Tim Heidecker sees a continuum between comedy and music.
“They’re just different modes of expression and communication,” he says. “All I’ve ever done in my creative life is when an idea comes — it could be a funny idea, a sad idea or a musical idea — the goal is to convey that to as many people clearly and in the most interesting way possible. People ask me, do I like comedy or music better, and I’m like, I wish I could exist in a place where I just make stuff,” he continues. “This year it’s the record, next year hopefully it’ll be a show or a movie. I’m just trying to put out interesting things that are coming from my weird brain.”
Heidecker’s latest project is not particularly weird — or funny. It’s a thoughtful, semi-autobiographical album in the classic-rock vein that tackles existential anxieties about growing older and losing one’s mojo: Slipping Away, which Bloodshot Records will release on 18.
For those who know Heidecker solely from his surreal comedy, such as the Adult Swim series Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!, his acting (Bridesmaids, Ant-Man and The Wasp) or his Office Hours Live With Tim Heidecker podcast, Slipping Away is actually already the sixth solo studio music album the Glendale, Calif.-based multi-hyphenate has released under his name. He spoke to Billboard about his inspiration for the songs, his song “Trump’s Private Pilot” (which Father John Misty has covered) and the 2025 North American headlining tour he will embark on with his Very Good Band.
You first became prominent through comedy but when I was researching you, I learned that music was your first passion.
They were concurrent, but music definitely felt more attainable, and it was something you could actually do as a teenager. I remember feeling a great love of comedy but not having any understanding of how to actually do it. I mean, the world doesn’t really want to hear what funny ideas 16-year-olds have. But you could get together with your friends and some practice amps and go in the basement and make sounds and music. I started writing songs at that age.
In college, things kind of shifted towards film — and not even comedy, really. Comedy was a dirty word for us in the ‘90s. It represented something very lame and mainstream. We were just making stuff that we thought was funny and made us laugh, but it wasn’t comedy. That is where we put all our energy, and I stopped focusing on music. But even in making all those shows, there was always music running through it. It was always a big part of the way I express myself.
Who were your musical heroes when you were 16?
The Beatles, Dylan, Pavement, Cat Stevens, Van Morrison, Velvet Underground. I loved my parents’ music. And then, very reluctantly, I started accepting the modern bands, Nirvana and Pavement — that Matador Records prime era.
You didn’t mention Eric Clapton, but listening to the new album your vocals remind me of him.
It’s so weird. You know who told me that? Randy Newman. We had him on my podcast, which was a great honor because he’s one of my heroes. He was like, “Yeah, I listened to your music and you kind of sound like Eric Clapton.” I had never heard that before, and now you are saying it. I’m not emulating him. It may be more of a J.J. Cale influence.
If you were going to draw a Venn diagram of your comedy fans and music fans, how much of those two circles would overlap?
There’s a fair amount of comedy fans that don’t fall into the music category. And I’m just starting now to find the people who are maybe finding the music first. I’ve been doing opening tours with Waxahatchee, and it has been interesting to see people that really don’t know me warming up to my music. She attracts a slightly older, norm-y audience. And I was like, “Oh yeah, I’m kind of making classic-rock genre-sounding music — that’s in their wheelhouse.” I think I’m winning that crowd over. Meanwhile, there’s plenty of younger Tim & Eric younger fans who, well, it’s just not the kind of music they like. It’s taken a little bit of time to warm up my crowd to what I’m doing here.
On Slipping Away, you described the album’s arc as “before the fall and after.” A number of the songs are about losing one’s mojo. Did those feelings originate with you or from observations of others?
I’m 48 years old, and I have the perspective of being a creative adult for 20 years now. I’m past the stage of wondering how this is all going to go. Not that there are no surprises ahead and hopefully, a long career, but the mystery of this business and of this world is not as dark. It’s a little more like, “OK, I’ve actually lived a life for a while.” So when I’m writing, I’m accessing dark, quiet, often unsaid emotions and thoughts, writing them down and then moving on with my life. It’s like the songs are expunging fears, anxieties and questions.
It’s cathartic.
It’s cathartic, yeah. I think all those questions that are in the record are hopefully, like you said earlier, observations or questions or fears that the audience might not know they have. The lesson I’ve learned lately, not only about the music but comedy, too, is we enter these dark or uncomfortable areas, and the benefit of that is getting them out into the sunlight and talking about them. It’s healthy to have these thoughts.
I understand a lot of people have approached you to say, essentially, you are singing about my life. Do you think there’s a lot of anxiety in the world today over the subjects you’re expressing on the album?
A hundred and ten percent. A lot of these songs were written a couple of years ago — closer to the pandemic — and everybody I know was feeling versions of this, while also fantasizing or imagining how they would deal if things got worse. Post-apocalyptic media is fairly popular and that reflects what’s on our minds.
How many cities are you going to play on the tour?
Like 30 or something like that. I’ve done it a couple of summers now and this will be a winter tour, but it’s the most fun thing ever. I’ve done it with my standup character, and this time I’m doing without, but I’m bringing along some friends who are going to open that I hope people are excited to see – Neil Hamburger and DJ Douggpound. I’m trying to be serious about this. We put an album out, we need to hit the road.
You do look like you are having fun onstage. Do you feel like you’ve achieved that dream of really being seen as a musician now?
No, I’m just getting started in a way. On the Waxahatchee tour, I was definitely like, oh, this is paying my dues a little bit. I’ve ridden the coattails of my Tim & Eric fanbase, but I can’t settle for that. We all have huge ambitions and mine are going to be bigger than reality, I guess, but my ambition is to be up there like Phish or Goose. But also when I’m up there with my band, and we’re really cooking and having a good time, I’m like, “This should appeal to a lot of people.”
My career has oftentimes been confrontational, and clearly not for everybody. I don’t think this is for everybody either — but on this tour, I felt a real interesting urge to just put on a good show and not be a d–k. Not that I’m a d–k, but not actively engaged in turning people off for the sake of humor. For example, we did an Asbury Park SummerStage show, and in the middle of the show, somebody passed out. It was a medical emergency, and in the past, it would have been hard to resist goofing on that. I just said, “I’m just going to hang back.” It’s an act of self-control just to be like a proper, professional entertainer, instead of [being] a firestarter all the time.
At Central Park SummerStage, you played a song that you said you’d never recorded. I thought it was fantastic, and the crowd loved it. So why haven’t you recorded it?
It’s called “Why Am I Like This.” It’s a self-examination of, “Why am I like this?” There are a lot of answers for that. Is it my parents? Is it… whatever? It’s just another anxiety song really — but it hasn’t been recorded, because I wrote it right before our last tour and hadn’t gotten into the studio with anything else.
I threw it into the set because it feels like a good live number. We have some recordings of it from that tour, but it loses something when you listen to it at home. It really feels like it’s meant to be a shared communal experience. In the live version we get everybody to sing it. I had people that never saw me before on this tour all standing up and singing it. That’s just a great feeling. I joke that if I release it, it would be a Billboard No. 1 hit. I’m not putting it out. I love having a song out there that people only can really experience in the room.
My goal is to have that kind of career where there’s bootlegs and s–t out there. I’m glad you got to see the show live, because it’s something I’m very proud of. For years, I’ve made music and would go out and play a set in L.A. for fun or to promote something, and it would just be a nightmare the whole time, because you’re nervous and not rehearsed. And to be able to do it every night is such a joy, and I feel like I can just have fun.
Your bassist is also Waxahatchee’s bassist?
Eliana Athayde. She’s been with the band since 2022, when we did our first Very Good band tour. She’s a very important part of my musical career of late. She’s a big key to it, and I’m very grateful. She’s a big part of the record, of course, singing a lot with me and co-producing a lot of it. You know, my career is filled with partners. Comedy and music are collaborative things, and she’s become a true partner.
You’ve said that making the album was outside your comfort zone. Can you elaborate?
Making the album was very fun and very much in my comfort zone. I’ve worked with great people in the past, but it never felt truly collaborative. This album did with everyone there for the majority of the sessions, everyone chiming in, adding their own flavor to it. But the more records I make, the more I’m going into absolute vulnerable, sincere territory which is when I land outside my comfort zone. And there are certain songs — the inclusion of my daughter Amelia at the end of the record felt like I might as well be like John and Yoko nude on the cover of their Two Virgins record.
How did that song “Bells Are Ringing” come about?
We finished the record, and I thought, “This is kind of a copout to end the record on such a downer.” It ended on just, Oh, it’s over. The party’s over. The band is breaking up. And I was like, “Now is the opportunity to really decide if that’s the statement I want to make.” You have an opportunity to say whatever you want on your little record that you’re putting out, and I decided, “No, I don’t want to end on that note.” Meli and I often make little songs in my garage together and I just had this little line and I thought it would be lame for me to say it. It kind of wrote itself in a way.
At the show you did a funny J.D. Vance imitation that was based on his stilted visit to a donut shop. Are you keeping close track of the presidential campaign?
Yes, I’m monitoring it hourly. How can you resist the show? It’s an incredible thing to watch and think about. It’s very stressful and hilarious in a lot of ways. I mean the dogs and the cats and the concepts of plans. It’s all stuff that feels like we wrote seven years ago, and it’s now happening in the world in real time. At the same time, it’s incredibly serious and vital and important to the future of me and my children.
I played a song at the last show of the Waxahatchee tour called “Trump’s Private Pilot.” It’s about the pilot who flies Trump around deciding to crash the plane into a field in Pennsylvania — a very important state or commonwealth in the election — as an act of patriotism. It’s a very emotional song that had the audience cheer, in sort of a bloodlust way. At the end, I said, “Please help keep that motherf–ker away from my kids.” That’s where it comes down to.
Pennsylvania is also where the passengers on United Flight 93 rose up against the hijackers on 9/11 and crashed the plane into a field.
Yeah, I know. It’s a song I rightfully get s–t for, but it also feels really good sometimes to go to that dark place.
