Category Archives: Interviews

LATIN PLAYBOYS RETURN TO FOLD FOR SECOND ‘DOSE’

Interviews, ,

FOREWORD: Latin Playboys were an excellent side project merging two Los Lobos members with a duo of heralded soundboard session men. Both albums they released in the ‘90s are well worth investigating. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Los Lobos guitarist David Hidalgo and percussionist Louie Perez teamed up with their producer/ sound manipulator Mitch Froom and engineer-bassist Tchad Blake to explore experimental ethnic music as the Latin Playboys in ‘94. Their second album, Dose, a brave belated follow-up to its eponymous debut, hearkens back to simpler times. It goes South of the Border on several festive Mexican-rooted dance mutations and returns to East L.A. for a few delightful Latin-tinged Chicano rockers.

Along with a new Los Lobos album (including, of course, Cesar Rosas, whose solo debut, Soul Disguise, recently dropped, the Latin Playboys have been busy with a few worthy side projects since ’98. Hidalgo and Rosas hooked up with veteran Tex-Mex icons Freddy Fender, Joe Ely, and Flaco Jiminez as Los Super Seven and received a Grammy nomination. Mitch Froom made his solo debut with Dopamine,and Hidalgo just released a duo set with Canned Heat multi-instrumentalist Mike Halby under the guise of Houndog.

With occasional assistance from singer-violinist Lisa Germano (the opening act on an American tour), the Latin Playboys pleased an eager Tramps audience in Manhattan that knew no generational boundaries in April. A few days after enjoying their exhilaratingly warm and heavily percussive set, I spoke candidly with Perez and Froom.

Does Dose pick up where the self-titled debut left off?

FROOM: There’s no agenda. We do what we like. I’ve known the guys in Los Lobos since their first single, “Will The Wolf Survive?”

How’d you initially get to do production work for Los Lobos?

FROOM: I think the record company suggested we get together.

After Los Lobos received mass appeal with the La Bamba soundtrack, the Kiko and Colossal Head albums were experimental sets that didn’t gain commercial radio exposure. Was it difficult to have a smaller audience again?

PEREZ: It took awhile for people to get over it. La Bamba threw us off quite a bit. We even did a Mexican folkloric album, La Pistola y el Corazon, which threw a wrench in the works. We had to derail La Bamba somehow. Mitch and Tchad came in the studio. Dave and I set some time aside, and we were ready to go into the Latin Playboys phase.

As a kid, what kind of music affected you most?

FROOM: There were several records that had a huge impact on me. One was Miles Davis’ Sketches Of Spain and another was The Genius Of Ray Charles. Then I completely fell for the Beach Boys and Beatles pop music. Then, the whole psychedelic phase hooked me. Also, I have a real strong emotional reaction to Gil Evans’ cool Jazz arrangements.

PEREZ: I grew up in a Mexican-American working class area listening to the music that was around the house like ethnic Mexican music which was popular in East L.A.

A lot of Latin Playboys songs are working class based.

PEREZ: Yeah. I started writing a bunch of stuff when I heard the music Dave gave me. I found myself inspired by the music’s visually arresting images. It made me revisit where I grew up as a kid. This album really gave me the opportunity to make these day-to-day sketches. It’s not about oppression or being Mexican-American in any social context or glorifying anything. It’s about everyday people.

Would you like to exploit the Rock En Espanol audience?

PEREZ: I can see our music crossing over into that market. There’s been a cross-collateralization which has been recently taking place. The edges are getting fuzzy. I don’t like this compartmentalizing of stuff. I think that audiences can find real cool things In the Latin Playboys.

Do you like the fact more bands are exploring multi-ethnic music?

FROOM: There’s a band called the Roots that blend elements well. The people interested in bringing a hybrid mentality to their music I like better than those who are appropriating music and figuring out how to sing over the top of it or just doing a bad version of something. The Latin Playboys various ethnic influences have depth to them. It’s hybrid music, but with a firm understanding.

“Ironsides” seems to capture the essence of the Latin Playboys best.

PEREZ: It started with a traditional rhythm and cranks up like an electric band, which is similar to border music, using whatever instruments are available. It reminded me of listening to Mexican radio coming from a little speaker from a pickup truck. And I ran with that idea.

FROOM: “Ironsides’ is one of my favorites because of its general concept. There’s a band coming out of one speaker, a truck coming out of the other speaker, and Louie’s doing the voices of a family going to the movies, without changing inflection. Sometimes our sounds aren’t overly reverberant, but there’s contrast.

Where’s the idea for “Cuca’s Blues” come from?

PEREZ: Cuca’s a common woman’s name. I drew this little picture of some woman who might be someone’s grandma revisited when she was young. It’s a time capsule of Los Angeles when it was still very young in the ‘30s. A red trolley car connected downtown with East L.A. Lots of Mexican people were crossing the river. There’s some mysterious things that may have happened in her life that the lyrics don’t really resolve – which is cool.

Is there currently a vibrant Latin music scene in L.A.?

PEREZ: When I was growing up in the ‘60s, there was a whole scene happening with the Midniters, Blondells, and the Premiers. They used to wear uniforms, blazers, and turtlenecks. The East L.A. sound was Mexican-Americans’ version of R & B. Then it went away. Maybe it was because of Viet Nam War. A lot of musicians were gone. Then disco took over and whatever musicians were left got day jobs and had kids. Then Los Lobos started doing things in the late ‘70s. We expected bands to follow through, but it didn’t happen. For years, we’ve been the only East L.A. band that’s gone this far. Finally, the scene has been picking up for Latinos in general. There’s a group, Ozomatli, that has an unusual blend. There’s an Asian, a black rapper. My son’s group, Villains, are recording now. I’m not just about being Latin. They’re taking in a lot of influences while retaining cultural integrity.

 

ASS PONYS READY TO ROCK ‘LOHIO’

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Ass Ponys singer-guitarist, Chuck Cleaver (now co-fronting hard pop combo, Wussy), may not be a household name, but I dare you to find a straightforward rock band as consistently good as his equine-christened quartet. The Ass Ponys did get that pie-in-the-sky major label deal for ‘94s excellent Electric Rock Music and ‘96s sturdy The Known Universe, but aboveground airplay was not forthcoming so they returned with little fanfare to welcomed indie-dom. As for Cleaver, he’s a husky composer whose resourceful allegoric sketches enjoin basic melodic folk, rock, and country-blues arrangements. I saw the Ass Ponys play twice (Mercury Lounge and the defunct Brownies) before they unfortunately called it a day ‘round ‘05. But their tunes will live on just as long as anyone wants to pick up any of their ‘90s discs. On a few occasions, I’ve spoken to Cleaver about long-lost small label artists, since both of us have tremendous knowledge concerning Anglo-American music. I’ve also done a piece on his ensuing band, Wussy. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Cincinnati’s Ass Ponys spread roots-y heartland folk-rock across pop melodies with the greatest of ease. Leader Chuck Cleaver’s reflective tales of twisted accounts from life’s underside contain a wryly broken-hearted wittiness second to none.

With clever metaphorical dalliance, Cleaver’s quivering nasal tenor spits out bizarre absurdities like ‘I wanna be the pilot of a kamikaze airplane’ (from the super-catchy “Butterfly”) plus ‘look beyond the dead end summer/ there’s a haze hanging over the town’ and ‘do I exist in the bottomless pit of your heart’ (from the fiddle-laden “Calendar Days”). The grim Day Of The Locust time warp, “Donald Sutherland,” torturously quips, ‘you could be the gun that blows out the back of my skull.’

Signed to A & M Records following a few locally distributed records, the Ass Ponys released ‘94s eye-opening Electric Rock Music (featuring the novel mini-hit, “Little Bastard”) and ‘96s nearly as good The Known Universe. After getting dropped by A & M, they borrowed a dumbfounded line from Deep Purple’s classic “Smoke On The Water” for the title of the small-labeled Checkered Past re-entry, Some Stupid With A Flare Gun, then hit the studio a year later for ‘01s even better Lohio.

While fast food ode, “Only,” and disjointed swamp water country-Blues elegy, “Baby In Jar,” hearken back to acid-folk jug band, the Holy Modal Rounders, sweet acoustic fare such as the lonesome, “Dollar A Day,” and dirge-y “(Baby) I Love You (Baby),” bring to mind Neil Young’s more contemplative moments.

Alongside Cleaver, the Ass Ponys include fellow original member, bassist Randy Cheek, drummer Dave Morrison (who came aboard for ‘92s little-known indie-released Grim), and banjo playing guitarist Bill Alletzhauser (the youngest of the group).

I spoke to Cleaver over the phone as he watched from his porch as a hell-bent northerly thunderstorm settled in.

Some of the Ass Ponys stranger material reminds me of the Holy Modal Rounders. Do you even know who they are?

CHUCK: Yeah. “Baby In A Jar’ is very much in that mode. I collected the ESP label for awhile. There’s stuff that makes the Holy Modal Rounders seem regular. There’s a band called the Godz. Then, there’s Erica Polmeranz, a mystical hippie with witchy sounding stuff. I think they re-released some of their stuff on CD. There’s an underground cartoonist, Gilbert Shelton, who came out of Texas. There’s actually a 45 on ESP with a picture sleeve by the Gilbert Shelton Ensemble that’s really hard to find. It’s absolutely terrible, but worth having. There’s some screwed-up Jazz by Albert Ayler. There was an ESP distributor in the late ‘60s, and that’s how I found most of the stuff.

So you collect a lot of obscure memorabilia.

CHUCK: I’ve collected records since I was thirteen years old. I mostly collect weird old stuff from a certain genre, like obscure ‘60s garage bands and surf-type instrumentals. I used to have a friend in L.A. who found me a lot of California stuff.

Lohio seems very reflective of backwoods Ohio or rural living.

CHUCK: I like that. It’s a fairly ambiguous title. It juxtaposes low and high and up and down. There was a band called Lohio that changed their name, and I called them up to see if I could use their name. They said, ‘Sure.’

I thought the album might be loosely thematic. The opener, “Last Night It Snowed,” ends in dramatic orchestral fashion.

CHUCK: It moves in a thematic way. There’s a thread running through it, but I don’t know if it was intended. Our songs just come about. We never preconceive them or take a lot of time in the studio.

What’s with the ‘pot lick limp dick’ “Butterfly”?

CHUCK: That’s basically about this guy that’s all talk and no action. He yaks and talks big. Like these guys trying to jump the canyon that have inverse peckers and don’t do anything. They sit in front of the t.v.

How’s life on the road?

CHUCK: We played Twangfest recently. I was so drunk. It’s fun to look like a moron sometimes. But the shoegazers don’t dig that shit. You’re supposed to be intent and look at the floor, and instead, we’re all over the place. Anyway, we felt like the turds in a punchbowl at Twangfest. There were all these country bands, and I was just really paranoid and the bartendress was really nice, pouring Jagermeister like it was creek water. I was drinking the hell out of it. Pretty soon, I couldn’t stand up. That was a bad thing. I got testy with my words and mocked out cowboy hats. But it went over well. We did fine.

STEPHIN MERRITT’S MAGNETIC FIELDS, 6THS, AND FUTURE BIBLE HEROES

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Reserved singer-songwriter, Stephin Merritt, may indeed be as reclusive and shy as the press indicates. Suffering from an ear disease that prohibits loud music and now living in Los Angeles (after a long spell in the Big Apple), Merritt puts his despair-riddled life experiences into depressive canticles and facetious missives. First time I met him in person, the Magnetic Fields were playing Maxwells and Merritt had his tiny chihuahua named Irving in his pocket prior to their retro-fit neo-Classically vaudevillian art pop confections. This was two years before ‘99s highly respected triple-album, 69 Love Songs, put Magnetic Fields at the top of Village Voice’s Pazz & Jop poll.

Merritt, an oft-times sad gay man, expresses his inner most feelings with satirical aplomb and snickering asides. When I caught up with the nostalgically inclined post-modern bass-baritone icon, October 2000, he was promoting his ancillary band, the 6ths, whose Hyacinths And Thistles arguably bettered fine ’96 debut, Wasp’s Nest. He has since released three fair solo albums, two more fine Magnetic Fields projects (‘04s i and ‘08s Distortion), and a few tertiary albums as goth-bubblegum rogues, the Gothic Archies. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Soft-spoken musical mastermind, Stephin Merritt, is undoubtedly one of the most prolific and engaging songwriters on the current pop scene. Along with co-conspirators Claudia Gonson (drums-piano-management), John Woo (guitar-banjo), and Sam Davol (cello-flute), he heads Magnetic Fields, a fascinating Lower East Side combo that recorded much fine material over the past decade, culminating with 1999’s sprawling, critically acclaimed 69 Love Songs.

Recorded before that monumental masterpiece, but only recently released, the 6ths lispy-titled Hyacinths And Thistles involves a revolving cast of stylistically diverse singers assembled by Gonson to perform Merritt compositions. On the 6ths versatile ’95 debut, Wasp’s Nest, underground luminaries such as Sebadoh’s lou Barlow, Heavenly’s Amelia Fletcher, Helium’s Mary Timony, Unrest’s Mark Robinson, and Yo La Tengo’s Georgia Hubley were brought onboard.

On many of Hyacinths And Thistles confessional love trinkets and innocent romantic paeans, a varied cluster of female vocalists take hold. Sally Timms of the Mekons wraps her velvety contralto around the percussive techno-pop of “Give Me Back My Dreams.” Dippy aged-in-the-wool hippie Melanie resurfaces on the chiming, desolate “I’ve Got New York,” dripping honeyed lyrics atop Margaret Leng-Tan’s classically inspired toy piano.

Sarah Cracknell of St. Etienne, croons softly through the echo-fied “Kissing Things.” Cibo Matto’s Miho Hatori coos sweetly on the “Guantanemera” knockoff, “Lindy Lou.” Ex-Altered Images vocalist Clare Grogan provides delicate restraint to “Night Falls Like A Grand Piano.” Folk renegade Odetta sings operatically on the accordion-laced “Waltzing Me All The Way Home.” And Squirrel Nut Zippers’ Katharine Whalen purrs her way through the elegant acoustic lullaby, “You You You You You.”

Though Merritt denied the charges (“you think they sound like I do?”), two well-respected indie rock legends sing in deep baritones not dissimilar to his own. First, ex-Husker Du post-punk maven, Bob Mould, does a severe turnabout, fervently crooning above the longing piano ballad, “He Didn’t.” Then Divine Comedy frontman Neil Hannon takes on the snippy cabaret ditty, “The Dead Only Quickly Decay.” New wave holdover Gary Numan goes intergalactic on bouncy synth-charged “The Sailor In Love With The Sea” while another link to that androgynous post-punk era, Mark Almond (ex-Soft Cell), caterwauls across the tropical Tahitian warmth of the exotic “Volcana!” Experimental instrumentalist Brian Dewan lends delicate zither to the Momus-sung “As You Turn To Go.”

But wait, there’s more! In partnership with synth-pop composer, Christopher Ewen, (founder of ‘80s new wavers Figures On The Beach), Merritt and Gonson also have a dun-loving side project, Future Bible Heroes. Following the full length Memories Of Love, they reconvened for the recent five-song dance floor percolator, I’m Lonely (And I Love It), a title that hopefully reflects Merritt’s current state as a not-so-misanthropic loner.

The following is my conversation with Merritt.

You’ve been casually lumped in with lo-fi or indie rock artists, but I wouldn’t classify your music as either.

STEPHIN: it’s common to get locked in with things that don’t fit you very well. I think it’s because most musicians could be labeled easily. People who can’t are subjected to the habits of critics who find it easy to label people. The record industry is split intopeople who buy records the week they come out and people who don’t. The people who don’t in the end, actually buy more. The best selling record in the US is the Eagles Greatest Hits and Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Both are catalogue albums that are not necessarily teen driven. Th Eagles, in particular, are self-conscious adult rock.

Do you think today’s teenybopper trends compare favorably to the Teen Beat generation of the ‘60s and ‘70s?

STEPHIN: The Kasenetz-Katz groups were as phony as they could be. (Editors note: Kasenetz-Katz were responsible for ‘68/’69 top sellers such as “Quick Joey Small,” the Ohio Express’ “Chewy Chewy” and “Yummy Yummy Yummy,” and 1910 Fruitgum Co.’s “1 2 3 Red Light” and “Simon Says”) But the Backstreet Boys sing, which wasn’t true of the Kasenetz-Katz groups. So actually they’re less synthetic than the Monkees or the Ohio Express – who had no members.

But the new teenyboppers seem to sacrifice innocence and naïve sexuality for wimpy pre-chewed neo-orchestrations.

STEPHIN: I wouldn’t want to generalize, but the albums by the Kasenetz-Katz groups were putrid. The singles we remember kindly. There were about fifteen great ones. You may find fifteen great ones in the last five years. Video changed a lot. Milli Vanilli didn’t sing their own songs. That probably changed the industry too. Now you can’t be Kasenetz-Katz anymore.

Do you think modern teen pop will stand the test of time?

STEPHIN: I think song-wise, this is a pretty wretched period, but recording-wise, it’s quite wonderful. There’s a huge variety of productions. I really like the new Madonna record, Music. As a song, it’s terrible. As a record, it’s really fantastic. That’s the first thing in ten years that she has done that I like – since “Vogue.”

You’ve been compared to the greatest songwriters of the 20th century such as Cole Porter, Jerome Kern, and Irving Berlin.

STEPHIN: I take comparisons with a grain of salt. I don’t have a lot in common with Guided By Voices or Cole Porter.

How does New York City inspire you?

STEPHIN: There’s three airports, so it’s easy to get out of the country quick. There’s easy access to all kinds of culture. There’s a wide variety of gay bars, which is helpful to my work. It’s open all night, which is indispensable to me and my work. It’s easy to get around.

On Hyacinths And Thistles, you show a great affinity for choosing interesting female singers from wide ranging musical backgrounds.

STEPHIN: I write songs I think are for a particular singer and have Claudia track them down to try to sing them.

How does the new Future Bible Heroes EP compare to the first LP? The EP seems inspired by ‘80s new wave.

STEPHIN: It’s more of the same. We wanted to put out everything we’d done in that style before going onto a new album with a different theme.

GREG DULLI’S TWILIGHT SINGERS GET WHIGGED OUT

Interviews, ,

FOREWORD: Capable Cincinnati singer-guitarist, Greg Dulli, slowly gained prominence, first as the leader of the Afghan Whigs, then under the pseudonymous Twilight Singers banner, and finally, as wily collaborator in the Gutter Twins. Getting back to the Whigs – I’m still curious to find their formative ’88 debut, Big Top Halloween (pictured below). ’00s Up In It and ’02s Congregation easily sufficed. And ‘93s Gentlemen, released in the heat of grunge’s populist surge, found a wider international audience due to its snippy title track. ‘96s Black Love found Dulli displaying a seedier soul side with no loss in musical quality. ‘98s well-received 1965 hearkened back to the British Invasion with genuine nostalgic enthusiasm.

 

Image result for HILLTOP HALLOWEEN AFGHAN WHIGS

Before the Whigs disbanded, Dulli moonlighted as the Twilight Singers.

Under this moniker, he kept quite active, recording ‘03s superb Blackberry Belle, ‘04s covers LP, She Loves You, and ‘06s consistently pleasurable Powder Burns. On top of that, he has been involved in one fantastic collaboration with former Screaming Trees front man, Mark Lanegan, releasing ‘08s remarkably cohesive Saturnalia.

I caught up with the good-natured Dulli at Bowery Ballroom in 2000, when he was touring as the Twilight Singers for magical debut, Twilight As Played By The Twilight Singers. He was only too glad to cook up some herb at the club’s basement level as High Times’ cameraman took pix. I had fun joining him. He had a cool, calm demeanor and was seemingly game for anything. This article originally appeared in High Times.

 

“I’ve always liked High Times,” claims Afghan Whigs/ Twilight Singers frontman, Greg Dulli. “They’re a big fuck-you to the establishment.”

A native of Cincinnati and now a resident of Los Angeles, Dulli grew up listening to his parents’ Motown, Stax, and Philadelphia soul records.

“When I was a kid, I sold marijuana,” he reveals, “but didn’t smoke it. Don’t get high on your own supply. I bought a car with the money.”

While majoring in history and film at the University of Cincinnati, Dulli decided to play drums in a few local bands. So at the height of the grunge explosion, he assembled the Afghan Whigs, a highly respected underground band that skirted typical indie rock fare for a more soulful, lyrically expressive style.

Seattle-based Sup Pop Records released three Whigs albums before the band moved to a major label.

“When we were signed to Sup Pop around 1990, we knew we were never going to be Mudhoney or Nirvana,” Dulli recalls. “We weren’t from Seattle. We were from Cincinnati, where a lot of funk bands started. Bootsy Collins came from there. And the Ohio Players, Zapp, and Lakeside are from just up the road.”

During the recording of the Afghan Whigs celebratory 1965 album in ’98, Dulli also wrote what he describes as “a down-tempo mood piece to rock yourself to sleep to.” At the same time, he was temporarily living in New Orleans’ French Quarter with only a bicycle for transportation. The result, Twilight As Played By The Twilight Singers, is a lovelorn, despair-ridden record enhanced by the electronica/ acid Jazz-remix duo Fila Brazilia. Two of Dulli’s long time friends, Shawn Smith of Pigeonhead and Harold Chichester of Howlin’ Maggie, provide background harmonies throughout.

A warm, hypnotic aphrodisiac, Twilight compares favorably to Van Morrison’s symphonic epic, Astral Weeks, and Roxy Music’s lush Avalon. Though most of Twilight’s moody reflections depict the loneliness and sorrow Dulli felt after a courtship painfully concluded, the softly flowing acoustic ballad, “Clyde,” finds him seeking bohemian solace as he coos ‘baby doll, why you leavin’?/ come upstairs and get high with me/ the time is nigh for us to fly.’

“Twilight is my version of New Orleans,” Dulli observes. “I’d already used a big brass section, boogie woogie piano and steel drums on 1965. Twilight’s more inspired by the ancient atmosphere of literary New Orleans rather than its musical one.”

Though the Crescent City may be the birthplace of marijuana-smoking in America, it’s still a long way from Amsterdam.

Dulli declares, “To me, it’s a fucking joke that you can’t smoke pot freely in America. Look no further than Holland. They have one of the lowest crime rates in the world and prostitution is legal. They’re legally allowed to grow marijuana. And it’s a harmonious society.”

As he continues to puff on a joint, he continues. “The tobacco and alcohol industries lobby against it. They don’t want anyone impeding their turf. I’ve never seen any one get into a fight who was stoned. But you see a lot of drunk people start fights. I’ve gotten to the point where I’d rather smoke a joint than drink a beer.”

Dulli usually refrains from getting stoned during the day.

“I want to make sure I have a productive day,” he says. “If I have to meet people for business, I don’t want to get too stoned. I don’t want to get distracted and concentrate on something else. The sun has to be down.”

However, he does make a few concessions.

“If I have a day off, I’ll wake and bake, especially if I’m on the beach,” Dulli admits. “I play in a six-foot-and-under basketball league. We all smoke a joint before we play. I’m an outside shooter. We went eight and two last year.”

BEAUTIFUL SOUTH RISE AGAIN… THAT IS, OVERSEAS

Interviews

FOREWORD: It’s a shame the Beautiful South never made it in the US. Perhaps their singers’ British accent was too strong for mainstream American tastes. But singer Paul Heaton (ex-Housemartins) and guitarist David Rotheray formed a truly melodic partnership that rewarded true pop fans of all stripes. When they came to Manhattan to promote ’97s Blue is The Colour, I got to share many drinks with them at their hotel bar and then joined them at WABC’s East Side studio and watched them perform a short in-studio acoustic set and answer intermittient questions. Heaton’s satirical comments were precious. When asked about his sense of humor, he jokingly quipped, “I have no humor.” What was really exciting was getting to see the old soundboards and turntables used at the old 77 WABC – once the biggest pop station in New York City (lasting at the top from ’69 to ’78). Christ, I used to listen to those top 15 countdowns on Tuesday’s from ’71 to ’75, so those turntables really meant something to an avid music listener such as myself. Anyway, Beautiful South never had a US hit, but continued to roll along as superstars across the pond. ‘98s Quench and ‘06s Superbi I’m not the least bit familiar with. However, ‘00s Painting It Red was up to snuff and ‘03s Gaze wasn’t bad. This article originally appeared in HITS magazine.

 

Formerly a pub band from Hull, England, the Beautiful South write cynical folk-rooted songs that balance refined soulfulness with stoic neo-Classical arrangements. Singer Paul Heaton, formerly of the Housemartins (best known for the quirky liquor-ish anthem “Happy Hour”), and guitarist David Rotheray melt delicate imagery on top of soft, introspective compositions for their latest compelling work, Blues Is The Colour.

Although the Beautiful South gained superstar status in England with excellent singles compilation, Carry On Up The Charts, stateside attention has thus far been difficult to attain. Recorded in Holland, Blue Is The Colour features their 17th British pop hit, the pristine “Don’t Marry Her.” A seductive come-on sung by newest member, Jacqueline Abbott, it tests the boundaries of radio as she gently caresses the concubine sentiment, ‘Don’t marry her, fuck me.’

If Heaton and Rotheray’s wry humor was sometimes too British too comprehend, I was at least able to make it through the twisted colloquialisms. So it’s time to go to Hull and back with the Beautiful South.

Give me some background about your hometown of Hull.

DAVID: The best thing about Hull is it’s a backwater town that doesn’t pretend to be anything more. It’s a one-horse town and the horse has only three legs.

How do you explain the massive success of Carry On Up The Charts in Britain?

DAVID: There’s an electoral system in the Republic of Ireland that allows you to convert your party affiliation through a single transferable vote. That’s the same thing that happened to the Beautiful South. We always finished second to all these vogue-ish bands. Then, from the momentum of all our previous records, we finished first with the compilation. Instead of getting this silver medal again.

Do you think it’s difficult for the Beautiful South to get American airplay because the music cannot be easily pigeonholed?

DAVID: Possibly. It’s political. And non-exposure may be due to the white rascists who praise the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s pop bands without altering the culture. But it’s not the fault of the listeners.

The elegant, delicately imbued first single, “Don’t Marry Him (Fuck Me)’” seems a bit extreme lyrically. Are you hoping that conservative American radio gods won’t be able to understand Jacqueline Abbott’s thick Brit-accented lyrics?

DAVID: It’s not a very acceptable word for a song, is it? Oh wait, I was thinking about our next single, “Big Daft Cunt.” (laughs) The danger in arranged marriages is you could fancy someone else and be stuck with this bitch forever. What Jacqueline is saying in the song is, ‘before you get into a life that sucks, fella, have a good time and party a little.

How does Blues Is The Colour differ from previous albums?

DAVID: It’s a bit bluesier. You can hear the vocals and guitar more. Instrumentally, we went into the studio and tried to make sounds we never did before.

Paul, how does your previous band, the Housemartins, compare to Beautiful South?

PAUL: To me, the Housemartins were always under pressure to complete an album. But with the Beautiful South, we had time to spend in the studio. Both bands are completely different entities with completely different sounds. I can’t remember what inspired me to write the Housemartins tunes the way I did. But I’d always say music was something that came naturally to me. I was comfortable with what I was recording and didn’t let someone else pull the strings to our production. You just stick to what you know and not try to be so conservative. Soundwise, my music may be conservative, but not lyrically.

You look more like the typical English bloke who’d hang out at the pub guzzling whiskey rather than a sensitive lyricist.

PAUL: Don’t you think that’s a typical American attitude of what a guy should look like? I mean, all a poet like Bob Dylan needed was a pen. Dylan means a lot to me. Fortunately, he had a great talent to write and that’s what he got judged on. It didn’t matter what he looked like. The people who rebel against the rural agricultural lifestyle take on the establishment and set the pace for those who come afterwards.

Why did you decide to record the new album in Holland?

PAUL: We did most of the writing in Holland, too. We went to different smaller towns to write songs. We woke up fresh in the morning with no hassles from the night before. It was very comforting. But the lyrics are so down and moody. It wasn’t like there were 600 girls waiting for us to finish up.

What artists do you think are taking risks making innovative music nowadays?

PAUL: I think some of the new English dance music is brave. Much braver than us. They take risks in the studio. They’re middle class kids who realize this is their chance. That’s why white working class music in Britain is much more conservative compared to these black American artists. The working class black people take risks and show their soul. When you look at the Country/ Western market, it’s so conservative. But the black market is so hip to taking further steps. That’s why rap’s short history is so amazing. Outside of ‘60s artists like Joe Tex and Taj Mahal, few people ever rapped to their music before rap came along. It has taken so many more steps. America is brought up on the music of the ghetto communities. We don’t have that in Britain.

Should Britain get rid of the royal family?

PAUL: Absolutely. To have a king and a queen in Britain is like having a fuhrer run Germany. What have they ever done except hang people, cut their heads off and invade half the world? But they act real quaint now. We should get rid of them. Why would somebody decent like Princess Diana marry into that family? You’re not given a chance to speak out.

BOUNCING SOULS BACK TO JOUNCE ‘HOPELESS ROMANTIC’

Interviews

FOREWORD: I remember hitting dense traffic in Manhattan driving down the East Side Highway and being half-hour late for my Bouncing Souls interview at a tiny West Village bar. By that time, lead singer Greg Attonito had left. But the rest of the band was cordial and drank a few beers as we spoke. At the cusp of Jersey’s hardcore post-punk resurgence, this New Brunswick-based quartet was in top form in ’99 when Hopeless Romantic was released. ‘01s even better How I Spent My Summer Vacation, ‘03s Anchors Aweigh, and ‘06s The Gold Record followed. A tremendously entertaining live band, the Bouncing Souls have thus far survived. This interview originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Buddies since they went to junior high in south Jersey, the Bouncing Souls continue to solidify their pop-punk-hardcore reputation on their fourth and most focused disc, Hopeless Romantic (Epitaph Records). More secure in the studio and tighter as a unit, vocalist Greg Attonito, guitarist Pete Steinkopf, bassist Bryan Kienlen, and drummer Shal Khici spit out catchy, boisterous, oft-times comical, high-gloss confections like it’s ’87 all over again.

The Bouncing Souls mine the spirit of punk-y antecedents, proudly wearing their badge of courage. I witnessed the Bouncing Souls at Tramps the first time, Thanksgiving Eve ’97. There was more fan nudity, comedic banter, and stage diving than at the recent May ’99 gig. But the quartet came off better than ever the second time, thanks to an ever-expanding repertoire, sharper instrumentation, and more melodic chant-alongs. The band not only got great response from the rambunctious “East Coast, Fuck You” and other well-worn staples, but also a pertinent version of Oi! Classic, “Ole” and rip-snortin’ new originals like the Brit punk-spiked “Fight To Live,” the bohemian football-styled chant “Bullying The jukebox,” and the jittery “Hopeless Romantic.”

 

I spoke to Pete, Bryan, and Shal a few days before their latest, and last, Tramps show.

What did the Bouncing Souls try to achieve with Hopeless Romantic?

BRYAN: We wanted to satisfactorily express ourselves and pull it off. Our songs have their own personality, and we try to tweak whatever knobs to make it right.

You’ve used Thom Wilson as producer for the last three studio albums. Why?

BRYAN: He has become part of the inner circle as a non-performing fifth member. He knows us on a deep level.

SHAL: He knows our music well. Like a best friend, he’ll tell us, ‘you could do better than that.’ We had this instrumental with a cool groove we thought was ready. Thom thought it was half-written because it was just a riff and a drumbeat. Meanwhile, we were satisfied already. We were gonna call it “Rinaldo,” after the Brazilian soccer player.

BRYAN: We’re like ‘watch our licks.’ Thom was like, ‘all right you lazy bastards, why don’t you write some fuckin’ lyrics.’ So we added guitar licks and came up with “Undeniable.” The songs that seem less characteristic of us happened spontaneously, like “The Whole Thing.” Thom was like, ‘That’s an idea. Now develop it.’ Sometimes we’ll smoke a big fat joint in the studio, play our instruments, and get on some kind of wavelength. That happened a few times on Hopeless Romantic.

PETE: Thom helped us get relaxed to the point where we could expand our songs.

Unlike most punk bands, the Bouncing Souls genre-hop through pop, hardcore, and hard rock with no ill effects.

BRYAN: We like all those styles, except we’re not afraid to be everything we like. Nobody likes just one thing. We respond to honest music with pure integrity.

The song “’87” reminisces about hardcore’s peak year.

BRYAN: I think the first wave of hardcore was best since it came from somewhere within humans. Forever after that, a second wave of people only imitated that. We don’t imitate anything, The bouncing Souls have developed a unique approach.

PETE: Everyone in the band has different influences. They all show up in the music.

But how could four middleclass Jersey suburbanites embrace visceral punk firsthand?

SHAL: I think I could speak for everyone when I say everyone’s had messed-up stuff happen in their life. Regardless of what economic bracket, it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s had crazy experiences to develop angst.

BRYAN: I was a pissed off kid with a bad attitude. I don’t know why.

Have kids become more conservative since ’87? How has the hardcore audience changed?

SHAL: It’s just different. Kids are a bit more conservative since the market crashed around ’87. Hardcore shows change as much as our perception has changed. My version of hardcore in the late ‘80s was going to CBGB’s matinees. I thought it was totally dangerous and everyone was gnarly. There were a shitload more fights, but I was younger and smaller, and everything seemed bigger and more dangerous. It’s a whole different scene now. MTV is guilty of squashing the entire underground as any kind of threat. Instead of kids rebelling, they made the underground into a marketing tool. So there’s no political threat and it’s safe.

Do you make videos for any songs?

BRYAN: I like making videos for the art of it and for kids with cable stations and home video use. Our motto is: we draw the line with MTV. We dislike that shit. It sucks.

PETE: You turn it on and think, ‘This is everything I hate.’ Except Celebrity Death Match. That’s creative.

BRYAN: Otherwise, it’s like watching watered down Jerry Springer for frat boys. I’d rather watch VH1 Legends and Where Are They Now. When MTV took the revolution concept and put it on television, they snipped the balls off and re-sold it. Bouncing Souls aren’t kidding ourselves into thinking we’re a political threat. Our thing is the music we deliver on a person to person basis. If we could make one kid feel good about their life, then maybe he’ll overthrow the government. (laughter)

Tell me about “Bullying The Jukebox.” That song could rival the Dropkick Murphys with its in-your-face attack.

BRYAN: Yeah. I could see that. It’s sung like a pirate.

SHAL: It’s a true story about this one weekend where we were at a bar trying to bully the jukebox by putting $20 worth of coins in for one hour of play.

How’d you come up with the sordid Hopeless Romantic?

BRYAN: I was in bed with my girlfriend and wrote it in the middle of the night. It was directed at her, but not in a vicious way. There’s highs and lows of relationships. My point was, you put your heart on a plate and serve it to a girl like an idiot. That makes me a hopeless romantic while she’s a hard brick wall. Also, “Hopeless Romantic” is about romanticizing good ‘80s pop. We still feel its presence. It goes out to all the kids with big hearts. As ninth graders, we fell in love with music’s power.

Hardcore shows sometimes get out of hand because of misguided anger and misunderstandings amongst young, crowded fans. How could that be avoided?

BRYAN: Kids go to hardcore shows to let out aggression. My personal vibe is, be free to do whatever you want without bullying other kids or running the pit. If that happens, then you speak up. Otherwise, there should be an element of danger and an element of chaos with kids going ape shit, losing their minds, and looking scary.

PETE: It has to be positive. You could tell from onstage when you look out and see someone kicking a kid and acting like a redneck. It’s embarrassing.

Your nine-song live disc, Tie One On, was recorded in bootleg quality at the Continental. Why leave in chatter, missed notes, and unwanted distortion?

BRYAN: You play a live show and chances are you’ll go out of tune, break strings, and fuck up. It’s live. When you make a studio record, you make sure it sounds perfect. But in a live show, whatever happens, happens. We spent no money enhancing the live record. It’s an honest, cheap, punk-y show. And it’s sold cheaper than a normal CD. Any kid has his chance to tape it off a friend for free if they think they won’t like it. It’s not glorious, glamorous, or well produced. And it ain’t pretty. Anything goes. We feed off the crowds’ energy. It’s how we’ve lived for the past ten years.

What advise would you give to kids interested in starting a punk band?

BRYAN: Anyone could do it, but you can’t be a pussy and chicken out when the times get rough, because people throw obstacles at you from day one when you start a band. So few people make it. You have to have a song inside you and the guts to sing it. We blew off college and disappointed our parents. But now they accept us and think it’s cool. Remember, if you fill the world with bullshit, you’re doing a disservice. Find out who you are, and then be it.

 

DANIELSON FAMILE CHIP OFF OLD ‘CHOPPIN’ BLOCK’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Beginning their career as innocent religious teens hooked on popular secular music, Danielson Famile (shortened to Danielson) have become challenging art-pop architects with an appreciable cult audience. Led by falsetto-voiced guitarist, Daniel Smith (now a Rutgers grad), they gained a good underground rep mostly due to the small-scale success of ‘97s super-fine Tell Another Joke At The Ol’ Choppin’ Block. Grunge producer was recruited to record ‘01s Fetch The Compass Kids and Smith went solo for ‘04s Brother Is To Son. By ’06, the entire Danielson crew got back in the studio for hard rockin’ masterpiece, Ships. This was luckily the one and only impersonal fax interviews I ever had to do (in ’98). This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Refreshingly reaching out to teenyboppers and serious music fans alike, Clarksboro, New Jersey’s fresh-faced Danielson Famile conquer unexplored pop territory on the striking masterpiece, Tell Another Joke At The Ol’ Choppin’ Block (peculiarly released by metal-edged label, Tooth & Nail). Combining lighthearted humor and cuddly harmonies with a hardcore commitment to God, family, and close relationships, this wondrously enigmatic, wholly ambitious sextet (made up of Smith siblings Daniel, David, Andrew, Rachel, and Megan, along with keyboardist Chris X) tug at the heart and challenge the mind. They tear down generational gaps through insouciant originals.

Though dressed in surgical white outfits at live shows, the Danielson’s songs never resort to campy novelty. While their rudimentary instrumentation, casual nursery rhymes, and innocent childlike appearance make them safely accessible to pre-teens to enjoy, their sophisticatedly twisted arrangements distinguish them as serious musicians. Rarely has such purity and wholesomeness been so successfully combined with clarity of vision, sense of purpose, and sheer enthusiasm.

Idiosyncratic New York underground legend, Kramer, supplies unobtrusive, even-handed production for the simple to intricate pop structures. Piercing falsettos and lovely sopranos rise above twinkled bells, stately piano, and strummed acoustic guitar on swell compositions such as spiritually enlightened “The Lord’s Rest,” matrimonial dreamscape I Am My Beloved’s,” conscientious-minded “Me To Datee,” and organ-soaked “Deviled Egg.” “Flesh Thang’s” youthful vigor and charged up refrains seem to recall the Talking Heads “Up All Night” while the expansive, improvised whirlwind, “Jokin’ At The Block,” could be a baptismal retreat.

Fronted by compassionate 24-year-old guitarist-vocalist Daniel Smith, the Danielson Famile provide joyous stimulation for a complicated world wracked with uncertainty and pandemonium.

The following are comments provided by Daniel via fax from Norway, where the band had begun an early ’98 European tour.

Who were some of your favorite musical artists while growing up?

DANIEL: In order of time from 1975: The Beatles, Peter Paul & Mary, Eddie Rabbitt, Top 40 radio, Def Leppard, U2, Bob Dylan, ‘80s new wave.

How do most of your songs come together lyrically and instrumentally?

DANIEL: I discover the songs with my acoustic guitar, lyrically and structurally. I then – depending on what the song calls for – show them to my family and they play accordingly. They are very good at it.

How did Kramer’s production help? How eccentrically weird is he compared to some of his obtusely abstruse works?

DANIEL: Kramer is good at making us sound like we were recorded in heaven. He has been very kind, and helpful, not weird at all.

As Christians, what are your opinions on abortion, pre-marital sex, and drugs?

DANIEL: We believe in a life of pure love, relationships, and creativity. The High Spirit makes it happen.

Why are you so proud to be a Jersey band?

DANIEL: New Jersey is finally gonna get the respect it deserves. New York hates it. Philly hates it. New Jersey itself is split into north and south. South resents the north. New Jersey needs support internally. We will no longer be laughed at and I am proud to say I’ve always been here. Let the New Jersey creative force begin.

Who are your favorite local bands?

DANIEL: My friend Don Zimmerman is a brilliant songwriter. We just finished recording his new album in my house. Scientific, Chris P., Superbeast, and of course, our dad, Lenny Smith, are faves. We are South Jersey. It’s a different world down here.

What does each individual member bring to the Danielsons that is truly distinct?

DANIEL: I can’t say what we are doing in the overall spectrum of music. I’ll let others decide that.

 

THE FROGS ARE PUNKER THAN YOU

Interviews,

FOREWORD: I was not so much impressed by the Frogs off-the-cuff home-recorded coffeehouse-styled punk-imbibed novelties as much as I was intrigued by their audacious rips on conservative moralists and asshole media types. Wisconsin brothers Dennis and Jimmy Flemion began the Frogs was back in 1980, but only received properly publicized exposure ten years after when several soon-to-be-famous grunge artists touted them. I interviewed Dennis Flemion in ’01, when the Frogs last album, Hopscotch Lollipop Sunday Surprise, was released, and then put out of print, within months. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Witty Milwaukee deviants, the Frogs, gained recognition, and the respect of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and the Smashing Pumpkins, by giving the finger to hypocritical conservatism and deriding phony moralists.

Masterminded by brothers Dennis and Jimmy Flemion, these twisted freaks provocatively ‘derange’ totally bizarre improvisations. 1989’s gay-themed Only Right And Natural and the oft-bootlegged Racially Yours mocked gay bashers, white trash, and prejudicial chauvinists with lewd profundities. The media-blitzed Starjob EP and ‘99s Bananimals provoked right-wing extremists, humorless hicks, and countless squares.

Recently, the Frogs unleashed their most polished, unified, and discreet long-player, the pop-rooted Hopscotch Lollipop Sunday Surprise. Gone is the lo-fi amateurism and a portion of the duo’s offhanded satire, replaced by conscientiously heartfelt glam-rock confections such as the buzzy “Whisper,” the stoically-sung fuzz-toned “Sleep On The Street,” the T. Rex-sniped “Bear,” and the implosive “Better Than God.”

Nevertheless, the Flemion’s can’t resist getting goofy for the blow job-addled “Know It All” and the warped psychedelic dreamscape “Nipple Clamps” or dismissive on the vehemently straightforward “Fuck Off.”

Originally perceived as a double-length concept album, Hopscotch initially salutes monogamous heterosexual contact instead of indulging in the taboo escapism, misogyny, bestiality, and sacrilegious lust hilariously exposed on previous releases.

Your new album has a more serious tone.

DENNIS FLEMION: We’ve played serious songs since our inception, but the labels don’t put them out. People don’t want to hear them in bars. They wanna rock. Unless you’ve built up an audience and you’re a demagogue, it’s hard to get people to sit back and listen. The days of Bob Dylan at the Royal Albert Hall, as documented on Don’t Look Back, when you could hear a pin drop, are over. Nowadays you’d hear people yelling song titles and shit. Everybody’s in everybody else’s business – which is a problem. They do it with behind the scene shows about actors, demystifying everything. It was better when we were in awe of these people. You get greater insight to spur your mind, but it makes it contrived and lacking of substance.

Are you pissed off that ultraconservatives don’t understand the Frogs sarcastic wit?

DENNIS: We were around before politically correct culture existed. Since 1980, our independent music has annoyed naysayers in the press.

You fist-fucked that priest on Bananimals.

DENNIS: I’m of the mind it was a goof. That’s why Only Right And Natural’s “Drugs” had a priest with a yeast infection. The person who puts down or accuses someone is usually guilty of the deed. John Lennon believed in peace, but was an angry man with violence inside him. Our songs aren’t pessimistic or evil, although saying that is like slitting my own throat. It’s detrimental to our band to say we’re not controversial because a certain segment of society views us that way. People are on different wavelengths with PC culture. Like someone said about Hitler’s reign, ‘It’s a lucky day for the ruler when the masses don’t think.’

If you know anything about spirituality, you know it’s hard to walk the walk. You might long for something on the side. This is normal. I’m just pointing it out. You get an orgasm for a few seconds of heaven. You feel connected. But then you’re kicked out of the garden. That’s the carrot religion holds up for the culture. After hearing it long enough, you finally go, ‘It’s not taking me there.’ It’s a mood-altering image religion pimps on.

The stuff we make up is done on the spot – which can be difficult. We can write on any universal theme and strike a chord. But there’s no place for censorship in art, whatsoever. The purpose is to express. That should never be shackled. Kurt Loder on MTV was discussing how lyrics could lead to hate crimes. What’s next? Banning everything. It makes you angry to see how the public gets snowballed.

Your humor seems to mock local Wisconsin cheeseheads as well.

DENNIS: It’s probably a reaction against them. The levelof hick stupidity is unbelievable. You shake your head in disbelief. Some of my sense of humor comes from my parents. But I took it farther than they did. I believe in freedom of speech and expression of doing with your soul whatever you want. Why be thin-skinned? There’s so much fear out there. It’s the dumbing down of society.

TV feeds off stupidity. Clinton’s out of office so now the liberal media that previously sucked his dick could smear his already horrid, diminished reputation anytime there’s a slow news day.

DENNIS: Now Bush is going, ‘We have to straighten out the economy.’ What was wrong with the economy? They manufacture this bullshit in the press. Like we had to go bomb some country. They show it on the news and there’s nothing going on there. Why bother? What’s the threat? But Iraq pulled a fast one on us (during the Gulf War) when they started burning the oil fields. The footage was similar to volcano eruptions. That was more punk than any band out there. That fucker (Saddam Hussein) is on the edge.

COME KEEPS DRIPPING ON ‘NEAR LIFE EXPERIENCE’

Interviews, ,

 

FOREWORD: Though I’d spoken to Come boss, Thalia Zadek, and right-hand axe man, Chris Brokaw, several times before (at the Mercury Lounge and other venues), this 1997 interview at a Chelsea café in Manhattan was our first ‘sitdown.’ Zedek had worked her way up the alt-rock no wave ladder through formative bands such as Dangerous Birds, Uzi, and Live Skull, releasing a few solo albums after Come disbanded in ’99. Chris Brokaw, former Codeine drummer, made over a half-dozen hard-to-find but easy-to-love and anything-but-compromising solo albums, including ‘05s truly superb Incredible Love. His live show at Maxwells in Hoboken during ’08 was one of my favorite events of the year. This article originally appeared in HITS magazine.

 

Baseball legend Babe Ruth grew up in Baltimore and reached Hall of Fame status playing for the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees. Similarly, venerable tortured artist, Thalia Zadek, was raised in Baltimore, then settled in Boston after gaining initial credibility playing New York’s Lower East Side. She lent her formidable talents to cult faves Uzi and Dangerous Birds during the ‘80s. Along with Scarsdale, New York native and co-guitarist Chris Brokaw, they formed the critically acclaimed band, Come, recording audacious debut, 11:11 in ’92, and its respectable follow-up, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” two years later. With bassist Sean O’Brien and drummer Arthur Johnson in tow, they also backed former Dream Syndicate leader Steve Wynn on ‘96s Melting In The Dark.

For Come’s current project, Near Life Experience,” Zedek and Brokaw recorded and then toured with Tara Jane O’Neil and Kevin Coultas, both of whom are on loan from ethereal mood purveyors, Sonora Pine. Near Life Experience damn well could be Come’s most accessible and adroit full length disc. It prominently features the cellophane-wrapped miasmic opener, “Hurricane,” the twisted mantra, “Weak As A Moon,” the tension-packed, electrocution “Bitten,” and the balmy reflection, “Sloe-Eyed.”

I spoke to Zedek and Brokaw at a Chelsea diner. Legend has it they picked up the check.

How did you come up with Near Life Experience’s twisted title?

THALIA: The title refers to a slip of the tongue. I was telling someone I had a ‘near life experience,’ but meant to say near death experience.. Chris was cracking up at the imagery of that.

How has your music developed over the years?

THALIA: The Dangerous Birds were very poppy. We had a lot of different ideas. But I got into straight punk afterwards. I began to like the unstructured music of the Birthday Party, which was similar to punk if you tore it apart.

How can artists maintain critical acclaim when impending popularity offers the chance to sell out?

THALIA: I think music that is really original will get popular. Musicians aren’t doing themselves a favor by jumping on a trend because trends change. If you make stuff that’s interesting and original while trying to express yourself rather than copy someone else, it’ll be appreciated. You may not be a superstar, but you’ll get an audience. It doesn’t make sense to me how people pander and sell out because if you lose credibility and integrity, there really isn’t much else. I like different types of music. But I’m always baffled by what gets popular.

What current band annoys you?

THALIA: Everclear strikes me as writing incredibly stupid songs. They get on my nerves and make me want to cringe. I like catchy songs with good melodies, like Oasis, but I don’t get into their silly lyrics.

What’s the first record you ever owned?

THALIA: Either “Kung Fu Fighting” or the Carpenters “Top Of The World.” I actually didn’t buy much music later on. The first musician I was really into was Bob Dylan. I remember Leonard Cohen. I love his song, “Suzanne.” I discovered more of his music later on.

The gloomy despair of your first two albums seems not as prominently displayed on Near Life Experience. Do you have a happier outlook?

THALIA: I don’t have a more satisfied outlook. But my outlook has changed. I can’t pinpoint what happened, but after 11:11 and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, we tried to show some variety by not having just a single mood. Instead, we’d write five slow songs and then there would be one fast one thrown in.

The cover art for Near Life Experience seems to imply a reawakened innocence.

THALIA: What it implies is something not quite real. This German lady, Imche Wagner, took those pictures. I loved the colors and the doll sniffing flowers seemed fitting in its artificial nature. But there’s nothing artificial about the music. (laughter)

What made you want to pursue music, Chris?

CHRIS: My dad used to play drums. He once sat in for Jerry Lee Lewis. It was a fluke. He went to see him play at a roadhouse in Indiana and his drummer never showed up. He got paid and did a few sets.

Do you feel restrained being in a backup role to Thalia?

CHRIS: The main reason I play with Thalia is she’s a really good guitarist. Our friends introduced us and we played for hours. It was a great situation because we had a good musical dialogue. And she’s a great lyricist and singer. I’ve always trusted her judgement, even when she puts my music into words. The attention may be on her, but so is the pressure. Our stuff isn’t exuberantly happy so the press picks on Thalia, which is a relief.

What’s the difference between touring Europe and touring the States?

CHRIS: In Europe, they want you to play for a long time. It’s something they speak very highly of. My friends saw Guided By Voices in Berlin and they did five encores. In the States, they’d say that’s enough. But Europeans seem to have a longer attention span.

Who are some of your musical influences?

CHRIS: I was reading Please Kill Me by Legs McNeil. It had quotes from several late ‘70s punk bands which I realize influenced me. New York Dolls. Richard Hell. Iggy Pop, the Contortions, Public Image Ltd. And Bush Tetras. But lately, I’ve been listening to Charles Mingus and other Jazz artists.

What are the first records you owned?

CHRIS: Jeff Beck’s Beck-ola, the New York Dolls’ Too Much Too Soon, and Kiss Alive. One of the reasons I learned to play guitar was because of Kiss. Before that, I bought the singles ‘Bad Bad Leroy Brown” and “Monster Mash.”

LIQUID LIQUID: RAP’S UNSUNG HEROES

Interviews

FOREWORD: New York City’s dub-plated groove-based post-punk troupe, Liquid Liquid, crafted influential multi-cultured homemade minimalist recordings a decade before the ‘90s lo-fi do-it-yourself indie rock and rap underground became all the subterranean rage. Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel’s massively popular 1981 anti-cocaine diatribe, “White Lines (Don’t Do It),” used the elastic bass from Liquid Liquid’s “Cavern” as its musical bed, creating a big club following for the Jersey-originated quartet.

Though they disbanded in ’83, I caught up with Liquid Liquid multi-instrumentalist Richard Mc Guire in ’97 to discuss the generous self-titled double disc compilation that was coming out in weeks. We spoke over the phone for an hour. This article originally appeared in Cover Magazine.

 

Hip-hop began somewhat inauspiciously when Washington DC’s Chuck Brown was caught “Bustin’ Looose” and North Jersey’s Sugar Hill Gang cooked up a “Rapper’s Delight” in ’79. At about the same time, Liquid Liquid’s combination of diverse elements – Latin percussion, faux-soul, free Jazz, and eastern exotica – lent an extension to the underground scene that wouldn’t be explored until years later.

Influenced by Curtis Mayfield, Sly & the Family Stone, and African jungle rhythms, as well as dub-reggae tape manipulators Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, Augustus Pablo, and Adrian Sherwood, Liquid Liquid put their minimalist funk smack dab in the middle of the punk and disco rebellions from ’79 to ’83.

Coming together at Rutgers University in ’78, Richard Mc Guire (bass, percussion, piano, guitar, melodica), Scott Hartley (percussion), and Sal Principato (vocals) first called themselves Liquid Idiot. They muddled around the tri-state circuit for a year before hiring Dennis Young on marimba and changing their name to Liquid Liquid.

 

In ’79, the band performed its first few New York shows at CBGB and various loft parties, on several occasions playing with graffiti artist Jean Michel Basquiat’s band, the Gray. After a three-song tape failed to immediately impress 99 Records (whose clients at the time were respected guitarist-composer Glenn Branca and the Bush Tetras), Liquid Liquid resubmitted a better recorded eight-track tape of a live show at CB’s that got them signed.

By ’83, Liquid Liquid had played the Peppermint Lounge with loopy dance rockers, Konk, and toured Europe with the Talking Heads. In quick succession, they had dropped two influential extended-play ’81 singles, an inspiring eponymous entree and Successive Reflexes, followed by ‘83 full-length, Optimo. Along with four live tracks recorded at Berkeley Square in ’82, these discs have finally been assembled and repackaged as the historically significant Liquid Liquid on Grand Royal Records.

Relying on intuition and impulse, these untrained, non-conforming Yankee experimentalists prefigured many post-modern studio techniques. They introduced freeform minimalism (check out the live version of “Push”) and loosely-structured rhythms devoid of any cultural restrictions.

Remarkably, Liquid Liquid was respected by both the underground rock community and dance club patrons. And their impact on electronica, drum ‘n’ bass, and ambient trip-hop is just starting to be realized.

“We made all-encompassing groove music,” Mc Guire says. “Each member collaborated, smoked pot, then waited for a good groove to arise. Scott and I referred to Liquid Liquid as ‘body music’ We went through permutations, growing from unskilled musicians to more sophisticated technicians.”

While hanging around in NewYork’s Lower East Side, McGuire became intrigued with Latin sounds. As meringue and other south-of-the-border rhythms filtered into ‘80s dance subculture’s mega-mix, Liquid Liquid seemed bent on internalizing Latin music as much as expanding hip-hop’s boundaries. Ultimately though, it was the rubbery “Cavern,” featuring the infamous bass groove sampled for Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel’s coke-snubbing missive, “White Lines (Don’t Do It),” that made Liquid Liquid an important precursor of what is now respectfully labeled ‘old school’ hip-hop.

“Just when “Cavern” was climbing up Billboard’s dance charts,” Mc Guire says, “Afrika Bambaataa picked it up and began playing it at the Roxy, where Grandmaster Flash originally heard it. Then, club DJ Jellybean Benitz would close dance nights at the Funhouse with it. At the Paradise Garage, which was a huge gay joint and a benchmark of its time we’d play four songs. Then the DJ’s would spin discs.”

While waxing nostalgic, Mc Guire recognizes and accepts the shift in the music scene but doesn’t feel completely out of touch.

“It’s definitely a different scene in New York now with people cutting up music and giving a rebirth to old songs. They take it to another level using computers to construct and compose. And the form is growing rapidly,” he insists. “There’s a lot of drum ‘n’ bass I like, mostly DJ-related stuff like DJ Shadow, Tortoise, and U-Ziq. And Beck is all over the place. He puts it all together in one delicious stew and doesn’t take himself too seriously.”

On the cusp of club fame accorded by “Cavern,” the original Liquid Liquid called it quits in ’83. The pain of not receiving proper compensation for the use of its samples (check out Deee-Lite’s “Bellhead” and the Lights “Build A Bridge”) led Mc Guire to seek alternative ventures. He became a New York Times illustrator and now designs books, records, and Swatch watches. His own Mc Guire Toys line climaxed with ‘EO,’ an animated solar-powered toy. Still fond of his original artistic direction, he recently created a new video for “Cavern” at an animation studio. So keep watching for a possible third wave of Liquid Liquid.

 

MASTERS OF REALITY SKEW THE BLUES

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Masters Of Reality frontman Chris Goss informally inspired the entire stoner rock movement of the late ‘90s. I met Goss at a cordial dinner ’97 party at some small Manhattan eatery prior to this interview – which was conducted over the phone due to a horrendous accident blocking the Washington Bridge.

At the schmoozing dinner party were many High Times and Smug Magazine pals. As the smoke cleared and after Goss performed acoustically, I got to speak to the semi-legendary metal head about his muse. He was as nice as could be to everyone on hand. This article originally appeared in Cover Magazine.

 

After playing a refreshing one-hour acoustic set at tiny East Village eatery, Old Devil Moon, hefty Masters OF Reality singer-guitarist Chris Goss recalled how he used to practice six-string by studying Led Zeppelin’s nimble acoustical arrangements. Influenced by British rock guitarists such as Jimmy Page and Ray Davies, Goss also credits Blues masters Freddie King and Howlin’ Wolf for additional inspiration.

Without succumbing to demonic heavy metal pretensions or bad hair band atrocities, Masters Of Reality make trebly, blackened hard rock that reclaims the territory Cream and Ten Years After conquered in the late ‘60s.

Goss claims, “The British rockers skewed the Blues with strong, Gothicized beats and a big bottom end. They slowed down blues riffs, lowered them an octave, and stripped down the songs to emphasize the low end, creating a Hammer of the Gods atmosphere.”

After an eponymous ’88 debut and its belated ’93 follow-up, Sunrise On The Sufferbus, the eclectic The Ballad Of Jody Frosty went unreleased in ’95 (due to amicably resolved record label politics).

Returning to form, Masters Of Reality soar through the stratosphere with ‘97s masterful How High The Moon, recorded live at Los Angeles’ historic Viper Room.

“We compacted an hour-and-a-half show into a palatable 50-minute disc that cuts to the chase. There are no weird drawn-out moments on it,” Goss maintains. “And we decided to record at Johnny Depp’s Viper Room because it was a small room we felt good playing in. Depp’s partner, booking agent Sal Jenko’s a cool guy who respects bands that play there.”

Goss interestingly compares the loud, brazen guitar savagery of ‘60s Brit-rock with the spitfire assertiveness that Seattle grunge bands thrived on during the early ‘90s.

Coincidentally, Goss played with legendary Cream drummer, Ginger Baker, on Sufferbus. And he harmonizes with grunge-pop idol, Scott Weiland, formerly of Stone Temple Pilots, on the beautifully pale ballad, “Jindalee, Jindalie” (originally penned for Jody Frosty).

“Working with Ginger was such a privilege and a positive experience. We clicked so wonderfully. Making rock and roll records is a great way to make a living.”

AMY RIGBY WISHIN’ AND HOPIN’ TO BE ’18 AGAIN’

Interviews

FOREWORD: I befriended self-proclaimed ‘mod housewife’ Amy Rigby (birth name: Amelia Mc Mahon) after catching her live show several times in Brooklyn and New York. I originally did a piece on her for HITS magazine to support ‘96 breakthrough, Diary Of A Mod Housewife. She was always kind despite having to do full-time secretarial work to make ends meet when not performing. Rigby and her then-current band (Dennis Diken of the Smithereens; Brad Albetta of Mary Lee’s Corvette; Jon Graboff, ex-Beat Rodeo) played Mercury Lounge, June ’02, right after I did the following interview.

She went on to record two more consistent LP’s, ‘03s Til The Wheel Fall Off and ‘05s Little Fugitive, before settling in France with semi-legendary post-punk boyfriend, Wreckless Eric. Together, their eponymous ’08 LP turned out to be one of the years’ best. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Singer-songwriter Amy Rigby grew up in Pittsburgh before joining harmony trio the Shams and working a mess of Manhattan temp jobs, settling in Nashville with her 13 year old daughter thereafter. When the Shams broke up in the early ‘90s, Rigby became the under-recognized reigning queen of domesticity with a pair of worthy Elliot Easton-produced albums, the encouraging ’96 debut, Diary Of A Mod Housewife, and its worthy ’98 follow-up, Middlescence.

Defining a ‘mod housewife’ as a “woman being dragged kicking and screaming into adulthood…stuck in the netherworld between bohemia and suburbia,” the charismatic Rigby knows first-hand the predicament of leaving adolescence too soon. She has dealt with middle-age dilemmas such as divorce (from ex-dB’s/current Steve Earle drummer Will Rigby), shitty office clerk work, and near-poverty while continuing a modest, yet fulfilling, musical career.

Arguably her best album, ‘00s The Sugar Tree boasted sordid delights such as the testy “Balls” and the deceivingly heartfelt “Cynically Yours.”

But life ain’t grand and Rigby’s three albums have recently been deleted. Luckily for fans, Koch Records released the superb compilation, 18 Again, which provides an even-handed retrospective and includes a tender demo version of “Magicians.” The hilariously disgruntled folk-blues “Invisible,” the snappy pop confection “The Good Girls,” and the weary-headed, Indigo Girls-ish “Knapsack” deal directly with the everyday struggles of working class stiffs. The nostalgic, string-laden “Summer Of My Wasted Youth” and the pedal steel-addled John Wesley Harding duet “Beer & Kisses” offer no apologies for her slacker lifestyle.

Are there any artists like yourself making a career unloading domestic revelations?

AMY RIGBY: I felt like Loudon Wainwright did quite a bit of family songs. Maybe that Susie Roche album, Postcards From an Unmarried Housewife. Chrissie Hynde (of the Pretenders) made reference to being a mother on some songs. It’s so not sexy. There’s no mystery about it so people keep it hidden. It’s the opposite of what rock’s about, which is what intrigues me, combining the two.

What music turned you on as a teen?

AMY: I listened to FM rock in the ‘70s: Elton John, Beach Boys, The Who. When I moved to New York, the whole punk scene was going on. I went to see the Ramones and Patti Smith. I didn’t listen to Country until punk died in the early ‘80s. That’s when I discovered Patsy Cline and rockabilly.

Did you get there by way of ‘80s cowpunk combos such as the Del-Lords and Jason & the Scorchers?

AMY: Yeah. I had a band called Last Roundup that were peers of those bands. We were more of an acoustic hillbilly band because we didn’t have drums. I was writing songs, singing, and playing guitar. But Angel Dean was the lead singer. Country music has traditionally dealt with regular people. Loretta Lynn sang about “The Pill” and having kids at home. That was an inspiration.

The liner notes mention how the single-parent dating ode, “What I Need,” was inspired by Ian Hunter.

AMY: The chord progression and spoken word intro are actually like David Bowie’s “All The Young Dudes” (which Hunter’s band Mott the Hoople turned into a gigantic ‘70s AOR hit). I’ve always liked how Ian was the ultimate rock star, yet always presented songs as a frail human. Some of his anthems spoke of how