When John Davis penned the cocky yet humbling line “Look at me, I can write a melody/ But I can’t expect a soul to care” back in the mid-’90s, he never imagined that the tune in which it appeared would become a song that a lot of people care about.

Appearing on Superdrag’s 1996 debut full-length, Regretfully Yours, “Sucked Out” provided us with the briefest hope that classic British Invasion-inspired songcraft could thrive in an American post-grunge landscape, just as like-minded Britpop acts had upended the UK alternative scene across the pond. But before long, that feeling was, well, sucked out: When the 1998 follow-up, Head Trip In Every Key, failed to follow its predecessor into the MTV Buzz Bin, the Knoxville quartet were dropped from Elektra Records and forced to return to the indie trenches. However, throughout it all, Davis maintained the alcohol-consumption rate of a rock star with an unlimited major-label expense account. Once he decided to get sober, he embraced religion and let go of the band that symbolized both his greatest successes and excesses.

After Davis walked away from Superdrag in 2003, that aforementioned lyric ultimately proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy: Davis has never stopped writing great melodies, regardless of how many souls still cared. Though he hasn’t quite earned a reputation as a Robert Pollard-like human jukebox, Davis has remained prolific across myriad Bandcamp-abetted projects, including his shoegaze-oriented outfit the Lees Of Memory, the psych-country combo Rectangle Shades, and a handful of Christian-themed releases under his own name. None of these have come close to putting up Superdrag numbers, but each testify to how Davis’ innate tunefulness shines through in any context, from speaker-busting drone-rock jams to ornate, piano-gilded spirituals.

But while Davis has seemed content to make music under-the-radar in between raising his two teenage sons, the specter of Superdrag occasionally whisks him back into the spotlight. After a brief reunion in the late-2000s yielded a new album (Industry Giants), the original line-up reconvened once again in 2022 to play a couple of local shows, while social media posts last year showed Davis, guitarist Brandon Fisher, bassist Tom Pappas, and drummer Don Coffey Jr. in the studio working on what would be their first album in over a decade, tentatively titled JINX. With large swaths of the current indie landscape resembling a commercial alt-rock station playlist circa 1996, and beloved younger acts like Snail Mail recently turning Last Call For Vitriol deep cuts into setlist standards, Superdrag’s comeback couldn’t have been better timed.

Arriving on the heels of two Superdrag shows in Chicago last month, JINX has everything you’d want from a new Superdrag album: deliciously overdriven guitars, snappy backbeats, and swooning melodies that showcase Davis’ irrepressible gift for investing melancholy sentiment with ecstatic energy. There’s just one caveat to this triumphant resurrection narrative: JINX isn’t actually a Superdrag album—it’s a John Davis solo release, and it features none of the recordings he made last year with his bandmates. Rather, the album was recorded with fellow Knoxville-scene veteran Stewart Pack (formerly of Davis’ all-time favorite local band, Pegclimber), who produced and contributed bass alongside his son Henry, who engineered and played drums. Stereogum recently jumped on a Zoom call with Davis to find out what happened.

JINX was intended to be a Superdrag record, and it sounds like it could be a Superdrag record—so why isn’t it a Superdrag record?

JOHN DAVIS: I started writing this stuff in January of ’21. Superdrag were working on demos at a studio here in town, Vibe City, which my friend Mike Armstrong owns, and the mission was not to hurry. People think I’m a little impulsive and I get in a hurry. It’s like how a shark has to keep moving or it dies; I feel like I have to keep making records. So from the writing phase in the bedroom to the demo phase, I probably spent more time thinking about these songs than any other batch of songs ever, and I’ve been doing this for a while.

Around Christmastime of ’22, we actually got in the studio and we had four songs by May of last year in various stages. But I got to the point where I was just kind of dissatisfied with the whole situation that we were in, and it didn’t really have anything to do with the other guys in the band. The issue was with the producer and myself—we sort of fell out. And I don’t really want to say much more about it than that. He wished me luck “four-tracking in your garage” — so at that point, I got two words for you. That’s just disrespectful, you know? I mean, I didn’t just start doing this shit last week. I just felt maybe I deserved a little bit more respect than that. So from that point forward, I just started to think of the record in terms of being a totally different project altogether, because the recordings that we had were scrapped and they won’t ever be heard. I think I told the producer to throw the drive in the river, or have his assistant do it.

You’ve cited bands like the Minutemen and the Meat Puppets as sonic inspirations for this album. Those are bands whose influence might not be immediately apparent on your songwriting, so where do they fit into your musical genealogy?

DAVIS: I’ve been obsessed with SST since I was in the 10th grade. Santa Cruz skateboards had a video called Streets On Fire that had an all-SST soundtrack, and that just blew my mind and had me at the local Camelot buying anything on the tape wall that had SST on the J-card. But in terms of the record: I was going from a four-piece idea to a three-piece band, and a lot of my favorite bands on SST just happened to be three-piece, like the Minutemen, Hüsker Dü, Dinosaur Jr., Meat Puppets — there’s a lot of them. We definitely didn’t set out to mimic any of their styles or anything. But I think it has to do with the economy of just trying to eliminate all the fat from the arrangements. Anytime in the previous iteration, if there were a few bars of us circling the airport and waiting for the next idea to happen, we got rid of all that and went straight in: boom, boom, boom, boom. And the producer, Stewart Pack, is a really great arranger. He did more pre-production in an hour-and-a-half than the other guy did in six months.

I couldn’t help but notice a lot of songs on JINX seem to express a lack of confidence. There seems to be a lot of self-deprecation, and lyrics about feeling lost. What was your state of mind as you were writing this record?

DAVIS: I went through a divorce about four years ago, and I don’t really think anybody can prepare you for how bad that sucks. Ours was about as amicable as possible, but for a long time, I was really battling with depression. It’s something that I’ve been rolling with since I was in the fifth grade, but I never really did anything about it until four years ago. And this sounds ridiculous, but I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to write music anymore. Those lows and highs — that seems to be where the art happens. Not a lot of people are out here writing songs about how things are so-so, you know? So part of the writing process was just trying to deal with that, and then at the same time, I’m engaged now, so there’s love songs on there at the same time. There were a lot of nights sitting out in the garage in the middle of the night writing this stuff. I had a lot of insomnia. I guess that’s one reason why it ended up as a solo LP — when it comes down to it, there’s only one person sitting in that garage, facing this black hole, and trying to write about it.

And did the pandemic make this dark time seem even darker for you?

DAVIS: That was definitely a factor, for sure. That was rough. I remember seeing news articles at the time saying that anybody that was already struggling with depression, it tended to be made much worse by that situation. And I think that is true.

Were you channeling everything into music at that time, or did you have other outlets that brought you some peace in that process?

DAVIS: When it was all at its worst, in spring of 2020, that’s when the Lees Of Memory were working on Moon Shot. And the weird thing was, we did the basic tracks at the studio, and then everything closed, so I had to learn just enough ProTools to be able to make overdubs at my house. And I ended up doing a lot of the record at my house. And when I was done with it, and I was going to turn my work drive in, I couldn’t even go into the studio. I had to leave it on the front porch — that’s how crazy the world was at the time. So I was putting all my energy into that — I really liked that album.

Your kids are older teenagers now. Does that free you up now to devote more energy to music?

DAVIS: Well, my oldest son, Paul, is studying at the University of Tennessee here in Knoxville. And my younger son, Elijah, just moved here full-time back in June. I just bought a house that’s big enough for everybody — it’s a little bit of a Brady Bunch situation. For the trip to Chicago this past weekend, they actually jumped in the van, so that was nice.

Are they music heads, or have they rebelled against you by not getting into music?

DAVIS: They’re definitely into it. Paul plays some bass and guitar. He’s maybe not as driven to pursue writing and playing in bands, but Elijah has a band called Itch. They have one EP that’s out there on Spotify. It’s called Intro. But it’s a little scary!

You’re like, “I’m happy for you—but son, please don’t devote your life to this.”

DAVIS: Seriously — math and science, boys!

But are they turning you onto new stuff? Do you get fresh inspiration from them in any way?

DAVIS: They definitely have put me onto music. They listen to a lot of hip-hop, which I do, too, but I’m kind of stuck in the ’90s — I’d be more likely to play Wu-Tang than anything that’s happening today. Usually with Elijah, when we get in the truck, before the door is even closed, he has the AUX, so I listen to a lot of whatever he’s into.

Do you pay a lot of attention to what’s happening in the indie-rock world right now? Are you following the shoegaze/dream-pop revival?

DAVIS: Probably not as closely as I maybe should. It seems like lately I’ve listened to more news podcasts than anything, which is probably a terrible, terrible mistake!

Did you hear Snail Mail’s cover of “Feeling Like I Do”?

DAVIS: I did. Matter of fact, we’ve put it back in our set and we gave them a shout-out both nights [in Chicago] for putting that song on the map.

How did it feel to hear one of the more celebrated indie-rock artists of the day covering one of your songs — and a deep cut, no less!

DAVIS: It was a total surprise. I was flattered and stoked. I mean, that’s an honor. It’s the same thing I tried to do with Hüsker Dü when I was 21, you know what I mean? I just know that to take the time to learn somebody else’s song, let alone go and record it, it really moves you. So, yeah, I’m very grateful.

One of the fascinating things about getting older is seeing what music carries down to younger generations and what doesn’t. There were bands from 30 years ago that people were obsessed with at the time, but don’t really have a footprint today. Whereas Superdrag is still connecting with people of all ages—it’s very cool to see.

DAVIS: Well, I think that particular song is about an experience that people are going to have from generation to generation, fortunately or unfortunately. I had quite a run as a drunk, and that song came about at the tail end of it. It was a lot of work [getting through that] — I wouldn’t want to have to do that again.

You’ve said that a big reason you stopped Superdrag in 2003 was that, once you got sober, you were no longer feeling connected to the person who made those songs and the vibe it was generating in your crowds. And you reached the breaking point playing to some extremely drunk crowd and feeling like you didn’t want to be contributing to that.

DAVIS: I remember it like it was yesterday. When we showed up to soundcheck at, like, three or four o’clock, there was already a bar full of people getting hammered, which is fine. I’m all for anybody doing whatever they feel like doing. But we came out and started playing the first song, “Keep It Close To Me,” and before the band even kicked in, I had a full beer sprayed all over me by somebody in the crowd, and it was dripping down my face, and I’m trying to keep it out of my mouth—that was the moment right there where I was like, “You know what? Fuck this. I’m done with this.” There’s dudes falling down on the floor, rolling around — I didn’t want to be the ringleader of that.

But you find performing is a much more comfortable situation for you now?

DAVIS: Well, so far, yeah! I’m amazed at how much easier it is in some respects. Those songs from 30 years ago are so much easier to sing when you’re not smoking three packs a day, believe it or not. I mean, who would have guessed?

We’re approaching the 30th anniversaries of Superdrag’s early releases. In interviews you’ve been open about your feelings towards Regretfully Yours, and how you weren’t happy with how that record came out. Now that you’re out there playing those songs again, have you made peace with that record?

DAVIS: Oh yeah. The last time I listened to it, I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. There are lots of things about it that I really like. I love the drum sounds, I love the guitar sounds, I like the songs. Really, it was the vocals that I didn’t like, because at that point in time, we had toured a decent amount, but we weren’t at the stage where we were doing 12 or 13 in a row without a day off, where your throat develops that strength. We were at Easley Studios for seven days, and the producer wanted me to sing on every take with the band. And I was so green — I didn’t know I could just say, “No!”

So that was kind of like your Hamburg experience, where you had to play the equivalent of 10 shows a day…

DAVIS: By the time we had to do the real keeper vocals, my voice was shot, unfortunately. I was able to re-sing some of the stuff at the mixing stage, which was helpful. But I just felt like I really didn’t sound like myself, and that’s what bugged me about it. When I hear Head Trip In Every Key, that seems a lot more accurate.

Now that Superdrag are playing shows again, have you been offered any of those ’90s-themed tours, where they package a bunch of bands who really had nothing in common with each other, beyond the fact they were making music in the same decade?

DAVIS: To my knowledge, we haven’t been offered anything like that. Something that I would like to avoid — and I’m not knocking anyone else for this — is the “band plays ‘blank’ album in its entirety” thing. I really don’t ever want to do that. There’s something about it that just seems like falling on your sword, in a way. You know, “Here’s this album from 1996 — because nothing that we’ve done since is all that interesting!” At least, that’s the way it strikes me. Or it just seems like a cash grab. I think I can speak for all the dudes in the band when I say we’d run a mile in the opposite direction to avoid the perception of doing anything like that. The relationship with our fans is something sacred. We really, really do feel that way.

JINX is out 9/27 on Lost In Ohio.