All posts by John Fortunato

PAUL WESTERBERG REDIRECTS RAGE ON ‘SUICAINE GRATIFACTION’

Interviews

FOREWORD: During 1999, I got to interview one of my favorite musical artists of all time. Paul Westerberg spent his youth leading a reckless band of fiery individuals whose recorded output is still being digested by indie rock denizens. When I got to speak to the legendary front man, he was already past his thirties and highly reflective of the past. Following this conversation, Westerberg continued to make worthy albums such as ‘02s Stereo and ‘03s Come Feel Me Treble, and ‘04s Folker. Sick of being tossed aside for newer artists’ repertoire, he resigned to his basement to make a few less heralded, but equally fine self-released discs, including ’06s animated soundtrack, Open Season.

As leader of the Replacements, counterculture indie rock icon Paul Westerberg was arguably the most important post-punk artist of the ‘80s. Influenced by local Minneapolis punk forefathers, the Suicide Commandos and signed to maverick regional label, Twin/Tone Records, the tumultuous teen trio got early attention with ‘81s impressionable Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash. But that merely got the ball rolling for ‘83s admirable Hootenanny, a well-developed and thoughtfully composed set receiving national attention.

Known for performing rowdily sloppy shows while intoxicated (breaking instruments just for the fuck of it), these Twin City natives threatened to implode at any given time, creating a fabulous disaster worked-up fans couldn’t get enough of. Soon, they’d become underground legends alongside fellow northwest bands such as Husker Du and Soul Asylum.

In ’84, Westerberg’s idiosyncratic troupe hit another peak with Let It Be, an amateur masterpiece highlighted by caustic provocation, “I Will Dare,” and the spare, glam-induced allegory “Androgynous.” A year later, the equally splendid Tim shook the pavement, parading teen insecurities on throbbing expurgation, “Hold My Life,” and generational ode, “Bastards Of Young,” while saluting college radio on “Left Of The Dial” (featuring subterranean legend Alex Chilton on backup vocals).

Invigorated by former Box Tops and Big Star front man, Chilton, the centerpiece on ‘87s streamlined contemplation, Pleased To Meet Me, was none other than the siren “Alex Chilton.”

Following two less critical Replacements long-players, Warner Brothers signed Westerberg as a solo artist and tried desperately to re-create his glorious past with a few lukewarm hard rock albums (‘93s 14 Songs and ‘96s Eventually). After a thorough self-examination and a new contract with Capitol Records, he hired respected producer-to-the-stars Don Was for guidance on his third and best solo venture, Suicaine Gratifaction.

Skirting the latest grimacing rock-is-dead debate and off to a fresh new start, the self-effacing, revitalized singer-guitarist hopes to be accepted on his own terms. From the deadpan, home recorded opener, “It’s A Wonderful Lie,” to the lonesome closer, “Bookmark,” the tongue-twisting Suicaine Gratifaction deals openly with newfound spirituality (“Actor In The Street”), nocturnal sadness (“piano ballad “Self-Defense”), and regret (acoustic respite “Best Thing That Never Happened”).

Between depressives, Westerberg does manage to kick into high gear on the punchy, Neil Young-ish “Lookin’ Out Forever,” the propulsive “Whatever Makes You Happy,” and the beat-driven “Fugitive Kind” (inspired by a movie based on a Tennessee Williams play). Ironic, witty, sarcastic, and sardonic, Suicaine Gratifaction offers serious introspection and sharp self-analyzing.

Like Bob Dylan’s recent Time Out Of Mind and Willie Nelson’s Teatro, Westerbeg has exorcised inner demons and purged self-doubt with a subtle reflectiveness rarely attempted beforehand.

I spoke via phone with the matured artist who deserves Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame consideration more than a quarter of the musicians already elected.

Instead of a grueling rocker, you went against the grain and put two stripped-down bare-bones songs at the beginning of Suicaine Gratifaction.

PAUL WESTERBERG: Yes. It could have flown no other way since the majority of songs are quieter. It sets the mood right away. It’s a serious record with no knee-slappers in the lyrics of the tunes.

On “It’s A Wonderful Lie,” you conclude ‘I ain’t in my youth/ I’m past my prime.’ Are you just being sarcastic about your past?

 

Yes. If I was able to write a more clever tune that didn’t involve my gut feeling, I would have. I was completely drained of anything other than the truth. I wasn’t making this record for a supposed audience, but instead putting down what I felt. If you ignore them, they’ll put it on like a coat.

The soft piano ballad, “Self-Defense,” has a neo-classical arrangement reminiscent of Tori Amos. Is it trying to sum up internal strife?

 

That was probably the showpiece that made me realize I had the makings of a new kind of record. I played those melodies and chords on the piano for about a year before I put a lyric to it. That’s a rarity in itself. I’m not the most accomplished pianist, so it took me that long to get the lick down. I felt I had to put poetry to it rather than just sing a song.

Your caliginous, low voice and the orchestral piano on “Bookmark” compare favorably to Tom Waits.

 

I could hear Tom Waits and Joni Mitchell in there. By the end of the record, I didn’t see it fitting in. It was written in a key that was a piano melody that wasn’t necessarily meant for me to be singing it. I wrote the prose over it and it became a song. It was a tough one to deal with, but Don Was’ opinion was it had to be on the record. He convinced me to put it on.

Do you feel more secure as you reach age forty?

 

No. In a good way, no. I don’t feel that I’ve got it made. I feel if I follow my gut, I’ll make another good record. But I’ve bypassed my instinct and second-guessed myself before and edited my gut feelings. And that’s not usually how I make my best works. But this album came from the heart. What you’re hearing are complete takes rather than producers forever trying to get me to sing things over and over and ‘comp’ together the vocals. I despise that. Engineering the vocals at home gave me the sound I like, which is a warmer voice sound. I don’t bother to re-do things. If they’re not perfect, but give me goosebumps, there’s no reason to fix a flat note.

Besides, most artists have the best feel for a fresh song on first take.

 

That’s absolutely true. When you’re used to being a performer, it seems superfluous to do so many takes. Once should be enough unless you forget a really good lyric – which does happen.

Do you feel cheated because the best ‘80s bands – The Replacements, Sonic Youth, Meat Puppets, Minutemen, and Husker Du – never received the massive exultation several lesser heavy metal bands have?

 

I think all the bands you compare were fairly mediocre if compared to the Beatles and Rolling Stones. I think it’s a joke to put Sonic Youth in the same category as the Stones. Do you want to hear them in the year 2020? I mean, they’re all viable bands. I don’t mean to put them down, even though I certainly put my old band down before any of them. Maybe if you picked the Ramones to pit against them I’d agree.

Do you still enjoy old Replacements standards such as “I Will Dare”?

 

I still hear “I Will Dare” on the radio. It always shocks me when I’m clicking the dial. The way the record sounds… it was such a horrid mix. One thing I’ll say about those records is they never sounded very good. It’s not my stock in trade to make beautiful, lovely, warm records. I certainly like stuff that sounds funky, but when it’s your own you wince a little.

What did you listen to as a youngster?

 

My mom would play records. I know Ray Charles’ “Crying Time” and the Temptations were a favorite. My sister, who was ten years older, used to listen to the British Invasion 45’s, black R&B, and great classic music by the Beatles. The first music I truly claimed as my own was ‘70s glam: T. Rex and Slade.

Are there any current bands you enjoy hearing?

 

Not many. I don’t readily go out and buy records. And I’m not up on new groups. I’ve maintained the theory of ‘let me hear what’s great and not what’s new.’ Once the newness of something has worn off and it’s great, I’ll get around to it. More often than not, it doesn’t last.

Producer Don Was seemed to revitalize veteran rockers such as Bob Dylan and Bonnie Raitt. What did he do to enhance your new songs?

 

He left them alone and only did something when it was necessary. That’s what you want, someone who’s capable of doing anything, but realizing his greatest role could be as a companion and listener. His selection of a handful of musicians from Shawn Colvin to Jim Keltner on drums and Suzy Katayama on cello added just the right touch.

Could you have made Suicaine Gratifaction in ’79 when the Replacements recorded Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash?

 

No. For one, I wouldn’t have wanted to. And if I were capable of writing some of these songs, I wouldn’t have taken them from my bedroom to the next stage. I wouldn’t have played it for anyone, except in secret. But it took me a long time to realize the things you’re afraid of, or ashamed of, are the best art. It doesn’t mean people will understand or play it. But that’s the stuff that in time will be held in high regard. I’m still the same guy who started twenty years ago. Maybe I refined the rage and turned inward instead of being an aggressive performer.

How would you feel if you were selected to the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame?

 

I still think about stuff like that. I’m sure the day will come when I will get some sort of sympathy award. That’s what it would smack of – like giving the Oscar to the guy who’s dying. Let’s just say it won’t happen.

But if the Replacements don’t make it in the Hall Of Fame, very few deserving ‘80s bands will be considered.

 

If you look at it that way, it’s interesting. I don’t know when we’d be eligible.

Why’d you come up with the jumbled title, Suicaine Gratifaction?

 

It was my safeguard just in case I was up for a Grammy. They would pass on it because they couldn’t pronounce it.

Does Alex Chilton ever cover the song named after him while doing concerts?

 

I think he’d just assume I never wrote that song. It embarrassed him. I think it has done him some good getting people hip to him. But I’m not his biggest fan. I took a crass stab at telling everybody how good he was.

When you delvier the hooky lyric, ‘I’m in love with that song,’ to which Chilton song are you referring?

 

I think it was “September Gurls.” Last time I saw him was a few years ago in New York. We were watching the World Series. It was the Atlanta Braves versus the Toronto Blue Jays. I saw him on the street. We went up to his hotel room and ate some Thai food.

As a Minnesota native, how did you feel when Jesse Ventura won election to become governor?

 

He’s refreshing. But he’s still a wrestler in my mind. He could probably win presidency and either be our worst nightmare or a lot of fun.

 

  

RAMSTEIN MAIBOCK LAGER

Beers A-Z

On tap, dewy leafy-hopped gourd-like autumnal crispness spreads across abundant red-fruited apple-spiced sweetness and honeyed caramel malts countering peppery rye-dried lip-smack of sensational springtime suds. Tertiary twig, grape stem, zucchini, and squash illusions hide beneath earthen moisture. Less malt-sweetened than a typical Octoberfest and never coarsely harsh, retaining soft, buttery mouthfeel. Superb maibock is best of class.

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RAMSTEIN NORTHERN HILLS AMBER LAGER

Beers A-Z

On tap, hardy crystal-malted dry-hopped golden-tanned lager packs quite a wallop, retaining rich wheat graining and loud citric-peeled bitterness contrasting soft clean-watered crisping. Caramelized Munich malt toasting, lemony orange-dried tangerine tang, and minor floral eccentricity create well-balanced flurry. “A sessionable year round Oktoberfest,” indeed. ’14 re-tasting: dewy Vienna malts anchored musty ESB-like peat moss and fig-dried orange compote.

SIXPOINT BROWNSTONE

Beers A-Z

Interestingly gruff American brown ale maintains caramel-sugared cocoa-dusted brown chocolate malting overriding dry-roasted walnut, cashew, Brazil nut, cola nut, nutmeat, and coffee nut coarseness. Fizzy wood-spiced hop char contrasts syrupy molasses richness and soda-like sassafras splash. Tertiary peat, tobacco, cigar ash, pine comb, and dark floral illusions spread across back of the tongue. Ample alcohol afterburner adds anodyne astringency.

Sixpoint Brownstone - Where to Buy Near Me - BeerMenus

SPEAKEASY PAYBACK PORTER

Beers A-Z

Dry ink black mocha porter overcomes slick nature. Lactic dark-malted cocoa-dusted Blackstrap molasses, black chocolate, burnt coffee, crème brulee, and creamy fudge nudge muted hop-oiled astringency. Black cherry, purple grape, raisin, prune, anise, and fennel notes skewer ashen peat-smoked backend. Iodine-like aftertaste may be off-putting. A bit thin compared to heartier porters, but not unlike a simple mocha-chalked schwarzbier or less roasted Black IPA .

NEW HOLLAND FULL CIRCLE KOLSCH

Beers A-Z

Sufficing updated, relabeled, yellow-hazed, German-styled Kolsch (circa 2011) betters previous Single Malt Lager version. Musty grassy-hopped lemon-rotted vegetal astringency upends dry wheat-husked pilsner malting, toasted white breading and slightest wood pining. Dirty earthiness consumes oncoming diacetyl spicing, awkward herbal trifle and latent metallic whim.

Full Circle - New Holland Brewing - Untappd

(SCHELDE) HOP-RUITER BLOND HOPPY BEER

Beers A-Z

Elaborate ‘strong golden ale’ doubles as nifty Abbey tripel. Assertive dry-hopped bittering opposes funky candi-sugared Belgian yeast for rustic blonde-hazed medium-full body. Herbaceous white-peppered grapefruit, pineapple, mango, kiwi, and passion fruit seep into sourly lemon-pitted tartness. Peculiar eucalyptus, menthol, and sage illusions nudge adventurous concoction. Not strictly for adventurous drinkers looking for cool aperitif changeup.

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DEVOTCHKA REACHES CLIMAX WITH ‘100 LOVERS’

Interviews

Shrewd Mexicali-influenced gypsy punks, DeVotchKa, came to the fore in the year 2000 when native New Yorker, Nick Urata, a soon-to-be pedigreed Chicago musician, left the cold Midwest confines to link up with fellow Chi-town deserter, ex-bassist Jon Ellison to form an early version of his exotic band in Denver. Though formative debut, SuperMelodrama, and its decent ’03 follow-up, Una Volta, were merely steppingstones, Urata’s apprenticing unit would receive better underground recognition for ‘04s How It Ends.

Good luck struck in ’06 when award-winning motion picture, Little Miss Sunshine, featured DeVotchKa’s soundtrack music, especially sad romantic lullaby, “Till The End Of Time,” giving the increasingly popular combo a whiff of aboveground access. A year after, the excellent A Mad And Faithful Telling proved all the acclaim and hype was completely deserved. Chiming xylophone provided melodic guidance to stirring string-plucked confessional, “The Clockwise Witness.” Mystical balladic retreat “New World” and anguished sanctuary “Transliterator” also struck a chord.

DeVotchKa’s reputation was greatened by Gogol Bordello’s Slavic-obsessed peer, Eugene Hutz, who brought their variegated multi-cultured music to another worthy film, Everything Is Illuminated (co-starring the multifaceted Hutz). Plus, the curious Curse Your Little Heart EP brought forth an eerie cover of Velvet Underground & Nico’s sadomasochistic dirge, “Venus In Furs.”

Along the way, Urata gained poise, confidence, and a dramatic singing voice to complement his guitar, theremin, trumpet, and piano skills. Surrounded by equally experienced collaborators Jeanie Schroder (bass and sousaphone), Shawn King (drums and trumpet), and Tom Hagerman (accordion, violin, and piano), DeVotchKa’s unrivaled blend of nomadic Eastern European gypsy culture and spaghetti Western intrigue with Mexicali blues, norteno ballads, boleros, tangos, and mariachi became more structurally refined and stimulatingly defined over time.

And now…DeVotchKa return with their most impressive salvo yet, ‘11s Arizona desert classic, 100 Lovers. Produced by long-time associate, Craig Schumacher (who’s worked with indie legends Neko Case, Robyn Hitchcock, Dexter Romweber, Dave Alvin, Steve Wynn, Howe Gelb, and the Sadies), it captures an epic twilight moodscape shot in the vast terrain of America’s great southwest and pleated by a melting pot of international styles.

Contrasting slow and fast tempos with loud and soft dynamics throughout, several deliberately paced items gain momentum to lead the charge. Ethereal serenading overture, “The Alley,” yet another movie composition originated in its much shorter version on the unheralded Fling, picks up a drum-marched beat along its orchestral violin-laced neo-Classical journey.

On “All The Sand In All The Seas,” darting keyboards encounter melodramatic strings decorating Urata’s scintillatingly majestic ululating tenor (beckoning comparisons to U2’s luminescent Bono). Then, oscillating synth loops and wayward flute float across billowy séance, “100 Other Lovers.”

After those introductory numbers, DeVotchKa loosen up a bit for devotional Middle Eastern meditation, “The Common Good,” opposing icy violin classicism with spasmodic gypsy dance maneuvers. Inside a pervasive accordion design, theatrical Argentinean tango, “The Man From San Sebastian,” places espionage-like allusions against dribbled surf guitar riffs. And whistled rainy day stroller, “Exhaustible,” retains a baroque folk tone counteracting swift Mexicali absolution, “Bad Luck Heels.”

Perhaps misterioso Spanglish anthem, “Ruthless,” resonates best. Reminiscent of the resurgent Os Mutantes, its simple acoustic strumming and crisp Latin percussion help underscore sympathetic strings while Urata reaches whirring emotional heights.

Who’d have thought one of the best ethnocentric revolutionaries would come out of the remote climes of Denver? But there you go.

What made you want to get into music?

NICK URATA: My grandparents were immigrants. My one grandfather, whom I was really close with, was a horn player. He inspired me to pick up the horn. He was my hero. I followed in his footsteps. He taught me philosophies of music and life and sent me down the road.

Why’d you choose Denver as DeVotchKa’s home front?
 

 

 

I was bouncing around quite a bit. I lived in Chicago awhile and began seriously writing songs there. One of my writing partners was an accordion player and we had mutual friends. He was from Colorado and the Chicago weather was getting me down. So I tagged along. I found Denver to be a vibrant, easygoing scene to get together with people and make music. In Chicago, I’d been a sideman in the Blacks, a Bloodshot Records alt-Country-folk group. It was cool. We used acoustic instruments and dabbled all over the place.

How has DeVotchKa grown in the past decade?
 

 

 

I grew as a vocalist. I’m not too proud of my early vocal work. I didn’t have the chops. But being on the road helped. I feel we were always treading water with the early albums. I made a lot of records before I felt we sounded the way I wanted. We found a direction to go in. If our third album had failed, it would’ve probably been the end of us. I hope the last few albums sounded like us and not other people.

How has long-time producer, Craig Schumacher, helped you reach goals?
 

 

 

We hooked up with Calexico early in our career. He’d worked with them. They were a huge influence and took us on tour for our first album. They had a full mariachi band and traded songs with us.

“Bad Luck Heels” has a Mexicali feel similar to Calexico. Its lyrics seem to beg for forgiveness – a common theme here.
 

 

 

I’m glad you grabbed on to the forgiveness. I pictured it as the classic cliché of a guy trying to serenade a girl like a thousand other guitarists all playing nylon strings. That’s the sound I was going for.

There’s also a lot of regret in there as well.
 

 

 

Who doesn’t get to the point where you have a few regrets. There’s a lot of existential crises on 100 Lovers. That came out when I wrote the songs.

Did you try to beef up the surreal Western imagery in the music and black & white inner sleeve photographs?
 

 

 

That has always been there. We do keep images around that aesthetically inspire us and our music fits that. There’s something very comforting about that black & white Western world.

Tell me about the auspices of “The Man From San Sebastian.”
 

 

 

We were traveling around in our van to the Basque region of Spain. It’s this fairy tale place. I became really interested in how these Basque people were still trying to break away from Spain. There could be an insurgency in this beautiful, peaceful place. But as an outsider you could see both sides. It was a cool romantic idea.

The first three songs on 100 Lovers seem to have a more universal appeal and are far less restrictively eccentric. Your best vocal performance comes during the middle track, “All The Sand In All The Seas.”

It wasn’t really about getting a broader audience. It was more about the inspiring performance. There is this pressure to repeat yourself and stay in one realm. But that song we thought was very inspiring to play and different for us, but that’s why we latched onto it. It became a favorite to play live.

 I thought “Ruthless” nipped at the heels of Brazilian psych-rock luminaries, Os Mutantes.

Wow! Glad you mentioned that. They’re big heroes of ours. I didn’t think of them consciously, but we actually used a genuine Brazilian percussionist and melded that to some ‘60s/ ‘70s rock elements which was sort of what Os Mutantes did. I’m glad it fits into their world.

As for the ‘70s appeal, I enjoyed the soft singer-songwriter stroll of “Exhaustible.” It could’ve fit in with Cat Stevens, James Taylor, Emmit Rhodes, or Loggins & Messina.

It’s a breezy ‘70s love croon. That was really fun to write and perform. It’s kind of our “All You Need Is Love” as well, since the children’s chorus we tried to do in one room.

I also felt DeVotchKa expanded upon the lush arrangements consuming A Mad And Faithful Telling.

We weren’t as good as we are now. Due to budget constraints, we were somewhat limited in the past. But we were able to do what we wanted to do. We gave our string player, Tom Hagerman, carte blanche to do what he wanted to and it worked out. He stretched out and realized the logistics of our more complex arrangements. He really stepped up to the plate.

Will DeVotchKa’s future albums delve into newer styles?

I predict we’ll hang in this direction for awhile.

WOLF PEOPLE CLIMB BROAD ‘STEEPLE’

Interviews

It took a high-spirited emigrating crew of youthful Australians to perfectly capture the ruggedly forceful post-Beatles rock period (1969-1973) without sounding dated, half-baked, or just plain generic in the 21st century. Still in their developmental stage, Wolf People display all of the key ingredients necessary to recreate the glorious fertile past, yet they appreciatively avoid every convoluted pitfall tedious backdated retro styling incurs.

Leader Jack Sharp (guitar-vocals) and fellow wolves Joe Hollick (guitar), Daniel Davies (bass), and Tom Watt concoct a familiar metal-edged rhythm-heavy setting for heady prog regressions, sonic psychedelic digressions, lofty blues citations, and drifting folk migrations, moving forward the general dynamics without resorting to bombastic superficiality.

 

Since the underground success of formative ’08 assemblage, Tidings (a neat compendium of early Sharp tunes), Wolf People have called England home, gathering a rabid cult following there that prompted the release of fertile breakthrough, Steeple. Inventively refashioning the Classic rock vibes of Traffic, Cream, pre-fame Fleetwood Mac, and dozens of lesser Woodstock-era groups with keenly detailed compositional strategies, Sharp whips up quite a frenzied attack, rambling through a few tersely distended jams releasing sprawled tension all over the place.

Placing his timid alto quiver to the fore on pallid mystical rendezvous “Morning Born,” Sharp recalls the haunting detachment of the nearly inimitable Steve Winwood in a few key spots. And the breathy electric flute undulations consuming vexed blues-rock paradox, “Tiny Circle” visibly mimics the hoary boldness Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson once insinuated. Despite these retroactive inducements, Wolf People overcome any cheaply limiting motives by giving each basic track an indefinable quantitative sustenance.

The absolute highlight, “One By One From Dorney Reach,” easily overcomes any comparative retro-stylistic tendencies, bringing back the days when Peter Green’s stinging guitar rummaged inside Fleetwood Mac’s cosmic blues, but doing so in a straightforward manner that rekindles the spirit with utmost vitality and void of tawdry artistic pretense. Likewise, “Silbury Sands” inadvertently contrasts the Anglo-folk choral frailty of Traffic’s “Forty Thousand Headmen” against primordial metal flagrancy. Furthermore, the roaring vacuum-tube guitar sustenance and charging percussive march of jinxed alchemy “Painted Cross” wouldn’t seem out of place next to Cream’s colossal Disraeli Gears.

Neither as scruffy nor repulsive as their hirsute moniker may suggest, Wolf People are nonetheless driven by a primal musical urge any true rock and roll cave-stomper will find irresistible.

How’d the name Wolf People come about? None of the members are overtly hairy dudes.

JACK SHARP: I had some demos I wanted to put on the internet back in 2005, and chose the name from a kids book, ‘Little Jacko and the Wolf People’. It was a bit of a stupid name but I wasn’t expecting anything to happen with the songs so I wasn’t that bothered. We’ve discussed changing it but never came up with anything worth replacing it with.

How have Wolf People evolved since Tidings gathered recordings from 2005 to 2007?

Tidings was just me messing about with songs done at home, but it forms a blueprint for the way we work now. We learnt to be a band by playing those songs live, and I have a lot of respect for Joe and Tom throwing themselves into playing them so wholeheartedly. Dan came along a bit later when we’d started writing material together. Now it’s our band rather than my band, which I love. I don’t think you see that so much any more.

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?Who were some of your early influences?

The earliest songs were an attempt to copy ideas from Captain Beefheart’s Safe as Milk. I was trying to get some of the guitar sounds and copy the way the Magic Band laid melodies out. I was listening to the first Pentangle record a lot at the same time too so folk music started filtering into it. That was “Empty Heart,” “October Fires” and “Black Water.” Before then, I hadn’t written a proper song or even played the guitar much for about six years. I was too busy buying records and making beats on an MPC. My parents schooled me on folk and blues but when you’re too young you don’t want to know, so I was in the process of rediscovering all that stuff and still am.

What was the most difficult arrangement to put together for STEEPLE?

Probably “Silbury Sands,” as it’s the most collaborative. That was one of the most rewarding ones to do though. We had so many bits and pieces that worked together when they finally clicked in to place it was great. It was hard to play live for a long time too for some reason. I feel like we’re only just hitting our stride with it.

What was the inspiration for “Painted Cross”?

There’s a Church in the village me and Tom grew up in that was abandoned in the late 1800’s in favour of the new church in the centre of the village. It developed a bit of a reputation as a spooky place. In 1962, some graves were opened and bones were scattered. They also found red crosses etched on the inside walls, leading to a story about black magic in the local press. It brought a lot of unwanted attention on the church and caused a lot of distress to the village families who had relatives buried in the graveyard. My Dad developed a theory that the tombs had cracked due to the harsh winter in 1962, which would also explain the consecration crosses being exposed under the cracked plaster. It caused a lot of trouble throughout the ‘60s and even in the ‘80’s when we moved there. Hundreds of people flocking there every Halloween, and loads of police.

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My favorite tune may be “One By One From Dorney Reach”. What’s it about and how’d the ringing hook line come into being?

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It’s about the A6 murder in 1961 that happened on a lay-by just outside our village. A man was hanged for it but the debate is still raging as to whether he did it or not. There are articles and letters in our local paper every week, even now. I read a load of stuff about it and wanted to find out what happened, so I sort of set the lyrics out as a plea to the survivor from the victim. She was unable to positively identify the murderer during trial. Joe wrote the main hook at rehearsal, the one just before the chorus. I changed it slightly for the intro and linking parts. It’s a really simple song.

There seems to be an underlying mysticism inspiring the lyrics. If so, tell me how they affect the music.

That’s nice to hear. That’s the intention. But it’s always a fine line between writing something that sounds ‘mystical’ and disappearing up your own backside, a line I’ve probably crossed more than once. It’s what I like to hear and read and it’s what I feel comfortable writing. I really like when people write candidly too, but find it very difficult to do. It always sounds corny. I listen to a lot of folk music, getting inspiration from traditional lyrics. Scottish songs tend to be the most appealing, as they usually have more grit and bloodshed. I started reading a lot of British and Irish folk tales at the time of writing the LP too. I really liked People of the Sea by David Thomas and I’ve more recently been reading some George Ewart Evans books, which are full of great stuff.

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How has your dynamic live show evolved?

It’s got more dynamic! The more we play together and the better we know the songs, the more we can lean into them and change parts spontaneously and increase the dynamic between sections. We’ve tried to simplify things by using as few pedals as possible. We like to hear the amps and guitars working. If you restrict your options on sounds it forces you to change the sound with your hands rather than a foot switch, which we find a lot more rewarding.

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What have you been listening to lately? Does any of?this music inspire your bands style?

I’ve been revisiting a lot of Beefheart, for obvious reasons. I have been pretty hung up on Mighty Baby’s 2nd album for a while too. I’d love to write something like that. Also, Olivia Chaney, an amazing singer-songwriter yet to release anything. Baron, who is also unsigned, made one of the best albums of last year. I find it hard to listen to anything without it affecting the way I play and write. I have to be careful what I listen to, and make sure I don’t rip anyone off.

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What future direction or untried music stylings would Wolf People like to explore?

Kozmik Skiffle? We’re trying our hardest not to think about it.

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