Tré Burt Takes ‘Traffic Fiction’ for a Drive

Traffic Fiction, the latest release from California-born singer-songwriter Tré Burt, swirls with sadness and swagger — a rock record dancing on the precipice of self-assuredness and self-doubt. His third record for beloved Nashville indie label Oh Boy, Traffic Fiction finds Burt in the role of a wide-eyed romantic, hip-shaking crooner and beatnik mystic wandering deep sonic spaces. He pulls together song styles and textures that eschew straight nostalgia for a malleable musical vision that is as playful as it is powerful.

“When I was writing these songs, I wanted them to sound fun, because they’re like a massage for my soul,” Burt tells the Scene ahead of his Nov. 2 visit to The Blue Room. “I was kind of soothing myself with writing sounds that made me happy.”

The sounds come from all corners — you’ll find a rootsy New Wave vibe living in the heart of Traffic Fiction, but dub and jazz and soul all make an appearance, while country and psychedelia groove around the edges. Songs like “Wings for a Butterfly” and “2 for tha Show” feel lived-in and well-loved, like they escaped from a long-lost cassette buried in a shoebox at the back of the cosmos. Burt’s voice is rich and warm, and his keen sense of syllabic momentum is both precise and enveloping; he makes earworms of each line and quip.

“It started out as a poem called ‘Traffic Fiction,’” Burt explains. “My label hit me up and they wanted to talk about the next record. I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do. I took a notebook to a barn. I just started free-writing the poem, which became a song. … I wanted to inhabit this surreal sort of universe, and I built off that. I more or less wrote all the songs on this 10-day little retreat that I took myself on. … I wrote most of those music parts in the back, like the bass line, the key lines, the clarinet or shit like that.”

As Burt prepared to work on Traffic Fiction with producer Andrija Tokic at The Bomb Shelter, the recording  was shadowed by the decline and passing of Burt’s grandfather, who Burt attributes with a profound influence on his musical taste and craftsmanship. It gives songs like the title track — a primo car jam if there ever was one — and “To Be a River” a glimmer of sadness on the edge of every sparkling, snarling guitar line. Bookended by snippets of audio vérité, Burt’s “surreal sort of universe” holds more than a nugget of truth about relationships, memory and the act of storytelling.

“I’m not going to lie, it was a hard time,” he says. “I was going through a hard time writing, recording this record — my pops was dying and died during it. But I wouldn’t have anyone else to go through that with, working on something, other than [Tokic]. We just had this sort of thing where we can bounce off each other without really talking, ‘reading each other’s minds’ sort of thing. It kind of spooked me. … It was fun though.” 

Much of Traffic Fiction’s magic comes from the push and pull of sounds, the way the musicians give each other space and fall into sync. There are fleeting moments and subtle elements with huge impacts: the split second when the clinking of a wood block becomes the entire focus of “Santiago,” or the warm cavern of echo that “Piece of Me” dwells in. And there are lines whose casual delivery makes them feel tossed-off, but they land with the weight of neutron stars, as in the aforementioned “Piece,” when Burt sings, “More than one thing can be true.” He handles his writing with a poet’s heart and a cinematographer’s eye, making Traffic Fiction an enveloping sensory experience, primed for life on the road.

“When I was writing this record, I let the label know, and my manager — I’m like, ‘Hey guys, just so you know, I’m prepared to be broke for the next year playing this record live,’” Burt says with a laugh. “When I was writing these songs, I’m like, ‘Fuck, I’m going to actually have to do this live — this is a big sound.’” 

The economics of touring are not artist-friendly in 2023. But when you listen to Traffic Fiction, and let your mind roam through those grooves and into dancing shoes, it seems like a smart investment. And therein lies the ultimate appeal: These songs are going to move serious air. They sound like they are ready to escape from the stereo like a jailbreak montage in an ’80s movie. It all points to a good time, for audience and artist alike.

“I’m looking forward to playing this record. It’ll be my first tour with the band. But it’s going to be fun. I just want to just fucking party with people.”