Category Archives: Interviews

THE BRONX TAKES ON L.A.

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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.

Image result for the bronx the bronxAW: 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’

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.

GOING DOWN WITH THE BIGGER LOVERS

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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!

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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.

NATACHA ATLAS SPICILY ENTICES UNDERGROUND WITH ‘GEDIDA’

FOREWORD: If there’s one so-called World Music Artist I truly admire, it’s multi-ethnic Belgium-reared England-based lass, Natacha Atlas. She ably incorporates her Arabic heritage into British techno and trance styles, gaining initial attention as lead singer/ belly dancer for vibrant troupe, Transglobal Underground, before breaking out on her own. Since this ’99 interview, Atlas has released ‘03s Something Dangerous, ‘06s Mish Maoul, and ‘08s acoustic-based knockout, Ana Hina. This article originally ran in Washington DC’s Brutarian.

Arabic vocalist, exotic dancer, and Transglobal Underground member, Natacha Atlas, explores her Egyptian heritage through indigenous shaabi music, which she effortlessly flavors with Western music influences. Her latest disc, Gedida (Beggars Banquet), is an easier to grasp, natural progression from its predecessors, Daispora and Halim.

Full of heartache, sorrow, and paranoia, Gedida’s elaborately arranged operatic laments like the yearning “Bilaadi” and the harrowing “Bastet” offer ominous introspection and bewitching imagery. These chilling moments get countered by the softhearted scamper “Mahlabeya,” which crosses Lene Lovich with Eastern mysticism in a ticklishly seductive manner, and the elegantly breezy “One Brief Moment,” a collaboration with soundtrack composer David Arnold. Atlas previously contributed the spellbinding “From Russia With Love” to Arnold’s James Bond compilation Shaken Not Stirred.

Currently living in London, I spoke to the beautiful and talented Atlas over the phone in April.

AW: How does Gedida differ from the previous two solo albums?

NATACHA ATLAS: Musically, I wanted to get more traditional without losing the Western touch. It naturally evolved and progressed. I’m trying to work on my Arabic grammar as well.

Why did you interpret both “One Brief Moment” and “The Righteous Path” in English instead of Arabic?

Because the English Record Company (Mantra Recordings) wanted me to. They’re trying to get me a larger audience.

I read somewhere you’re half-Jewish, half-Muslim. Don’t the beliefs conflict?

I’m actually Muslim, but inherited the Jewish religion through my father. It’s a bit complicated. My great grandmother was Muslim.

Are most of your vocal arrangements spontaneous or pre-planned?

Most are planned out. There are some improvisations, but otherwise things are quite arranged. But there are areas within most songs for improvisation. That’s how most Arabic music goes.

Does your belly dancing inspire some of your songs? A few seem perfectly suited for belly dancing.

It happens naturally since most Arabic music is danceable by nature. It’s rhythmic. I try to incorporate belly dancing into the live shows, but it’s not always easy since I have to do costume changes while the band does something instrumentally.

How has the experience with Transglobal Underground affected your solo work?

We’ve always had a good band. On Gedida, they follow my direction but have just as much to do with arrangements. We write music together and throw ideas around. Many of my songs place me on the outside looking in, though “One Brief Moment” was about an encounter I had at a hotel. Principally, they have more to do with “The Righteous Path” than the other compositions.

You’ve worked with soundtrack composer David Arnold before. Would you consider doing movie scores?

Yes. I’d like to. But it’s a closed market sewn up. You need for someone to offer you something first. Both myself and Transglobal Underground would like to do scores.

What was it like touring with Page & Plant in ‘96?

They were very encouraging. We did the tour with them because they respected our music. It’s weird touring with them since they’re so huge. They like Arabic music and tried to get a rock and roll audience convinced that we were worthy, which takes a lot of courage.

Would you consider your music avant-garde?

I make rai shaabi with a Western technical edge. I’d never say it’s avant-garde. No way am I Diamanda Galas. It’s not my scene. It’s great to be weird, but you have to be weird naturally. She is. I’m not. I’m quite simple by the end of the day. I grew up with the duality of Oriental and Occidental. All the scales and melodies are there for an African audience so that the Oriental elements and funked up rhythms seem more natural.

Who are some of your favorite artists?

Faye Ruth. She’s Lebanese and in the ‘60s she did modern, open-minded music. It was very impressive. Let’s see, I like Sinead O’Connor, Bjork, Portishead. I even enjoy Will Smith. I’d like to meet him. He’s such a cheery fellow. But Marilyn Manson seems scary and I wouldn’t want to come across him.

What will your next project be?

I’m going to do my next album in Egypt with Mika Sabet, who’s half Egyptian, half English. He does the same kind of music as I do. An Egyptian engineer, Sameh, will record it.

-John Fortunato

MC PAUL BARMAN PROCLAIMS ‘PAULLELUJAH’ FOR PROLETARIAT

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FORWARD: I got to know rascal-y white rap suburbanite, Paul Barman, pretty well over the years. I’ve taken his wife and kid, Felix (one-year old in 2005), out for dinner near their Manhattan apartment. And we’ve attended a couple shows together. I’ve even unintentionally angered his mom with some asinine, ridiculous remarks made while helping Barman move his junk to the Big Apple from Ridgewood, New Jersey. I don’t know who’s more of a character, him or me, but I do know he at least has great talent and some renown.

Skinny, bespectacled, curly-haired post-teen MC Paul Barman received critical recognition when respected producer-rap impresario Prince Paul (formerly of Stetsasonic, then Gravediggaz) lent a hand to 2000’s spastically fun-tastic 6-song EP, It’s Very Stimulating. An intellectually idiosyncratic Jewish geek-hop gourmandizer, Brown University grad Barman grew up in Ridgewood, New Jersey, and spent weekends in Manhattan, splitting time between divorced parents. Perhaps the insecurities and paranoia caused by their separation informed Barman’s muse, providing a non-prescribed psychological remedy.

On Halloween at midtown basement club, Makor, Barman’s dressed as a loony professor in white lab coat, offering jocular highlights from the newly waxed Paullelujah while bunny-outfitted DJ Anna spins discs, drops beats, and scatters samples to his right. He’s got the lurching crowd in the palm of his hand rhyming about an all-purpose “Yamaichi Bra,” drawing a portrait of a blonde audience member during one self-deprecating rap, and asking the huddled gathering to shout out names for improvised one-liners. The lunacy hits fever pitch when he puts on a wolf mask and howls about societal ills like a wounded coyote.

As for the suggestive innuendoes and variegated insinuations of the multifarious long-play debut, Paullelujah, this contented varment sprawls quipped parodies across crusty backtracks resembling randomly patched quilts perfectly suited for The Onion canon (whom we visit post-interview, leaving with Our Stupid Century calendars and priceless Drugs Win Drug War t-shirts). A tantalizingly twisted newspaper insert, Jew Dork Rimes, is enclosed within the cardboard-encased disc.

The madness ensues when a joyous female choir helps Barman celebrate “the most amazing career in newspaper history” on the way-over-the-top crazed alchemy of the Gospel-spiked title cut, climaxing in delirious hymnal falsettos Weird Al wouldn’t dare attempt. Next, the “Rock Lobster”-inspired cum-fest “Cock Mobster” dissects delicious Hollywood trim in a gynecological “porn utopia of cornucopia,” becoming the most hilarious celebrity rip since Rocky Horror alum Tim Curry’s ’79 semi-hit “I Do The Rock.” As strangely empathetic as Eminem’s heartfelt stalker masterpiece, “Stan,” the affective “Old Paul” slips into peachy keen neo-Classical “Love Is Blue” Spanish guitar mode while sensitive flute and rainy day ‘60s orchestration embellish Barman’s plaintive memories.

The Prince Paul-produced paradoxical palindrome profundity of “Bleeding Brain Grow” segues into the cheerleader-chanted “get laid” call and response of the clitoral conundrum “NOW” while the MF Doom-twiddled Scrabble schism “Anarchist Bookstore Part 1” slips comfortably into neo-Jazz elegance overlaid by George Duke-like organ motifs. Above a haunting “Gone With The Wind” choir, Barman’s over-intellectualized dialect entices the interlude-ish “Excuse Me.” Somehow even the indelicately sophomoric “Burpin’ & Fartin’,” with its “Apache” groove and uppity orchestral Holi-daze, fits in next to the “darn tootin’” acoustic-minded Woody Guthrie-inspired Country-folk space warp, “Talking Time Travel.”

Opinionated, musically finicky, and reluctantly forthright concerning borrowed samples and soundbites, Barman also sketches cartoons in his free time. He’s even drawn two of Spin’s funniest back page segments.

AW: What’s the secret formula for your success so far?

MC PAUL BARMAN: I try to search for truth and express it like wonderful artists I know, though sometimes I feel like nothing’s happening.

Are you as bad in bed as you let on prior to “Cock Mobster”?

No. I’ve learned tricks in a secret… Did you ever hear of the Yoga Ranch? They have this underground layer near Hawaii in a giant air bubble emanating from an underwater volcano where the sexy swami teaches you the things I know.

How has emcee-producer MF Doom enhanced your style?

Dude, can we give it up for him just a moment. Nobody rhymes like MF Doom. He taught me certain words aren’t important. I have this sentential style where I leave words like I’m, this, or the in. But if you rhyme fast each word has to count. Little words become extraneous since they’re taking up space they don’t deserve. That’s one jewel he gave me. But the beautiful part about working with him is I was a huge fan. When his Operation Doomsday came out, I remember thinking, ‘they don’t make ‘em like this anymore.’ It was the genuine article like De La Soul’s Three Feet High And Rising. Did you know De La Soul didn’t like its hippie-ish cover ‘cause love and peace weren’t cool? They wanted themselves stuck in an elevator three feet below the floor. I could totally picture that ill cover. You should always let an artist do the cover they want. That’s why I’m thinking of recording my next album with a reel-to-reel and a microphone under a tree. I tried to make Paullelujah as multi-dimensional and awesome as possible, using my strengths to cover my weaknesses. If that’s not authentic enough, I’ll do the Folksway record. (laughter)

You’ve already touched upon old folk by turning Woody Guthrie’s “Talking Fishing Blues” into your own “Talking Time Travel.”

I have a friend in a rockabilly band named Nicky Tabasco, who sang backup in “Old Paul” and told me about the Talking Blues format. I already had the anthology of the first volume of Woody’s Ash recordings. It was a raw style with a new cadence for me. So I told producer MikeTheMusicGuy in San Francisco I’d love to do something with a guitarist. We walked 15 feet to his kitchen where Etienne (de Rocher) was cleaning up. Mike asked if he could play guitar with me tomorrow. The next day, I walked around with Woody on headphones and stressed about an ideal storyline.

What’s the genesis behind “Burpin’ & Fartin’”?

That song title was in my head for awhile. I forgot about it until the song was ready. It’s nice when you’re like a word processor. One day you’re like, “that’s a fun idea,” then forget about it. Three days later you have the rhyme version of what the funny idea would be. That goes into the song structure. (Barman breaks into a quick-drawn freestyle rap denigrating news crews) Anchormen are more despicable than confusing politicians and much worse than crack dealers. Every time they open their mouths to say something, they have giant invisible cocks shoved down their throats. They deserve to be prosecuted by the mystic beings that don’t exist to the fullest extent of humanity.

You’ve heard Don Henley’s media diatribe, “Dirty Laundry,” about the bubble-headed bleach blonde. I’d like to see t.v. news reporters die in a fiery plane crash so I could report the damage.

I saw this documentary about pro-automobile lobbyists who end up with powerful regulatory government positions. Everything’s at such a low level with politics. I don’t know how to climb out of the abyss.

My favorite cartoon shows are The Simpsons, Family Guy and King Of The Hill.

I like Dexter’s Laboratory, Powerpuff Girls, and Spongebob. Tom Kinney, an early cast member of Mr. Show, is a cool funnyman who does the voice of Spongebob and was in Bobcat Goldwaith’s Shakes The Clown. He’s an inspiration who struggled in the trenches as a fuckin’ despised comedian and did good work along the way. That influence has a penthouse now.

APPLES IN STEREO INCREASE ‘VELOCITY OF SOUND’

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INTRODUCTION: Apples In Stereo was the brainchild of eclectic pop-lovin’ music freak, Robert Schneider. He continues to release great stuff, such as ‘07s wonderful New Magnetic Wonder. Since this 2000 interview, he divorced drumming wife Hilarie Sidney, whose ensuing band, High Water Marks (with new husband, Per Ole Bratset), released a few brilliant low-key pop gems such as ‘07s Polar and ‘09s Arivar Sullimer. This article appeared in HITS magazine and the earlier  ’99 interview at Maxwells that follows originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.  

When I first had the pleasure to meet underground pop staple Robert Schneider following an energetic Maxwells set by his combo, Apples In Stereo, the friggin’ guy couldn’t stop fidgeting and jittering while he went off on numerous humorous tangents. Was he some goddamn half-baked ADD case or just hyperactive? All I know is the instant melodic hooks and shimmering insouciance of Apples In Stereo’s startlingly bright-eyed ’97 release, Tone Soul Evolution, and its yummy quickie follow-up, Her Wallpaper Reverie, knocked me off my feet.

Now bearded, balding, and married to bandmate Hilarie Sidney (mother of his 1-year old son, Max), the pre-pubescent Schneider originally met classmate Jeff Mangum (of Neutral Milk Hotel) in Ruston, Louisiana, forming the vibrant musical coalition known as the Elephant 6 collective in creative hotbed Athens, Georgia. Releasing interesting lo-fi indie pop by Elf Power, Olivia Tremor Control, and the Minders during the late-‘90s to counter corporate-sponsored teen-pop tripe dumped upon Barney-generation pre-teens, Elephant 6 represented freedom of expression and a bonding of mutual admiration.

While ‘00s fabulous The Discovery Of A World Inside the Moone preserved the harmonic sensibility and bubblegum melodicism of Apples In Stereo’s wild, garage-driven, neo-psychedelia, the recent Velocity Of Sound rocks harder than anything in their growing catalog. From the candy-coated urgency of “Please” to the Ramones-like stammer of “She’s A Little Girl,” Schneider’s terse nuggets blast out of the speakers with newfound grit. Even catchy kitsch like the hummable “Mystery” and the Cheap Trick-clipped scorcher “Rainfall” carry extra weight and pack a harder punch than previous endeavors. Those in search of lighter, easygoing fare are directed towards the toot-sweet emotionality layered across the absorbing “Where We Meet.”

I caught up with the busy Mr. Schneider after he had finished an instrumental remix of Discovery’s bouncy “Go” for an unspecified t.v. commercial.

AW: Incredibly, you’ve managed to condense your musical ideas even further on Velocity.

ROBERT SCHNEIDER: I’m not conscious of that, but it’s what I’m trying to do – make a simple, pure statement in song that has depth without sophistication and complexity of delivery. We strip away past elements and add other direct elements. This record is a culmination of that. I cultivate amateurism in our band by changing up what we do. New influences come to us and we try to head in different directions. We were obsessed with R & B on Discovery. But to do raw R & B, we had to do what came natural by playing garage songs the purist way. There’s an essence and spirit of stylistic pop that doesn’t require thinking. This record is more pissed off, not in a drastic way, but the contrast is the sadness, cynicism, and loneliness get transmuted into pleasant perspectives. It’s obvious to write about being dismal, but making misery sound happy has been our objective. Take something sad and marry it to bright pop instrumentation.

Hilarie has a more prominent role harmonizing on Velocity Of Sound.

Our harmonies tend to be more of a wash so she’s in there with a bunch of singers. I always used her to double my lead vocals, but I spent so much time on instrumental arrangements I didn’t put as much focus on singing. This time, we practiced singing these songs around our house and I captured the purity.

The teen-spirited decadence of “That’s Something I Do” and the Beatles-esque “Baroque” feature Hilarie’s lead voice as she growls in a manner reminiscent of the Muffs’ Kim Shattucks.

That’s cool. They’re an awesome band. I’ll tell her you said that.

“Yore Days” has to be the most pungent, hard-hitting song you’ve recorded yet.

Eric, our bassist, wrote that. I love it. It’s the first thing he wrote and I was excited so the enthusiasm and creativity shows through.

What’s with the Powerpuff Girls connection?

Craig Mc Crackin, the creator, was putting together songs inspired by Powerpuff Girls. I was super-psyched. They sent us a package of comics. As soon as I hung up the phone with him, I came up with a large chunk of the song, “Signal In The Sky,” in five minutes. Then, they did little videos to play between cartoons. We dressed up in different costumes and play-acted in front of a Godzilla-styled Powerpuff Girls video with puppets.

Tell me about the tracks you’re working on with XTC’s Andy Partridge.

I was making a solo record, Marbles, and he received copies of it, slipped them under the bed, and didn’t listen to them ‘til two months later. He’s one of my heroes I admired above the Beach Boys, Beatles, and Velvet Underground. I was so nervous I didn’t call him back for a month. Hilarie encouraged me and we got along right away. Every conversation we had, we’d write a few songs. We both strummed guitars and made so many songs it’s going to be a separate record, tentatively as Trombone Or, which means golden paper clips in French. It’s like a swinging psychedelic Lovin’ Spoonful record with a jugband Riverboat feel. We’ll record in Swindon, England, with Andy next spring. He knocks off free-flowing melodies off the top of his head. You feel you know someone through their music. But when you get a feel for their personality by talking to them, you see what an interesting, creative person they are. I met Brian Wilson and talking to him gave me a new view. He’s so sweet and interesting. Andy’s more talkative and outgoing.

As a founding member of the loose, closely-knit Elephant 6 collective, you’ve sharpened your skills using home studio equipment.

I began 4-tracking as a teen. I’ve produced records by the Minders, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Olivia Tremor Control using 8-track. It’s what I’m comfortable with and seems essential to our sound. There’s a different vibe waking up, stretching over, and picking up a guitar as opposed to driving to a studio to work. I’m turning the garage in our new house into a studio, but Velocity was done in a separate Denver studio. We did Tone Cool Revolution in a Connecticut studio, but I’m happier with the recordings we did on our own. The 16-track recording of Discovery was more hi-fi and clear. Bryce Goggin (Pavement/ Ramones) mixed half of Velocity. I wanted a direct, fuzzy electric sound so rocking, louder songs sounded like the Ramones instead of Blue Cheer. My mixes sound live, but his were roomier, less slick, more raw. I was frustrated my mixes weren’t in the speakers enough. I’m used to mixing psychedelic stuff with a headphone-y vibe. On this album, the basic band tracks were transferred from 8 to 16-track and I did some editing for a symphony of guitar fuzz. I don’t want to be a perfectionist on detail. We tried to capture our live train wreck sound in thew studio by using no acoustic instruments so we wouldn’t get hung up on standard sounds.

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APPLES IN STEREO REVEAL ‘HER WALLPAPER REVERIE’ IN HOBOKEN
 

 

FOREWORD: Originally, I spoke to Apples In Stereo brainchild Robert Schneider after a colorful pop set at Maxwells in Hoboken during ’99. He was a hyped-up fast-talkin’ dude with a great sense of humor and even better sense of melody. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

After relocating to Denver, Schneider formed the Apples In Stereo and continued to produce Elephant 6 projects. Doused with bright, sunshiny, late-‘60s hippie idealism and that bygone era’s daisy age innocence. The Apples In Stereo combine quirky Beatles melodies, charming Beach Boys harmonies, and glazed Summer Of Love psychedelia.

 

A major architect in the ever-expanding Elephant 6 collective – an independent-minded community of DIY home studio recording retro-pop enthusiasts – singer-songwriter Robert Schneider began producing and collaborating with Olivia Tremor Control’s Will Hart and Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum while living in Louisiana.

Romanticizing exuberant, free-spirited ‘60s pop with an inescapable amateurism and endearing naivete, these welcome individualists have captivated and inspired a good part of America’s current underground rock scene. Bands as diverse as the Minders, Beulah, Elf Power, and the Music Tapes share musicians, song ideas, and instruments under the Elephant 6 banner.

Unlike some of their peers, the resilient quintet refuses to rely on whimsical unfinished demos or obtuse half-baked kitsch to fill out its infectious oeuvre. Apples In Stereo’s paisley ’97 sophomore set, Tone Cool Revolution, blew away formative ’95 debut, Fun Trick Noisemaker, as Schneider’s troupe found a way to really jam-pack condensed song ideas over an entire long-play disc. And now they return with ‘99s playful Her Wallpaper Reverie EP, connecting lysergic ditties with twinkly commercial interludes.

At Maxwells in Hoboken, the Apples In Stereo adrenalize their shaggy pop-rooted songs with shambolic Velvet Underground-derived spontaneity, employing high-powered amps and cracklin’ feedback residue. Live, the fuzz-toned “Allright/ Not Quite” gets its swaying Syndicate Of Sound/ Big Star studio sheen replaced by a dusky garage rock tone strikingly similar to Boston legends, the Lyres.

After a magnificent one-hour set, Schneider is a hyperactive speed-talkin’ demon constantly shaking hands and taking pictures with fans and local radio personalities. Somehow, I got to catch up with him and bassist Eric Allen for a few moments of conversation.

What music intrigued you as a kid?
ERIC: The first band that really intrigued me was Kiss. The first song I remember really liking was Hues Corporation’s “Rock The Boat.” I got my mother to buy me that single when I was three years old. That song just blew me away.

ROBERT: I grew up in Northern Louisiana and I was originally from South Africa. The social influence from growing up as a kid got me into music. I’d listen to the radio and watch MTV. My parents sent me to Beatlemania, and Cheap Trick was my first real concert. The Beatles and pop music have always been an influence on a lot of our taste preferences. That’s what we’ve gravitated towards and been obsessed with. We love those songs because they’re so great sounding. On top of that, the recording style, songwriting, and the amount of rock energy they put into them was important. The soul of the music is so great. I hear so much humanity in it.

ERIC: My dad had all these records. By the time I was in fifth grade, I’d listen to all the Beatles records. The Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers is still my favorite record. I have three copies on vinyl, a CD, and a tape for my car. It’s the same thing with Exile On Main Street. Also, as a kid, one of the first words I ever said was “Moonshadow,” because my parents had the Cat Stevens album that song’s from. So I got interested in my parents’ collection.

How have the Apples In Stereo evolved since Tone Soul Revolution?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: One thing that makes the new album kind of different is we got a 16-track two-inch machine which is what Led Zeppelin I and II were recorded on. Also, we were listening to more rhythm and blues and it came out in our playing. It’s weird. In the studio we may go over a song laboriously. We play live, work on it in practice, but if no one’s excited about it, we won’t record it. Then, there’s songs that immediately click. And there’s studio songs which Robert teaches us. He’ll say, ‘There will be only bass on the bridge and the choruses.’

In the studio your songs have sweet bubblegum appeal, but live the songs are louder and more aggressively rock-oriented. Why?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: The candy coating gets disseminated for an MC5/ Blue Cheer sound. I think the new album has heavier songs. It’s going for a Led Zeppelin/ Sly & the Family Stone warmth.

Do you think we’ll see a full scale pop revival on the airwaves soon?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: It seems absurd that there are great pop songs that stick in your head being made all the time, but radio is looking so hard for the newest thing, they can’t see the forest for the trees. Maybe these songs will be heard on oldies radio at some future time. Look at old AM radio and its recycling of R & B and jump Blues. Someone would take an old song, take the same lyrics, and have someone honking on the baritone sax instead of playing it on the guitar. It becomes a new song and a new sound. Everyone loved it and it got through to the kids. I think that’s how pop music carries on the tradition. There’s always going to be 13-year-old girls who get into trendy Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and Jennifer Lopez. But does radio have to spend 100% of its time exposing that?

How does a nice pop band like Apples In Stereo fit in with all those jam bands out in Colorado?
 
 

 

 

ROBERT: We jam. But we try to keep it under two minutes. The Minders lived out there, and they’re a cool pop band. But they moved away. There are a lot of bands out there, but the music scene is very stylistically diverse.

How’d you realize fellow musicians Jeff Mangum and Will Hart shared similar musical tastes?
ROBERT: We were friends forever. I like to record and I just got caught up with that bunch of rockers. We all fooled around with equipment, but we’re not really technical. We don’t feel there’s only one way to use anything. So we fool around with a lot of stuff.
-John Fortunato  
 
 

 

 

BARE JR.’S ‘BRAINWASHER’ TURNS HEADS

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INTRODUCTION: This interview with Bare Jr. took place just months before Manhattan club, Wetlands, got hit with debris from 9-11 and forced the hippie-ish venue to close down a few weeks earlier then expected. But while Wetlands couldn’t last as a friendly bohemian retreat (with good beer selection), Bobby Bare Jr. continues to put up the good fight. I saw him a few years hence at Maxwells in Hoboken and he still kicked raw arse.

As I stand drink in hand at Tribeca’s Wetlands Preserve, it becomes perfectly clear what a great live band Nashville’s Bare, Jr. has become. Constant touring has cemented the quintet’s reputation for full throttle live sets. As serious road warriors, they unleash brazen pop and in-your-face rock in the best honky tonk tradition.

The pride of Country & Western legend Bobby Bare, frontman Bobby Bare, Jr. first appeared alongside his father on 1974’s Top 50 novelty single, “Daddy What If,” as a five year old. Now a seasoned troubadour in his early thirties, Bobby, Jr. kept the crowds’ attention by singing in a rough and tumble style both Southern Rock and hard rock fans would appreciate. To his left side, lead guitarist Teel shows off mannerisms probably learned from The Who’s Pete Townshend (rambunctious axe wielding) and John Entwistle (stoic facial expressions). Long-haired bohemian bassist Dean Tomasek (a cartoonist with a 2-page comic strip featured in the recent issue of CMJ Monthly) and drummer Keith Brogdon provided rhythmic force while lanky dulcimer player Tracy Hackney tried desperately to rise above the loud din of raunchy noise.

After this sweaty set, Bare, Jr. quickly slipped into The Who’s “Baba O’Riley,” which cleverly and seamlessly segued into The Cars’ “My Best Friends Girl” without a hitch. It made for a fantastic, stylistically intriguing encore.
On record, Bare, Jr. obtained a solid reputation with ‘99s blistering Boo-Tay. Its more consistent follow-up, Brainwasher, continues to bottle up and then extract anxiety and emotional pain. The fierce “Kiss Me (Or I Will Cry)” and the whiny “If You Choose Me” beg for consoling. And the twangy slacker anthem, “Why Do I Need A Job,” proves these devilishly post-adolescent nightcrawlers have no intention on growing up too soon.

AW: Do you really face all those insecurities portrayed in your self-deprecating lyrics? I’ve noticed you sub-titled this set More Songs About Girls That Don’t Like Me.

BOBBY BARE, JR.: Any decent art should have humility and honesty. Getting up on-stage and laying all this shit out is almost like being a stripper. I’m obviously not hiding anything. Many songs are somewhat confessional. I’ve been raised around some of the greatest songwriters and it’s all about blood and guts. Who has the balls to show their ass. Who’s the most courageous.

So are a lot of your songs truthful reflections of real life experiences?

Some of them are and others are complete fabrications. But all the feelings involved I’ve felt. If I could address these things and get a room full of people to giggle along, it makes it not so heavy to air them out.

There’s plenty of mixed emotions scattered along the way.

Twist it up and pervert it anyway you can. I like to build things up to tear them down just as fast by being as abstract as I can be. But what I do with songwriting isn’t abstract. If I lose you at any point on Brainwasher, I fucked up. Except for “Limpin’,” which is completely abstract. I’m the only one who knows what that song means. The words were read into a voice recognition thing on my computer and they came out purposely fucked up. But usually we want to have as much freedom and fun as we can have.

I know you sang with your father on the novelty “Daddy What If” as a child. But what made you pursue music later on?

I just wanted to be like my dad. Most kids look at their father as some kind of God. My father just happened to be playing guitar and shakin’ his ass. Well, not really shakin’ his ass, but definitely rocking. His best album was ‘74s Lullabies Legends And Lies. It’s one of the first double albums in country history. It was maybe the first country concept record, too. And the first album a country artist did with just one songwriter – Shel Silverstein (recently deceased Playboy cartoonist and composer of Dr. Hook’s “The Cover Of The Rolling Stone”). Shel co-wrote a song on my first album and he critiqued everything I wrote up until he died. He was my dad’s best friend. But I had written bad songs for a long time and just started writing songs that didn’t suck so bad. We started rehearsing and within five days I had a publishing deal and within ten days I had a record deal. So it just happened fast.

Did you listen to funky ‘70s Southern Rock by Wet Willie, Ozark Mountain Daredevils, or Charlie Daniels while growing up in Tennessee?

Oh yeah. I grew up listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd. But I also went to Lollapalooza to hear Jane’s Addiction and the Pixies. Frank Black (of Pixies fame) is the pinnacle. I can’t think of anyone in rock and roll I respect more, except maybe Neil Young or Morrissey. Morrissey’s more of a lyricist than a rocker.

Why title the album Brainwasher?

All the songs are basically love songs because they deal with issues concerning girls. At “Brainwasher’s” bridge, I say “My mind is so dirty I got mud running out of my ears.” I was in rehab with an old man who was talking about the first time he got out of rehab. His friends all said, “You been down in rehab getting brainwashed.” He said, “You know what. My brain needed some washing.”

So you don’t drink anymore?

No. I do. I did eight years without drinking but at the millennium I decided to drink again.

You learned to handle liquor better?

Not really. (laughter) I haven’t ended up in jail. I still black out like crazy if I drink six or more beers.

ANTI-FLAG WARN PROLETERIAT OF “THE TERROR STATE”

FORWARD: Talked to Anti-Flag frontman Justin Sane via phone in ’03. His band slowly built up a solid activist punk following after their ’96 debut, Die For The Government, took hold. But I admit losing touch with these political music pundits thereafter, missing out on ’06s For Blood And Empire and ’08s The Bright Lights Of America. Ironically, these last two titles were put out by RCA Records, a dismal major label that I’d bet never fully supported Anti-Flag’s righteous political agenda or understood their young fans plight.

Unlike common contemporary punk slackers bitching and moaning sans purpose, Pittsburgh’s politically charged Anti-Flag preach empowerment to its youthful audience. They’ve fought for the prison release of controversial journalist Mumia Abu Jamal (a Philadelphia-based Black Panther accused of police murder), had the American Civil Liberties Union thwart injustices against high school students, and continually attend anti-war protests.

But considering left-leaning vocalist-guitarist Justin Sane was the ninth and last child of activist working class Irish Catholic parents who ran a successful vegetarian restaurant and were involved in anti-nuclear and environmental rallies, these distinguishing facts should come as no surprise. Before taking up guitar and drums, he learned violin in order to play traditional Irish music with his entire family.

As a teen, he heard the Sex Pistols and The Clash through his older siblings
“Those bands were rebellious expressing anger and frustration. I remember going to school in first grade with a shitty radio-cassette player with one speaker and bringing in the Sex Pistols tape for the class. Between my parents’ activist background and hearing Fugazi’s ‘we really care about things’ got me to where I am now,” Sane recalls.

As luck would have it, he did meet original Sex Pistol Glen Matlock at the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame recently.

“They had a punk retrospective and we agreed to play as a full band with him. But only Matlock, an acoustic guitarist, and I got to do the three-song acoustic set,” the spirited tenor admits before offering some historic punk retrospection. “The ‘70s punks had nothing going for them, were anti-social, and totally crazy. There’s a total beauty in that. On the other hand, some punk nowadays is lame and boring. But some does have fury, excitement, and validity to younger fans unaware of punks’ past. It could still be threatening, dangerous, and make a statement.”

He continues, “One of the things that amazed me is how instrumental Matlock was in writing the riffs to the Sex Pistols well-known songs “Anarchy In The UK” and “Pretty Vacant.” He was an original member, whereas Johnny Rotten wasn’t. What eventually happened is Johnny and him didn’t get along. When he left because it wasn’t working out and he wasn’t having fun anymore, he didn’t really care. Once Sid Vicious came in, the press caught on and he missed the avalanche of the Pistols blowing up.”

Like his predecessors, Sane knows first-hand how difficult it is to keep a band running for an extended period. He and drummer Pat Thetic have been through a few lineup changes since forming Anti-Flag in ’94, settling in with bassist-vocalist #2 and guitarist Chris Head a few years back. After a friend pressed several DIY 7” singles of dubious quality, they recorded ‘97s formative Die For The Government and, through New York City’s fine Go-Kart Records, their pre-millenium “universal call to arms,” A New Kind Of Army.

“We got more intellectual by then. Our politics weren’t so black and white,” Sane claims. “By Die For The Government, we were angry about the Gulf War Syndrome, where chemical weapons were used and the government tried to hide the fact. It was a giant ‘fuck you’ for allowing innocent people to suffer.”

Their third album, Underground Network, found Anti-Flag at the top of their game, as NOFX frontman Fat Mike took interest in the band after seeing them perform on the Warped Tour and signed them to Fat Wreck Chords. Held in high esteem amongst punk aficionados, this tidy album boasted better songwriting and more diverse instrumentation than its precursors. Contentious artist John Yates, whose designs donned covers by satirical punks the Dead Kennedys and lesser-known ‘80s Alternative Tentacles artists, provided stimulating design.

For a slight derivation, Anti-Flag released the half-live Mobilize independently in 2002, first on-line, then to the stores. Because of the stigma involved with the misunderstanding concerning their seemingly un-American moniker following the events of 9-11, the band let their noble position be known first-hand on “911 For Peace.”

Sane urges, “Anti-Flag stands for the social cause of those shunned by our government. The basic message is to solve our problems peacefully. I won’t argue that Saddam Hussein is a total scumbag who should be hung up, but the Gulf War being fought by George W. Bush and the oil industry is to secure more oil. The reasons cited for war – weapons of mass destruction and Nigeria’s enriched uranium being sold to Iraq – don’t exist. While we fight an unjust war, the government is cutting veteran’s benefits while they’re getting shot at.”
Which brings us to the most biting commentary Anti-Flag has unleashed yet. On ‘03s powerful The Terror State, the quirky quartet quell conservative pundits with damning criticism and witty sarcasm. Its daring title, as purposely ambiguous as Justin Sane’s stage name, rivals the stunning militaristic cover photo projecting a camouflage-wearing, machine gun-toting, pre-teen blonde girl in a brick-strewn war zone alertly saluting forward.
The satirical “Sold As Freedom” douses violent flames with gasoline, as Sane alertly notes, “since everyone’s trying to end terror by creating more warfare and confrontation.”

“Rank-N-File” snubs hypocritical elitist pricks while “Turncoat! Killer! Liar! Thief!” sneers at President Bush’s insensitive war mongering ways.
In a move similar to Billy Bragg & Wilco’s terrific one-off collaboration, Mermaid Avenue, which unveiled unrecorded Woody Guthrie songs, Anti-Flag borrow the folk icon’s “Post War Breakout.”

“Woody’s daughter found out from her son, a fan of ours, that we credited him in Underground Network by taking his line ‘This Machine Kills Fascists.’ She contacted us and gave us the lyrics to “Post War Breakout,” which were so timeless they felt parallel to the situation we’re in now with troops returning and no jobs being available,” Sane shares.

Fellow rock activist Tom Morello of Rage Against The Machine, a long-time Anti-Flag fan, accepted production duties and convincingly widened their dynamic range.

Subsequent to trimming 50 tracks down to The Terror State’s diversified essence, Sane maintains, “We asked Tom to produce because we felt we had our own sound, but thought outside suggestions may add some separation between songs and make them more (disparate). He told us if we like a Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, or Dr. Dre song and really enjoy the beat, try to write a song around it. I think that’s how “Post War Breakdown” got started. #2 came up with the beat. He’s into RATM and sings close to Zach De La Rocha on that.”

Despite all the hatred and greed Sane sees in the political and corporate world, he remains cautiously optimistic about America’s future.

“The potential of this country is incredible, but there’s so much waste due to corruption. The deficit is $400 billion. People want socialized medicine, but military spending overtook that matter. Yet senators and congressmen are guaranteed the best socialized health care for life and they’re telling Americans they can’t get the same care. Most of my friends have no health care and owe college loans of $70,000 while making only $50,000 a year. Do the math.”
-John Fortunato
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AMBULANCE LTD. “LP” NO GENERIC PUSHOVER

FOREWORD: After a show at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, I hung out with Ambulance Ltd. in my van. While leader Marcus Congleton (who, according to Wikipedia, worked with Velvet Underground icon John Cale on an ’08 album) was a cool dude, his ex-guitarist Benji Lysaght, tried unsuccessfully to sabotage my tape deck and kept drunkenly telling us the Lakers were gonna be basketball champs – not! Along for the ride were two Britney Spears lookalike groupies. One wasn’t wearing undies and I saw her brown beaver. Yum.

Ambulance Ltd. first infatuated me when they opened for artful Manhattan-based bohos Skeleton Key at the Mercury Lounge in ’03. Their intricate Jazz-informed post-rock confections swerved through lucid dual guitar vibrancy and subtly complex bass-drum rhythms underscored by echo-drenched keyboard swells. Moderately daring, oft times eloquently understated, each restrained piece built from sparsely dirgey auspices before lead singer-guitarist Marcus Congleton’s swarthy lyrical gloom unfurled exhilarating climactic emotional release. Their initial self-titled 5-song EP clearly evinced Ambulance’s sonic wizardry.
Signed to local TVT Records, Ambulance Ltd. are busy touring for their ambitious long-play debut, plainly entitled LP. Beginning with the beautifully transporting instrumental, “Yoga Means Union,” LP’s blurry surrealism mashes icy blues premonitions with meditative folk reflections. The caramelized seductiveness and spacey ambiance consuming the moody convalescent “Ophelia” and the penetrating sedation of the echo-drenched, surf-wired “Sugar Pill” flawlessly detail its plush veneer. Gleaming brilliantly, “Stay Where You Are” creates a swirled psychedelic illusion Spacemen 3, Spiritualized, Ride, and Radiohead fans should appreciate.

Though the combo now claim New York City as hometown, Pacific Northwest-bred Congleton and native Belfast, Ireland drummer Darren Beckett brought in New England-raised bassist Matt Dublin and Santa Monica-reared guitarist Benji Lysaght after Ambulance’s original two members quit.

Despite differing backgrounds (Pixies-loving Beckett and Guns N’ Roses loyalist Lysaght experimented with disparate Jazz troupes while Dublin adored Black Sabbath), they settled on a sound closer to British shoegazers Jesus & Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine, only more tranquil, reserved, and ethereal than those respected ‘80s feedback-skewed lynchpins.

Concerning the bohemian haven of Eugene, Oregon, where Congleton grew up, he proudly boasts, “I loved it. Homegrown bud, Nintendo, snowboarding, dreadlocks, guitars, and hippie hats ruled.”

Congleton spoke via phone just before Ambulance Ltd. headed to Atlantic City in April to open for dramatic rockers Live.

Since you grew up in American bohemian capitol, Eugene, were your parents stoners?

MARCUS: I’m sure they were. They lived in California during the ‘60s and played Doors, Stones, and Dylan when I was young. That was a big influence. My mom is from Palo Alto and my dad from the Eastern Oregon desert. They went to college together, moved to Portland as social workers. I grew up in Eugene until I was 19. Underground punk bands would come through to play tiny Icky’s Teahouse. Kids would get drunk in the parking lot. It was irresponsible and the city shut the venue down for being too hip.

Why’d you decide to move cross-country to New York instead of going to nearby music mecca San Francisco?

I was thinking of going there first. But I got the feeling San Francisco wasn’t big enough. I visited Chicago and liked it, but I’d never been to New York and there was nothing like it. Darren and I played in a different band, the Interpreters, at first for months. They started in Philadelphia, moved to New York, but we’re not on their album. I did a bunch of unofficial gigs with them.

Why does your debut full length, LP, have such a generic title?

We couldn’t think of a name. So when we designed the cover, it didn’t seem like there was room for a title. We thought it looked better with the band name and nothing else.

How were the four songs chosen from the EP changed for LP?

“Heavy Lifting” and “Young Urban” were completely re-recorded from scratch while “Stay Where You Are” and “Primitive” were re-mixed with beefed-up production and guitar tones added.

Is there a political message hidden inside the deeply profound “Primitive”?

Nothing too literal. It’s a sarcastic rant.

“Primitive” seemingly juxtaposes “Anecdote,” which is a spry piano-based walk in the park reminiscent of Brewer & Shipley’s stony “One Toke Over The Line.”

We were going for “Oh Yoko,” actually. It’s shameless. (laughter)

In reference to Yoko, your songwriting tends to be influenced by her late husband, the great John Lennon.

Yeah. Him and Dylan are my guys. Elliott Smith was great. It was sad business when he died. He had a problem with his wrist. He did a solo acoustic set in Portland I saw. He didn’t look well. He was fucking up words and guitar parts. The people loved him anyway. We played “Coming Up Roses” at our CMJ Mercury Lounge show in dedication to him.

One of Ambulance’s most accessible tracks, “Stay Tuned,” was relegated to LP’s end. Why?

We don’t play that live. It’s an older song we revived. It’s not part of our repertoire so we didn’t want to feature it up-front. But I like it.

Do you use “Yoga Means Union” as a live opener since it’s got that slow rhythmic froth as a perfect lead-in?

Actually, we’ve been closing with it since it climaxes well, leaving the audience at a high point.

What’s with its transcendental title?

I saw it in an Alister Crowley yoga book and couldn’t resist it. But I don’t qualify as a devil worshipper.

How did veteran producer Jim Abbiss’ studio mastery affect the recording?

He uses these vintage ‘60s analog tools for a thick, dreamy quality. He has a keen sense of how to make guitars-drums blend creamily. His engineer produced our EP, which had a lush wash of guitars.

To expound on that idea of mystical dream-like arrangements, “Heavy Lifting” boils to a fervent crescendo softened by contemplative piano mellifluence.

Yeah. I got the title from this moving guy, The Man With the Van, whom I used to work for. So heavy lifting was always on my mind. But I wrote it about my girlfriend I was living with at the time. She got picked up in Brooklyn on a drug charge and went to jail. I remember writing it waiting for her to get out.

Is there a peripheral thematic flow to LP?

Not really. The first three songs go down by half steps. We wanted to change it up. But we’ve been thinking of doing an album with one theme.

Being that there are only a dozen recorded songs Ambulance has exposed to the buying or downloading public as of this writing, is it difficult to maneuver songs live? Or do you throw in new tunes?

We add a few covers. We’ve done the Pixies’ “Invisible Man” for awhile. But we usually only get to play for 45 minutes so we don’t have to deal with that issue.

Have you thought about adding lights and visuals to the live presentation?

We’re trying to do it more. We were working with a lighting guy at our last few bigger shows. We’re getting more involved with that. I think it’s important.

I understand blue-eyed soul by Hall & Oates, Seals & Crofts, and Steely Dan has influenced you since Ambulance formed.

These kids who started Ambulance, our old guitarist and bassist originally from Cleveland, used to play them. They loved that ‘70s stuff which I’d never checked out before.

Are you friends with cool Brooklyn-based bands such as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Ex-Models, Liars, or Les Savy Fav?

I like those bands but they came before us. We’re better friends, musically and artistically, with Inouk.

ERIC AMBEL CLEANS OUT CLOSET FOR ‘KNUCKLEHEAD’

FORWARD: I got to hang out with Eric Ambel, best known as leader of punky ’80s alt-country progenitors the Del Lords, at his tiny Lower East Side pub, Lakeside Lounge, in 2004. He had long since gone solo after playing backup for sundry indie bands. Though often overlooked, the hard-driving rockers he composed for the Del Lords indirectly informed Whiskeytown, the Jayhawks, and Uncle Tupelo.

Getting settled in the Big Apple could be a daunting task for a genuinely honest individual from America’s rural interior. So it’s quite an impressive achievement when a dedicated Lake Geneva kid conquers the odds by indirectly inspiring a generation of earnest No Depression throwbacks, then running a successful Brooklyn studio and quaint Lower East Side bar while flaunting his wares as a highly respected artist-producer in this prodigious city.
Remarkably, former Midwesterner Eric ‘Roscoe’ Ambel began playing in paid bands at junior high level, moving from heartland Wisconsin to the wondrous ski mountains of Wyoming in ’77 with formative punk outfit, the Dirty Dogs, whose cryptic cult was secured by the single “Sorority Girl.”

“When we first moved there, we thought, ‘this is beautiful, but don’t tell anybody about it.’ We were notorious in our small town,” Ambel recalls. “We’d go to Denver to open for touring punk bands. We exploded after moving to Hollywood.”

As a member of the Accelerators, then Top Jimmy’s pre-Rhythm Pigs combo, Ambel played all the now defunct L.A. hotspots, such as Blackie’s, Starwood, Club 88, and Madame Wong’s, during punk’s ’78 to ’80 heyday.

“I got my Germ burn. It was the ultimate Germs fan gesture – to have Darby Crash burn your hand with a cigarette,” he discloses prior to showing off the faded mark. “I gave him some Oxyn, a high-end pharmaceutical methamphetamine that night. There’s a compilation retrospective that’s got our stuff. Also, we were on the live Urgh! A Music War soundtrack.”

Subsequently, Ambel joined Joan Jett’s Blackhearts for the top selling breakout album, I Love Rock ‘N Roll, then formed cow-punk progenitors the Del Lords with fellow guitarist Scott Kempner.

Consequently influencing late ‘80s alt-Country icons Uncle Tupelo and their ilk (along with good buddies Jason & the Scorchers), the Del Lords rootsy ’84 debut, Frontier Days, shocked rock’s underground with its great melodic grasp, clean guitar licks, slack harmonic charm, and a thin production someway befitting the lean arrangements. The sturdy “How Can A Poor Boy Stand Such Times And Live” bent old Country poverty sentiments into a revelatory rock setting primordial ‘70s precursors Flying Burrito Brothers, Poco, and the pre-fame Eagles merely touched upon.

“That was a long time ago,” Ambel admits. “I don’t know how far the influence goes. It’s odd. Our first two albums have been out of print for a long time. But as my friend (and frequent collaborator) Lou Whitney (guiding light of facetious corn-poke clans the Skeletons and Morells) used to say, we definitely tested roots rock positive. Those were the dark days of guitar recordings. You couldn’t find anyone who knew how to get a big, loud, clean guitar sound on tape. New York’s best studios weren’t recording bands. They were recording synthesizers and drum machines. It was a lost art with the advent of new wave.”

Nevertheless, aided by Pat Benatar producer Neil Geraldo, ‘86s investigative sophomore outing, Johnny Comes Marching Home, retained its predecessor’s raw verve and tight interplay while augmenting better studio dynamics. The tidy Based On A True Story nearly gained mainstream attention, but the fourth, final, compromised Del Lords album, Lovers Who Wander, Ambel tries to put out of his mind.

Despite such temporary negativity, Ambel continued to lay down tracks with the Morells, ex-dB’s leader Peter Holsapple, and singer Syd Straw on ‘88s Southern rock-spiked Roscoe’s Gang. Then, he followed this “fun, upbeat party record” seven years hence with mostly different collaborators (including Georgia Satellites pal Dan Baird, Jason & the Scorchers’ Warner Hodges, the Fleshtones’ Ken Fox, and Blood Oranges’ Keith Levreault) for the more serious-minded, guitar-wrangled, Neil Young-indebted Loud & Lonesome.

Both albums have thankfully been re-released alongside the recent closet-cleaning roundup, Knucklehead, on Ambel’s own Lakeside Lounge Records. Stylistically, these three collections cover wide territory, from grassroots acoustic retreats to full-blown distortion-rattling overloads.

“I don’t want to keep making the same record. I like to mix it up. You don’t have to put the hammer down all the time. If they’re all tall trees, how tall are they? If they’re all loud and fast, what’s the point? There’s nothing to counter it with. If you put that mellow tune on there, all of a sudden you’re ready to explode again,” he surmises.

Bob Dylan’s “If You Gotta Go, Go Now” and funk soul brother Swamp Dogg’s “Total Destruction In Your Mind” get musty barroom treatments on Roscoe’s Gang while Neil Young’s instrumental “Vampire Blues” incurs a sassy Western feel. Eerily reminiscent of the aforementioned enigmatic grunge godfather, Ambel whines and pines in a brooding higher register and cranks up the frazzled wattage when needed for the interrogative respite, Loud And Lonesome. Though its grumpy indictments aimed towards the record biz and possibly the ‘91 Gulf War get hidden beneath the surface, the hard-edged muscle car assault and counteractive semi-acoustic turnabouts truly “have a cloud over them.” And the traditional “Red Apple Juice”, done solo acoustic, hauntingly evokes Young dead-on.

“When I got to the second set, I realized I wanted to write songs I could do solo or with a small band since I didn’t have the money to tour with the Morells on the first. That’s how I got that ‘loud and lonesome’ sound,” Ambel discerns. “Knucklehead, by accident, has a stylistic unity, but it comes from various sources over 14 years of recordings. When I was writing those songs, Terry (Anderson), Dan, and I took little basic tracks, brought them home to put in my cassette 8-track recorder, then added overdubs.”

Blasting forth with spunky spontaneity similar to the Rolling Stones’ roughhewn classic Exile On Main Street, the reliable Knucklehead unfurls several Keith Richard-scoffed axe chords on the honky tonk stinger “Feel So Good,” the fuzz-toned heartbreaker “It’ll Only End In Tears,” and the vibrant Del Lords leftover “Shake Some Action.” Ambel revisits Tom Waits “Union Square” as a piano-based, guitar-etched Blues and gives Steve Earle’s previously unreleased slack lament “The Usual Time” a spiffy whirl. For “Judas Kiss,” formerly an energetic Del Lords anthem, Ambel strips down its rumbling auspices for a funereal laid-back boogie version featuring eminent Country-rock activist Earle on backup harmony.

“That song’s about a guy’s girlfriend becoming a coke whore and dying,” Ambel reflects. “I never thought the up-tempo version fit the words so I slowed it down.”

Earle, meanwhile, has kept Ambel busy as lead guitarist in his band for the past five years; going back to the earthy folk-ensconced Transcendental Blues.

“His new record is coming out in September. It’s called The Revolution Starts Now and it was recorded in his place outside Nashville,” Ambel says.
On top of that, Ambel and associates Baird, Anderson, and Keith Christopher comprise the Yayhoos, who’ve released Fear Not the Obvious awhile back and plan to drop Put the Hammer Down in 2005.

Ambel asserts, “It’s a progression from the first Yayhoos album, which was a songwriter session in a garage we did with six microphones and one little 8-track recorder. It wasn’t intended to be a record. It stayed in the can for six years. It’s pretty brutal. We thought we’d get a crack at the big time and were gonna use it as a demo. We’d do a track, finish writing words together, then we’d redo the thing informally. For the new one, we did a little bit at a time which I find more creative.”

Also, Ambel’s 24-track Williamsburg studio, Cowboy Technical Services, and past production work for the likes of the Bottle Rockets, Freedy Johnston, Nils Lofgren, Blue Mountain, and Chris Harford occupy any remaining time he might’ve had.

“I like to work with good songwriters. I recently worked with a crazy good Springfield, Missouri guy, Jessel Harry,” he boasts.

Interestingly, Ambel played guitar on the Run D.M.C./ Everlast rendition of Steve Miller’s swindling “Take The Money And Run” before hick-hop, by way of Kid Rock, and freshly, Bubba Sparxxx, got insanely popular.

During a July record release party at his own cozy Avenue B club, the Lakeside Lounge (which he has owned since ‘96 along with former rock writer-d.j. Jim Marshall), Ambel (plus band mates Chip Robinson, Drew Glackin, and James Murphy) verifies his firm grip on original material as well as two George Harrison numbers, the spiritual ballad “Beware Of Darkness” and the frolicsome reverb gambol “Wah Wah.”

A standing room only crowd of sixty witness the event while people peering in through the backroom window and glass emergency exit door watch curiously from the street as they walk by to see who’s making that infernal racket. Directly following this 75-minute show, he prepares to head for the road, stopping in Durham, North Carolina a week later, where I’ll once again catch this subterraneous legend doing another delightful gig.

So what’s the future hold for Roscoe’s Gang?

“I’m working on some stuff. That’s part of the reason I got Knucklehead out – to clear the slate,” he offers. “The songs dictate what the next album will be like. I truly enjoy playing with the guys I’m using now.”
-John Fortunato
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ALICE DONUT REINVIGORATED BY ‘THREE SISTERS’

FORWARD: Though Alice Donut obviously never garnered the aboveground attention they deserved, these heady Big Apple bohos certainly caught the attention of rabid dadaist punk-metal fans. In 2004, they returned from the grave with “Three Sisters,” a winning collection that inspired a full-scale subterranean comeback punctuated by ’06s “Fuzz.” After a live set at former Lower East Side club, Brownies, a few members begged me to drive them home to Brooklyn after imbibing bong hits. And I think another one was a reluctant speech writer or lobbyist for some conservative pundit.

Sometimes an extended hiatus regenerates burning desire in those few artistic individuals willing to expand upon their already heady ideals. Such is the case for devalued Lower East Side combo Alice Donut. Picture, if you will, a less depraved, more affable Butthole Surfers retaining the same odious vindictive streak, grotesque absurdist decadence, and scrappy psychedelic contour made all the more sinister by perpetual subversive undertones. Their pillaged moniker, a snickering rip on Detroit rockers Alice Cooper strangely juxtaposed against spook spoof Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, plus habitually gruesome album titles, match the chaotic tangle of frayed metallic noise, daredevil punk entropy, and scurvy folk twists these crazed fascist denizens crave.

At its inception, Alice Donut got signed by esteemed political activist (and ex-Dead Kennedys frontman) Jello Biafra, whose Alternative Tentacles label brought forth ‘88s ear-mangling Donut Comes Alive (its epithet being a frazzled piss-take on Peter Frampton’s massive selling ’76 live set). Wily Cuban-by-way-of-Georgia vocalist Tomas Antona blurts profoundly bizarre convolutions on this formative debut, yowling, whining, and screeching over Columbia University pals David Giffen (golf pro; Howler Records owner) and Ted Houghton’s wrangling guitar-bass helix, jolting dexterous Pennsylvania-bred Michael Jung to axe wielding heights in the process.

“Everyone in the band has distinct character and different influences,” Antona offers as we suck down Sierra Nevada Wheat Beer in my van one stormy April night on 2nd Avenue. “Stephen (Moses-drums) loves Frank Zappa, weird-ass Jazz, and Stravinsky. Michael got into Goth shit like The Cure and Killing Joke and used to hang out with greasers wearing AC/DC t-shirts. He was into twisted stuff after that. His guitar shit will go into 14/6 time when you walk in. Everyone has varying ideas and nobody gives an inch.”

Jung adds, “Tomas will write a song, but it never turns out close to what he thought it would be. We give it our own spin.”

“I’ll come in with an idea, play it for these fuckers. Nobody smiles. Everybody shrugs. It ends up being totally perverted,” Antona counters.

“Michael has eight hours of tune snippets. When he listens back, it’s not in the same key or has the same rhythm. Stephen and Mike start fucking around, then Sissy (Schulmeister-bass) does something.”

Jung declares, “He’ll be, ‘Do this!’ We’ll say, ‘We’re not doing that.’ It’s completely independent.”

Despite such broad-minded autonomy, these adroitly deranged mongrels have anxiously tolerated each other’s piquant peculiarities and spontaneous whimsicalities throughout. ‘89s twin pillars, the savagely raw, playfully obtuse Bucketfulls Of Sickness And Horror In An Otherwise Meaningless Life and the sacriliciously schizoid Mule (original bassist Houghton’s final bow), set the stage for ‘91s metal-edged Revenge Fantasies Of The Impotent.

Jung recalls, “We did Revenge Fantasies in 14 hours. When we were doing the recording, Tomas was in the hallway getting lyrics ready. (Eccentric NYC producer) Kramer was a maniac. We’d try to hear something again and he’s like, ‘If you hear it again, it’ll lose the spontaneity. Ted would say, ‘Turn this up more.’ Kramer would rebut, ‘This is the mix!’”

“There was a story hidden in Revenge Fantasies and Kramer wouldn’t let me listen to the music,” Antona insists. “It ended up better ‘cause I would’ve changed the delivery. The first Gulf War was on our mind. That’s why we did Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” and “Dead River.” There’s pieces of metal thrown in.”

Tracing back, Bucketfulls’ amusingly caustic “Lisa’s Father,” a sneering poke at a didactic Christian comic confronting a tiny molested girl and beaten-up Jack Daniels-consuming wife, became Alice Donut’s resonant calling card.

“That song didn’t fit on the first album, but that was how we got signed to Alternative Tentacles,” admits Antona. “You’d see those 4” by 2” born again comics on the street. There’s one on alcoholism. This one was about child abuse and totally fucked up and offensive towards the solution.”

“We’d made a home tape that’d been played at San Francisco’s KUSF. Biafra heard “Lisa’s Father” and wrote us a postcard, then came and signed us,” Jung infers.

By Mule, Schulmeister (now Antona’s wife) joined the touring unit just as the unholy disavowal “Mother Of Christ” defaced conservative snobs and had Catholic heads spinning.

Antona rationalizes, “Theologians have written shitloads about this. Medieval people would wonder, ‘Did Mother Mary cum?’ ‘Did the angel give it to her?’”

“Nobody’s buying the light in the ear theory,” Jung surmises.

Though more conventional, ‘92s wholly ambitious masterwork, The Untidy Suicides Of Your Degenerate Children, stands poised as Alice Donut’s crowning achievement alongside the ass-kicking Mule. However, notwithstanding great press and rising sales, concerned fans split into two camps speculating which direction they should take.

Antona explains, “Sonically, it’s best with noises and lots of different movements. It definitely had a louder production sound. Mule’s more playful and its lyrics might be better, but Suicides’ music is better and its mood grimmer.”

Though ‘95s resiliently pulverizing Pure Acid Park convincingly astonished their core audience by working banjo, washboard, and a Sissy-sung cover of Roky Erickson’s primeval psych classic “I Walk With The Zombies” into the mix, Alice Donut soon called it quits.

But a spark of creative intuition still existed, allowing the band to reform and release ‘04s resounding comeback, Three Sisters, on former comrade Giffen’s boutique Howler Records.

“It’s meant to be a trilogy (hence the title),” Antona claims. “This is the straight album. Some people say it sounds like rough drafts. These songs were longer, then chopped up.”

Jung asserts, “The second part of the trilogy may concentrate more on chopping things up, then piecing them back together again in a studio band situation. The third one would be to play the stuff we changed around and bring it back to real time. But those two parts may not be the next albums necessarily. We’re not making any promises.”

In spite of Manhattan’s higher rent costs, suppressive right-wing leadership, and nearby St. Mark’s Place’s phony trust fund ‘punk’ devolution, Alice Donut remain emphatically committed to bratty defiance on Three Sisters. Its opener, the molten trebly vamp “Kiss Me” bewitchingly snarls ‘did you miss me?’ in a facetiously degenerative manner. If the daringly snide “Cost” lacerates obstinate sociopolitical agenda, the half-spoken “Mr. Pinkus” mocks hypocritical high society wimps ‘searching in big pockets for that tiny rocket.’ With its imperative macabre lunge, the unsettled implosion “Helsinki” brings back memories of Blue Oyster Cult while its grungy buildup and cocaine indictment seep through to the archly cryptic “Wired.”

Even Three Sisters’ catchiest tracks maintain an undeniably cogent urgency. The hooky nasal-toned gimmick “Running Arms In The Philippines” packs an incessant punch mainstreamers should enjoy. Exploring a previously untapped sentimental side, the nearly poignant dirge, “Up Is Down,” faces everyday setbacks in an unexpectedly amiable humanistic fashion.
Comparing the current Lower East Side scene to that of the late ‘80s, both Jung and Antona confide that it’s more like Disney World now.

“I moved here in ’86,” Antona reminisces. “I still live on Avenue C. It was more exciting and fucked up then. There were lots of different music types: the Reverb Motherfuckers and the Willies. There was whacked out art – good and bad. The vibe and insanity influenced all of us. It wasn’t so codified. You’d see metal, hardcore, and soft folk bands next to each other. And it wouldn’t feel weird. At the end of 2nd and Avenue B was a heroin block. But it also had an amazing metal sculpture garden, the Garage. Even if you didn’t originally like someone’s art, you’d tend to be more struck by their individualism. The closed-mindedness of conformity has ruined this. Even the crusty punks and disco nights. I remember the first time I saw kids with enormous tennis shoes and bellbottoms in techno’s early days. Dee-Lite’s “Groove Is In The Heart” was a little splash. There’d be Gabby and hardcore punks, noise-rockers, a collection of characters.”

Jung follows up, “Back then, you’d fall into a hole in the wall to find great bands.”

As Alice Donut prepare to tour the West Coast and Europe before swinging back for an unofficial CBGB’s date in late July, busybody Giffen will likely rejoin the fearsome foursome as second guitarist. Long-time admirers already plan to expect the unexpected.