Category Archives: Interviews

ELF POWER STUMBLE UPON ‘CREATURES’

FOREWORD: Starting out as a fascinatingly melancholic lo-fi do-it-yourself combo, Elf Power soon became one of the most peculiar Elephant 6 ‘collectives,’ capriciously stuffing complex prog-rock eccentricities into orchestral melodies and grizzled psychedelia. I interviewed Elf Power’s Andrew Rieger to help promote ‘02s nearly brilliant Creatures. By ’04, they’d release countrified pop turnabout, Walking With The Beggar Boys, receiving little fanfare despite its wide-eyed accessibility. In ’08, Elf Power hooked up with wheelchair-bound cracked-folk enigma, Vic Chesnutt, for reputable despair-fueled collaboration, Dark Developments.

Elf Power singer-guitarist Andrew Rieger gained respect for rock music from his father, a Shakespearean professor with a good ear for modern sounds. Perhaps that explains why Rieger’s songwriting relies on acute literate metaphors and succinct verbiage.

During the ‘90s, this Athens, Georgia-based artist followed the viable trend towards recording sketchy, homemade, do-it-yourself cassettes for tiny boutique labels. Soon after, Rieger’s earliest full-length Elf Power CD release, ’95s Vainly Clutching At Phantom Limbs, was made privately on 4-track tape, leading to the equally trashy gem, When The King Comes, a semi-conceptual piece made by a “real band” and captured on an 8-track machine.

Word began to spread and a devoted cult following ensued. A solid bond with like-minded independent spirits, casually known as the Elephant 6 collective (Neutral Milk Hotel, Apples In Stereo, Olivia Tremor Control), afforded Reiger and long-time partner Laura Carter (keyboard-guitar) the chance to fully hone in on their post-adolescent psych-pop.

While ‘99s A Dream In Sound effectively condensed song arrangements and sonic ideas substantially, ‘00s The Winter Is Coming found Elf Power at the top of their game, caressing affectionate confessionals with the prettiest melodies yet. But when financial woes hurt former label, Sugar Free, the combo jumped ship, delaying the release of Creatures (SpinArt), their most efficient set of songs to date.

The evocative neo-orchestral landscape of Creatures embraces non-traditional rock instrumentation (Finch’s serene violin; Carter’s lissome accordion; and guest Heather Mc Intosh’s gliding cello) to enhance the melancholic surroundings. Shifting from the fuzzy electro-groove cacophony “Everlasting Scream” to the Celt-rock-tinged “The Modern Mind” to the full-blown rocker “Things That Should Not Be,” this easygoing bunch (currently rounded out by percussionist Aaron Wegelin and guitarist Adrian Finch) tame passive-aggressiveness with winsome transience in a well-balanced recreational manner. Ultimately, they prove lessons learned from previous ventures benefit those who bravely persevere.

AW: Who are some early influences?

ANDREW: My dad was a big record collector who got me into the Beatles, Stones, and Richard Thompson and the Fairport Convention. Being around him got me into music originally.

Does the title Creatures work as some secret metaphor for your muse?

It’s one of those things where I didn’t consciously notice how prevalently mentioned it was.

So let’s get this straight. (busting his balls) Andrew claims these “creatures” weren’t consciously part of the plan even though there’s two fucking songs with that title, a drifting seafaring tale about the sea, and some tryst with a sleeping serpent. Sounds like a scheme.

(laughing) I didn’t know it was there! There’s definitely supernatural imagery in the lyrics that always pop up in my songs. Maybe it’s from reading Marvel comics like Conan and Spiderman while growing up… I sold them when I needed cash to record.

“Let the Serpent Sleep” has a smooth Velvet Underground elegance.

Definitely. The cheesy organ and strolling patterns. I’ll admit to that.

Did you try to create a beautiful sequential lyrical theme? The last few songs seem consistent in moodiness and approach.

The last couple songs get mellower. That was a conscious way to wind it down.

Your arrangements have become more seamless as the textural splendor gets filtered into the lyrics better.

Our trick for that was using the combination of accordion, violin, and e-bow. We’d record the same parts on each instrument and after awhile you couldn’t tell which instrument was playing. It made a weird hazy sound and nice little fuzzy blanket for the songs. This time the songs influenced the extra instrumentation outside the guitar-bass-drums-keyboard standard. We tried to limit it to accordion and violin to give the songs uniformity and consistency.

I thought this albums’ warm lucidity harkened back to The Winter Is Coming, but it’s less brooding.

When we recorded The Winter Is Coming, we took our time and much of it was done over nine months. This time, we wanted to strip it down and make the songs more direct and simpler. We recorded them as we rehearsed arrangements instead of experimenting with a million overdubs like we usually do.

Smack dab in the middle is the catchy full-blown rocker “Things That Should Not Be.”

It’s punky aggressive. When we play live, we do Stooges, David Bowie, and Bad Brains covers. That rubbed off on the songwriting. We don’t try to represent our refined studio sound. We try to rock out and have fun.

Previous albums were back-loaded with noodling jams, unfinished ideas, and ephemera.

Yeah. I agree with that. That’s the problem when you have all the time in the world to experiment. Sometimes it works great and you get good parts. Other times, it’s self-indulgent. When you hear something new, it could sound good. Six months later, you’re wondering what you were thinking.

What has happened with the Elephant 6 collective of artists-musicians that shared ideas, band members, and studios and became all the rage a few years back?

It was a group of friends with similar aesthetic. Many of them played on our new record. But it’s not a record label, as some think. Apples In Stereo were in Denver, but are moving to Kentucky. Neutral Milk Hotel have splintered. One of them is in France.

AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB’S MARK EITZEL CONSTRUCTS ‘LOVE SONGS FOR PATRIOTS’

FOREWORD: First time I met indie cult fave Mark Eitzel, he was doing a solo acoustic set at CBGB’s 313 Gallery for now-defunct Smug Magazine’s 1st anniversary party. People were talking so loudly it ruined any chance of him being heard above the ruckus. In ’04, his resurrected American Music Club recorded Love Songs For Patriots, one of many career highlights. By ’08, Eitzel’s reassembled AMC clan continued to make evocative pastoral folk on The Golden Age. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Like many young ‘army brats’ living abroad, singer-songwriter Mark Eitzel spent his pre-teen years in faraway Asian spots Okinawa and Taiwan before calling Southampton, England home until age 19. When his father finally got transferred back to Ohio, the post-adolescent Eitzel began playing in Naked Skinnies, a feisty Columbus band inspired by avant-punks the Raincoats and Public Image Ltd. A huge Beatles fan impressed by Elvis Costello’s initial late ‘70s masterworks, he soon moved to San Francisco, forming, then reconstructing praiseworthy underground combo, American Music Club.

Purveying darkly sarcastic humor oft misconstrued as inescapably perplexing melodrama, the ceaselessly cynical troubadour’s early downbeat alcohol-fueled limericks were slapped onto American Music Club’s rushed ’86 debut, The Restless Stranger, and its preferred ’87 follow-up, Engine.

“We were all Anglophiles when we started the band. We did the first record in a hurry because our drummer was going to Germany and we wanted to go there with him to continue as a band. We put out 500 copies in Germany only, then Warner’s later re-released it,” he recalls, citing nascent trepidation. “By Engine, we moved back to America, took the band more seriously, and that album summed up what we do – combining loud distorted guitars with very quiet folk and Country-Western.”

Although American Music Club’s serenely melodious settings suit Eitzels’s disconcertingly deprecating sonnets, the lamenting Frisco transplant concedes to firmly embracing wily Brit-punks as an impressionable youth.

“The first show that blew my mind was the Adverts and the Damned,” Eitzel claims. “But nowadays, if I go out, it’s to a bar, not a club. The trouble is, when someone says a band is the greatest new thing, I’m like, ‘Yeah. OK.’ I’ve heard it before. It kicks ass, but it’s hard for me to get excited about.”

Perhaps Eitzel has trouble enjoying newer talent these days because he has toiled with numerous gifted instrumentalists over the course of several band-related and solo projects. An admirer of considerable pop songwriters such as Neil Young, Elton John, and Joan Armatrading (whose sedate jazzy folk styling embodied Tracy Chapman), the flinty baritone also acknowledges respect for arty prog-rockers Yes and their ilk.

“I listened to Genesis and liked King Crimson’s Red, but I hated ELP, Renaissance, Gentle Giant, and Jethro Tull,” he amends.

Perchance, these clever artful luminaries could’ve satiated Eitzel’s thirst for intricately moody ambience. An austere rural intimacy dominates ‘88s elaborate California, which runs the gamut from the rousing harmonica-doused honky-tonk “Bad Liquor” to the restrained acoustic somnolence “Last Harbor.” Seldom escaping the barren wasteland of confessional folk-y depressives, ‘91s brilliant Everclear boasted more expansive arrangements, noisier rock moments, and less constraint than past efforts, peaking with the crescendo-filled anthem “Rise” and the speckled “Royal Café.”

Better still, ‘93s wide-ranging Mercury fit whirly electronic textures into the mix. Out of its illuminating ashes came the lush piano waltz “Gratitude Walks” and the psychedelic cowpoke roadhouse rant “Crabwalk.” By ‘94s windswept homage, San Francisco, Eitzel broke up American Music Club to start a solo career. Though heartbreak, misery, and vulnerability saturate these endeavors as well, Eitzel appeared upset by concerned fans missing the witty satirical facetiousness his dour lyrics insinuated.

When confronted with the thought that his incipient agonizing shyness may’ve paralleled that of ex-Smiths frontman Morrissey, whose bleak elegies sometimes inform Eitzel’s sulking guise, he gladly proclaims, “Maybe that was true ten years ago. But I think I drank a lot more than Morrissey or I didn’t do the same drugs he did. I love his work, so that’s a compliment.”

Any discomforting reticence and debilitating anxiety seemingly subsided during his ensuing solo quest. ‘96s fine 60 Watt Silver Lining retained the expected inhibited subtlety of yore, but reduced the gloomy insularity and lovelorn despondency for more assured emotional containment. Jazz trumpeter Mark Isham and standup bassist Daniel Pearson offered light Jazz eloquence to Brill Building mementos. Soon after, Eitzel hooked up with Tuatara saxophonist-vibesman Skerik and percussionist Barrett Martin plus pianist-slide guitarist Scott Mc Caughey (Young Fresh Fellows/ Minus 5) and REM guitarist Peter Buck on ‘97s demurely lounge-y West.

“Peter Buck wanted to do a record together,” he explains. “He came to town, we wrote it in three days, and a month later flew up to Seattle. Tuatara was an amazing backup band.”

Taking its protracted title from the hook phrase of Elvis Presley’s heartrending “Suspicious Minds,” ‘98s Caught In A Trap I Can’t Back Out Because I Love You Too Much Baby’s spare tranquility comes closest to the crystalline melancholic flicker tragic ‘70s baroque-folk mystic Nick Drake once wrought. Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley (drums) and Yo La Tengo’s James McNew (bass) provide poignant rhythm to four songs.

Then came the anguished sadness of ‘01s The Invisible Man, recorded in a living room with acoustic guitar, but later adorned by samplers and MAC G4 computer electronics.

Next, Ethan Johns (of H-Bombs fame) and Joey Waronker (That Dog/ Beck) added surreal backdrop to the mope-y treatments given ‘02s The Music For Courage & Confidence’s borrowed tunes.

In retrospect, Eitzel repents, “That was someone else’s idea. I was persuaded to do a covers-LP to make lots of money. Like a fool, I was left broke. But I love the record even if those aren’t songs I’d normally do.”

However, beautifully brooding pop ballads surveying Eitzel’s American Music Club period were commissioned for ‘03s The Ugly American, which benefited from a full-fledged Greek ensemble. Due to its overseas success, this led him to believe his former mates may want to take another chance in the recording studio. So he re-assembled the still-viable combo, but there was one important difference. Whether intentional or not, his latest songs reflected both the hopefulness and volatility of an unsettled world instead of the dismal sagas of a ravaged individual.

“I don’t know if there’s time left to be a sentimental fad songwriter. Everyone has to be a part of something. The world has changed,” he steadfastly advises.

Eitzel’s spirited maturation shines through the generally upbeat outlook his regenerated American Music Club encourages on ‘04s ambitiously cogent Love Songs For Patriots. The didactic “Ladies And Gentlemen,” whispery sunup resolution “Another Morning,” and fervently uplifting “Only Love Can Set You Free” counter the eerily sorrowful regret “Love Is” and the tangled damsel obfuscation “Job To Do.”

On the nearly symphonic stately piano dirge, “Patriot’s Heart,” Eitzel ostensibly addresses the dichotomy of misplaced allegiance, construing vengeance as a positive motivation against evil in a roundabout way.

He shares, “Columbus has the largest gay community in the Midwest beyond Chicago. So I was taking a tour of Columbus gay bars with a friend. There were a bunch of them, many down and dirty. The last one had all these trucks parked outside with American flags. All those guys probably have a wife and kids. Hey, that’s America. Peel back just one layer and you’ve got all kinds of weird shit.”

Though Eitzel tries to veer away from political opinion during conversation, the temptation to express his ideals is too great. Beneath the static guitar fuzz of “America Loves The Minstrel Show” lies a foreboding message listeners should heed.

“Everything that’s in popular culture in America is mediated. America doesn’t accept the real thing, only the cliché of what is real. So that seems how cultures get integrated into America. First you love to hate the cliché, then you hate to hate the cliché. Then, you accept the cliché and the people. But it just doesn’t end. You wish America was smarter than that,” Eitzel avows. “The 2000 national election was the ultimate. Both candidates pose as down home country folk when in fact they’re Harvard/ Yale educated millionaires. Americans love how these guys pretend to be like them when all they’re doing is speaking to the Lowest Common Denominator all the time. People like Bush get voted in out of despair (i.e.: Clinton’s ridiculous ‘I feel your pain’ manifest) People have ideologies but lack common sense.”

Going deeper into governmental contention, he abhors rightwing authoritarian control.

“Any fundamentalist religion is fascism. I don’t think Bush is fascist, but Pat Robertson is. Yet Bush is leaning towards fascist government. If they extend the patriot act, they could arrest you without giving any reasons or access to a lawyer. The arrests at the Republican National Convention – they picked people up who looked like terrorists. They could keep them in jail indefinitely. It’s terrifying.”

Less topically serious, “Myopic Books” finds an unconventional oasis in a snooty bookstore.

“That’s one of those songs the world gives you,” he snickers. “I was in Chicago walking down the street. I’d gotten off the phone with someone filling my ear with how bad their life was and I was like, ‘Fuck you!’ Then, I found a hipster bookstore where they were playing Dinosaur Jr. on the radio and the people were real skinny and unfriendly and I really loved it.”

Still able to conjure the dreary minimalist romanticism Bay Area protégé Mark Kozolek (Red House Painters) took as prototype and the barren stoicism death-obsessed Nick Cave flaunts, Eitzel’s intriguing oeuvre has now expanded beyond confining morose boundaries. He now counteracts dry innuendo with moist directness, exhibiting innermost feelings of glee, contentment, and hesitancy while circumventing the profound neuroticism afflicting earlier musings. Love Songs For Patriots reaffirms Eitzel’s (and thus, American Music Club’s) sordid sense of humor about misery while fondly propagating nationalistic pride and rejuvenating adoration for wizened mortals.

EELS DEPRESSION-BOUND ‘SOULJACKER’

FOREWORD: Eels brainchild Mark Everett has suffered for his art too long, enduring family and friends’ tragic deaths while absorbing sundry other calamities I’d wish only on Bin Laden and Hitler. His ’96 debut, Beautiful Freak, and its whimsical narcotic spellbinder, ”Novocaine For The Soul,” really broke through on modern rock and college radio in part due to Beck’s ‘chilaxed’ downcast suburban ditty, “Loser.”

Though ‘01s Souljacker pumped up the volume and increased intensity, its dark characterizations provided ghostly reminders. After this interview, ‘03s live-in-the-studio Shootenanny and ‘05s Country-styled acoustic retreat, Blinking Lights and other Revelations (with high-profile contributions by Tom Waits, Peter Buck, and John Sebastian), branched out within the folk-pop realm. The Eels ’09 disc, Hombre Lobo, kept Everett’s ambitious musical streak alive. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Last time I spoke with eels frontman Mark Oliver Everett (a.k.a. E), he was still recovering from the cancerous death of his mom and the concurrent suicide of his sister (documented on ‘98s eerily dirgey Electro-Shock Blues). Then, with the cautionary nursery crimes and unresolved riddles of ‘00s beautifully rendered Daisies Of The Galaxy, recorded with R.E.M.’s Peter Buck and Grant Lee Phillips, E delivered some of the most poignant and carefree tunes in his canon.

Two years hence, the loosely thematic Souljacker finds E relaying depressing accounts gathered from acquaintances while being enamored by the perilous thought of an individuals’ spiritual embodiment being stolen. Helped along by former PJ Harvey co-conspirator John Parish (co-producer/ multi-instrumentalist), Joe Gore (guitar), and Kool G. Murder (bass/ synthesizer/ clavinet), the inventive L.A.-via-Northern Virginia sage continues to spin glum tales concerning some “Dog Faced Boy” and “Bus Stop Boxer.” Beautiful illuminations such as “Friendly Ghost” and the melancholic “Fresh Feeling” show definite signs of uplift and hope amongst the ever-present glare of despair.

On Last Call with Carson Daly, the now full-bearded E, dressed in casual tee with eyes hidden behind shades, convincingly pile-drove through “22 miles of road” for a soaring guitar version of “Souljacker Part I.” Later on, he moved over to keyboards while one-handedly banging a drum for the fierce “Dog Faced Boy.”

In the past, E’s shaven face took on the look of a frail, insecure naif lost in an inevitable “World Of Shit.” Now, our reluctant hero has the somewhat secure fuzzy appearance of an older, wiser, rugged troubadour. Perhaps the facial hair covers up the emotional scars of a traumatic past. Either way, the revolving assemblage E casts as the eels remain one of indie rock’s hottest prospects.

AW: Did John Parish provide many of Souljacker’s cinematic moodscapes?

MARK: We have similar love for little noises that make people get up and see what’s wrong with their stereo. I don’t know how to describe what he does. It’s something that’s all his own. I thought it was a good match.

Give me some background on Kool G. Murder.

He’s been around awhile. He’s a Silver Lakes hipster. He plays around with a lot of people doing remixing and d.j.ing. I met him through a friend of a friend. He came over one day and never left. Now we can’t get rid of him.

I’ve heard of indie rockers like Beck coming from Silver Lake, but it’s cool hip-hoppers thrive there as well.

Silver Lake is a melting pot.

Why put the 4-song EP, “Rotten World Blues,” on a separate disc alongside Souljacker?

I’m against records being too long. Just because you could fit 74 minutes doesn’t mean your album should be that long. But I’m just an old crank. Every country has a different version of Souljacker. England has an extra track because they have such an import problem. Same with Japan. They wanted me to add an extra track until I made the suggestion of four extra tracks. To my surprise, they agreed.

You take on the persona of “Dog Faced Boy.” He seems to be a kid that got picked on and rejected in high school.

That song was inspired by a woman I know who was kind of hairy as a kid and was teased by classmates and called gorilla girl. She had a Christian fundamentalist mother. She begged her mom to shave her. Then, I turned it into a dog-faced boy to make it convincing to sing in the first person.

Did you have the tortured childhood many musicians complain about?

Everybody’s childhood was fucked up, it seems, in one sense. I guess some have an ideal childhood, but I don’t know anyone.

Sometimes the early struggles become their muse for life.

But I don’t want to make a life out of that. The gorilla girl has become the hottest girl in town. They always get the last laugh. The geeks shall inherit the earth. The girls that were hot in high school that you wanted to go out with become unattractive while the others become attractive. It makes you believe in God.

Does your bearded appearance reflect the “Dog Faced Boy” character?

No. It just sort of happened. I stopped shaving.

Was the searing “What Is This Note” put at the end of Souljacker because of its derivation from the preceding moodscape?

I don’t know if it’s that much different from “Souljacker Part II” and “Teenage Witch.” It’s just so aggressive. I love how it smashes you in the face after “Souljacker Part II.”

It seems as if Parish was highly involved with the bent cocktail jazz -bossa nova “That’s Not Really Funny.”

Oh completely. That’s all him. What I love about it is it really rocks out without having elements you’d expect in a rock song. There’s hardly any drums and no real bass guitar, yet somehow it really rocks.

The anguished dirge, “Bus Stop Boxer,” really hit me. It seems so earnestly depressing.

Every other song was inspired by a real life person. That was inspired by one of the record engineers we worked with. He made the mistake of telling me a story about his childhood. (laughter) Next thing, I wrote a song about it.

Do you enjoy other semi-orchestral contemporary mood rockers such as the Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev, Spiritualized, or Grandaddy?

Yeah. I like all of those. I haven’t heard Grandaddy, but everyone says I’d like them.

What’s this about a meditation retreat you went on? Did it help your writing?

Totally. I was in the middle of Electro-Shock Blues when I went on that. This album just had to wait in line.

What are you currently working on?

I’ve got a couple records in the can and I’m working on one. I’m also working on a Sam Shepherd film that’ll hopefully be shooting this fall.

EAST RIVER PIPE FIND ‘MEL’ ALONG HOMELESS TRAIL

FOREWORD: Under the alias, East River Pipe, former homeless Jerseyite, F.M. Cornog, makes menial pay selling beautifully textured indie pop albums. In ’96, I got to speak to the shy, reluctant artist when breakthrough album, Mel, came out. Since then, he has slowly continued to release some of the most alluring neo-orchestral pop imaginable. ’99s The Gasoline Age bettered Mel while ’03s Garbageheads On Endless Stun and ’06s What Are You On were nearly as good. A vibrant storyteller who refuses to tour, Cornog is truly an enigmatic character. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Born in Norfolk, Virginia and raised in Summit, New Jersey, F.M. Cornog spent time homeless in Hoboken until he was apprehensively convinced to release the 4-track tapes he had made. Much like lo-fi indie rocker Jack Logan, Cornog never planned to make his private tape collection available for public consumption. And much like reflective, low-key acoustic solo artist Smog (a.k.a. Bill Callahan), he hides behind a peculiar moniker – East River Pipe. By combining Beatlesque psychedelia, Beach Boys-inspired harmonies, and vibrating modern electronics into pastoral guitar pop, East River Pipe is basically Cornog’s one man band.

Cornog maintains, “I tried working with other instrumentalists, but they approached music in a second hand manner. And I couldn’t get anything done. I have no time for lazy musicians. And much like my idols – Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Brian Wilson, Todd Rundgren, and Lou Reed, I decided to get serious and make beautiful, melodic songs on my own.”

But there were huge hurdles Cornog had to leap over before achieving any credibility or indie pop stature. Cornog reflects, “I was severely depressed and used drugs as an escape to obliterate my own ego. It became a vicious cycle. I had no friends and lived in the Hoboken train station. In the winter of ’86, all I had was a green windbreaker. My father had always told me to deal with the real world or it would kick me in the ass – and at that time, it did.”

But as fate would have it, an undisclosed person gave a 4-track tape of Kornog’s work to Barbara Powers, and it became a crucial stepping stone to his success. Powers, now Kornog’s girlfriend and business partner, started Hell Gate Productions (named after the Astoria, Queens bridge).

In ’91, she released Kornog’s East River Pipe single “Axl or Iggy / Helmet.” After several positive reviews, Kornog had a chance meeting with Bar None’s Tom Prendergast at Hoboken’s Pier Platters. Prendergast convinced him to send his single to Britian’s Sarah Records.

With “Helmet” now the A-side, Melody Maker gave East River Pipe single of the week honors. Kornog was then approached by several major labels, but decided he disliked the ‘high pressure bull shit.’ So he opted for Chicago’s tiny Ajax Records and his career has been on a slow, organic climb ever since.

Kornog declares, “You’ve got to put a stamp on your own music. The whole point of being an artist is to come up with new ideas and form a foundation. You should express your own personal vision. Even a retro song like Oasis’ “Champagne Supernova,” a guilty pleasure, was well constructed. Unlike grunge heads’ heavy bummer music, I’ve always written easy, heartfelt songs apart from any scene. Some of my songs are dark, but the music makes it seem less threatening. I’m aware of what music is currently out there, but some bands don’t know the difference between recycling music and making something original out of existing ideas.”

East River Pipe received a big boost when ’96s Mel found a sizeable indie audience with depressive suburban kids and the cool underground pundits supporting them. Jangled pop tunes such as the infectious “The Club Isn’t Open” and the chimy Robyn Hitchcock-like “Prettiest Little Whore” (a sincere assertion concerning a transvestite lover) cuddle up next to the country-folk “Guilty As Charged” and the cloudy tender-hearted “Beautiful Worn-Out Love” (a song Marshall Crenshaw would die for). And somewhere between Jazz lite, pop balladry, and art rock lies the expansive instrumental “New York Crown.”

“Originally, “New York Crown” had lyrics about a guy sitting in a strip bar staring at a girl he wanted as his queen. That song reminds me of the dream-like New York skyline at night. It’s incredible, scary, and beautiful,” Cornog says. “In fact, I’m attracted to edgy street personalities like the Taxi Driver and Midnight Cowboy characters. They lived dingy New York City lives.”

How did Cornog decide on the East River Pipe handle?

“One day I was walking by the East River and a sewage pipe had warm, steamy liquid pouring out of it. So I just decided that I am the pipe, society is the sewage, and my contribution is my music – or my crap, if you get my meaning.”

STEVE EARLE’S HARD ROAD TO ‘JERUSALEM’

Image result for steve earle

FOREWORD: Steve Earle may be the most loquacious musician I ever met. I’d interviewed him for Gallery Magazine during ’97s El Corazon hit the stores. We talked about football, politicians, and music for over 90 minutes. On ’02s Jerusalem, Earle made front page headlines for sympathizing with American-bred Muslim sympathizer, John Walker, a post-911 rightwing target. Earle offered no apology and went about his business. ‘04s hard-hitting The Revolution Starts Now and ‘07s Washington Square Serenade continued to snarl in the face of neo-conservative agenda. What’ll Earle come up with now that lefty Obama’s the prez.

This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly. It’s followed by the original Gallery piece I entitled Bad Boy Balladeer Is All Heart On El Corazon.

Perhaps the busiest Country & Western-based Nashville cat hitting the scene, bearded bard Steve Earle combines the folk ruminations and fingerpicking guitar style of disciple John Prine with Townes Van Zandt’s nostalgic emotional yearning and David Allan Coe’s rugged outlaw sensibility. His well-respected ’86 debut, Guitar Town, utilized meatier arrangements and a more prominent beat than neo-traditionalist contemporaries Dwight Yoakam and John Anderson, working pliable rock aggression into back porch hillbilly sensibility.

Originally from heartland Texas, this proudly leftwing, self-proclaimed ‘last of the hard-core troubadours’ was busted for heroin after ‘87s sleek Exit 0, ‘88s boogie shufflin’ Copperhead Road, and ‘90s darkly soul bearing road-as-metaphor The Hard Way failed to establish him as a recklessly authentic American icon.

Following a jail stint, the sober, revitalized Earle brought in roots-driven Norman Blake and Peter Rowan on mandolin and dobro to spice up ‘95s Train A Comin’ before ‘96s reconciliatory I Feel Alright faced romantic loss head-on.

By ‘97s confidently laid-back El Corazon, Earle’s unfettered, relaxed assuredness led to The Mountain, a monumental bluegrass set featuring the pristine Del Mc Croury Band.

While ‘00s Transcendental Blues invoked folk-blues legend Woody Guthrie as channeled through the Beatles Rubber Soul, the recent Jerusalem takes on timely concerns such as misguided fundamentalism (“John Walker’s Blues”), controversial maquiladoras (the Doug Sahm-inspired organ-riffed drug smuggler “What’s A Simple Man To Do”), and corporate betrayal (“Amerika V. 6.0,” with its rhythm guitar curling into the Stones’ “Jumping Jack Flash” before copping Buffalo Springfield’s “Mr. Soul”).

AW: Do you think the media gave you fair representation concerning the controversial “John Walker’s Blues”?

STEVE EARLE: People reacted the way I expected. Mainstream media reacted to them. Some of the lines came straight out of his mouth.

Why does Walker’s voice sound like Tom Waits in song?

Those taped t.v. snippets showed him exhausted, naked, duct taped to a board. He had a bad day. His voice dropped down low.

I agree he wasn’t a serious Taliban threat, merely a foot soldier.

He had no prior knowledge of the September 11th attacks. Neither did some hijackers. He left the country with no intention of returning. He was 14, got completely immersed in hip-hop, and looked outside his culture for something. He discovers the black cultural experience, goes to see Malcolm X, discovers Islam, and attends a Mosque in Marin. His parents told him he could study abroad and he decides to go to Yemen after graduating high school at 16. It’s a hotbed for fundamentalism. Afterwards, he finds out his parents separated, father came out of the closet, and his whole world turned upside down. Any fundamentalist is down on homosexuality so he goes back to Yemen.

I didn’t go off half-cocked and wrote a song. Next time his parents hear from him, he’s going somewhere cool for the summer. Which happens to be Afghanistan. He left there, went to Kashmir, and when we started attacking the Taliban, Islamic fighters from the region went to fight. People vilified him but he had no direct role in the attacks and deserved to be treated like a human while being judged. He was being treated as the poster child for our fears. It’s ugly scapegoating. It turned into racism and discrimination, the opposite of what this country’s about.

Is it difficult to compose political songs since instrumentation is spare to stress your vocals?

I think that may be why the record is spare, but it wasn’t conscious. The record was idea-driven. Transcendental Blues was me becoming fascinated with melody and textures. I spent time with overdubs, listened to Beatles records, and turned shit around backwards. This record was more like, bring in three songs and cut a track until we got one that smoked. I listened back, put a tambourine on, and mixed the fucker. It was a real immediate experience. I was concerned the lyrics should be understandable to tell the story best.

“Amerika V. 6.0” addresses HMO’s.

We’re in a de-regulating society letting the market handle everything. The reason that’s not feasible is people go without medical treatment and go hungry. The market isn’t designed to take care of everyone. As a fundamental idea, Capitalism is oppressive because it requires a surplus of labor to thrive. I have nothing against free enterprise, but we’ve been dismantling legislation starting with the New Deal, allowing regulation for humans. Left to their own devices to do the right thing, they’re simply not highly evolved enough.

I was serving one-year probation and parole after jail. I had to pee for police once a week. But I wanted to not be a heroin addict so badly I welcomed it. I couldn’t have stayed clean if I didn’t have to show up with clean piss. I would’ve cheated. You can’t let politicians in Southern states control health care because they’ll steal the money. Rules keep us from hurting ourselves with corruption. I live in Ground Zero for HMO business, Nashville. That shouldn’t be privatized and left to the highest or lowest bidder.

Does “Conspiracy Theory” deal with repressing the belief 9-11 actually happened?

For 45 minutes, we were all on the same wavelength focusing on the people’s family’s horror. Then, we thought how it was gonna affect me. I was thinking about the death penalty and how we were all in an ugly retributive mood. I wanted to know where my son was since he registered for the draft. There are people who had an agenda to go after Iraq. The danger is it perpetuates the lie of why we’re going into Iraq. Saddam poses more of a threat to his neighbors, but we’re thinking of going in unilaterally. That’s isolating us from the world. When you start talking about al-Qeada and Saddam being the same thing, that’s racism. From that point, we’re fighting a war against a belief system and a race of people. Our government will tell you they hate us because we’re free. Bull shit. They hate us because we support Israel and its oppressive regime. We weren’t concerned with the foreign entity occupying Afghanistan passing out burkas until 9-11.

You close the album with the “Jerusalem.”

I was amazed how ignorant I was of Islam. I didn’t know devout Muslims say ‘peace be upon him’ every time they say Jesus. He was the last prophet before Mohammed. They worship the same God as Christians and Jews. It’s the God of Abraham. This country doesn’t operate well without a boogie man. Since the Soviet Union fell and Khadafi keeps his head down, the Palestinians are the new enemy. My spiritual belief may be retarded since I’m not really Christian, but I believe there is a God. We’re coming back to Jerusalem for 2,500 years because we’re supposed to get it right. If we get that right, all else will be easy.

What records have you bought recently?

Springsteen’s The Rising and The Eminem Show. Dre is real good at producing (Eminem). I was scruffing for hits on the street, didn’t even have a guitar, when Dre’s The Chronic came out. So I figured I’d head over to the shop where they sell hip-hop and drug paraphernalia on Charlotte Avenue in Nashville and I’d buy myself two pipes, some screens, and ten cassettes of The Chronic. And if I ran out of money in the middle of the night, I could always trade a copy for some dope.

STEVE EARLE

‘BAD BOY BALLADEER IS ALL HEART ON EL CORAZON

While growing up in Texas, esteemed singer-songwriter Steve Earle listened to Country, rockabilly, and Blues, musical styles that’d inform his six marvelous studio albums to date. Gaining exposure and critical attention with his ’86 debut, Guitar Town, Earle secured his status as an accomplished composer admired by his peers.

But while Earle’s rootsy music was shunned by compromised contemporary Country/ Western radio, Garth Brooks and Randy Travis welcomed him with open arms shortly thereafter.

Following the libertine sophomore effort, Exit 0, and the rockin’ powerhouse, Copperhead Road (which remarkably consolidated his edgy rural tales of disobedience and paranoia), Earle spent some time in jail for heroin abuse. Upon his release, he cut ‘91s somber retreat, The Hard Way, emotionally detailing seclusion, solitude, and regret. Its brilliant follow-up, I Feel Alright, caught the Nashville-based troubadour celebrating life while absolving guilt-ridden feelings with uncanny frankness.

On his latest, El Corazon, Earle again relates small town observations with a keen eye. And he does so with an incredible assemblage of talent. Emmylou Harris adds close harmonies to the stormy “Taneytown;” the Supersuckers (who just released a five-song EP with Earle) help tear up “N.Y.C;” bluegrass traditionalists the Mc Coury Brothers keep the home fire burning on the folksy “I Still Carry You Around;” and the Fairfield Four sizzle through “Telephone Road.”

As for the near future, Earle plans to tour with hillbilly legend, Buddy Miller, and record a bluegrass album with the Del Mc Coury Band.

I spoke at length with the master craftsman via phone one sunny afternoon, October 1997.

When did you start playing guitar?

 

I had an acoustic guitar as a kid because my father didn’t want an electric guitar that would be too loud and get him upset. With all the kids in our house already, it was loud enough. I could never get my guitar to sound like Jimi Hendrix, but I could make it sound like folk artists’ Tim Hardin, Tim Buckley, and Bob Dylan. I started gravitating to coffeehouses, but I was too young to play those places.

Did local Texas radio and live shows inspire you to pursue music?

 

 

I listened to San Antonio’s KDSA, a local AM rock station that played the Beatles and Creedence. Texas was a great place to be from. There’s lots of live music. I had people in my family who played music, though only one professionally. My uncle turned me on to Jimmy Rodgers, a major influence on my music, and Bob Willis. Country radio was different in Texas than it was in the rest of America. It was dance music derived from Swing.

How is El Corazon different from previous albums?

 

 

This record ended up all over the place. I’m the songwriter, but I let the songs dictate what musical setting I put them in. Luckily, I found a way of recording that glues the songs together.

Was it difficult to assemble such a great cast of players?

 

 

I originally tried to write a real straightahead two guitar/bass/drum record. But the songs dictated who I called to get in the studio. The record was bigger than me.

You sing in a nasal twang reminiscent of your good buddy, John Prine, on the politically stern “Christmas In Washington.”

 

 

It’s not an accident that I sound like Prine since my picking style also comes from him. That song was written after the election night returns. Bill Clinton was bending over and kissing a load of asses and sold out whatever credibility the Democratic Party still had left.

Was it fun getting your son, Justin, to play guitar on the all out rocker, “Here I Am”?

 

 

It was the last song recorded for the album. I wanted to do a track with Brad Jones on bass and Ross Rice on drums. We just got the song running when Justin walked in from school. I told him, ‘get that green guitar over there.’ He plugged in and turned it loose. He listens to hip-hop and turned me on to Beck, who I have to agree with everybody, had the best album that came out in 1996. Beck’s a real musical cat.

“Fort Worth Blues” was written after your friend, singer-writer Townes Van Zandt, died. How close were you with Townes?

 

 

My son is named after him – Justin Townes. He gave me my apprenticeship along with Guy Clark. He’s the reason I’m here.

How’d you get involved with the Supersuckers?

 

 

They were always heavily interested in Country music. I applaud them for their temporary change of direction. I met them at Farm Aid after Willie Nelson asked them to play in Louisville. It was my first Farm Aid after jail. We became friends, ran into each other on the road, and talked about doing a split single. And I decided “N.Y.C.” was perfect for them.

Did your heroin bust actually revitalize your career?

 

 

Sure it did. I never made a record I’m ashamed of. But The Hard Way is a very spooky, dark record. And I didn’t release anything for awhile after that because I didn’t have an album left in me. If I hadn’t got arrested, I’d be dead by now.

But did you deserve to go to jail for being a drug user and not a drug dealer?

 

 

I wouldn’t have gone to jail if I’d shown up for the sentencing hearing. I’d have got probation. I don’t believe in the War On Drugs. It’s ludicrous because they never arrest the right people. While the government wages a war on drugs, they’re the leading culprit of bringing cocaine into the country. The US government was actively involved in trafficking drugs.

You’ve said if you had enough time you’d like to live in New York City. Why?

 

 

(Editors note: By 2008, Earle had moved to NYC with his current wife, singer-songwriter Alison Moorer)

I have to be careful in New York. I have a tendency to act badly there. They had the cheapest, strongest dope around. I always wanted to do a solo show somewhere other than the Bottom Line. Nothing against the owner, Art Pepper, but I always wanted to do Folk City and some of the older West Village clubs. I like Tramps, it rocks, as did the old Ritz and the Cat Club. A friend of mine turned me on to Joseph Mitchell, a North Carolina native who wrote for The New Yorker. He did a collection of non-fiction articles called The Bottom Of The Harbor. It’s about the New York waterfront. He’d hang out at the Oyster Bar and the Fulton Market until someone must have had it in for him and they both got burned down.

Why is there so much animosity between Nashville and Memphis?

As far as I’m concerned, Memphis is the capital of Mississippi. (laughter) I’m pissed off at that Republican cocksucker governor of Tennessee and the Oilers owner, Bud Adams (a football owner caught in the war between the two cities). Copperhead Road was mixed in Memphis and I worked at Ardent Studios. But Memphis is a declining city that tries to make fun of Nashville.

 

That answer was as brutally honest as most of your songs. What gives you the conviction to write such personal songs?

The emotionally driven songs get better and therefore there are more of them. Those songs are my forte. But I’m also proud of “My Old Friend The Blues,” “Valentines Day,” and “Goodbye.” “Goodbye” is currently my favorite song I’ve written. I let my guard down a lot more now. But there’s obviously some detachment when I write about a Confederate soldier killed in 1861. I’ve tried writing poetry, but I can only do prose. Poetry’s the purest, toughest form of art.

 

You have a collection of short stories due out soon.

I write something everyday. I often write prose because there’s not a melody hanging around. I’ve got an editor and when there’s a coherent collection I’ll make a book.

 

And you’re producing Clemson, South Carolina’s up and coming band, 6 String Drag.

Their High Hat record is coming out now. They remind me of The Band because they approach music from a musicologist standpoint. They turned me on to older music I never heard before. They also like the Stanley Brothers and Emitt Miller.

 

Do you think deserved neo-traditionalists such as Robbie Fulks, Wayne ‘The Train’ Hancock, and Paul Burch will ever get a fair shake at Country radio?

Not if radio is set up the way it is now. Wayne Hancock should certainly be played on Country radio. And Robbie Fulks is a great singer. But he does a lot of different styles of music. He could make a pop record as easily as a Country record. The first time I saw him he floored me. When I walked in the club halfway through the set, he did Townes Van Zandt’s “Fraulien” and it absolutely killed.  

 

BREEDERS RETURN FULL-THROTTLE ON ‘TITLE TK’

FOREWORD: I caught up with guitarist Kelley Deal, Kim’s lower profile twin sister, in 1999. Their band, the Breeders, had gone four years without an album, due to Kelley’s personal problems, but returned in good form on Title TK. Afterwards, Kim and Frank Black reconvened as the Pixies on a high profile national tour, playing favorites for loyal minions. Finally, after all the excitement, the Breeders returned with Title TK’s belated follow-up, ‘08s psychedelic-etched Mountain Battles.

Before Nirvana exploded, the biggest underground American band was arguably Boston-based quartet, the Pixies. After ‘88s monumental tour de force, Surfer Rosa, and ‘89s even more resilient Doolittle set the stage for ‘90s grunge, inspiring Kurt Cobain to compose the anthemic “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” bassist Kim Deal became unhappy with the limited role lead guitarist Frank Black dealt her. Determined to stake ground on her own, Deal picked up the guitar and formed her own band, the Breeders.

Following the formative ’90 debut, Pod, the Breeders (Deal with former Throwing Muses guitarist Tanya Donnelly and ex-Slint drummer Britt Walford) hit real paydirt when the explosive Last Splash crash-landed in ’93. Now consisting of Deal, her twin sister Kelley, friend Josephine Wiggs (former bassist from Perfect Disaster), and Jim Mac Pherson, they stormed college and mainstream radio with “Cannonball,” an electrifying masterpiece full of Kelley’s rubbery bass bounce and Kim’s searing guitar sonics. “Cannonball” became one of the biggest post-Nevermind alternative rock hits, allowing the Deals’ to sniff (or “huff”) the fumes of fame left in the wake of grunge rocks’ path.

But drug addiction took its toll on Kelley (busted by the cops for accepting a package of heroin) and Kim struggled to come up with new songs. In the meantime, Kim and Mac Pherson formed interim band, the Amps, releasing the fine, under-recognized ’95 one-off, Pacer.

After much debilitation and more deliberation, Kim and Kelley finally got their shit together and began working on new tracks during ’99. On the ambitious, long-awaited Title TK, the twins’ dry, pallid altos slouch drowsily forward over spare rhythm and controlled guitar-bass on the opener, “Little Fury,” creating an understated harmonic interplay that informs some of the better moments. All three tracks Kim and Kelley laid down as a duo in ’99 prior to Richard Presley (guitar) and Mando Lopez (bass) coming aboard, “Too Alive,” the buzzy narcotic mantra “The She,” and the brittle verses of the otherwise loud, noisy “Forced To Drive,” fare well with this approach.

It should be duly noted Presley and Lopez were members of the legendarily nihilistic art-punk combo, Fear, which released the thrilling debut, The Record, in ’82, at the height of West Coast post-punk hype. They met Kim in New York City when she was desperately searching for serious musicians to work with. A late night drinking spree led to a jam session and a mutual admiration was formed. Along with Kim’s East L.A. buddy, drummer Jose Medeles, a newfound passive-aggressiveness secures new Breeders material such as the exuberantly chuggin’ “Full On Idle,” the creepy flowing “Put On A Side,” and the hyper-driven “The Huffer.”

AW: Before we get into Title TK, give me some background on the under-recognized Kelley Deal 6000 projects from the recent past.

KELLEY DEAL: After my condition got worse (from heroin), I received treatment. By ’95, I felt great and creative. I went into the studio with the Frogs’ Jim Flemion and Dave Shouse from the Grifters. It was real fun. One record was called Go To the Sugar Alter. Someone asked if it was a reference to heroin, but it was unintentional or subconscious. Dave referred to the Hammond organ as the sugar alter. Next was Boom! Boom! Boom! Last time I toured with them was ’98. Then, Kim and I started working together again.

Your press kit claimed Title TK was recorded in an analog alcoholic haze.

(laughter) Kim was doing a lot of stuff in New York City. It became more of an answer to Pro Tools, not a revolt against digital technology. But it’s not a lo-fi 4-track portable recording.

No. But there’s a quiet splendor and melodic subtlety to spare tracks like “Little Fury” and “Off You” that fans may mistake for lo-fi.

People listen to this and compare it to what’s out now. Quote unquote ‘alt-rockers’ like Creed and Limp Bizkit… I can’t tell the difference. I’m a big Country music fan of not only standards like Bill Monroe, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, and Kitty Wells, but also early ‘80s Randy Travis. But what happened in Country was new acts sounded like the same five session guys in the exact same Nashville studio with the same writers but different vocalists were doing everything.

What’s with all the driving metaphors on Title TK?

You’re the first one to recognize that! We didn’t want to write touring songs like Bob Seger’s “On the Road Again” (a.k.a. “Turn The Page”). So we downplayed it. Kim found this ‘Dear Traveler’ section in a road atlas and photocopied it to add to the artwork in ’99. But things evolved. We didn’t want to make a road record.

“Son Of Three” is another ‘motorific’ number.

Europe wanted another single so we’re gonna do a live version that’s sounding real good. “Cannonball” was a punch track for radio before they ever decided to make it a single for America. I didn’t think people would be cool enough to get that record. At the time, Josephine and Jim came back from the recording studio and were so mad. They couldn’t believe Kim put all that distortion all over the song.

Kim claims it was difficult getting musicians to play with. Was that because DJ culture has sapped creative instrumentation?

Part of it is DJ culture. Part of it is the digital revolution. People could go to their bedroom and they have Pro Tools and keyboards. So why get band mates with bad personalities? Kim was in New York and people knew she was in the Breeders, so they expected to get paid for practice jams.

I see there’s a vinyl version of the new LP.

CD’s are handy and they are everywhere. But I recommend vinyl. It’s so beautiful. You can hear an added dimension and white sound or empty space better. The bass on our record booms better and sounds so huge on vinyl. It was not only recorded on analog, but mastered, too. There’s only three places left that still do that. One was Abbey Road studios where we went.

You end the album with the vibrant “Huffer.” What’s that about?

I don’t want kids to think it’s fine to huff paint, so use discretion. But it’s about huffing chemicals. There’s the line, “I tried it once, but I’m not that quick” and “gotta get your jolt.” But it’s from a negative view. The song before that is “T and T,” which actually stands for Toil and Trouble. So when you’re toiling with huffing it’s trouble. That’s why they’re together. “T and T” is like an introduction.

Does the overall relaxing mood reflect maturity, especially since you’re settling down to get married soon?

I don’t think it’s from maturing. Last Splash was the party record while this is the morning after record.

What was it like growing up in Dayton, Ohio? Fellow band Guided By Voices live a rather active lifestyle.

Braniac was also from there. I have a great t-shirt of theirs that said ‘Fuck Y’all, we’re from Dayton!’ on the back. I was going down the road and saw a sign that said ‘flagger’ recently. I think it’s so funny Bob (Pollard of GBV) uses so many local references. It’s a private joke in Dayton that the roads are always under construction.

DECEMBERISTS CHRISTEN ‘HER MAJESTY’

FOREWORD: Portland’s Decemberists have achieved the same aboveground success Death Cab For Cutie and My Morning Jacket have rightfully received – less than White Stripes, Modest Mouse, and the Strokes, but more than a handful of other deserving club dwelling types. Unlike the above-mentioned acts, singer-songwriter Colin Meloy’s acoustical folkloric creations rely on accordion, Hammond organ, and upright bass more than electrified amplitude.

After I interviewed Meloy in ’03, Her Majesty The Decemberists broke out, allowing ‘05s even better Picaresque to heighten the Decemberists popularity enough to garner major label attention. ‘06s fabulous The Crane’s Wife got tremendous tour support and three years hence The Hazards Of Love triumphantly celebrated British folk with a rustic rock opera.
Following a High Times softball game in July ‘06, some of our team headed off to Central Park’s Summer Stage to catch the Decemberists. Needless to say, it was one of the highlights of the year. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Singer-guitarist Colin Meloy grew up reading sci-fi fantasies in bucolic Helena, Montana, a peaceful province nestled between the Rocky Mountains and the arid plains. Since English was his strong suit, he attended the University of Montana (after a stint at Oregon University) to study literature and creative writing. Subsequent to “slugging it out in the trenches” touring the Northwest with formative band, Tarkio (named after a tiny railroad stop), Meloy became enamored with Portland, Oregon’s open mike poetry scene. He’d hook up with like-minded Classical-Jazz-trained partner Jenny Conlee (accordion/ keyboards) and hip-hop manager Chris Funk (guitar/ pedal steel/ dobro) as the Decemberists thereafter.

Meloy’s increasing fascination with Victorian folklore, tropes, and figures consumed the Decemberists debut, Castaways And Cutouts; borrowing ideas from Irish folk and murder ballads celebrating dead baby motifs while securing bookish Brit-punk legend Robyn Hitchcock as a touchstone.

For ‘03s brilliant follow-up, Her Majesty the Decemberists, newcomers Rachel Blumberg (drums, vibes, glockenspiel) and Jesse Emerson (upright bass) come aboard to further finesse the tantalizing troupes’ vintage visage.

Whether hearkening to wayward seafaring allegories in the crickety squeeze box-consumed pirate parable “Shanty For The Arethusa,” portending war-torn savagery on the melodic brothers-in-arms accord “The Soldiering Life,” or saluting a ‘gypsy uncle’ on the elegant eulogy “Red Right Ankle,” this curious quintet unerringly collide rustic sacrosanct purity with cryptic calliope calamity.

For proof, try the pastoral piano stroll “Billy Liar” and the ominous dreamscape “The Bachelor And The Bird.” Meanwhile, the Cockney-slung phantasm “Chimbley Sweep,” pulled from a Dylan Thomas poem, indubitably idolizes Hitchcock’s debonair delivery. Best of all, the truncated elegiac symphony “Los Angeles I’m Yours,” with its stammering acoustic strum, terse Stevie Wonder-like harmonica furl, and exquisite orchestral swirl, enchantingly hails the smoggy SoCal metropolis before souring cocaine calamity embitters the once-glowing experience.

AW: Why does Portland attract so many intellectual bookworms?

COLIN: (as a storm rattles his windows) Everyone has time to spend indoors. Musicians don’t come here for leisure activities. They’d rather mope around their rooms. (laughter) But my parents were avid music listeners. I received a steady diet of Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, and Joni Mitchell. My formative listening was influenced by a college-bound uncle who’d send mix tapes of college rockers like Husker Du and Replacements for Christmas. It was hard to come by this music in Helena.

Your exquisite lyrical punctuation reminds me of stately Brit-rock bari-tenors Nick Drake and Donovan.

I have a soft place in my heart for the warm gliding tenor. My ‘60s folk influences are limited, but Nick Drake I adore and listen to endlessly. I go back and forth with Donovan. I owned Hurdy Gurdy Man, thought it was genius, sold it back, then bought it again. He had a bad reputation and became the punching bag of the ‘60s folk scene.

Jimmy Page played guitar on Hurdy Gurdy Man.

Really. That’s crazy! “Jennifer Juniper” is amazingly beautiful. “Get the Barrings” is worth the price alone. It sounds like something Olivia Tremor Control could’ve done. It wasn’t a hit, but was way ahead of its time.

Speaking of Olivia Tremor Control and their Elephant 6 ilk, the Decemberists seem to have an affinity for Neutral Milk Hotel.

Aspects of that scene still work, but some of it was superfluous. I don’t know what the shelf life is. The constant re-creation of Pet Sounds gets old and hackneyed and may’ve led to that scene’s ultimate demise. But Apples In Stereo and Neutral Milk Hotel were fantastic. It was the school of songwriting where it was melody over meaning. Lyrically, a little is lacking.

Tell me about the 5-song Hush Records EP you did prior to Castaways?

That’s pretty rough. You could see our auspices there. It was constricted by a 3-day recording budget. It’s bare bones, very little overdubbing, but it set the stage. The songs are good. We re-recorded some for Castaways, but they didn’t seem to fit.

What’s with the gripping seafaring imagery of your albums?

I’ve had a fascination for nautical fiction by Patrick O’Brien, C.S. Forrester. After moving to Portland, I noticed tons of unconscious ocean references. It had to do with my environment.

How would you contrast Castaways And Cutouts against Her Majesty?

The songwriting has a wider range of characters on Majesty. I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner as someone who exclusively writes about Dickensian characters. But Castaways gathers those in one place. I wanted Majesty to be more dynamic, making sure there aren’t just Victorian archetypes. These are characters with an arc. Their narratives have a beginning, middle, and end short story approach. Also, we had more time to experiment with sounds and instruments, whereas Castaways was recorded at breakneck pace for a paltry budget. We released it into the void with no idea what its fate would be. It was mostly me in the studio 12 hours a day with the engineer trying to get band members in while they took time off work. There was a certain desperation as a consequence. We cut corners. We tried to put strings on Castaways, but it was an unmitigated disaster. The temptation is to go back and finish it the way we wanted, but that’d be blasphemy.

On Majesty’s 7-minute neo-Classical excursion “The Gymnast,” you inject strings.

The strings didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped, but it was a step up. “The Gymnast’s” strings were sort of accidental. It was a cut and paste job of stuff we could use – not to dispel any illusions.

The most accessible track may be the picturesque ode, “Los Angeles I’m Yours,” which praises the city before bringing forth doubt.

That was my intent. I have a love-hate relationship towards L.A. I find it fascinating, especially considering my rural background. At first, I thought it was a mythic place. After a few visits, I found there was a saccharine sweetness that inspired nausea. Through the melody and arrangement I was trying to illustrate my feelings in an AM gold sound, juxtaposing that with dour lyrics makes a nice tension.

“Song For Myla Goldberg” seemingly lionizes her Bee Season novel about adolescent insecurity and Jewish mysticism.

The book has to do with a Jewish family raising a child involved in the spelling bee circuit and her coming to terms with her Jewishness. It’s a sweet coming of age novel. It wasn’t so much the novel that grabbed me but the things it was saying. I met Myla with another author-friend, Thisbe Nissen. They were in town doing readings and I was showing them around town. We ran around from club to club so the song’s a reflection of that.

“The Soldiering Life” proclaims ‘on the battlefield our guns blaze away’ before triumphant trumpet soaks the coda. Does that song relate to Majesty’s apocalyptic cover?

The cover’s intended to illustrate how we imagine a rosy picture of trench life. All around you’ve got war debris, shrapnel, torn apart trees, but soldiers act comradely. That’s what “The Soldering Life” depicts well – the relationship and devotion between two soldiers the night before they go over the top. The artwork’s by my girlfriend, Carson Ellis. She’s a full time illustrator for local weeklies and national magazines. I met her at University of Montana. She was in art school. I’d been searching for a way to put our love for art and music together. She did the painting on Castaways also.

DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS DEVISE PERFECT ‘SOUTHERN ROCK OPERA’

FOREWORD: Drive-By Truckers front man, Patterson Hood, is not only a superb artisan, but also a masterful folkloric historian and the son of a legendary studio musician. Instead of leading a revolt to let Southern rock spring up from its pre-punk ‘70s graveyard, Drive-By Truckers just went about their business, delivering the finest faux-Confederate Country rock in the last thirty years.

After ‘01s masterful Southern Rock Opera provided wide-scale liftoff, DBT brought songwriting axe man Jason Isbell onboard (replacing Rob Malone) to reconvene their three-guitar lineup (alongside Hood and his long-time musical partner, Mike Cooley). They returned with ‘03s nearly-as-effective Decoration Day and ‘04s wily The Dirty South. On ‘06s A Blessing & A Curse, raw-boned honky tonk took a front seat.

But despite Isbell’s departure, the best was yet to come in the form of ‘08s unadulterated refinement, Brighter Than Creation’s Dark. To increase their already reputable status, DBT backed up veteran soul singer, Bettye Lavette, on ‘07s respectable The Scene Of The Crime.

This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

I took my brother Steve and his friend Gary to see DBT at Maxwells in ’03. They played so long it was well beyond 12 AM on a weekday before the show ended. My feet were killing me and my guests had already left due to early morning work. But it was a great marathon set by a real hard drivin’ band that everyone enjoyed.

There was a time in the pre-punk mid-‘70s when Southern rockers such as Lynyrd Skynyrd, Marshall Tucker Band, Atlanta Rhythm Section, and the Outlaws ruled the American airwaves. Here in the post-millenium, at ‘80s indie rock capitol Athens, Georgia, the Charlie Daniels Band slogan “The South’s Gonna Do It Again” rides high once more as hometown boy, Patterson Hood, leads the Drive-By Truckers to the promised land. Canonizing Skynyrd as well as Neil Young and Crazy Horse on the tributary Southern Rock Opera, Hood and long-time musical partner, ace guitarist Mike Cooley, re-energize Confederate folklore with a rad double-CD that both documents and mythologizes nearby “Sweet Home Alabama” in all its glory.

The son of David Hood, sessionman-bassist in the legendary Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section (who’d worked with ‘60s icons Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Etta James, Bob Seger System, and Paul Simon), AC/DC-loving Patterson grew up surrounded by music. His fathers’ good friend, Jimmy Johnson, had produced the Rolling Stones and Skynyrd’s original demos (released post-plane crash as First And Last), containing one of their best compositions, “Was I Right Or Was I Wrong.”

After leading local band Adam’s House Cat from ’85 to ’91, Hood and Cooley faced their own traumas when bassist John Cahoon died prematurely in ’99 just before DBT released the audaciously semi-autobiographical live double-CD, Alabama Ass Whuppin.’ Meanwhile, fellow comrade Chris Quillen, who was set to join the band, died tragically in a car crash before their first gig. The brooding “Plastic Flowers on the Highway” pays post-mortem respect to his memory.

While Whuppin’s “Why Henry Drinks” distills DBT’s Country roots, barroom logic, and backwoods turmoil, the overblown ampage of “Steve Mc Queen” unleashes the ghost of “Gimme Three Steps” and “The Living Bubba” anoints AIDS-inflicted Bubbapalooza founder/ guitarist Gregory Dean Smalley (who’d perform 100 shows per year until his time expired). If these Southern blues ain’t enough to stick in your craw, Hood’s raw-boned “18 Wheels Of Love” is a great demented story-song in the Johnny Cash tradition and salutes his mothers’ sordid love affair with a trucker by adamantly claiming “every goddamn word of it is true.”

A modern day examination of the misconceptions and tribulations of Dixie, Southern Rock Opera re-tells the Skynyrd myth from wasted youth hindsight (“Let There Be Rock”), touching on fame (the darkly plaintive “Road Cases”) and demise (“Shut Up and Get on the Plane” and the slow dirge “Angels And Fuselage”). Along the way, “Ronnie And Neil” sets the record straight about “Sweet Home Alabama” and its cheekish dismissal of Neil Young’s snide deride, “Southern Man.” On “The Three Great Alabama Icons,” controversial former governor George Wallace, legendary Crimson Tide fottball coach Bear Bryant, and Lynyrd Skynyrd leader Ronnie Van Zandt get proper epitaphs.

Hood, whose plainspoken southern-fried drawl dramatizes scenarios effectively, exploits the ’60s Civil Rights struggle, Highway 72, local yokels, and alcoholism for y’all.

Anyone with a yearning for true Southern Rock should check out Drive-By Truckers. Not only did they rock out Mercury Lounge in New York summer of ’02, they also kicked ass at Central Park two days hence.

You’ve  dealt with many personal problems that have influenced your music.

PATTERSON HOOD: Making the Rock Opera was such an ordeal. We were on the road. When we had weeks off, we’d work on the record. Almost everyone in the band got divorced or broke up long-term relationships. The next record deals with our families coming apart. Most of it’s in the past. My ex-wife and I are on real good terms and I have a new, healthy relationship.

Original bassist John Calhoun died in ’99. Is the Alabama Ass Whuppin’ cover of Jim Carroll’s “People Who Died” a reflection of his lifestyle?

I don’t know how comfortable I am talking about his problems. He was an unhappy person. He withdrew from everybody. We’d be friendly, but then I wouldn’t hear from him for long spells. A few of the songs on the next album are about him. As Adam’s House Cat, we were hated. Only a hundred people across the South liked us. That’s comparable to what we do now, but there’s more people that are acceptive.

Southern Rock has been under the radar since Skynyrd’s plane went down. Are there any new bands waving the Confederate Rock flag?

I don’t know. There’s several great up and comers like the husband-wife Athens band, Southern Bitch. They added a third guitarist, but their lead guy plays lap steel and piano. I wouldn’t say they’re Skynyrd-ish. They’re more Appalachian influenced, along the lines of Blue Mountain. Then there’s Lona. They’re poppier and more eclectic, going from George Jones to the Police seamlessly. The Possibilities have been together eleven years. Their new record’s great.

Do you emulate the “Whiskey Rocka Rolla” dope-smoking lifestyle of Skynyrd?

We’re healthier about it. We’re about ten years older then them, pre-plane cras. We’re probably more influenced by Neil Young then Skynyrd. Rock Opera sounds more like Crazy Horse, none of which was intentional. We pay repsect to Skynyrd’s mythology and use that as a platform to tell some of our southern stories. To do it right, there had to be three guitarists who didn’t step on each others’ toes. They had a system where each person had a particular style and were respectful to the other. Gary Rossington did the more slow, melodic leads and the slide part on “Free Bird.” I gravitate towards the slow solos instead of hot licks. Cooley is the psycho lead player, which Alan Collins in Skynyrd was. Rob was a huge Steve Gaines fan, and ironically,  his replacement is more of an Ed King type.

Southern Rock Opera could be seen as an insightful history of Alabama from the ’60s forward. Some of it’s legendarily nostalgic, like when Governor Wallace ran his wife for Governor.

She died of cancer during her term. Wallace ran against her Lieutenant Governor, Brewer, in a dirty 1970 election. All kinds of shit went down. Nixon wanted Brewer to win since if Wallace won it would strengthen his postion for another run at President and split the Southern conservative vote. Tricky Dick did underhanded shit he got caught at. But it wasn’t revealed until the stuff became declassified. Wallace would’ve won anyway. The election had nasty racial overtones. Since blacks were finally allowed to vote, Wallace reinvented himself or had a change of heart. He got 90% of the black vote by 1982.

Legendary Alabama football coach, Bear Bryant, reluctantly allowed blacks on his team ahead of most Southeast Conference programs. When called into question, he said, ‘I don’t have black or white players, only football players.’ He did more to rid segregation than any politician and was a fabulous drinker. He played an interracial Southern California team in Tuscaloosa to convince Alabama fans that blacks should be on his team.

Oh yeah. I love Bear Bryant folklore. I have a close friend who’d tell me amazing stories. I didn’t get too deep about that on the record because it was already covering so much ground.

On Alabama Ass Whuppin,’ you exposed your mother’s affair on “Eighteen Wheels Of Love.”

There’s  a little exaggeration. But she’s still married to that trucker. I’m proud of that record but I haven’t heard it in a few ywears. It captures a moment in time annd makes the transaction from the first two mandolin-and-steel country-ish records to the Rock Opera when we went out on the road and played loud, belligerent rock but wanted something to document the difference.

-John Fortunato

DONNAS GONNA ‘GET SKINTIGHT’ WITH YOU

FOREWORD: Before playing out a string on a major label, the Donnas were actually a cool female-driven California punk-pop band. Their summer of ’99 album, Get Skintight, serves as the pinnacle of their career. A worthy retrospective is due as of 2009.

Blessed with the quirky teenybopper naiveté of ‘60s girl group the Shangri-Las, the spunky guitar-driven rock prowess of ‘70s femme bands the Runaways, the glam-rock vibe of Kiss, and the punk fury of the Ramones, Palo Alto, California’s the Donnas are supercool chicks void of narcissistic, trendy pretentiousness. Like devilishly scheming girls-next-door, these sweet-hearted, doll-faced high school buddies formed Raggedy Ann in their early teens and became speed metal queens under the moniker the Electrocutes.

While still teenagers, they received some attention with the self-titled Donnas debut. National acclaim came with ‘98s ambitious American Teenage Rock N’ Roll Machine. Now, barely twenty years old, the frisky quartet has hit paydirt with the totally awesome, sometimes rebellious Get Skintight (Lookout Records).

At a sold-out show at Maxwells in Hoboken, the Donnas showed great musical ability, confidence, and a giddy propensity for cheesy stage antics. Looking like The Addams Family’s Cousin It with blonde hair covering her cute face, guitarist Donna R. (Allison Robertson) slashed solid three-chord riffs while gum chewing singer Donna A. (Brett Anderson) belted out bratty lyrics over the rhythmic thrust of brawny bassist Donna F. (Maya Ford) and dexterous drummer Donna C. (Torry Castellano). A li’l girl innocence shined through on captivating new songs like “Hyperactive” and the catchy ditty “Hot Boxin’.” And the Ramonesque heavy metal breakdown, “Skintight,” was completely addictive. Girl power lives in the heart of the Donnas!

Fans beware: a split single with Kiss on Lookout Records is due sometime soon.

AW: Would I be correct in assuming the Donnas enjoy collecting rock and roll memorabilia and vinyl LP’s?

DONNA R.: All my favorite stuff is on vinyl so I can’t bring it on tour. I like my Cheap Trick and Kiss albums. My Alice Cooper LP’s came with cool shit. Like Billion Dollar Babies comes with trading cards and the big billion dollar bill. My School’s Out album didn’t come with the underwear, so I was depressed about that. My parents have good taste in music. My dad likes ‘70s rock and my mom’s more into ‘80s new wave. When MTV began I got into that stuff.

Were your parents typical ‘70s stoners?

Yes. I was born when they were about my age. My dad had the long hair like a typical ‘70s bum. They both worked at different record labels and got lots of free promos.

As an all girl band, do you face prejudices in the record industry?

Yeah. Of course. It’s lame. We’re used to it. Just being girls, nobody assumes you’re in the band. Sometimes people think we’re backup singers or dancers and that’s totally retarded. Usually people at the clubs aren’t very nice until after we play. Interviewers ask girl stuff instead of music-related questions, like where’d we get our clothes. A lot of times they talk about image.

But the Donnas are an undiluted three chord punk-pop band. What image does that suggest?

Some people think we’re really dumb because the lyrics are so juvenile and simple. But that’s our formula. We design music for blockheads. That’s the whole point of bubblegum. I think it’s harder to simplify lyrics than gush out feelings like rage girl bands who talk about how pissed off they are. Girls are naturally bitchy. (laughter) That youthful exuberance and memorable songs get me involved.

Your songs are cute, sexy, and reckless.

This album is the first one I’ve really listened to. I like the last two, but the black and white one (the debut) sounds bad because none of us got to play to our potential. We didn’t give a shit because we didn’t think anyone would buy it. I didn’t waste time making guitar parts better because I didn’t care as much. I like American Teenage Rock N’ Roll Machine but there are a few things I’d like to change. We only did it in two days so I wish I could go back and fix mistakes.

Is it difficult finding pop-punk bands to tour with outside the San Francisco area?

Only the Lookout Records bands match up well. Before that, no one really fit in with us. Many bands getting bigger are mad at us because they don’t think we deserve it as much. When Teenage Rock came out, they thought that was our first album and thought we were a new band. Some bands assume we’re bitchy and all full of ourselves. (laughter)

West Coast punks, in general, seem more candy-coated and pop-rooted than their East Coast brethren. Why?

The only difference is East Coast punks think they’re really cool. West Coast bands try to make up for the fact they’re not from the East, especially glam bands. They secretly want to be from New York so they mock the East. A lot of L.A. bands really come from San Diego. Ratt lie and say they’re from Los Angeles. Poison’s from Pennsylvania and say they’re from L.A. West Coast bands go for a more effeminate make-up look while East Coast bands have a harder, scarier look. There’s so much to do and see in L.A. but the weather sucks and you need a lot of money to afford the best hotels and restaurants. No one in my family has any money so we walk past those great places. San Francisco is easier to live in.

Does a lack of radio exposure bother you?

I don’t worry about radio because it sucks so hard. If I don’t like it, I don’t want to be on it. I’m into merchandise products and getting exposure that way. You’ve got to cater to fans with lighters and beer coasters.

Is it difficult getting served liquor at clubs since the Donnas are still under 21?

It’s funny. Sometimes no one notices, but since we get so much press for our age, that kind of kills it. We were sad when we came back from England where we had some wine and beer and spent time at the bar. Back in America, we were in a restaurant and couldn’t get served. That was depressing.

DISTILLERS PUNK RESIDES INSIDE ‘SING SING DEATH HOUSE’

FOREWORD: Along with my wife, Karen, I originally met Brody Dalle (a.ka. Armstrong) at the Knitting Factory before an exhilarating headline set fronting the Distillers in ‘02. Karen gave her a lozenge for, I suspect, a sore throat. Despite that, Brody proved to be in fine shape this night, working the crowd into a perpetual stage-diving frenzy. And yeah. She was hot! But as you’ll read below, she had a tough childhood and was homeless for awhile. One thing I had in common with Brody was we were both Catholic school fuck-ups. Funnily, she related how disturbing it was seeing Courtney Love’s stubble-haired mange backstage once. Now divorced from Rancid punk icon Tim Armstrong, she broke up the Distillers following the release of ‘03s major label warbler, Coral Fang, and began Spinnerette a few years after. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

At Tribeca-based Knitting Factory, the Distillers Brody Armstrong displays the same full-throttled intensity and dedicated passion seminal punk visionaries such as Poly Styrene and Mia Zapata. Mohawk hair spiked to the sky, guitar swaying below her waist with belly button and undies exposed, Brody works the crowd into a manic frenzy.

A mosh pit forms and several hardcore fans stage dive while she belts out unbridled, rambunctious opener “Oh Serena,” a rape-inspired anthem from the Distillers self-titled debut. Throughout the 40-minute set, Brody’s purged lyrics and vitriolic yowls pierce through the anarchistic rumble fellow axe swinger Rose Casper, bassist Ryan, and ex-Nerve Agents drummer Andy Outbreak deliver.

Growing up in Australia, Brody managed to get a U.S. work permit in Detroit, and originally hooked up with Epitaph employee/ bassist Kim Che and drummer Matt Young. Though their rampageous debut was terrific, Brody felt the need to replace the rhythm section with a few hardcore road warriors. Around that time Rancid frontman, Tim Armstrong, married Brody, brought the Distillers out to Los Angeles, and signed them to his burgeoning Hellcat label.

In doing so, the Distillers convened to record the more vital and penetrating Sing Sing Death House. Expressing deep personal feelings of disillusionment and disassociation, liberating cuts such as the biographic “Young Crazed Peeling,” the jagged-edged, suicide bound “Hate Me,” and the raw-boned “Desperate” refine Brody’s focus. The gutter punk of “Sick Of It All,” concerning misguided teens making rash decisions, recalls the bustling fury unleashed by underground legends the Gits and the Germs.

A promiscuous teen whose mother dumped her father due to spousal abuse and then forced her into Catholic school, Brody soon lived on the Melbourne streets rather than deal with the stress of a broken home.

Brody admits, “There’s scars that are still there that don’t go away. They leave a permanent mark. I struggle with the same issues. The basic principle is to just be honest with myself.”

I spoke with Brody a few weeks after the awesome Knitting Factory show/ She was getting her spiked hair blow dried for a set at Las Vegas’ House Of Blues.

I thought the raucous punk of the Distillers may have re-invigorated your husband, Tim, to move back in that hardcore direction on Rancid’s self-titled album last year.

BRODY ARMSTRONG: Most of that’s instilled in him. He has real respect for melodic punk like The Clash and Ramones. He’s always played hardcore.

Though a new rhythm section recorded Sing Sing Death House, it’s consistent with the tone of the first record.

It’s more cohesive. I’ve found people with the same desire and ambition to succeed. We come from working class backgrounds and had shitty lives. Now we have something to prove and we function well as a family. Besides my husband, they’re my best friends. It wasn’t like that before. I ran the band more before, which is stressful because I can’t really use that side of my brain. I get most of my information from my husband, who’s been in this business for 15 years and knows what he’s talking about.

As a hardcore punk, could your beliefs be defined as existentialist or nihilistic?

I do live day by day because I’m a dreamer and I can get lost in it. Not being able to function in the present has been a problem in the past. I could remember at an early age I always thought I’d be taken care of. I do believe in a higher power, but not in the Catholic stereotype.

Both of us are Catholic school fuck-ups.

Abso-fucking-lutely. My mother was Catholic but I was raised atheist. My first experience in Catholic school was when they talked about Jesus Christ. I put my hand up and asked whom we were talking about. It baffled me, Catholic crosses and crucifixes. We were being bred to be strong women, but we weren’t allowed to have our own opinion. I’m pro-choice. I got kicked out of school for that. We had a debate about abortion and I had the whole class yelling at me and the teacher was standing back smirking, thinking ‘it’s murder.’ I’m like, ‘fuck you.’

Abortion’s an ugly thing, but sometimes necessary. It’s an individual’s decision, not societies.

It’s your money and your choice. I’m not gonna listen to some fucking male doctor. It’s bullshit.

Do women still face prejudice and sexism in the music industry?

I don’t pay attention to it. I’m not affected by opinions of me and that attitude. We’ll have some guy mixing us at a club who never saw us before and get this ‘Miss guitar player, do you know where your treble is?’ I’ll be, like, ‘fuck you.’ Then the guy’s baffled, scared, and then nice.

You’ve covered Patti Smith’s “Ask the Angels” on the debut. Do you feel connected to her, X Ray Spex’s Poly Styrene, or other women at the forefront of punk?

I love Poly Styrene. Patti I love because she was such an awesome, eccentric, crazy bitch who went off on her own thing and didn’t care what anyone said. People talked shit about her and it made her stronger. She went away for awhile, then rose to the occasion. She was nice to me the second time I met her. I told her we covered her song and she said, ‘You did good.’ That was rad.

What’s your opinion of older contemporaries such as the Muffs’ Kim Shattuck and Hole’s Courtney Love. Sometimes your screams remind me of Kim’s.

That’s nice. I hadn’t heard that before. I like her voice. I hung out with Courtney once when I was 15. I had listened to Pretty On The Inside so loudly I blew my father’s speakers. My last band, Sourpuss, played a show and I had on a Chelsea or Dead Kennedys t-shirt. She was nice to me. It was after Kurt Cobain died and she was high and fucked up. I saw her pussy! She took all her clothes off. It was shocking to me. Here’s my idol taking clothes off backstage. She was, like, ‘Come on, Brody. Let’s go to the party.’ We hear hyperbole about Courtney but wonder if it’s true. People say things about me I can’t believe. Apparently, I shoot up on-stage, have HIV, and am a full-blown junkie, which is far from the truth.

I met you. You’re a sweet girl. Who starts these rumors?

Kids on the internet. Shooting up on-stage? What? Stage props. So fucking ridiculous.

DETROIT COBRAS STRIKE ‘SEVEN EASY PIECES’

FOREWORD: I was lucky enough to catch this exciting high-octane Motor City garage band a few times, once at Mercury Lounge and the other at Maxwells in Hoboken. Detroit Cobras were at the heart of its city’s ‘90s rock resurgence and continue to impress crowded clubs to this day. Unlike every other garage band, the two mainstays are female – the equally hot Rachael Nagy and Mary Restrepo (nee Ramirez). After ‘05s Baby secured a modicum of international stardom, Detroit Cobras returned with ‘07s even better Tied & True. Genuine R & B pop star Tina Turner would dig these awesome chicks. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Formed in ’95 by since-departed guitarist Steve Shaw, the Detroit Cobras give an original spin to little known old school Rhythm & Blues tracks. Fronted by uninhibited bleach-blonde Rachael Nagy, a chain-smoking ex-butcher/exotic dancer whose plump, ripe breasts expose ‘03s striking 19-minute Seven Easy Pieces, and fortified by debonair dark-skinned guitarist Mary Restrepo (plus a revolving cast of male counterparts), this spirited Motor City combo must be seen live to truly appreciate.

After ‘98s well-received long-play debut, Mink, Rat Or Rabbit, put them on the map, the Detroit Cobras returned three years hence with the absolutely essential faux-soul gem, Life, Love And Leaving. Filled to the gills with extraordinary takes on lost classics by seminal black performers Otis Redding, Clyde Mc Phatter, Ike Turner, and Mary Wells, it gallantly revives an era hip-hop heads and nu metal lunkheads may not realize existed. From the gorgeous tear-stained ballad “Cry On” to the furious hip-shaker “Right Around The Corner,” this stimulating masterpiece will strike an emotional chord with stylish contemporaries while simultaneously getting catatonic slackers hustling to the beat.

On the engaging stopgap, Seven Easy Pieces, the DC convincingly cover soul shouter Wilson Pickett’s “99 And A Half Won’t Do” and Roebuck “Pops” Staples’ call and response frolic, “You Don’t Knock.” Blues legend Willie Dixon’s “Insane Asylum” gets a slow burn duet treatment between Nagy and Greg Cartwright of the Oblivians, whose “Bad Man” was re-claimed as “Bad Girl” on Mink, Rat Or Rabbit.

In the meantime, they lent the bewitching dance medley “Cha Cha Twist” to Johnny Knoxville’s Jack Ass: The Movie and completed touring as openers for ‘70s Midwest pop idols Cheap Trick, deservedly securing the band a larger fan base.

AW: Who were your early influences?

MARY RESTREPO: I grew up on Atlantic Records R & B, not Motown. My mother wouldn’t let me listen to rock and roll growing up. She didn’t like white folks music. I was more into Aretha Franklin, Tyrone Davis, Earth Wind & Fire. But I learned to like it more later on. You have no idea how soul singer Millie Jackson (“My Man Is A Sweet Man”) played a role in my life – her and Betty Wright (“Clean Up Woman”). I resented that stuff growing up, but now love it.

How’d you find such cool R & B obscurities and neat B-sides to cover on Life, Love And Leaving?

Everybody shares stuff. It comes and goes from drinking and listening. We found “Hey Sailor” from Todd Abramson at Maxwells on one of his compilations. He put a bunch of them out. He has a great record collection. “Oh My Lover” was the B-side to the Chiffons’ “He’s So Fine.” But when I went to the Chiffons website, they didn’t list the song so I gave the credit to Ronnie Mack, who wrote the A-side. “Cry On” was written by New Orleans legend Allen Toussaint, but was miscredited on our album.

The vital Blues exhilaration of “Boss Lady” seems to cross “Bony Moronie” with “Twist And Shout.”

That’s also from a Todd compilation. Rachael found the Guardinias “Laughing At You” on another compilation. The funny thing is none of us were record collectors. They just pass by our hands and if we like ‘em, we hold on to ‘em.

Where’d you get “Won’t You Dance With Me” from?

Billy Lee and the Rivieras – which was the first song cut by Mitch Ryder. Yeah. And the record, because they hang around town, band member Jim Mc Carty told me it was the first song they wrote. It got re-issued by Sundazed and has a picture of them when they’re real young.

Rachael’s singing is so emotionally compelling she brings back fond memories of the Shangri-Las and Ronnie Spector.

Yeah. If you like that stuff, our first album really gets into that. But you gotta have a voice to do that. I don’t, but Rachael does.

There’s a shortage of good vocalists now.

Totally. But there’s no doubt Norah Jones has a great voice. Rachael turned me on to her. The most important part of a band is the voice. American Idol shows you how lame things can get because a singer’s got to have a personality.

Is Rachael from a tough Detroit neighborhood?

No. She has a mother that bakes great apple pies and is as sweet as sugar. Rachael’s a sweetheart. We’re not tough at all. (laughter) She’s like a little angel. Detroit is a great hustle for little angels. You don’t have to have a real job. Living is cheap. So when it came time to hit the road we had freedom to do that. All of a sudden people wanted to hear us. Now we’re paying our bills by doing this – which is kind of cool. We have a real healthy music scene in Detroit. And we have ultimate freedom ‘cause the cops don’t bother you. We’ve got a lot of record stores where you could find stuff real cheap.

How’d the Detroit Cobras come to be?

We were hangin’ around, drivin’ around. But we really didn’t do nothing until Rachael joined and we recorded a 45 six months later in November ’96 (the bluesy “Ain’t It A Shame” backed with the psychedelicized “Slum Lord”). We just basically sat around, put out the single on a local label, and put out two more (the MC5/Gories-like garage rave up “Village Of Love” and “Over To My House” backed with the lo-fi countrified “Down In Louisiana”). Then, we released a full length, Mink, Rat Or Rabbit. Then we broke up. At the end of ’98 to 2000, we recorded Life, Love And Leaving, also for Sympathy For The Record Industry, and then started touring in 2001.

What does Mink, Rat Or Rabbit sound like?

The title’s taken from a line in an Irma Thomas song. It’s a little more raw and primitive. We were just getting started. Rachael’s voice got a little stronger by Life, Love And Leaving. And then on the newest one, Seven Easy Pieces, she’s even stronger. Being on the road has also made us tighter.

How’d you recruit Black Crowes keyboardist Eddie Hawrsh to play bass on Life, Love And Leaving and do some live shows?

When he wasn’t playing for the Crowes, Eddie joined us for awhile. But he had to go back and do other stuff. He was a neighbor so he was around at the time. He lives down the street from my ass, man. He lives right in the middle of the ghetto. There’s a neighborhood here called Cas Corridor that’s poor, but pretty drug free. You could get really nice houses near it.

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE AIM FOR ‘TRANSATLANTICISM’

FOREWORD: Perhaps the title of Death Cab For Cutie’s ’03 album, Transatlanticism, was precociously prophetic. Its success led to a major label signing and better corporate support for ‘05s engaging Plans. And three years hence, the band, led by Ben Gibbard, gained complete universal acceptance with ardent single, “I Will Possess Your Heart,” from adventurous departure, Narrow Steps.

I found Gibbard to be casual and friendly. In 2000, I talked to him briefly before a Knitting Factory gig and a few years later spent a few seconds with him at Irving Plaza during the Plans tour. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Washington-based singer-songwriter-multi-instrumentalist Ben Gibbard has been a busy boy lately. Besides recording, then touring, for Death Cab For Cutie’s intriguing ’03 long-player, Transatlanticism, he constructed Postal Service’s intoxicating sidestep, Give Up, with Dntel mastermind Jimmy Tamborello.

Named after a ‘60s track by comedy-musical troupe, Bonzo Dog Band, Seattle-based Death Cab For Cutie gained acceptance amongst cynical post-adolescent intellectuals and hip literary-bound collegiate twerps with informal ’97 indie cassette You Can Play These Songs With Chords, re-recording eight songs for resilient Barsuk debut, Something About Airplanes.

Along with guitarist-pianist-producer Christopher Walla and a loose cast, the Gibbard-led outfit returned in 2000 with the tidy We Have The Facts And We’re Voting Yes, which juxtaposed Death Cab’s silky textural gauze and scintillating melodicism with the exuberant knockout jab, “Campany Calls.” ‘01s more majestic The Photo Album boasted stunning bedroom pop triumphs like the chilling “Styrofoam Plates” and the delicately absorbing 6-string illumination “A Movie Script Ending.”

Continually refining their beautifully transporting dramatic sophistication via exquisite dirgey laments, ‘03s Transatlanticism may be Death Cab’s most ambitious declaration. Gibbard’s lyrically sensitive understated eloquence exposes naked melancholic introspection as he struggles for true love only to be mired by longing, loneliness, and loss.

Feelings of detachment and discontentment envelop the sentimental title track, the balladic “Lightness,” and the tranquil piano pledge “Passenger Seat.” The anthemic claustrophobic nightmare “We Looked Like Gaints” and the upbeat turnabout “The Sound Of Settling” pick up the pace but retain the dire moodiness, ambling through the dismal diagnosis of ‘hunger twisting my stomach into knots’ and dismayed by ‘the black night with all its foul temptations.’

As for the Postal Service, an enchanting minimalist complexity stimulates the percolating percussive syncopation and oscillating phase-shifting modulations of Give Up. Rilo Kiley’s Jenny Lewis provides sympathetic descant vocals to buoy Gibbard’s hushed moans on the new wave-ish electro-deconstruction “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” and the bleating symphonic meditation “Recycled Air.” Seasoned Seattle folkie Jen Wood’s honeyed soprano counters Gibbard’s apologetic manifesto on the disco-fied robotic orchestral “Nothing Better.”

AW: What inspired you to get into music initially?

BEN GIBBARD: There were always records on when I was a kid. My dad was always fooling around on acoustic guitar. He’d listen to the Beatles, Badfinger, AC/DC, Devo. In college, I got turned on to Beat literature. There’s a poetic nature to my songs. I want them to be about something and have meaning. I don’t want them to be throwaways.

Your contemplative confessional serenades blanket Transatlanticism.

Yeah. Transatlanticism came out of a hopeless period – that sense of desperation, the toils of life weighing down on me more than usual. Life’s better these days.

Is it difficult to express frustration without becoming vindictive?

No. “Tiny Vessel” is close to vindictive, but I’ve never found anything I wrote to be too harsh. That song’s about a relationship that ended in Silverlake. It’s a long story so obviously about somebody I wouldn’t want to admit who it is. In my personal life, there’ve been times I couldn’t believe how disgusted I was letting lust overtake my brain. A sense of loneliness and yearning for someone you have no business being with takes over the practical thinking part of the brain and turns it off for a chunk of time.

Your Postal Service tape exchange project, Give Up, with Dntel’s Jimmy Tamborello, seemed reminiscent of electronic weirdos Matmos, with its crunchy brittle beats and understated whim.

The context worked. It appealed to a way my brain works. People ask, ‘How do you make a record sound that way when two people are living apart?’ Essentially, it’s a musical version of editing. Jimmy would send me a story and I’d edit it down to what I thought was the best story possible and then put my tracks on top. Jimmy does the hard work – the music. I just cut it down, wrote out the feelings I got from it, put finishing touches, sent it back.

Is it difficult to sing autobiographical material like Postal Service’s ominous “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight,” “Brand New Colony,” or “This Place Is A Prison”?

I think it’s easier. As I start to work on new material, I’m making a conscious effort to do everything differently. I want to approach writing from another angle. It’s been easier for me to express something, fill in details, and make it come alive because it’s true to my life. At the same time, I’m in a position where I’m more concerned with trying to write pure fiction as if I were a novelist. That’s my new challenge. To make a story come alive when you haven’t experienced it is amazing.

“Sleeping In” accepts that challenge. You’re ’sleeping in’ when Kennedy was shot!

Totally. Like when Transatlanticism came together, it was like making a surreal world for myself. It jumped off the page and became songs. David Berman (of the Silver Jews) and Lawrence Ferrenghetti are poets I like. Usually poety makes me cringe. It’s attempted by too many and executed by too few. To speak in simple language and create incredible images counters obnoxious poetry like ‘the transcendental spiders crawling the walls of existence’ or whatever pretentious bullshit. Berman could write an awesome poem about a snowman melting and make it into a clver anecdote without resorting to empty language.

Earlier, you worked with Dntel on Life Is Full Of Possibilities. Obvious question: Is “Evan and Chan” about drug-addled indie pop legend Evan Dando (ex-Lemonheads) and overly sensitive singer-instrumentalist Chan Marshall alias Cat Power)?

It’s about a dream I had about Evan and Chan. I’d just gotten a car at my grandma’s house and I was driving cross-country back to Seattle and stayed at a hotel and had this crazy dream of being at a random Evan Dando reunion show and Chan being there. She either couldn’t speak or was speaking in tongues. Nothing made sense but I felt compelled to write about it. I saw Evan awhile back at a Chop Suey show attended by only about 40 people. It was sad. He hopped up onstage, burned through 12 songs without saying hello. Everyone there was incredibly excited he was there. Someone was filming the show, so he stopped mid-song to let the guy give him the tape. He bailed early. But I’ve always liked his songs.

You’ve always enjoyed good pop. You’ve re-done Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” and Eurythmics “Here Comes The Rain Again” on miscellaneous EP”s or compilations.

I’m a pop lover. I’ve done Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated” live. I’m very much over the rock stigma of only liking things from a small pool of music. It’s incredible to see the response for that fucking amazing Outkast song, “Hey Ya.” Beyonce’s “Crazy In Love” is also a great single.

On The Photo Album, your music became more sublime and provocative without losing the immediacy of previous recrodings. And the drum track is way high in the mix.

I played drums on We Have The Facts. While I’m not a great drummer, Chris pushed the drums up to cover the fuck-ups (for The Photo Album). We toured those songs into the ground. By the time we went into the studio, we recorded them exactly the same way we did them live. But now it conjures up more negative than positive feelings. It was a dark period where we couldn’t communicate properly with our drummer. We were bored with the material and the record suffers. I love the record but as I get more distance from it, I realize there were very few flurries of creativity. On the other hand, You Can Play These Songs With Chords was meant for fans. It takes me back to a time when we were working on music in houses – a more innocent time. Our guard was down. It was liberating.

But Transatlanticism was the most fulfilling experience. It opened up new channels and I now feel excited about our next album. The number one big difference is we don’t bring out new material on tour until it’s recorded. We deliberate more and arrange them in a practice space better. Also, having drummer Jason Mc Gerr, an old friend, in  the band, helped. Once we got in a room with him, there was no audition. We just started working immediately. In any band dynamic, there tends to be a theme. We were able to work with a higher level of trust. We didn’t care who did or didn’t play on a song, as long as it sounded fine. We sidestepped the dilemma of having everyone worry if they had parts in each song.

“The New Year” yearns for simpler times when the world’s flat and airplanes and freeways don’t exist. It may be Transatlanticism’s most direct statement.

That whole album came together and has the appearance of a concise statement. The songs had a theme that at this point of my life came together nicely. We thought this record might isolate fans, but it turned out real well.

The thrice-mothered “Death Of An Interior Decorator” seemingly concerns a materialistic lady who moves beyond self-obsession.

That’s a song based on Woody Allen’s Interiors. But I like your take. The movie’s about a disruptive relationship. For me, it’s a juxtaposition of being young, innocent, finding love, then getting old and jaded. Vices become bad habits. People who partied too much may have become alcoholics. It’s sorta like a John Mellencamp song, but not really. I love Mellencamp.

You’ve contributed three stripped down songs to a split single with American Analog Set’s Andrew Kenny. Tell me about that.

Ben Dickey is an indie rock rennaisance man tour-managing Spoon and Nada Surf while putting out ‘Home Series’ EP’s. One of the first was from Kind Of Like Spitting, then Britt Daniel (Spoon) and Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) did one. They have letter-pressed covers. The theme of my EP is home. I peppered it with lo-fi acoustic stuff. It’s for people who are already fans.

-John Fortunato