Monthly Archives: April 2009

NICK CAVE COMBATS ‘ABATTOIR BLUES’ WITH ‘THE LYRE OF ORPHEUS’

April 30, 2009InterviewsBIRTHDAY PARTY, NICK CAVEJohn Fortunato

Foreword: I was very excited and anxious to meet fascinatingly gloom-obsessed artist, Nick Cave, in ’04. He had been leader of radical post-punk denizens, the Birthday Party, in the ‘80s, receiving further critical acclaim fronting the Bad Seeds thereafter. With his son playing compute games in an adjoining room, Cave and I had a demure conversation. It was a low key and quaintly informative session. After this interview, Cave gained wider audience acceptance under the guise of Grinderman, whose eponymous ’07 album was almost as tremendous as the Bad Seeds ’08 triumphant Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!

I’m sitting with Nick Cave at his exquisite 57th floor suite atop Ground Zero’s haughty Millenium Hotel in Manhattan as every wacky means of conveyance crosses by the half-curtained windows. There’s a blimp, private airplane, and glider hanging above the Hudson River, which is filled with a wandering tugboat, lumbering barge, and silver ship. Under the faded gray sky, these aircraft and vessels are nearly as striking, though not as barren, as Cave’s stark murder ballads, bleak tone poems, and vertiginous allegorical fugues.

An Australian rhapsodist living in England since the mid-‘80s, Cave gained underground fame leading Melbourne’s much-admired Birthday Party. He then went solo, fronting the more gloomily dour Bad Seeds, a talented troupe of post-punk liaisons including ex-Magazine bassist Barry Adamson, Einsterzende Neubauten guitarist Blixa Bargeld, and Birthday Party refuge Mick Harvey on drums (subsequently converting to keyboards-guitar). Although personnel has shifted and changed over the course of two decades (the addition of Dirty Three violinist Warren Ellis being exceptional), Cave’s seedlings have grown in directions far and wide, beyond the mortality tales and morbid witching hour blues imbibing his spiritual rouse.

To mark 2004, Cave simultaneously dropped two stunningly inventive works, the uplifting Gospel-drenched orchestral meditation, Abattoir Blues, and its astoundingly diversified counterpart, The Lyre Of Orpheus.

Still consumed with the death marches and doom-y fixations of yore but increasingly in touch with his inner feelings, Cave wanders into the apocalyptic abyss with epic grandeur. However, being a father (son Luke accompanies him for this Big Apple trip – which includes a solo piano stint on Letterman crooning majestic emblem “The Mercy Seat”) has likely given the stately troubadour unduly resolve and better introspective awareness.

Looking dapper wearing white dress shirt and brown trousers, the black-haired, sullen-faced Cave projects a demurely conservative image his English-teaching father and librarian mother might endorse.

Though a regal poignancy underscores Abattoir Blues, its moribund titular snicker proves Cave hasn’t lost his wry sense of humor. But he seems strangely surprised when I plead ignorance to the descriptive French appellation.

“An abattoir is an animal slaughterhouse,” Cave informs. “Oh no. Yankees won’t know that? There goes my chance to break in America again. They’ll go, ‘what’s this? I don’t understand the title.’”

Baring his charcoal-stained soul on the divine salutation “Get Ready For Love” and harrowing “Hiding All Away,” Cave’s darkly hued evangelical elegies match revelatory religiosity with secular lovelorn eloquence. Singing soulfully like guru David Bowie circa Young Americans, Cave despairingly moans through confessional threnody “There She Goes, My Beautiful World.” But it’s the anesthetized dirge, “Messiah Ward” (‘they keep bringing out the dead now’), that truly consumes this maddeningly haunted minstrel.

“For Abattoir Blues, I got a Gospel choir in during rehearsals. They’re a fundamental part of the record. We didn’t hire an arranger to get some singers to stick on top of what we already did. It’s not that situation,” Cave insists.

Regarding The Lyre Of Orpheus, Cave commingles horror epics, uncommon love-struck serenades, and transcendental mysticism in a thoroughly convincing manner. Reluctantly reminiscent of Tom Waits’ foreboding post-midnight hexing with a snaky Captain Beefheart beat redolent of Cave’s Birthday Party daze, the ominously portentous title track absorbs the nebular omens these prestigious standard-bearers once thrived upon. More caustic may be the seemingly rejoicing “O Children,” a mildly didactic pledge of imminent universal allegiance.

Less serious, yet just as intently meaningful, are nifty South of the Border voodoo quickstep, “Supernaturally,” and sinisterly feverish cash-grubbing “Easy Money,” which finds Cave begging to high heavens for legal tender: ‘rain that ever-loving stuff on me.’ His earthy croaked groan infiltrates the melodramatic piano lullaby, “Babe You Turn Me On” – perhaps his most straight up love song yet.

When I speculate the upbeat flute-laden acoustic swagger of “Breathless” would suit theatrical singer Anthony Newley as well as now-deceased L.A. firebrand Warren Zevon, Cave casually quips, “They can have it.”

As for comparisons to craggy cigarette-and whiskey-soaked baritone Tom Waits (and the strange coincidence that, he too, concurrently released two long-players, ‘02s Blood Money and Alice), Cave notes, “I wouldn’t have that so, but there goes. I like Tom’s later stuff, but I wouldn’t say, lyrically, he’s an influence at all. I see my songwriting coming from the same tradition as his, which is the narrative folk ballad.”

In fact, correlating Cave’s dusky phantasms to ‘60s Beat Generation-informed folklorists Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan could be justified. The obliging Cave grants the latter his due recognition.

“I don’t know anyone who’s not influenced by Dylan or Blues music, whether they know it or not. Anyone who feels they have the right to write lyrics other than ‘yeah baby’ or ‘come over here good looking’ has some debt to Dylan,” Cave maintains. “He was responsible for singer-songwriter-musicians sitting down and writing their own lyrics and (he laughingly gibes) I think he has a lot to answer for.”

Though he admits having an affinity for radical recondite contemporaries The Fall, Pere Ubu, and Public Image Ltd., more significant than these subterranean heroes is cultural icon, Elvis Presley, whose perplexed rockabilly primitivism gets lost beneath Cave’s overwhelming Goth leanings.

“He was hugely influential. Elvis was a great performer and a large figure in my life. I always loved the way he sang – his whole career actually,” Cave infers.

A candid glance at Cave’s back catalog proves meritorious. After ‘84s swamp-rooted bedrock debut, From Her To Eternity, and ‘85s Elvis-obsessed Delta Blues-derived, The Firstborn Is Dead, ‘88s Tender Prey offered his best known composition, the mesmerizing chanted mantra, “The Mercy Seat,” plus cryptic jailhouse clang, “Up Jumped The Devil,” and uncharacteristically, vaulted ‘60s garage-psych Farfisa jingle, “Deanna.” Two years hence, The Good Son retreated into lulling symphonic sedation broken up by emphatic testimonial spiritual, “The Witness Song.” Following overwrought Henry’s Dream, ‘94s ethereal Let Love In re-invigorated this terminally nocturnal jongleur. Using his deepest gruff baritone croon, he dispensed steely-eyed waltz, “Do You Love Me?,” a veritable calling card countered by durably feisty turnabout, “Thirsty Dog.”

“I try to write as simply as I can. That’s what the writing process is about. Going back to these huge fucking songs I keep writing and editing them down, simplifying, and clarifying. On the one hand, I want to be comprehensible in the language I use to understand the narrative makes sense, but at the same time, leaving them ambiguous enough that they allow you to feel like you’d listen to the song again,” he claims.

Drifters, strangers, and vagrants inundate ‘96s prophetic Murder Ballads, a loosely thematic string of forlorn eulogies boasting tremendous uniformity. Aussie pop queen Kylie Minogue tremblingly shutters through “Where The Wild Roses Grow” alongside Cave while bedeviled diva PJ Harvey shares the mike on the traditional “Henry Lee.” Next, wayward seafaring creatures and pirate’s ghosts prowl Cave’s grave melancholic respite, ‘97s serendipitous The Boatman’s Call, appropriately preparing his accolade of grim reapers for ‘01s solemnly ecclesiastic No More Shall We Part, which swells with a pious sincerity the sanctified epiphanies of ‘03s Nocturama confirms.

“There’s always a bit of religion in what I do,” he confides. “I feel it’s my duty to put forth my own personal questioning of the belief in God. It’s an antidote for me against blind, fanatical, brutal, ugly, homophobic, one-eyed views of God being pushed down people’s throats, especially in America. Mine is an open, healthy belief. But it’s not my viewpoint of God to encourage people to blow up buildings or start wars.”

Conceding his immense interest in The Bible, Cave also drew strength from ‘70s glam-rock lynchpins whilst growing up Down Under.

He avows, “I just really like rock and roll. I like the feeling it gave me upstairs in my bedroom singing into a broomstick playing Bowie, T. Rex, and miming to their music. It gave me a feeling beyond anything I’d felt before. It continues to do so.”

Despite crafting bucket loads of staggeringly lonesome arias and ravishingly sonorous incantations, the exalted Cave refuses to revisit past endeavors once the sessions finish.

“I don’t listen to my records afterwards. I know how to play songs off them live, but I can’t remember what certain songs are about,” he concedes. But the scholarly bard suddenly perks up when recollecting cherished literary idols such as Melville, Auden, Nabokov, Thomas Hardy, Dostoyevsky, and Ted Hughes. “They totally affect the writing of the songs, as everything does, including the worst music, because you know you don’t want to do music like that.”

So why’d Cave unload two full-length albums on the public instead of one double-album set in ‘04?

“To make it more manageable for the listener. It’s not the kind of world to dump double LP’s on people anymore. Back in the ‘70s, you could. They still respected musicians enough then to allow them those indulgences. But it’s too much to ask for now. The psychological difference is you only have to play one of these records to get a complete picture. You don’t have to listen to both all the way through to get an understanding of what the whole thing was about.”

Cave will be doing soundtrack work for a musical score he wrote, The Proposition, which begins filming September ’04. His acclaimed novel, And the Ass Saw the Angel, and bit parts in obscure movies such as Johnny Suede (playing an aging albino rock star), Ghosts of the Civil Dead (psychopathic prison inmate), and Wings of Desire, have kept him busy on the side.

CAPITOL YEARS PILLAGE ‘JEWELRY STORE’

April 30, 2009InterviewsCAPITOL YEARSJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: I should note that Capitol Years brainchild, Shai Halperin, is the brother of semi-famous pop critic and celebrity hound, Shirley Halperin – a good friend of mine who let me write for her ‘90s underground rock zine, Smug Magazine (and whose husband, Thom Monahan, produced Shai’s band). While Shirley went on to co-write informative marijuana chronology, “Pot Culture” with ex-High Times editor, Steve Bloom, brother Shai continued to live the indie rock ‘n roll lifestyle. Despite not having a new album out in three years as of June ’09, Capitol Years scored big in the subterranean music world with ‘05s Let Them Drink and ‘06s even better Dance Away The Terror.

Moving from the collegiate confines of his New Brunswick-based Rutgers University digs to the city of Brotherly Love, multi-instrumentalist Shai Halperin got a 4-track and unveiled ‘01s promising full length debut, Meet Yr Acres, in the guise of Capitol Years. Originally intended for release under the rhyming moniker, Shai, Son of Eli, a term coined by his friend out of respect to Halperin’s Israeli father, he settled on the catchier, attention-grabbing Capitol Years for the sake of convenience.

Though strictly a solo affair, Halperin had previously gained local exposure playing Jersey clubs with bassist Dave Wayne Daniels in what he calls “the less good, more offensive” Mastercaster. Joining both for the current touring and recording unit are guitarist Jeff Van Newkirk and drummer Sir Kyle Lloyd.
Now as a fully functional quartet, the Capitol Years return with the illuminating 6-song, 19-minute Jewelry Store EP (Full Frame Records), expanding upon the overall range and compositional efficiency of Halperin’s previous ‘solo’ endeavor.

The frenetic opener, “Jet Black,” features some of Halperin-Newkirk’s most visceral guitar work while Daniels’ bass booming bottom on the title track underscores its sinister ‘60s garage sound. In fact, the latter song and the fuzz-toned “Japanese Store” would fit in comfortably alongside many superfine Nuggets era no-hit wonders.

Conversely, “Lucky Strike” finds comfort adapting the Strokes sterling post-punk-influenced chug-a-lug rhythm and snappy eclecticism. As an added reward, Halperin’s penetrating vocal inflections and creamy caterwauls uncannily recall the strange magic of Electric Light Orchestra’s Jeff Lynne at certain junctures.

How’d you come up with the flashy band name, Capitol Years?

SHAI HALPERIN: I was ready to put the debut out as Shai, Son Of Eli, but at the last minute, I didn’t want the focus to be on one person. I had floated the name, Capitol Years, around in my head. The name is sort of fishing for some attention people may be clever enough to think is witty and interesting. There wasn’t any thought for it to be like the Beatles’ Capitol Years. It was just a cool name to garner attention like REO Speedealer did, but they got sued (for its proximity to arena rockers REO Speedwagon).

Compare the debut to the Jewelry Store EP.

Half the songs on the debut were done on digital 4-track and converted to 8-track without the thought of releasing them. It has potential, but the means by which it was done is scrappier. I could have treated the audio better. I recorded it in my own studio apartment. So I sang softly so neighbors wouldn’t hear and it transferred to a certain style. The EP was recorded with a whole band after four or five weeks of touring and has a lot of energy. There wasn’t too much composing or sculpting. We tried to capture what we’d been doing on tour. There’s not too many overdubs or double tracking. Song-wise, some parts are as old as the first album. The material fits the mold of a rock band as opposed to someone sitting at home thinking weird thoughts and making weird songs. We had another song we could have finished and ten more we could’ve done, but we took the best material. It’s basically the quickest, cheapest thing we could have done.

I love how the rumbling, echo-drenched “Train Race” seeps into a psychedelic Beatles groove but then gets chastened by chaotic Sonic Youth guitar suss.

That’s a combination of things. It’s at the end of the record because it’s different from the other tracks. The other songs are more blues-based. That track’s more modern soundscaping. It’s our concert closer. We do outlandish standing-on-the-bass drum guitar solos. It’s a fun one.

JOHN BUTLER TRIO ENJOY ‘SUNRISE OVER SEA’

April 30, 2009InterviewsJOHN BUTLER TRIOJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: Environmentally friendly, politically-charged Aussie, John Butler, is a post-hippie jam band freak whose ’04 album, Sunrise Over Sea, enlarged his overseas audience to the point where he headlined small US clubs and opened for O.A.R. at Manhattan’s spacious Hammerstein Theatre. Though he has since cut off his trademark dreadlocks, Butler’s Trio remains active on the grassroots level, releasing ‘08s funkier Grand National to good reviews.

Concocting a tasty stew mingling plaintive Celtic-Gypsy folk, crude backwoods acoustical leanings, rustic Blues, downbeat reggae, and cosmopolitan hip-hop, the John Butler Trio manage to coalesce these ostensibly disparate styles without becoming tritely hackneyed. Intricately pleating open-tuned 11-string guitar, lap steel, and banjo into indefatigably expansive arrangements with the greatest of ease, John Butler’s eager admixture encourages open-ended spontaneity and multitudinous instrumental exchanges.

Born in the barren farmlands outside Los Angeles to a Greek-Bulgarian mother and Anglo father, Butler’s family headed south to San Diego before immigrating to Australia in 1976. Firstly imbibing ‘80s new wave Goth, the dread-locked sandy-haired 29-year-old Aussie-American began busking the streets of Fremantle by the ‘90s, selling DIY Celtic-Indian instrumental cassette, Searching for Heritage, to a few thousand early fans. After ‘01s official debut, Three, and ‘03s fittingly live retrospective, Living, Butler enlisted two new musical partners and decidedly condensed the enduringly elliptical escapism of yore for ‘04s prudently trimmed Sunrise Over Sea, his most variegated set yet. The only time he drops neoteric reductionist impulses comes during 10-minute closer, “Sometimes,” where its quietly frail calmness implodes halfway, as murky organ, amped-up guitar, and loud drums override the initial fretless upright bass elasticity until once again slipping into spellbinding ethereality.

Feeling more comfortable with his newfangled trio, Butler’s recruits, reggae percussionist brother-in-law Nicky Bomba and bassist Shannon Birchall, obligingly relinquished Three’s esoteric ephemera for more incisive constructions. At their most contemporaneously pliable, the indelible “Betterman” and, to a lesser extent, the empathetic redemption, “Seeing Angels,” fit alongside workings by nu-folk idol John Mayer and cagey Americana codger Chris Whitley. Butler’s flexible baritone bobs and weaves through the percolating “Company Sin,” resoundingly relishing social relevance in the mode of Dave Matthews. Funky soul strutter “Zebra” brings Cajun clatter to an irresistible groove and, somewhat inversely, orchestrated strings embellish the supremely grandiose “What You Want.” Circular banjo solidifies the entrancing mantra, “Born To Ramble.”

Though stateside customers may only be familiar with introductory 6-song EP, What You Want, containing auspiciously ominous 9-11 anthem “Something’s Gotta Give,” slippery slide-saddled sliver “Pickapart,” and the Beatles downcast psych sloth “Across The Universe,” the full length masterstroke, Sunrise Over Sea, will doubtlessly garner serious attention.

Hopefully, Butler will gain the same wide-screen exposure fellow Down Under denizens Men At Work and Midnight Oil received in their ‘80s apex.
Opening for mighty jam band O.A.R. at Manhattan’s Hammerstein Ballroom post-Thanksgiving, the conquering trio’s mesmerizing overtures clustered synchronal rhythms inside distended guitar-latticed labyrinths with casual aplomb. Seated to the right of the stage, Butler assiduously strummed acoustic, frequently adding strikingly electrifying slide radiance to sumptuous ancillary passages. Busybody Bomba strenuously slammed skins, keeping the crowd enthralled with an avalanche of mammoth solos as Birchall dug bass chords deep into the fusillade. At the conclusion, Butler and Birchall broke out bongos and the sagacious threesome created a truly hypnotic tribal tuft.

Who were your formative influences?

JOHN BUTLER: I listened to the Cure and Smiths as a kid, then got into Jane’s Addiction and the Beastie Boys, Soundgarden and Tool. Then recently, I got heavily into Bob Marley. I think Gillian Welch is amazing. She opened my eyes to roots-based Country.

Someone claimed the earthy acoustic number, “Damned To Hell,” was ‘a tip of the hat to Gillian Welch’s Appalachian folk revival.’

She’s so inspirational. When I first heard her, I thought, “This is something I’m going to have to investigate.” Her music resonates inside me like any good soul music would, whether by Gillian or Aretha Franklin. It comes from a pure place.

“Treat Yo Mama” seems to come out of the Chicago Blues tradition originated by Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf.

The slide guitar always had its roots in Country, Blues, and Hawaiian music. It’s just never been commercially successful. Because of the homogenized popular music scene, what makes it to radio is debris instead of the fine cream. But there’s a huge Blues scene in Australia, believe it or not. It’s an amazing scene with some awesome players, covering a range from Mississippi John Hurt to recent artists. One big influence has been singer-songwriter-guitarist Jeff Lang, who taught me how to mix guitar playing with songwriting.

On the other hand, “Betterman” may be your most accessible song, as its vocalizing and easygoing appeal seem closer to John Mayer or Damien Rice’s acoustic pop than traditional folk.

It’s probably the most digestible track. It’s a contagious song we originally put on Three. But it was only released independently in America so it didn’t do any business. It barely got to see the light of day in the U.S. even though it was a big Australian hit. We re-recorded it with the current band because I wanted to make it radio length and I felt it could be a good single. The live version lasts about twelve minutes with an improvisational jam inside it. We deliberately produced it down to fit the time limit radio would allow. We’re here to infiltrate the music scene. (laughter) I don’t think we’re being artistically compromising and I feel the song translates well to a lot of people.

“Zebra” seems to touch upon racial unity.

It’s also about my career in Australia. Some people thought they had me sussed out as a political pawn. But it’s about showing many sides to people. You can’t judge a book by its cover. We could either be nice at times, or be dickheads.

How do your compositions generally come together?

On the first few albums, I’d get out ideas for the other musicians and make really jammy songs. The lyrics are written down and the musical arrangements were done beforehand but I enjoyed making them stretch out real free form. This album is more crystallized. Sometimes lead breaks would turn into instrumental jams we tried live. I usually have strong ideas how I want the music to sound. If the improvisation isn’t going the right way, I refocus and try to get the final expression.

Is it difficult to mix urban Rhythm & Blues with rural Country in such a uniquely universal manner?

There’s a few people doing it, like G. Love’s done it well. It’s hard to be a roots musician and not be affected by rock and roll and hip-hop nowadays. I see a connection linking hip-hop to the Blues. Roots music comes from a mixture of cultures, from African to Irish. Country songs have a similar offbeat rhythm as reggae. From Elvis Presley to the Beatles, you have to be brave enough to take risks. It’s sad people are so bloody conservative these days.

Do you benefit musically from sharing an Australian and American heritage?

I have to honestly say no. Don’t forget the Beatles were highly influenced by American music but were from Britain. When you have a country like America that invented Blues, Jazz, and rock and roll, it’s hard not to be impressed with those innovations.

Nicky Bomba adds infectious rhythms to your most exciting fare. How has his experience as a reggae artist been helpful?

I intended to have a better relationship with reggae music. I knew his music well so I wanted him to play on the album. I have lots of respect for him and our musical chemistry just exploded.

Does your appreciation for nature and sociopolitical activism affect your music?

It’s definitely about what’s going on around the universe since that’s what’s inside of me. My relationships and environmental politics are in there. It just makes sense to me.

You’ve protested against uranium mining and denounced the destruction of trees.

It’s hard not to be concerned. Those are common sense issues. Clean air and water are not so much environmental issues as they are major concerns for everyone.

Since you wear dreadlocks currently, could I inquire as to whether you’re interested in Rastafarian teachings?

My spirituality is difficult to pigeonhole. I’m into so many Spiritual things. Global happenings and the information age influence me like everyone else. I like to find out about religion and beliefs. It interests me. Like most people now, I find my own recipe.

What would you like to accomplish next? Will you have time to pursue other arts?

I’m always trying to pursue my art career so I want to paint more. Musically, there’s so many avenues. I’m into reggae, hip-hop, folk, and Blues. There’s an acoustic metal influence I’m starting to explore. I just want to hone my craft and try to speak a thousand words with one line.

BURNING BRIDES ‘LEAVE NO ASHES’ BEHIND ‘FALL OF THE PLASTIC EMPIRE’

April 29, 2009InterviewsBURNING BRIDES, PHILADELPHIA ROCKJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: I got to know the Burning Brides pretty well during 2001 to 2003. I had originally interviewed Dimitri for Aquarian Weekly and thereafter met them at a show and invited them to sleepover following a sold out Mercury Lounge gig. I also took Dimitri and his now-wife Melanie out for pizza in their old hometown of Philly with my wife and kids. The following piece never ran in High Times so it’s being posted here in front of the earlier Aquarian Weekly article. Needless to say, the Burning Brides are true marijuana advocates.

When former Shakespearean off-Broadway actor Dimitri Coats dropped out of Julliard School of Arts with dancer-bassist Melanie Campbell, they settled in South Philly’s drug-addled neighborhood and formed the Burning Brides, combining Black Sabbath’s antediluvian metallic soot with grungy Goth brashness. When the City of Brotherly Love’s lecherous lifestyle became overbearing – inspiring Coats to pen the crunchy mindfuck “King Of The Demimonde” about a now-deceased dope dealer – they moved to serene Northern California.

“All roads lead to heroin and speed eventually. So I stick to beers and joints,” guitarist-vocalist Coats affirms. “Weed’s not the enemy. It’s been there for me and never let me down. But I steer clear of drugs that almost ruined my life.”

Image result for BURNING BRIDES FALL OF EMPIRE After several years toiling away rehearsing for small gigs, the Burning Brides recruited drummer Jason Kourkounis and released ‘01s brazen Fall of the Plastic Empire on tiny File 13 Records. They opened for elite rockers Queens Of The Stone Age, Marilyn Manson, and A Perfect Circle, signing to larger label V2 along the way.

But a plush tour bus and monetary rewards haven’t softened Coats’ feisty resolve, as he wryly quips, “Isn’t weed supposed to mellow you out?”
Hooking up with producer George Drakoulias (Black Crowes/ Tom Petty), the Burning Brides return with the brash Leave No Ashes. Brutally snarled raging anthems such as “Alternative Teenage Suicide” (a fictional Vietnam soldiers’ gay love tryst) and the bludgeoned boogie “Heart Full Of Black” find Coats searing with vengeance even if his composing method appears hippiesque.

Coats’ confirms, “Marijuana is an extremely useful creative tool for writing. I’m best when baked. Every song I’ve written stoned on the couch 4 AM when everyone’s tucked away. I approach songwriting like stoner poetry – many cool images threaded together that are hopefully related, tell a story, and fit the music’s mood. It’s a dada approach.”

An organic weed snob, Coats enjoys inhaling Blueberry, Snowbud, Trainwreck, and Shiba Skunk from a vaporizer to get only “the pure crystal THC extract.”

“As a singer, the vaporizer doesn’t affect my throat as much. It’s a cleaner high, like smoking hash. You can function on it,” Coats maintains. “And it tastes good, too. You can get the flavor of your favorite strain.”
Now ensconced near Cali’s Redwood Forest, he’s trying to acquire a green thumb.

“I don’t grow yet, but I’ve taken care of gardens. Marijuana is an antenna to alien life forms. You have to respect those tentacles. Bat shit’s extremely good fertilizer. But you got to spend time. You can’t water them and walk away.”

During Leave No Ashes recording, Coats received Drakoulias’ herbal support.

“He’d say, ‘Are you fired up yet? The vaporizer’s not cooking. We making a rock and roll record here or what?’”

Scarily, Coats nearly got busted prior to the Burning Brides recent tour.
“I got pulled over in California when I had three pounds of kind bud in the back. I told the cop I didn’t live anywhere and was in a rock band. He just gave me a speeding ticket.”

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BURNING BRIDES BEGET ‘FALL OF THE PLASTIC EMPIRE’

Though Burning Brides singer-guitarist-keyboardist Dimitri Coats is an avid Beatle fan, you’d be hard-pressed to find any trace elements of the Fab Four’s freakbeat in his trio’s blistering punk-metal oeuvre. Instead, Coats’ blood curdling groans and savage moans rise above brash hardcore, psychedelic Goth, feedback-drenched noise-rock, musty grunge grooves.

After Coats (an ex-off-Broadway Shakespearean actor) and bassist Melanie Campbell (a modern dancer with ballet experetise) dropped out of New York City’s Julliard School for the Arts, they founded Burning Brides, settled in Philadelphia, recorded tracks with drummer Mike Ambs, and got snatched up by indie label, File 13.

Their bloodied, but unbowed, debut, Fall Of The Plastic Empire, piles dark-edged mantras such as the metallic “Pastic Empire” and the grinding “At The Levity Ball” on top of grungy melodic pop such as the hook-filled rollercoater ride, “Arctic Snow” and the Sabbath-meets-Beach Boys “Blood On The Highway.”

Throughout, the blunt immediacy of Coats’ stream of consciousness verbal assaults evoke bleak imagery and near-Apocalyptic visions. On the cacophonous “Plank Of Fire,” his siren-like bellowing cuts through the ear-splitting guitar-bass-drum calamity with the desirous conviction of Cheap Trick’s Robin Zander and the scorch-throated haphazard slacker attitude of Kurt Cobain.

This sense of unguarded post-adolescent anxiety thrives on “Glass Slipper,” another brutal attack bristling with appropos chaotic menace. Though less ferocious, the fucked-over disconsolate condescension of “Stabbed In The Back Of The Heart” slithers along with nearly as much abrasive fury.

The fact that the Missouri-born Boston-bred Coats has moved around like a vagabond may have some bearing on his hardened lyrical outlook. Even after finally settling in a tough Philadelphia neighborhood (the seedy section below South Street), Coats has had to deal with the frustration of getting sucker punched for no reason. To add insult to injury, Campbell once got her purse snatched. But through it all, these admitted Cure fans have managed to open for Marilyn Manson (“He’s a really sweet guy,” Coats justfies) and tour cross-country.

Did anyone in your family inspire you to become a musician?

DIMITRI COATS: My grandmother was an opera singer in Poland. I met her before she died. She didn’t have many teeth left. She had turned into an alcoholic bag lady with twenty cats who fed neighboring pigeons. She sang to me once and it was incredible. She broke into a perfect wall shaking, glass breaking prelude to some opera.

What’s with the cool Burning Brides moniker?

We wanted a name that was dark and beautiful and rolled off the tongue well, like the Flaming Lips. There’s a whole phenomenon in ancient India where they’d throw a widow into a funeral pyre with her dead husband while she was still alive. Hence, the name.

Were there any political implications affecting the title of Fall Of The Plastic Empire?

I look at it as gazing into a crystal ball and predicting the current state of music. This plastic pop they’re calling rock will eventually crumble like it did before Nirvana came along. We need a pop or death metal band to shake things up. Going back to the Beatles, they could use any color on their palette. They’d go from “Helter Skelter” to “Honey Pie” in three seconds. That’s what great artists like David Bowie and the Rolling Stones can do. It’s what good dynamic art is. We throw everything that inspires us into the mix. We’re not gonna rope ourselves off in one corner like some bands do.

I like the neo-psychedelic edge some songs have. Do you listen to the ’60s-based Nuggets collection?

Yeah. I got that. I just smoked half a joint and listened to the Kinks Face To Face. I work at the Philadelphia Record Exchange. It’s a great record store with a bunch of old heads who collect rare psych. I’ve been inundated by that stuff. The boss is J.C., the guitarist in the Strapping Fieldhands. He drew the skeletons on our inside cover.

I thought your most dynamic song was “Arctic Snow.” It had a delectable emo feel.

I’m not a big emo fan. That’s just me tapping into a Wipers song. It started off as a slower ballad. Then, I detuned it, sped it up, and thought, ‘Hey. This is like the Wipers!’ I gave it a Beatles chorus and a Slayer ending.

“Elevator” has a rambunctious hardcore tension reminiscent of Black Flag or the Misfits.

That’s a bout an elevator ride down to hell; a Faustus time to pay up ‘thing’ Christopher Marlowe wrote about. He’s a scientist who’s frustrated because he can’t explain the Wonders of the World through science. So he sells his soul to the devil. He gets to expereince wonderful things, but has to pay when the clock strikes midnight.

How do you usually go about creating your songs?

I sit around, get stoned, listen to records, then I can’t contain myself anymore and pick up the guitar and all the records I’ve been listening to pour out. It could be the Bee Gees and Odessa meets Venom. Rock and Roll is a superior artform. It was refreshing to enter that world after coming from such a high art background. There are no rules. We could do what we want and feel like we’re 18 again.

What did veteran producer Brian Mc Tear add to the project?

He’d recorded Mazarin and he has a real pop sensibility. We knew there’d be a lot of dynamic melodies on this record. He was good at suggesting where harmonies should go or where a lift with a tambourine should be. He’s also a decent musician who makes you feel comfortable in the studio. He’s like, ‘Go ahead. Get stoned.’

BUZZCOCKS ROCK CHI-TOWN

April 29, 2009InterviewsBRIT ROCK, BUZZCOCKSJohn Fortunato

Talk about meeting one of your favorite artists and then getting to hang with him before and after a sweat-drenched sold out gig. That’s what happened in 2003 when I visited Chicago to do a brewpub tour and catch Peter Shelley’s lifelong punk-pop outfit, the Buzzcocks, across the street from historic Wrigley Field. One of the friendliest and least conceded artists I’ve encountered, Shelley had just signed with indie icon, Merge Records, and released an enjoyable eponymous Buzzcocks disc he was supporting by touring the US and beyond.

Inarguably a seminal ‘70s punk legend, Buzzcocks vocalist-guitarist Peter Shelley continues to compose exuberant rockers and perform thrilling live shows well into his fifties. Along with former bandleader Howard Devoto (who went on to form Magazine with Barry Adamson), then-bassist Steve Diggle, and long-departed drummer John Maher, the Buzzcocks delivered the frenzied 7” Spiral Scratch E.P. in ’77 just as The Clash, Sex Pistols, and Damned began defining the exciting British underground scene. Sans Devoto, Shelley took over lead responsibilities, Diggle moved to guitar and vocals, and then-newcomer Steve Garvey plucked bass on British-only albums Another Music In A Different Kitchen and its resplendent ’78 follow-up, Love Bites. The most pop-rooted, melody-related combo of the initial Brit-punk era, these inspirational Manchester natives reached an early zenith with the delightful A Different Kind Of Tension, culling the masterful Singles Going Steady from priceless 45’s prior to disbanding in March ’81.

Rumors persisted and finally Shelley and Diggle assembled a new rhythm section for ‘93s admirable Buzzcocks comeback, Trade Test Transmission. Though falling short of that triumphant masterwork, ‘96s fine All Set and ‘99s slight turnabout, Modern, then set the stage for ‘03s far better 12-song eponymous collection. Its disillusioned footstomping opener, “Jerk,” begs for forgiveness in a facetious manner. Streamlined harmonies graze the confrontational “Wake Up Call” while the sun-drenched “Driving You Insane” debates decisive resolution and the dual guitar-injected “Sick City Sometimes” grapples with metropolitan demise.

Adjacent to Wrigley Field at Chicago’s Metro, the Buzzcocks appease long-time fans and curious indie kids by unleashing a marathon 27-song set. Shelley, sporting white-dyed short-spiked hair and shaking his left leg to the groove, flails his axe through bottom heavy versions of classic punk treasures like the maladroit teen anthem “Boredom,” the ominously calamitous “Something’s Gone Wrong Again,” and the giddily tactless “Oh Shit!,” preparing the sweat-drenched anticipatory audience for sped-up, kinetic takes on newer fare. Diggle handles lead vocal chores on a few energetic rumblings while carrot-topped bassist Tony Barber and durable drummer Phil Barker (both onboard since ’93) provide stampeding rhythmic thunder. During their 6-song encore, the seasoned quartet roll through the exuberant snot-nosed diatribe “What Do I Get” and the hyper-sexual ditty “Orgasm Addict,” allowing the drunken moshpit to sway beyond its former parameters.

AW: You’re still able to write biting lyrics about personal politics. New songs like “Useless” maintain the same urgency and resonance as the Buzzcocks early punk material.

PETER SHELLEY: Well. I think if people treated each other properly, the world would be a better place.

I’d hate to be on the other side of “Jerk.”

I was dating a Brazilian girl and while I was doing the album, it was actually the day after I recorded the lyric for that song, she pissed me off. So I had a good row and wrote more lyrics. Then, the song “Morning After,” the night before I was supposed to do lyrics for the song and I had no idea what to do. So I got a bit drunk and the next day when I was getting my hair done in the morning with an awful hangover I came up with “Morning After.” So that’s what the song is about.

The flashy “Keep On” has the sonic immediacy and ‘keep on keepin’ it real’ lyrics I crave.

For that one, Tony came around one evening and said we need some more sounds and he programmed up the drum machine beat. I started playing guitar and we got a couple ideas. He took the ideas back and then made it into a working model with bass guitar.

Is it easier to construct songs nowadays?

It’s easier to get a general idea to let a song hang together. But it’s mainly the lyrics that are hard. You only have one verse and one chorus, but each time you sing the verse you have to come up with new words. That’s why I always wait until the last moment to try to commit as to what kind of song it’s gonna be.

Seminal artists such as Paul McCartney, Pete Townshend, and Mick Jagger have lost their edge. What’s the driving force that keeps your songs fresh?

I don’t know. It’s almost a form of mania. You get this idea. It’s like an itch you wanna scratch. Even when you walk around the street you have notes in your head consuming you.

You’re mindful of writing efficient songs.

It’s not like I apply myself to write a song. I just find myself distractedly doing it. When Howard and I started doing the Buzzcocks, strangely we weren’t part of the Manchester scene. We didn’t hang out with those musicians. There was a thriving pop scene, but we decided we didn’t want to do that. If we did that, we wouldn’t be able to do what we wanted because we’d have to do covers and then we’d get used to the money. So we decided on punk.

On the new album, both “Stars” and “Lester Sands” were co-written with former Buzzcock Howard Devoto. Were they recent collaborations?

No. “Lester Sands” was written in ’76. It appeared on a Time’s Up bootleg which we’ve subsequently released legitimately and it even has a video clip of the gig. So it’s been a demo we never played live. When I thought this should be an aggressive album, I thought that song would help the aggression. In 2000, I met Howard and we talked about the Buzzcocks 25th anniversary in 2001. I thought maybe we could write some songs together. The first one was “Stars,” which was actually a medley of a lot of Buzzcocks samples. So we did that and the other songs drifted off into other routes.

Mark Perry’s cheap, photocopied rag, Sniffin’ Glue, documented the ’77 punk scene well.

Punk was supposed to be about deciding on what you want and then going ahead and doing it. Mark was using a Xerox machine instead of going to the printers. He’d copy as many as he could sell. It was all about being a participant in your culture rather than a passive consumer… doing your own clothes.

Punk icons the Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Damned, and Buzzcocks seemed united for the cause of self-expression.

Later on, it became a more disorganized thing. In the early ‘80s, the new wave became a little more extreme and the melody got thrown out along with anything to capture my interest.

Perry claimed the punk scene died by ’78, but that’s when America began accepting the aforementioned bands.

I don’t know. In some ways, it was a generous construct. That’s why at the beginning it was labeled punk. Then, it quickly became new wave, which had more to do with what bands looked like rather than sounded like. Punk was like a religion, a belief system which was about your own personal freedom and making things happen by doing what you wanted to do. We organized within ourselves because we didn’t have a chance to get booking agents. There were a lot of people around at that time who wanted to do things. So we networked ourselves. All of a sudden everyone seemed to believe there was acceptability. We actually inspired people.

There was a mutual respect amongst punks.

Oh yeah. We did enjoy the Sex Pistols and they often said we were their favorite band as well. There was a lot of camaraderie. It’s strange now. In England, it was easier not to work than work. So giving up work to form a punk band seemed ideal. And bands like the Sex Pistols haven’t worked since. (laughter) I dropped out of college twice – the Bolton Institute of Technology – for electronics.

Perhaps the most consistent early album the Buzzcocks made was 1980’s A Different Kind Of Tension, which had crisper production.

We tried a different technique with Jamal, the drummer, and Steve Gall, the bassist. We worked out some bits of tangled verses and middle 8’s until we got very good verses. Then, it was stuck together. Everything is quite regimented. And the next thing that came out was my solo album, Homosapien, which was actually a precursor to Tension.

Amazingly, some Homosapien tracks were written in 1974.

I’ve always written and some of those ideas were only half written at first. Every now and again I go back and see what I’ve got. The Homosapien album started out as demos and it was decided that it was finished and we didn’t need to go back to the studio to do again. And we did a few more songs.

Tell me about lost albums like ‘80s Brit-released Cinema Music & Wallpaper Sounds.

It was on Groovy Records, but never actually made it to America. It was a bit older and had drum machines. We were messing about and there are cool noises on it. There’s one called The Free Agents Album. It was very experimental in an industrial way that came out on that label. Also, a solo album, Sky Yen, with oscillating electronic sounds (consuming Germanic techno). I actually met someone who had that LP on this tour. It was just me, recorded in ’74, under my name.

I know you were initially inspired by T. Rex, David Bowie and Eno, but were pre-punks like New York Dolls and Stiff Little Fingers influential too.

No. Alice Cooper was at the time because there’s something perverse about people leaving the building while you’re playing… that kind of reaction. And the Stooges and the Sparks (were influences).

CALEXICO IMBIBE ‘FEAST OF WIRE’

April 29, 2009InterviewsCALEXICO, JOEY BURNS, JOHN CONVERTINOJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: Dual Calexico front men Joey Burns and John Convertino continue to release sundry albums, singles, and EP’s when not backing up other musicians as respectable sidemen. Mixing Spaghetti Western with Mexicali blues in an unfettered way, Calexico have refined their approach and now garner minor mainstream attention. After this ’03 interview, they released ‘06s more straight-ahead Garden Ruin, their most successful chart record. But I prefer ‘08s marvelously campestral Carried To Dust, featuring Iron & Wine’s Sam Beam and Tortoise’s Douglas Mc Combs. Who knew in ’95, when I caught them live at Mercury Lounge under the banner of Friends Of Dean Martinez, that they’d make so many musician friends and overcome indie rock obscurity.

Living humbly in Tucson’s expansive Southwest environs since joining cosmic rocker Howe Gelb as Giant Sand’s rhythm section for fascinating underground treasures like ‘92s Ramp, ‘94s Glum, and ‘00s Chore of Enchantment, South Bay Californian Joey Burns (vocals-bass-guitar-cello-organ) and Oklahoma-bred John Convertino (drums-vibes-marimba-organ) first set off on their own leading samba-inspired side project Friends Of Dean Martinez to record ‘95s instrumental The Shadow Of Your Smile.

Making Craig Shumacher’s local Wavelab Studios their own desert retreat, the twosome concurrently gained a solid reputation recording and touring with singer-songwriters Richard Buckner, Barbara Manning, and Victoria Williams before embarking on another fascinating joint project.

As Calexico, the dynamic duo wandered through elliptical Jazz-noir on the ’98 American debut, The Black Light, creating dusty sun-soaked imagery perfectly complementary to the wide open terrain of Arizona’s sprawling arid wilderness. Offering less variation than future endeavors and only one true mariachi number – the trumpet-punctuated, string-laden “Minas De Cobre (For Better Metal)” – this developmental cinematic affair found its multi-instrumental proprietors knee-deep in ethereal splendor. Delving further into surreal ‘60s-inspired spaghetti Westerns, ‘00s cryptic Hot Rail brought crisper Latin Jazz rhythms and poignant Mexicali Blues into the kaleidoscopic blend.

But Calexico’s most diverse, cohesive effort was just around the corner. The exquisite Feast Of Wire brings sturdier ethnic flavoring and better detailed settings to more concise arrangements. The accordion-led folk ballad “Sunken Waltz” slides gently into the lucid acoustic sway of “Quattro (World Drifts In).” The mysterious “Black Heart” aligns Ennio Morricone’s dirgey spaghetti Western themes with Portishead’s downbeat trip-hop influence while Paul Niehaus’ pedal steel colors mariachi border songs such as the punctual string-soaked instrumental “Close Behind” and the sympathetic “Across The Wire.”

Recently, busy-bodies Burns and Convertino remixed tracks for England’s Two Lone Swordsmen and Goldfrapp and worked on indie rocker Jenny Toomey’s new record of Franklin Bruno cover versions. Available on-line at www.casadecalexico.com, but not in stores, the 68-minute live set, Scraping, gathers mostly improvisational San Francisco performances.
I spoke to Burns via the phone while he was in Germany.

AW: Who were your early influences and how’d you get your start in music?

JOEY BURNS: I grew up with my brothers playing music and listening to major radio artists Led Zeppelin, Kiss, and the Beatles. I played jazz in high school and Classical in college to further my knowledge. I was intrigued by it and wanted to dive in as deep as I could. After college, I wound up working for SST Records and played in some L.A. bands. That’s when I met Giant Sand. They needed an upright bassist. I had a flexible schedule working at the label. Being at a record company, you can understand why I’d want to leave. That’s also when I met Victor Gastelum, who does a lot of our albums’ artwork.

He provides stark imagery for the music contained within.

He’s dealt with a lot of personal shit. He’s looking to combine different elements that aren’t necessarily on the same poster in the same room. He grew up going to punk shows, worked at SST, and he’s good friends with Raymond Pettibone. So he had that critical biting commentary on the social aspects of what’s going on around him. His parents are Mexican-American so he grew up in a tight blue-collar family with traditional values. He’s part of an interesting Los Angeles community of artists and musicians.

How did Calexico come about?

Black Light was recorded in ’97 and came out of home recordings of the vinyl-only German release, Spoke, which was gonna be the band name until a d.j. at our WFMU acoustic set told us a different band used the name. Things began to take shape. That album was inspired by our move to Tucson and seeing all these combinations of influences making connections between film composers Ennio Morricone and Nino Rota with Link Wray, surf music, twangy Country Western, mariachi, and Latin Jazz from New York. Lyrically, the album was influenced a lot by writer Cormac Mc Carthy. The next album was an extension of that, developing more ideas of that combination of Spanish mariachi and delving into European influences like Erik Satie. John was listening to a lot of his stuff and took inspiration and started playing melodies on accordion. We even got Chicago musician Rob Mazurak to sit in on “Fade,” which is a long 8-minute song. We even made fun of ourselves with “Ballad Of Cable Hogue,” which takes the idea of being a spaghetti Western band and turning it upside down. We even made a silly video to go along with it. It captured the attention of Europeans. So we did a lot of touring after those records. That’s why we took our time making the new one.

Feast Of Wire has more varied moods and different soundscapes.

The records we buy are diverse. We’ve always been interested in different types of music besides punk or rock. There’s Country, Blues, swing. Over the years, we’ve branched out more. We’re listening for different sounds, rhythms, and expressions. That’s the result of much traveling. Last night I was in Paris hanging out with the group, the Gotan Project. They’re a bunch of d.j.’s and electronic musicians combining beats and samples with Argentinean tango players. They do an interesting mix of bringing traditional form into more contemporary electronic forum. They e-mailed John and I to remix one of their songs with instruments as a cover song or an interpretation. The press, audience, musicians, and labels over here (Germany) are open-minded and always welcome different things.

“Attack El Robot! Attack!” is a Jazz-smitten departure reminiscent of Soft Machine intruding upon the Latin Playboys best Mexicali material. Unlike most Calexico compositions, it’s not earthy and folk-grounded.

We’re trying to get different sounds and environments. It was clearly going away from more traditional stuff. The Jazz element and the improvisational aspects helped carry us out that way. John’s drumming is fluid and spontaneous subconsciously. This, combined with putting a drum machine on the record just to fuck with that sound and distort it, took it elsewhere to meet us in the middle.

How much of your arrangements are improvised and intuitive versus prepared and pre-constructed?

A lot is made up from minimal sketches. Then, we’ll bounce ideas off each other til we get form or at least improvise on a take of a song. So we have a very open skeletal version of the song. From there, I could tell where parts might grow dynamically depending upon if I feel like putting words to it or keeping it instrumental. I like the experience of being in the studio and allowing each aspect of the construction to be made from ‘being in the moment.’

“Close Behind” is a beautiful pedal steel instrumental with mariachi trumpets.

That rhythm comes from spaghetti Westerns and took that form all the way – add strings, orchestral bells, and timpani. We’d been talking about doing that in the past and we’ve done some song like that on a tour CD once and people seemed to like it. We had fun doing it in a different way without being so minimal and filling out the orchestration.

“Sunken Waltz” makes good use of the accordion.

That’s always been an instrument John and I have had a certain attachment to. His father, before he past away, was playing the accordion and piano more from an Italian background. My grandfather gave me his accordion before he died. He comes more from a polka background going all the way back to upstate New York. He played parties with his dad who played fiddle. There’s more of a German-American background there. It’s interesting how the instrument pops up in France, Germany, and Ireland and the influence bounces around the globe depending on the culture making use of it.

How’d the gentle acoustic seduction, “Not Even Stevie Nicks,” get named after the vampish Fleetwood Mac singer?

After playing guitar, I was thinking of Fleetwood Mac Rumours for some strange reason. In the song, I’m thinking of this priestess.

It sounds more like Fleetwood Mac’s next album, Tusk, to these ears.

That’s John’s favorite Fleetwood Mac album. At the same time, Stevie Nicks’ name kept popping up, whether in the news or by someone professing their love for this mysterious personality. I went to a friend’s house and it’s almost a shrine dedicated to her. There was a scarf hanging over a portrait picture of her. One of our friends says she has a house in Scottsdale, Arizona. I know Linda Ronstadt lives in Tucson and was wondering if these people travel in the same circles…probably not.

BUILT TO SPILL ISSUE ‘ANCIENT MELODIES OF THE FUTURE’

April 29, 2009InterviewsBUILT TO SPILL, DOUG MARTSCHJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: There’s been a lot of indie rock guitarists who’ve tried emulating then reconfiguring Neil Young’s wiry electrical tone. One of the best and most efficient is Doug Martsch, head honcho of Built To Spill. Perfect From Now On (done in its entirety during an ’08 tour) became their certified masterpiece and the band has toured relentlessly since then, slowed down only temporarily in ’06 due to drummer Andy Capps untimely death. After a folk-blues-styled ’02 solo debut, Now You Know, Martsch got the band in the studio for You In Reverse, an adequate ’06 disc Warner Brothers delayed for two years. As a big fan of Martsch, I remember being quite pleased and relieved when he told me he liked my penetrating questions.

Built To Spill frontman Doug Martsch is a man obsessed with sounds. Growing up in rural Idaho cut off from city life made him appreciate the “little things” more and probably informed his lyrical themes investigating alienation and loneliness. He bought a collection of weird records at local “happening stores” when punk took hold, amassing a bunch of ‘80s SST albums by stalwarts the Minutemen and the Descendents.

“I’d listen to the radio as a kid. Queen and David Bowie made an initial big impression. Then, I got into post-punk like the Butthole Surfers, Camper Van Beethoven, the Replacements, and Dinosaur, Jr.,” he recalls.

When Martsch moved to Boise, he was intrigued by State Of Confusion, a local hardcore band. “They were older and I’d hang out and go to their practices. They let me sing at some shows around ‘85 or ‘86. I had a fanzine and their lead singer booked time and made demo tapes. That made a huge impression on me. Their drummer quit, so I played bass and the bassist went to drums. We started learning some of my songs, became a band, and moved to Seattle, the nearest cool place.”

Taken in by the straight-edge punk contingent, they became very serious and practiced a few hours a week. As the newly christened band Tree People fell into place, Martsch was given free reign to release a few swell albums.
“We were at our peak for Guilt Regret Embarrassment on K Records. I like that better than the last few Built To Spill records. It was really perfect at the time,” he says.

Although Martsch moved back to Idaho following Tree People’s demise, the exposure the Seattle scene offered and the knowledge he gained there helped set up his next project. Sure, they may not be properly classified as a grunge act, but Built To Spill has the same slacker attitude, post-punk ambition, and refusal to submit to commercial consideration many of those Northwest bands desired. And while the Pixies, Sonic Youth, and the Melvins all played an obvious part influencing the Seattle grunge scene of the early ‘90s, Kurt Cobain’s untimely shotgun suicide left behind a teen-spirited trail of tears that ruined the scene’s momentum and led directly to a less desirable second wave of pop-derived, out-of-the-area-code knockoffs like Florida’s Creed and Matchbox 20 to fill the ever widening gap.

But unlike their Washington State neighbors, the resilient Built To Spill has managed to survive, continuously unloading decisive statements of purpose throughout the ‘90s. So despite Nirvana’s demise, Soundgarden’s split, Alice In Chains’ transgression, Hole’s current uncertainty, Mudhoney’s undeserved below-the-radar status, and Pearl Jam’s willful Separatism, Built To Spill keep plugging along thanks to a stubborn refusal to admit rock and roll is dead or that electronica, hip-hop, and lounge-core have taken over.

Following the independently released debut, Ultimate Alternative Wavers (where Martsch assumes a timely slacker pose on “Nowhere Nothin’ Fuckup”), ‘94s more concise, fully-formed There’s Nothing Wrong With Love found Built To Spill perched on the cusp of national underground prosperity. On ‘97s Perfect From Now On, Martsch took several calculated risks on a few distended guitar-hewn epics and then finally settled on a stable rhythm section consisting of bassist Brett Nelson and drummer Scott Plouf.

By ‘99, the brilliant, undeniable masterstroke Keep It Like A Secret turned the heads of critics, fans, and fence sitters alike. Besides the charging “Sidewalk,” possibly Martsch’s greatest achievement, it offered the investigative “You Were Right,” which strung together Classic Rock clichés dispelling the utopian hippie culture and malignant hedonistic idealism grunge bands had also begun to deride (‘you were wrong when you said everything’s gonna be all right/ you were right when you said you can’t always get what you want/ you were right when you said a hard rain’s gonna fall/ you were right when you said we’re running against the wind’).

But Martsch downgrades the implied messages of his songs. When asked if new songs such as the reserved, somber “You Are” and the piano-based, flute-laden acoustic retreat, “The Weather,” were his most personal reflections yet, he deflects, “I don’t know. I don’t notice those things. Lyrics are less meaningful than getting a good sound. Those songs in particular do make concrete sense, but an abstract sense still persists. I may manipulate things more than I’m aware of, but it’s intuitive. I don’t think of the emotions.”

Self-effacing in its titular glory, ‘01s Ancient Melodies Of The Future finds Martsch refining his approach with more neo-orchestral embellishments and a touch of the Blues (check out the slack-chorded opening and slide glissando of “Happiness” and the bloozy Spaghetti Western guitar-motifs-gone-awry pervading “Don’t Try”).

“Brett’s a great Blues guitar player. I’ve always taken something from him. On Keep It Like A Secret, I started getting into the Blues, specifically Fred Mc Dowell. I played all the guitars on that record.” He also points out, “There’s even a little slide influenced by George Harrison.”

Quasi’s Sam Coomes dropped by the studio to lay down a catchy Roxichord beat above the heavenly scree and decorative backwards tape loops of “Strange.” Recalls Martsch, “I played with guitars for that song, but it didn’t sound cool. It was like a bad R.E.M. rip-off. So I hired Sam (to play keyboards).”

A Beatle fan with a keen sense of pop history, the orchestral mist of “The Host” and “Alarmed” conjure memories of the Fab Four’s Magical Mystery Tour period.

“The mellotron stuff is inspired by the Beatles” he quips. “I wanted thick sounds you couldn’t get with the guitar, unless it was distorted. It was mostly a practical decision.”

Drifting along rather casually, “The Weather” trades the wankering guitar fury of Neil Young’s “Cortez The Killer” (covered on ‘00s Live album) for an acoustic pulse more in tune with that aging rockers’ Harvest days.

Meanwhile, the sassy country bumpkin, “Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss,” is a peppy turnabout which would fit in well alongside long lost ‘70s pop drifters Emitt Rhodes or Thunderclap Newman. From its pulsating acoustic origins to its overblown distorted closing, the ominous transcendence and cathartic lyrical runs of “In Your Mind” cut through a psychedelic melody in a swirly, circular manner.

Of the latter, he insists, “I originally thought it would sound good with minimal guitar-voice-drums. But I messed around with it and made up lots of parts.” The result is one of Built To Spill’s finest achievements, mischievously incorporating surreal imagery to a vexing wave of eerie instrumentation.

Over the years, Built To Spill have fooled around on a few cool split singles and loaded up some rarities for the neat compilation The Normal Years. Along with fellow Boise-based band Caustic Resin, they released a ‘95 Up Records EP that featured a few stretched out opuses like the advice-smitten “When Not Being Stupid Is Not Enough” and the instrumental “Shit Brown Eyes.” According to Martsch, the best split single included a Heavenly song Built To Spill covered, which he claims “was a beautiful song and fun to record. It was a fluke. I remember I got a good recording even though I’m not an engineer.”

But, he explains, “Although Warner Brothers would allow me to do that, I have no extra tunes lying around. I’m proud of our albums. The side things bummed me out. If I don’t go into the studio, be serious, and spend time, it’s not worthwhile.”

Spoken like a true perfectionist, indeed.

True fans should do their best to search for the two fabulous collaborative side projects Martsch did with indie-eccentric Beat Happening wunderkind Calvin Johnson (with some assistance from post-rock noise geek Steve Fisk). On both ‘94s God Don’t Make No Junk and ‘96s Don’t Tell Me Now, the Martsch-Johnson combo’s Halo Benders are equal to or better than each artists’ permanent bands.

THE BRONX TAKES ON L.A.

April 21, 2009InterviewsTHE BRONXJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: Though I spoke to fleet-fingered guitarist Joby Ford in ‘06, the Bronx front man, singer-lyricist Matt Caughthran, seems to call the shots. The L.A.-based unit quickly became one of the best live bands on the circuit, releasing another respectable eponymous album in ’08 and, believe it or not, an ‘09 mariachi long-player, under similar moniker, El Bronx.

Growing up amongst the aging hippies and brawny jocks of Grand Junction, Colorado, athletic guitarist Joby Ford studied Classical piano before attending California’s Viola University on a baseball scholarship. Though Ford has no formal understanding of guitar theory, flashy metalheads like AC/DC’s Angus Young and Guns ‘N’ Roses’ Slash proved highly inspirational for the three-chord rev it up and go riffage he supplies for L.A. punk stalwarts The Bronx on their furious major label eponymous debut. His partners-in-crime, barking vocalist Matt Caughthran, sturdy bassist James Tweedy (ex-Sunday’s Best), and fervid drummer Jorma Vik (ex-Death On Wednesday) scurried around SoCal in nondescript bands before teaming up.

Having survived maddening adversity (the loss of friends, money, and automobile), this fearless foursome spill their guts on cantankerously combustible cacophonies such as the explosive Minor Threat/Fugazi-like opener “Heart Attack American,” the electrifyingly hastened eruption “Cobra Lucha,” and the ferocious doomsday frenzy “They Will Kill Us All (Without Mercy).” While the scolding “Notice Of Eviction” searches for self-identity and probably hits home firsthand, the bellicose “Kill My Friends” wouldn’t seem out of place on a scruffy ‘80s hardcore compilation.

AW: Much like your band name, The Bronx’s sound seems closer to gritty, dark-hued East Coast punk rather than the melodic, sunshine-y punk Los Angeles is often associated with.

JOBY FORD: We all live in East L.A. It’s a different world. While we were writing the music for this album, there were many frustrating experiences we were involved in. The only way to stay sane was to pour out these bitter emotions and remain happy.

You faced true hardship. People close to the band died, some overdosed, and unpaid traffic tickets from an uninsured car cost the band substantial money.

These things had a direct effect on our music. L.A. bands that came before us – Black Flag, Guns ‘N’ Roses… Hollywood is weird. People think it’s one thing, but you see some shit out there.

“Gun Without Bullets” touches upon some dire circumstances. “Cobra Lucha” also has an electrifying immediacy based on irritating problems.

When things started happening for this band, we sacrificed everything else we were doing. When you have nothing to begin with money goes away fast when you’re not working. “Guns” is about thought without action.

“Heart Attack America” complains about such inaction: ‘no revolution or resolution.’

I’d say that’s an observance. We don’t really take stands on politics. We have personal views, but we’re in a band because we like to play – not to bring heightened political awareness. But we lightly touch on sociological concerns.

Were you inspired by hardcore punk progenitors the Germs, GBH, and Fugazi?

I grew up on that stuff. GBH is still around. Their last album, Ha-Ha, came out on Go-Kart. They’re insane. We thought we partied, but you put anything in front of those guys and it’s gone. We went out and tried to show those old men how it’s done and they had us crawling back to our rooms. They rock! One of ‘em even has a granddaughter.

It’s great to hear GBH have maintained their visceral edge. But I hope your band doesn’t have to continually deal with aggravation in order to retain its wrangled assertiveness.

Rocket From The Crypt took us out on tour. Bands like that are in it for years and enjoy playing. They’re pure. They’re not in a band just to do drugs and get laid. They enjoy creating music. Music has been so convoluted by recent bands brainwashed by t.v. and the internet. They think, ‘These guys have nice cars so I wanna be in a band.’

As a fast wielding guitarist, did Van Halen, Sabbath, and other metallurgists besides AC/DC inspire you?

Oh yeah. I love metal and glam. Guns ‘N’ Roses was a big influence as a kid. The first music video I saw was “Welcome To The Jungle.” They got me turned on to heavier music like Suicidal Tendencies. Nowadays, we all listen to different shit. Our drummer turned us on to Jersey band Ours. But I’m not on the newest trends. We have music archeologists in this band who like to dig and find obscure shit. Island just re-issued old reggae. I respect Lee Perry and Toots & the Maytals. Lee Perry was such an influential person. Everyone ripped him off. That genre of music disappeared before I got into music.

Gilby Clarke, formerly of Guns ‘N’ Roses, produced two-thirds of your debut. I was surprised because his solo efforts have been more pop-rooted.

Before GNR, he was in a pop band, Candy. It’s fucking hilarious. Regardless of being a pop guy, he understands music. He leans to the Stones. You’re either a Stones, Beatles, or Elvis guy. Guitar lick dudes like the Stones. Gilby has a studio in his home suited for what we wanted to do. Records I enjoy have a unique flavor. There’s mistakes on our album. We could be more in tune, tighter, and have less missed notes. But most records these days sound the same with monster bass-guitar, which is cool if that’s what you want.

You lose none of the live energy on the debut.

Gilby set us up in the room and let us fucking play. It was all about capturing performances and we knew if the take was good. I’m probably more technical than the others, but Gilby had this gear and a 16-track ancient board that captured this true sound. To us, it was very simple. Some people make recording complicated. We just went for it.

The finale, “Strobe Life,” is an ambitious turnabout with the most involved arrangement.

The title suggests a strobe light. Like your life light just flickers in and out. That song looks inward. The lyrics kind of wrote that song. We broke it down and tried to stretch out. We were adamant about not being locked in as a punk band. It’s o.k. not to be locked into a 3-minute blast.

Tell me about the Bronx’s other recordings.

We had an EP, Bats, that wasn’t recorded live-in-the-studio. They were tracked because we couldn’t go back to Gilby. We didn’t have the money. We put out tons of stuff on different labels – all available on our website. We’ll come out with a 7” in early ’04.

What’s with your label, White Drugs Records?

We run it. We’re gonna put out a bunch of stuff. Matt and I started another band, the Drips, with David Hidalgo’s (Los Lobos) sons. They’re the rhythm section. We play stripped down new wave punk. It’s two whites, two Mexicans. We wear all white; the Hidalgo’s all brown. The Bronx gets your head banging up and down while the Drips get your head moving side to side. White Drugs will also put out nicely packaged split singles by bands we respect that may otherwise kick around L.A. forever unnoticed. The scene’s amazing and the bands are incredible. But they may disappear into obscurity. I like 400 Blows, Icarus Line, The Fuse. The Rolling Blackouts are crazy eclectic. They all sound like nobody else and have originality.

BRITISH SEA POWER RISES AGAIN, DECLARE ‘OPEN SEASON’

April 21, 2009InterviewsBRIT ROCK, BRITISH SEA POWERJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: This piece was written a few years before I actually got to see British Sea Power live at Bowery Ballroom, where they put on one helluva show. Their excellent ’08 disc, Do You Like Rock Music?, found the boys displaying a more straightforward, but no less appealing, rock sound.

From the south coast of England, Brighton’s precocious British Sea Power harbor stormy melodic outbursts weathering colossal crescendo cascades, contrasting coastal climactic countenances against pacific stanzaic streambeds. Lead singer Yan (guitar-keys), whose gasping utterances and trembling breathless quavers drape crackling shore-shot serenades, plies taut thespian articulation to persuasively commiserating hymns. Sans surnames, Yan, his brother Hamilton (bass-vocals), and Cumbria-based schoolmate Woody (drums), soon secured Leeds guitarist Noble and began staging Club Sea Power nights at a local pub for kicks, never seriously contemplating a record deal.

On opening ’03 salvo, The Decline Of British Sea Power, the four green chums attempted to venture beyond the blue horizon. After nervously disjointed “Apologies To Insect Life” (sporting a buzzing guitar swagger, ruptured bass throb, and knockin’ drum scrum) and its ensuing noisily askew annihilation “Favours In The Beetroot Fields,” this admirable initiation settles somewhat into intricate literary Anglo-pop mode. Yan’s passionate sincerity shines through crushworthy ascension “Remember Me,” where Noble nicks no-wave guitar licks from Nick Zinner’s toolbox of blaring feedback tricks before the lyrics cruise into the Libertines on-the-verge-of-breakdown snarl. There are moments of sheer guitar discord on the stridently woozy “Fear Of Drowning” and the urgently tumbling symphonic swish “Carrion,” but for the most part, the divine Decline reclines ‘til the lysergic “Heavenly Waters” floats out to sea.

On ‘05s stellar follow-up, Open Season, Yan’s maddeningly theatrical melancholic wail befits the stately transcendent romanticism and luxuriously iridescent stoicism inlaying each exquisite track. Beats are stronger, arrangements richer, and Yan’s fey voice becomes fulsome, as the spiraling melodramatic dispatches receive deeper conviction. Now a quintet with the acquisition of experienced keyboardist Eamon, BSP’s sweeping Epicurean grandeur surges forth on serene fugue “It Ended On An Oily Stage,” lushly elegiac “Be Gone,” and sedate piano wisp “Like A Honeycomb.” The searing guitar ascendancy and numbing gust of “How Will I Ever Find My Way Home” conveys an unfettered nervousness their debut necessitated.

I spoke to Yan while the band was on the road heading to a Dallas, Texas, gig.

AW: Who were some of your early musical influences?

YAN: I used to worship the Pixies and Julian Cope. They made it sound like fun being in a band.

Vocally, you remind me of David Bowie or Richard Butler of the Psychedelic Furs. Were they important touchstones?

No. Not really. It’s just a biological accident how I sound like them.

You have a powerful dramatic voice.

I have a traumatic brain as well. (laughter) Sorry, that just sounded funny. I’d say Open Season is quite an optimistic album. On the first album, we thought that we’d be all over afterwards. We were surprised we got to our first album, to be honest.

The odd numbered songs seem to have quicker drumbeats and louder sections. Was that done purposely to diversify the mood flow?

Odd numbered songs should always be faster ones. It’s a secret rule.

What did producer Mads Bjerke, who has worked with Spiritualized and Primal Scream, add to British Sea Power?

He’s more of a talented engineer than our producer. He’s very patient as well so he can deal with awkward fucks like Jason Pierce (Spiritualized leader) without getting wound up. He’s good at finding the right sonic value of where a movement should fit.

There are so many wonderful textures abounding on your first two records. Did they take long to work on in the studio?

It was quite quick really. We didn’t have a lot of time and money. Only two or three Open Season songs we worked on live while touring. During the Decline tour, we did “Please Stand Up” and “How Will I Ever Find My Way Back Home.” That’s about it.

“Please Stand Up” is a cool song that, to me, is closer to Morrissey’s dreamier fare.

Apparently we’re being banned from MTV with that song. We did a video and they thought the lyrics were too suggestive.

Well that’s ‘cause MTV sucks corporate dick. What have you been listening to recently?

I was just enjoying Soft Bulletin by Flaming Lips. Last night it was Pulp. I listen to all kinds of stuff. I’m a big Buddy Holly fan.

Is there a hometown Brighton scene I should be made aware of?

There’s a lot of music going on, but no collective style or scene. There will always be a lot of bands there that like playing music. They are nice people worth drinking with that’ll never get beyond the Brighton area. There’s a very good band, Tenderfoot, who’ve got a chilled out, soft album coming out. I’ve been there three or four years. But I actually grew up in the Lake District of Northern England. It’s the most beautiful area – clean, very green, hills, and valleys.

Perhaps that bucolic setting affected the lovely picturesque music British Sea Power composes.

I think it must be. You can’t get away from it.

What’s “The Land Beyond” that you seek?

I can’t say. At the moment it’s Texas (where they’ll be playing this night) It’s hard to condense things down to the perfect pop format. It’s easier and more natural to have that lone street feel.

Is there a Victorian splendor informing your music?

I don’t know. Maybe ironically.

The Decemberists, a band from Portland, Oregon, write vintage seafaring lyrics not unlike yours. Do you find any common ground with them?

I’ve heard nice things about them and I’ll have to look out for their albums.

What were some of the differences between your debut and Open Season?

The first one was historical and the second was about present day. But the second one harks back to some ancient stuff. Yeah. That was a hangover from the debut.

How’d you and your brother, Hamilton, decide to make music together?

We just listened to records, played along, and recorded ourselves. It was good fun. At first, we did things like the English farming band, the Wurzels, who were a funny lot. They did “Combine Harvester” (a novelty record copping Melanie’s goofy puppy love tryst “Brand New Key”).

What are the differences you’ve seen between American and European audiences?

They’re a bit less obsessive in the States. We’re taking the long time strategy, but it’s an uphill battle. We’re doing our best. We’re not complaining. A lot of our American shows have been sold out.

Are you working on any new songs?

We’ve only just learned to play the new album. We have some new songs but can’t play them yet. It’s hard to say how they will sound like when they’re done. We’re gonna do more European shows.

How’d you come up with the prodigious name, British Sea Power? It fits the oceanic luxuriousness of your songs.

It was the most ridiculous name we could come up with that nobody else had. In the early 20th century, the British sea fleet was suspended. It was the end of the empire. They didn’t need big boats anymore.

What’s with all the commotion about Prince Charles marrying Camela Parker Bowles in England? Don’t’ you think the Brits should be spending their time fixing welfare issues instead of saluting two ragged hags?

We keep them around for novelty freak value.

Before I let you go, do you have any decent tour story?

No. But Hamilton says the other day he shagged a bull up the ass. I don’t know if that’s true, though.

I think you’ve been in the Southwest too long.

BLACK CROWES @ BEACON THEATRE

April 21, 2009Live ReviewsJohn Fortunato

Black Crowes/ Beacon Theatre/ February 25, 1999

Rarely have I seen so many rabid, diehard fans so consumed with a band like I did this snowy eve at the Beacon Theatre. But for those about to rock, the Black Crowes certainly salute you. And after seeing them live, I’m convinced they’re undoubtedly one of life’s great bohemian experiences.

Like a reborn Lynyrd Skynyrd sans the Confederate schtick, the Crowes came out offering their pot-toking thirtysomething fans a soulful, voodoo-like “Remedy” underneath the veneer of a silky silver backdrop and perfectly timed lighting. Most folks would agree the Rolling Stones severely influenced these honky tonkin’ roots-rockers. Just one look at guitarist Rich Robinson’s unkempt, free flowing locks, wiry frame, and dapper strut will convince you he’s doing a first class Keith Richards impersonation while his brother, flamboyant singer/ harpist Chris Robinson (decked out in a glittery magenta women’s jump suit), swaggers about and prances to and fro like fellow Glimmer Twin Mick Jagger.

But more often, the Crowes boozy roadhouse ramblers, rumbling boogie stompers (one track from the recent By Your Side skillfully recalled “Call Me The Breeze”), and two soulful backup female singers with maracas, brought back startling images of Skynyrd in their prime. And when the current stress track, the slide-glazed “Kicking My Heart Around,” began to roar from the speakers midset, several uninhibited chicks began dancing wildly in the aisles.

GOING DOWN WITH THE BIGGER LOVERS

April 21, 2009InterviewsBIGGER LOVERS, PHILADELPHIA ROCKJohn Fortunato

Image result for bigger lovers

FOREWORD: It’s a downright shame when fine bands like the Bigger Lovers breakup and go away. But that’s just what happened a year or so after this interview took place. Anyone who experienced them live or on record will recall their greatness and enjoy this trip back.

Alongside Burning Brides, Marah, and Capitol Years, the Bigger Lovers rank as one of Philadelphia’s best contemporary bands. Less rockin’ than Brit-influenced Capitol Years, louder than sleepy-eyed depressives Marah, and less visceral than intuitive neo-grunge stoners Burning Brides, the egalitarian quartet consisting of guitarists Bret Tobias and Ed Hogarty, bassist Scott Jefferson, and drummer Pat Berkery mold well-constructed tunes with huge choruses resolved by reclining guitar solos.

Recorded in a nearby Wilmington, Delaware studio between Halloween and Thanksgiving ’99, Bigger Lovers spectacular ’01 debut, How I Learned To Stop Worrying, dealt with heartbreakingly provocative emotional concerns in an unexpectedly mature manner, gaining instant plaudits from serious indie pop aficionados. After piquant power pop opener, “Catch & Release,” the quartet settles into the sentimental hand-clapped, organ-droned apology “I’m Here” and the dirgey neo-psych sedation “Change Your Mind.”

Neighborhood pedal steel pal Steve Hobson gives the pretty ballad “Steady On Threes,” the static-y hangover “America Undercover,” and the rural Western tearjerker “Out Of Sight” a lilting Country twang. In lesser hands, the ethereal moments might sink to murky depths of self-indulgent misery, but not here. Every lucid lick, hymnal harmony, rollin’ rhythm, and ephemeral embellishment falls perfectly into place as the bands’ collective instincts are fully realized.

‘02’s stunningly consistent Honey In The Hive brought greater lyrical awareness and broader song structures to the fold. Its warm crested peaks, eloquently streamlined valleys, low key charm, and deliberate drawn-out tension nearly parallels the Wrens mysteriously lovely The Meadowlands. Moreover, the energetic beat-driven stomp “Ivy Grows” juxtaposes the otherwise mellow backend just fine.

Harder to pigeonhole but just as cohesive, ‘04s contradictorily This Affair Never Happened…and here are Eleven Songs About It conservatively expands the Bigger Lovers’ palette, bringing their wistful world-weary melancholia to beautifully supple new heights. Chintzy strings, dozy harmonica, and chirpy harmonies give the bouncy retro-pop enticement “Slice Of Life” its amorous Beach Boys appeal. The somber acoustic retreat “No Heroics” recalls the somniferous slow-core daze of Low or Slint and the tearful “Ninja Suit” seemingly pleads for reciprocal acquiescence.

But they also know how to rock out when necessary. The reflective “I Resign” builds to a snappy upbeat crescendo while the hard-boiled melodic rocker “You” gets high on emotion and the equally resounding “You Don’t Feel Anything At All” plies pulsing no wave bass throbs and friendly guitar shapes to fuzzy vocal jaunts. Crosscutting bittersweet sympathies with guileless splendor, the streamlined “Peel It Away” begs for mainstream accessibility and the irrepressibly irresistible “You’ve Got To Pay” inadvertently wanders into Pat Benatar’s assertive “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” at the climactic breaks.

While growing up, which artists had a profound influence on your musical tastes?

PAT: I was massively into the Beatles since age 8. Then, when MTV came into the picture, the Pretenders, the Police, and Van Halen. Since I grew up in South Jersey, inevitably hair metal took over at age 14. But I had an older sister into Fleetwood Mac. I had a punk rock chick friend who brought me to the Replacements and Depeche Mode. I had one foot in cock rock and one in the bedroom thing.

ED: I’m from Poughkeepsie. My first influence was Classic rock radio. The holy trinity of Poughkeepsie was Foghat, Blue Oyster Cult, and Eddie Money. Rush and Van Halen impressed me.

BRETT: I’m from the depressing town of Reading, Pennsylvania. My dad had a lot of ELO and Beach Boys on the hi-fi. I got into hair metal then quickly discovered the Who and Replacements in high school. Later, I got into ‘70s not-quite-punks like Soft Boys, XTC, and Only Ones.

SCOTT: Early on, I played violin and was into Classical living in Massachusetts. You could rent records from the library. I was into the Beatles’ Rarities record, Abba’s Greatest Hits. When I got into Connecticut College, I worked radio and got into noisy stuff like Sonic Youth and Butthole Surfers. I got so high with the Butthole Surfers once. It was scary watching them live because they had such a bizarre connection with the audience. They lit things on fire and were starving for attention. We got King Coffey to do a backward promo. People were crawling through the backstage window sneaking in to the show and the band was letting them.

Have the Bigger Lovers gotten more democratic over the first three albums?

ED: We’ve become more democratic. Scott is a great 4-tracker. Pat starts the musical critique. He’s like Van Dyke Parks. (laughter)

PAT: The new record is more off the cuff because I was touring with the Pernice Brothers. They were sending demos to show what was going on, so we had a night of pre-production. Then, we went to the studio and arranged on the spot. At this point, I’d rather do that. I don’t get a thrill anymore banging out songs for three weeks in a basement when we could learn on the spot, record it. There’s better energy.

The ’01 debut, How I Learned To Stop Worrying, had Country leanings unexplored on the two follow-ups.

ED: That’s because we had a pedal steel player living down the street. He’d come over and play…but we got the alt-Country tag.

BRET: When we were demo-ing songs for the second record, Thom Monahan was producing. He was in the last incarnation of the Scud Mountain Boys with Joe Pernice, but Thom hates alt-Country because while living in Massachusetts, he went through Northampton when guys would be into rock one day and the next they’d be wearing Stetsons and heels. So when our demo leaned that way, Thom immediately said, “No.” But we weren’t married to the songs he disliked anyway.

ED: He took the cream of the crop and let it work.

I’d guess from the barroom atmosphere of the Bigger Lovers louder numbers that you guys are into pub rock by Dave Edmunds, Nick Lowe, and Brinsley Schwarz.

PAT: Yeah. Did you know Legacy is reissuing the Rockpile record and doing the same for Dave Edmunds’ Best Of and Porky’s Revenge soundtrack. Yep Roc’s trying to repackage Nick Lowe’s records. But Nick’s in no hurry to do anything. He put out The Convincer in August 2001 and didn’t tour America til July 2002.

Was the reference to “Something In The Air” on the suspicious “Ninja Suit” intentionally lifted from Thunderclap Newman’s 1970 mini-hit?

ED: They’re vaguely familiar. Pete Townshend may have produced that and may have been on “Something In The Air.”

PAT: Tom Petty does a real good version of that. It’s his last song on the Greatest Hits package.

Contrast This Affair Never Happened with the previous album, Honey on The Hive.

ED: Honey’s more manicured and thought-out. We’d work to two in the morning, sometimes five, going through stuff. We’d come back next day and re-examine. On the new album, all basic tracks were cut by dinner. We did both albums in one mammoth block, went back, and touched things up. But the new one, we left things for chance. We’d do a track a day instead of separately doing drums, then bass, then guitar.

BRET: We’d go through an entire song a day; basic tracks, vocals, then overdubs. No one had to sit around eating Doritos.

How will your future recordings differ?

BRET: They won’t be as planned out. We’re getting more complex. We don’t want to sound like a typical power pop band. When you get pigeonholed power pop, you never go anywhere. I’d be inclined to call us rap metal so we could sell more records.

STOP TWO-PARTY INSANITY, DAN BERN FOR PRESIDENT!

April 3, 2009InterviewsDAN BERNJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: When you look at the politicians ruining America at the time, it seemed obvious to run quirky mod folkie, Dan Bern, for prez in ’04? Bush turned out to be a dopey joke while Democrat loser, John Kerry, fibbed about his military credentials then couldn’t quash his embarrassing ski stumble. Bern turned out to have informed, witty, and controversial opinions on many national subjects. And he ain’t bad live, either, as his October ’04 Bowery Ballroom show proved. He’s molded from Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen, but always follows his own muse. Too bad I’m not familiar with his ’06 release, Breathe, and its ’08 follow-up, Moving Home. Maybe soon.

Before endorsing my latest candidate for US president (I endorsed satirist Mojo Nixon in ’96), a short history lesson is in order. Flexible singer-songwriter-guitarist Dan Bern may be the best modern folk purveyor mingling sympathetic love-struck meditations, reflexive melodic lullabies, and sneered political decrees. Hailing from Iowa, Bern’s parents were Jewish immigrants’ deeply rooted in Classical European tradition. His father, a concert pianist-composer with down to earth family values, played standards and originals night and day, but his son became more impressed by the local agrarian progressive folk community.

“I was like a rebel for not studying Classical music,” boasts the shy, soft-toned Bern.

Admittedly, inspirational literary marvels Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain, Charles Bukowski, and Kurt Vonnegut affect his writing style, alongside influential music icons such as blues legend Lightnin’ Hopkins, Country kingpin Johnny Cash, renegade rocker Lou Reed, and the reliable Dylan-Springsteen-Costello axis.

Moving outside Los Angeles (before residing in New York by ’98), Bern became associated with the neo-folk scene that spawned Beck, touring relentlessly and releasing a belated self-titled ’97 debut which still holds up under intense scrutiny. The commendable follow-up, 50 Eggs, featured the cult hit, “Tiger Wood,” and retained a whimsical no-holds-barred quirkiness. The double-album, Smarty Mine, collected a bunch of loose repertoire that hung together well, cresting with the lofty salutation, “Talkin’ Woody, Bob, Bruce & Dan Bern Blues.” ‘01s trusty ‘road epic,’ New American Language, remains an absolute fan fave.

Settling into the desolate bucolic splendor of New Mexico by 2000 – faraway from chastising consumerist mentality – Bern finally felt completely at ease by the time ‘03s prestigious Fleeting Days arrived. The faithful rural postulation “I Need You,” the tender ransacked train song “Chain Around My Neck,” and the escapist talkin’ Blues, “Fly Away,” owe small debt to mentor Dylan, but more so, bluegrass. Perhaps transcending those noble highpoints, the foreboding monotone moodiness of the hauntingly earnest “Closer To You” and the Marshall Crenshaw-obtained rush of the contentious “Jane” enticingly linger. As do the Elvis Costello-like sweetheart tidbit “Eva” and the majestic “Superman.”

Countering the joyous uplift of Fleeting Days with intuitive acoustic restraint, the admirable My Country II (Messenger Records) takes on oppressive governmental fundamentalists by borrowing the nervy Dust Bowl-derived verve bestowed politically savvy folk pioneers Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and subsequent ‘60s luminaries Phil Ochs and Leonard Cohen. As its masterful proposition, the cherished 8-minute ditty, “President,” a friendly enough country bumpkin fiddle gimmick, convincingly describes Bern’s first days in the Oval Office while invoking the biblical parable where God creating the world in seven days. However comical it may be, its giddily didactic message should garner votes for the polite former Iowan.

Fence-straddling voters should know the simmering title track reaffirms Bern’s allegiance and civic duty, as he shuns obsessive conservatives with pliant defiance. Using Cubs slugger Sammy Sosa’s corked mallet as a silent analogy, the nasally Dylan-esque guitar strummer “Sammy’s Bat” ominously equates nightmarish Quantanamo Bay prison grievances and mad cow disease with impending apocalyptic ruination. The flagpole-sitting loud guitar rocker, “Tyranny,” shames feigned democracies while the glorious piano-based march, “After The Parade,” dissects crippled blood-shedding homeward soldiers. Finally, Bern unmasks the enemy within on the pleadingly repetitive critical jab, “Bush Must Be Defeated.”

Due to Dubya’s antiquated views on abortion, stem cell research, and religion, and gold digger Kerry’s warbling Viet Nam rhetoric, faux-war hero status, and off-putting arrogance, a radical change must come to America. Though I disagree with some of Bern’s socialist agenda, his revolutionary thoughts on ridding irresponsible bureaucrats, expanding US borderlines, promoting oil-free automobiles, allowing gay marriage, and advancing marijuana legalization, hit home. So, to captivate disenfranchised minions (and because our national election has become a sick joke – Florida’s hanging chads, anyone), I’m running Bern for president as leader of ‘04s independent post-Gunk Pragmatist Leafblower Party.

AW: First, as our next president, let’s discuss your thoughts on marijuana legalization, since it’ll undoubtedly rationalize thought process.

DAN BERN: Let it grow in all its glory. It seems obvious. It makes economic sense. Plus, it’s a natural plant that grows, so unless God made a mistake… It grows back faster than trees to make paper, clothing, and rope.

Marijuana may be a better medicinal alternative to prescribed drugs.

They’ll make a pot pill some won’t prefer because they can’t smoke it. We should combine THC and Bioxx to get in pill form.

Should there be an age limit imposed for sale?

The government seems to do fine with liquor. I’d leave some finer points to my cabinet, advisers, staff, and lawmakers. I’m an idea guy. It’s not necessary for me to do all the nuts and bolts. Some of that is up to families. If you’re nine years old, you could drink wine. I believe in strong family values.

Would you offer a 13 year-old a joint?

It depends on the situation. It may be someone else’s job to do that. There may be an introductory phase out in the woods. It’s proven people make better decisions high. It gives you an occasional glimpse into God’s point of view if you’re able to handle and appreciate the value and make use of it in good stead. If you’re gonna use anything and be stupid about it, good luck.

In lieu of America’s constant border surveillance, you suggest, instead, to annex Cuba and Mexico.

I’m not advocating imperialism or a takeover. It’s saying, ‘If you want to be part of us, join us.’ It’s all or nothing. Either you’re all coming in or not. You won’t be partitioned. Instead of borders and walls, we could work together.

You suggest ridding capitalism in “President,” but some people will label you a commie pinko.

…Is that bad? I sailed past the Statue of Liberty the other day and thought about that. There’s a word for those who value liberty. It’s ‘liberal.’ Sometimes they make that into a dirty word. The point of collective farms is capitalism isn’t working. Maybe another system would work better. Should we be afraid of that word if it makes things better for people?

‘Liberal’ gets tossed around next to denigrating terms such as bleeding heart or ultra leftwing. But liberal open-mindedness requires responsiveness to change.

That’s what this country is built upon. But if we’re afraid of liberty, if that becomes shouted down, then we’re lost. We have to allow for the messiness of democracy. It’s not neat and clean and doesn’t look like Disneyland.

Were the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq more trouble than they were worth?

I think if we take care of our own people and concern ourselves with that, looking closer to home, then we would act in a more humane way around the world. We wouldn’t have people looking at us as a symbolic target to bring down. If you’re the big dog, people take potshots. But going around destroying countries ain’t the way to go.

You’d make Saturday ‘sex with impunity’ day.

That’s less irritating, more relaxing, and more rational. Imagine a day when you could carte blanche shag anyone you wanted. Obviously it’d be consensual. It wouldn’t destroy marriage, promote guilt or deception. That alone would make us more open, free, humorous people. There needs to be some encouragement of pleasure and widespread celebration of ourselves as sexual creatures. A national day of nudity would be the simplest, most revolutionary idea.

Should Bush go on trial for war crimes like Saddam Hussein will?

For someone who has gloated over the execution of hundreds of Americans, it would be beautifully just.

Some would argue we didn’t go into Iraq unilaterally after Hussein broke 17 UN resolutions.

But name a country with an army that was with us (besides England). The new European Union countries were eager to finally be aligned with a new superpower and probably wanted our contracts. But the traditional, stronger European democracies said no. I think the Iraq War was fought under false pretenses. There was a pattern of lies.

As America’s first Jewish president, I hope you don’t suffer the consequences our first Catholic prez did – a bullet to the skull.

(snickering) I vaguely remember that.

Will you renounce our obsolescent two-party system as insufficient?

I could see the rationale of setting up better parties, but you don’t want a fringe third party – like the KKK – to gain power. But not having a smaller minority to be represented is hurting us. That’s why people supported Nader and Perot. Our current situation is there are thugs in power. So we have to put aside objections to the two-party system and fight the powers later.

Possibly your most durable track, the scintillating “Ostrich Town” knocks people who have their head in the sand.

No one is exempt, including myself. It’s nor meant to point fingers or ride a high horse. I have to work hard everyday to keep my head up. But sometimes you just want to put on WFAN to hear someone rant about the Mets.

BEERMELODIES

For Beer Geeks And Rock Freaks