaphors?

Well, I always try to balance the objective with imagery. I questioned its literal nature a few times yet its uniqueness in the subject and type of loss justified the more direct storytelling. I sometimes criticize a lyric that is too literal but a Norman Rockwell can sometimes be as compelling as a Picasso. I don’t want too much Norman.

Musically, you’re working within a sound that could loosely be called “classic rock,” but you’re doing it in 2025—within a very different cultural landscape. What does that palette offer you today? Is it a familiar habitat, or still a living, relevant way to say something meaningful?

I do finding myself asking, “what would John Lennon or Bob Dylan or Pete Townshend or Al Green do when in this corner?” The resulting raccoon’s lunch is what pours out. I do like guitars, organs and revolving speakers, though. 

You’re performing this material live, and people are showing up, listening, responding. How do you experience these shows? Are they catharsis, work, a kind of mission—or maybe all of that at once?

Touring and performing live is the greatest distraction and trauma healer. Scheming a way to draw the audience in with unexpected dynamics is so satisfying. It has never been more important to me to make sure that the lyrics are absorbed, even if that means unexpectedly breaking the band down to elaborate on a verse mood. When it works, it is empowering. In the end, I want to entertain but when the mood and lyrics trigger emotions, it is the peak. Art resonating, I guess. 

You produced the album yourself, if I’m not mistaken. And that’s always a tug of war—the musician in you wants one thing, the producer another. What parts of the process triggered the longest arguments with yourself?

Lyrics. There must be a balance of reality and imagery for me. It is easier to write lyrics with a computer, though. The days of handwriting lyrics and then scratching out, erase marks…I found it so distracting. Seeing a clean sheet of printed words makes it so much easier to edit what may have seemed good an hour ago and is now crap. As far as the recording, I love the production process of taking a demo to the final especially when some of the demo elements remain. There’s a bit of that on this record. BTW, the extended edition CD has a couple of demos. Early versions of 4th of July and At The End of The Day are within that compilation. That is available at richpagano.com.

You’re playing drums and singing. At the same time. And not as background—you’re fully leading the song, holding the rhythm, delivering lines dead-on. How does that even work? Are there physical or mental tricks you rely on to keep the tempo tight without compromising the vocals?

One must learn to float in the middle of groove and vocal delivery. If I spend more time on one, the other suffers. I also learned to cast my vocal notes out to an object, like a venue exit sign and not keep it all in my head. This was a revelation. We can spend a whole segment on the art of singing and drumming. I actually teach a private class on the subject from time to time. Honoring the vocal and communicating with it or seducing it with groove and reaction is key. My dearly departed friend, Levon Helm was the master of this theory. 

These days, many artists turn to programmed drums or polish the live feel in post. But your album sounds fully live. Do you ever consider using samples or triggers, or is it real wood, metal, and hands for you—always?

As a mix engineer who also makes a living creating live content for artists, I have a small replacement library, mainly for snare drums that need help. If I am recording the session myself, creating the signal path and placing the mics, I never have to replace anything. I know what I was going for and usually get it. 

You’ve been drumming for decades now, and on Hold Still Light Escapes it’s clear you have a precise sense of how each part of your setup should sound. What are you playing on these days? Is there a piece of hardware—cymbal, shell—you’ve stuck with for years?

I have recently sold all of my newer drumsets and am now happy with my four vintage sets. They include a 1950 WFL and a ’61 Ludwig. Hold Still was recorded with my ’71 Slingerland drums, mainly because they were set up from having just recorded and co-produced Jimmy Vivino’s record. 

Your spring schedule looks packed—several key shows, all with a full live band. Are you planning to extend the tour into summer or fall? Any other states or festivals where you’d like to bring the new material?

I have a great band for this run. Ann Klein is on guitar, Jeff Hill is on bass and Kevin Bents is on keyboards and some guitar. Kevin played on much of the record and is someone I seem to always return to because his energy is right on target and well, he can do anything. Same with Ann who also played on the record. Jeff is a new partner for me although I feel like I’ve known him for a while. We find ourselves doing more and more together. It’s so easy to groove with him plus, he’s such a sweet cat. I hope to add more shows this summer and would like it to resonate for festival inquiries. I’d like to keep spreading the word about our son’s foundation, the Nic Pagano LGBTQIA+ Scholarship for Recovery, record a new body of work and get back to more performing as my life starts to grow vines and flowers again, so to speak.

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