LIQUID LIQUID: RAP’S UNSUNG HEROES

Interviews

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

MASTERS OF REALITY SKEW THE BLUES

Interviews,

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LILYS / SWIRLIES @ KNITTING FACTORY

Live Reviews

Lilys / Swirlies / Knitting Factory / May 23, 2003

Lilys mainstay, Kurt Heasley, and Swirlies mastermind, Damon Tutunjian have a lot in common. Both originally took inspiration from cynical trailblazing UK noise-rock shoegazers Jesus & Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine; gained significant underground prominence around ’92; survived some lean years; and returned to the studio for worthy ’03 albums promoted for curious Knitting Factory patrons this rainy Friday eve.

Splitting time living between New York and Boston, Tutunjian assembled a new Swirlies crew consisting of guitarist Rob Laasko, Mice Parade drummer Adam Pierce, and fill-in keyboardist-backup vocalist Doro Tachler (with Lilys bassist Mike Walker joining for several tunes). Losing none of the resilient ambitiousness and wide-eyed enthusiasm best expressed on ‘93 apex, Blonder Tongue Audio Baton, the Swirlies paraded through a revelatory 45-minute set mostly featuring choice cuts from the recent seven-song Cats Of The Wild Volume 2 (Bubblecore Records), their first release in nearly eight years.

Delivering blissfully distorted compositions with unlikely concision, Tutunjian’s latest lineup piled scree textural warmth to escapist ephemera, pausing at length between numbers for proper tuning. Pretty melodies underlined scruffy psychedelic-tinged indie pop mindbenders. Warped chord structures and swelling reverb hovered above the trebly bottom end, shaping dizzyingly serene blues-y schisms post-collegiate brainaics sucked up like free beer.

Afterwards, Philly-via-DC’s newfangled Lilys were unable to reinvigorate the lissome verve of their respectable fifth long-player, Precollection (Manifesto Records). Heasley’s dryly absurdist humor lost half the crowd and a few casual acoustic turnabouts seemed laborious. A drunken spectator at the back of the club started heckling him during one of his drawled spoken rants, requesting Elton John’s “Rocket Man” for no apparent purpose. Happily, Heasley came back with some hilarious putdowns and the Nazi-like Manhattan cigarette patrol caught the drunkard smoking butts (a definite no-no in these conservative times), silencing him for the remaining half-hour.

Despite the Lilys inconsistencies, Heasley’s picturesque lyrics illuminated Precollection’s sturdiest material, as well as hot nuggets from ‘99s appreciable The 3 Way. The absolutely radiant “Squares” was an undeniable highlight. But while Heasley’s sweeping caterwauls and unguarded optimism definitely kept long-time admirers attentive throughout, those sitting on the fence may’ve been unmoved or unimpressed.

DASH RIP ROCK / INTERPRETERS @ MAXWELLS

Live Reviews

Dash Rip Rock / Interpreters / Maxwells / December 9, 1998

Experienced boozy New Orleans swamp rockers, Dash Rip Rock, never fail to deliver adrenalized good-timey party tunes. And they kept their streak going with a two-hour set at Hoboken’s regenerated Maxwells, performing tracks from their eighth album, Paydirt, plus seasoned faves and a host of cheery covers.

Relying on hilarious wit, rockin’ good hooks, and nifty cocktail-soaked harmonies, the game trio opened with a rip-snortin’ take on Hank Williams’ enlightened “I Saw The Light” that was immediately countered by a downtempo hillbilly treatment of Guy Mitchell’s downhearted hootenanny “Singing The Blues.” Then, these shot-glass shootin’ mojo bohos offered the drunken love ode, “Locked Inside The Liquor Store With You,” righteously claiming at the song’s conclusion, ‘we have more drinking songs than other bands have songs.’

Part of the fun was seeing them rumble through cheesy oldies like Grand Funk’s “We’re An American Band,” Big Star’s “In The Street” (made popular by FOX’s vogue-ish That ‘70s Show), and Rush’s “Fly By Night” as well as ‘90s indie rock like the Muffs “Sad Tomorrow” and Vaselines “Molly’s Lips.” They even added a slow burning “Please Come Home For Christmas” for seasonal affect.

Able to rock and roll ‘til the cows come home, Dash Rip Rock showed off tricky flashes of brilliance and a fanatical pop knowledge, finally bowing out when the late hour forced all but thirty hardcore fans to retire.

An astonishingly propulsive live band, Philadelphia’s the Interpreters led off the evening with the thrilling “Glorious,” a garage thrasher neatly based on the emphatic opening riff of The Who’s pre-punk rouser, “My Generation.” Far more powerful onstage than on their no-less-wonderful Back In The USSA, the trio’s primitive attack and raw energy kept the somewhat reserved audience enthralled, especially during blazingly chanted anthems like “Shout!” and “I Should Have Known Better.”

Singer-bassist Mark Gaer’s goofy antics peaked on the punk-stimulated closer, Uptight,” where he cracked up fans by squirming on the floor to do the Worm while the band temporarily slipped into emblematic Philly hometown Rocky theme, “Eye Of The Tiger.”

This show offered some of the best damn electric music you’re likely to find anywhere. So all hedonistic pleasure-seekers should feel welcome to get liquored up and enjoy either band next time they come ‘round.

JESUS LIZARD @ IRVING PLAZA

Live Reviews
Jesus Lizard / Irving Plaza / January 25, 1997

FOREWORD: Noisy post-punk stunners, Jesus Lizard, were in town promoting their fifth album, Shot, the second to last studio offering these seminal Chi-town fixtures would make before breaking up. Though I regretfully missed openers, Brainiac, I had a good time drinking and goofing around with them post-set as I had previously at the Mercury Lounge with childhood pal, Scott Wagenhoffer. Tragically, Brainiac leader Tim Taylor was killed in a car accident later that year. A decade-plus, his bands’ solid rep still precedes them. Many bands have mentioned Tim’s virtues posthumously.

Jesus Lizard fans take their band very seriously – watching every lurking movement dramatic singer-screamer David Yow makes. With a commanding onstage presence, Yow sweats until he’s finally shirtless, urgently spitting out harrowing lyrics like a possessed demon in need of immediate exorcism. He occasionally stage dives into the flowing mass of bodies in front of Irving Plaza’s stage, working the audience into a frenzy.

Surrounding Yow at each end of the stage are guitarist Duane Dennison and bassist David Sims, the dynamic duo whose punctual, gut-crunching riffs manage to coalesce above Mac Mc Neilly’s persistently gritty drums.

But Chicago-based Jesus Lizard never allows the surging guitars and alarmingly distorted overtones to venture into mosh-induced hysteria. Instead, they create portentous semi-Industrial abrasions; relentlessly demolishing barbed tunes such as the terse, rubbery Mistletoe,” the demanding “Uncommonly Good,” and the rumbling “Pervertedly Slow.”

For over an hour, Yow maintained his lunatic fringe, intensifying each song with spirited performances. At times I thought Jesus Lizard should’ve at least temporarily changed the tone and tempo, but each time they came up with another captivating gem. And the generous encore gave the crowd time to unwind as the majority either pogoed or shook their heads up and down.

Fuck those close-minded commercial radio programmers for not forging ahead and discovering this truly audacious quartet, especially in the age of grunge.

Due to my own stupidity, I missed Brainiac’s set beforehand. But if they were as great as they were last February at Mercury Lounge I’d advise anyone with a taste for inventive post-rock noise-pop to indulge immediately. I will not rest until I see them play live again.

HIGH LLAMAS / LOW / MAGNETIC FIELDS @ TRAMPS

Live Reviews

High Llamas / Low / Magnetic Fields / Tramps, April 9, 1998

Pleasantly charming lightweight art-pop rarely gets any more intimate and mesmerizing than this wonderfully adorned triple bill on a rainy Thursday evening at Tramps. The well-balanced lineup of sure-footed underground musicians made sure the audience went away both relaxed and pleased. Several fans left before the High Llamas finished, but that was mainly because they were ultimately satisfied and probably tired (the headliners played for more than 80 minutes) instead of disinterested.

High Llamas whimsically morphed psychedelia, exotica, and cheesy pop into thriftily dulcet morsels. It’s as if these Londoners make music for an enchanted island that doesn’t exist. Imaginatively borrowing dramatic spaghetti Western motifs reminiscent of “Wichita Lineman” or “Midnight Cowboy,” along with espionage themes suited for James Bond flicks, singer/ multi-instrumentalist Sean O’Hagan’s troupe handled stylistically diverse, well-crafted material (most from the newly waxed Cold And Bouncy) with casual aplomb. While it’s not unfair to compare some of O’Hagan’s early compositions to Pet Sounds/ Smile-era Beach Boys, precarious melodies subconsciously lifted from Electric Light Orchestra, Steely Dan, soft-Jazz creampuff Michael Franks, and less obvious sources also seemed to pop up for brief intervals. But there’s no denying the widespread appeal of the High Llamas eclectic blend. Marcus Holdaway’s keyboards, Dominic Murcott’s vibes and shakers, John Bennett’s guitar, Rob Allum’s percussion, and John Fell’s bass peppered the expansive arrangements quite succinctly.

Duluth slow-core purveyors, Low, began their somber, sometimes seductive, set unobtrusively (never even mentioning their perfectly suited moniker). They first delivered a subtly hypnotizing spiritual that prepared the still-gabbing-like-it‘s-intermission audience for its narcotic transience. Guest Ida Pearl draped heavily amped violin glissando across coiled guitar riffs on one song while droning, lingering organ gave another the buzzing restraint of lighter Yo La Tengo fare. The trio continued to anesthetize the packed crowd with a dirge-y instrumental that headed into the abyss. Much like the Cowboy Junkies, Low put the lull back in lullaby without getting laborious.

Manhattan-based Magnetic Fields’ vulnerable romanticist Stephin Merritt seamlessly weaves his velvety voice through electric and acoustic guitars and bowed upright bass, leisurely strolling through his plain and simple pop tunes with graceful splendor. The stimulating “Strange Powers closed the set with gorgeous subliminal imagery.

Unlike most shows, this evenly matched tripleheader could have just as easily been inverted and nobody would have blinked. Those with insomnia left Tramps to finally get a restful night’s sleep.

REVEREND HORTON HEAT @ IRVING PLAZA

Live Reviews

Reverend Horton Heat/ Irving Plaza / March 1, 2000

Dallas psychobilly wildman Reverend Horton Heat (a.k.a. Jim Heath) served up a full hour of hellraising, punk-inspired, high-octane raunch for a packed Irving Plaza crowd. Wearing a bright red suit, bow tie, and greased-back pompadour, the Rev delivered car ‘toons’ and booze-soaked parodies while stimulating juvenile fratboys’ peckers with lowest common denominator bait “Wiggle Stick” and Nurture My Rig” (dedicated to “hot New York City girls”).

Like his manic mentor, Mojo Nixon, the Rev borrows freely from ‘50s rockabilly, swamp rock, and swingin’ Country. After leading off with a blustery spaghetti Western instrumental hoe-down and a brisk West Texas breakdown, he put the pedal to the metal on a jagged gear jammer reminiscent of Commander Cody’s ‘72 French Connection hit “Hot Rod Lincoln.” The Rev then went freewheelin’ on a bass thumpin’ cowpoke ditty ‘bout cocaine before deriding domesticity on the jailhouse boogie strutter, “Spend A Night In The Box” (the title track from his Cool Hand Luke-inspired new album).

When the trio weren’t rocking full-on, the Rev spurt out cool asides, ripping a Texas newspaper for calling his ‘96 release, Space Heater, one of the worst Texas-made recordings ever and giving the finger to New Musical Express for charging that “he’d be flipping burgers” and washed up soon. He then gained audience ‘parcipitation’ for upright bass partner Jimbo’s quirky theme song.

Admittedly, the Rev gets painted into stylistic dead ends on record. But he’s far more assertive, funny, and schizoid live (despite the fact he drained the audience with two plain Country-pop songs and needless guitar indulgences near closing time). Although derivative, the beat-driven, “Lust For Life”-skewed “I Can’t Surf” and the Polecats/ Stray Cats-derived “It’s Martini Time” bristled with enthusiasm.

By selling his filthy soul to the devil long ago, this guitar-slingin’ Reverend has left the comparatively sane competition in the dust.

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

Interviews

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What music turned you on as a teen?

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

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

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

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

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

WILL RIGBY READILY BECOMES ‘PARADOXAHOLIC’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Originally, drummer Will Rigby was in acclaimed ‘80s indie pop band, the DB’s (pictured below). Unlike most of his peers, he continued being a viable artist into the ‘90s and beyond (though I’m not sure what he’s been up from ’07 onward). Once married to topical songbird, Amy Rigby, he went on to release two solo albums. He has also been potent sideman for respected artists Steve Earle, Matthew Sweet, and Freedy Johnston.

A hilarious humorist when he wants to be, Rigby also has a tremendous knowledge of rock music’s past. An admitted Dylan fanatic, I interviewed him in ’02 to support his belated second LP, Paradoxaholic. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

When I initially met veteran North Carolina drummer-composer Will Rigby at the dank basement of Manhattan’s Avenue A club, Brownies, he was cracking up several people with dead-on imitations of marble-mouthed King Of The Hill cartoon character, Boomhauer.

Originally an integral part of the dB’s, a fabulous early-‘80s New York City-based underground rock combo, Rigby now handles drum chores for Country legend Steve Earle and was invited as guest musician for folk-roots troubadour Mike Ireland’s current tour.

Recently, he scrambled to assemble tracks for the fascinating, cynically humored solo endeavor, Paradoxaholic (Diesel Only), which he claims “reflects the gulf between the dual nature of sad and funny songs.”

A great historian of rock culture, collecting several thousand records (“though I haven’t followed new music in years”), Rigby expresses adoration for “Cadbury Chicken,” an obscure throwaway B-side to Ronnie Spector’s George Harrison-composed “Try Some, Buy Some.” In related news, Rigby once played the skins at a friends wedding behind Marshall Crenshaw, receiving a kiss from Spector after she sang an unrehearsed version of “Be My Baby.”

Back in ’85, Rigby released his debut, Sidekick Phenomenon, on Yo La Tengo’s boutique label, Egon, calling it “incompetent” even though said bands’ Ira Kaplan told me at a recent softball game he heartily enjoyed it. Nevertheless, Rigby’s seriously bent lyrical perspective could be favorably compared to former Playboy cartoonist/ novelty composer Shel Silverstien.

Scattered singles such as ‘96s “Red Bra And Panties” and “Ricky Skaggs Tonite” (re-done for Paradoxaholic) capture his incisive wit and loose-as-a-goose vernacular in a nasal drawl cross between acid-folk weirdo Peter Stampfel and wheelchair-bound singer-guitarist Vic Chesnutt.

He squeals like a mosquito on the insinuating “This Song Isn’t Even About You” and recalls a Countrified Dave Edmunds on the dismissive “Got You Up My Sleeve” (where he sings “you better have some onions if you wanna see my tears”). Elsewhere, the casually quipped fuck-off “The Jerks At Work,” the stammering fat-bottomed girl ode “Samamaranda,” and the quick li’l barbed ditty “Midas Biege” re-animate acquaintances with pinpoint accuracy. Whether he’s being tipped off by “Sensible Shoes,” “Leanin’ On Bob” for inspiration, or arriving in a “Wheelchair, Drunk,” Rigby may be the only full-time rock drummer besides Ringo Starr or Dennis Wilson to construct worthy solo projects.

Surrounded by experienced guitarists such as Jon Graboff (ex-Beat Rodeo), Bruce Bennett (A-Bones/ Action Swingers), and Dave Schramm (the Schramms), Rigby slips easily from pretty ballad “The Sweeter Thing You Do” (with ex-dBs bandmate Gene Holder handling bass) to hook-filled organ-doused religion-baiting polka “If I Can’t Be King.” Whether he’s playing the jealous fool on the twangy “Get Away Get Away” or being coy on the buzz-toned piano boogie “Flap Down,” this skinny, fifty-ish fiend leaves no doubt he’s more than just a self-described ‘sidekick phenom.’

Compare the belated Paradoxaholic to your ’85 solo debut.

WILL: Sidekick Phenomenon was totally incompetently recorded, but its value is its lo-fi charm. There’s a cover of Merle Haggard’s “I Can’t Hold Myself In Line” which Johnny Paycheck had an ‘80s hit with, an obscure Maddox Brothers song, and Hank Williams’ “Set the Woods On Fire.” Georgia and Ira from Yo La Tengo put the homely record out, despite my misgivings.

Did you listen to Country radio?

WILL: My musical taste is greatly a part of ‘60s AM radio. Where I was in Winston-Salem, it included a smattering of Country, like Buck Owens’ “Tiger By the Tail,” Tammy Wynette’s “D.I.V.O.R.C.E.,” and Johnny Cash’s “Ring Of Fire” with a mishmash of Soul, garage-rock, the Beatles. It wasn’t compartmentalized like now. When I became an adult, I started paying attention to Country.

The wry lament, “Wheelchair, Drunk” has Southern folk roots.

I wrote that in the mid-‘90s about something that happened in the mid-‘70s. Some guy told me he’d drive me from Colorado to Carolina, but got to Florida and wouldn’t leave when I had a deadline in Carolina. He said, “I can’t leave today. I’m gonna get laid.” Anyway, I had a drunken night at a pool party. I knew no one but him, so I wandered off, passed out in a hospital parking lot, and woke up in a wheelchair being pushed into the hospital by a policeman. I yelled, “Am I under arrest!” way too loud for the middle of the night. The cop took me to the police station where they made fun of me and didn’t know what to do with me. The people I was staying with filed a missing person’s report. It was ridiculous.

What’s with the mockingly sarcastic “Ricky Skaggs Tonite”?

It’s just surrealistic. I could write absurdist numbers real well. It just channeled through me. I was reading about the (Apocalypse), the last book of the bible and its religious manifestations like the apparition of the Virgin Mary that appeared over this Egyptian Christian church. The gospel according to Thomas I took from that book. It’s not derogatory. I was a Ricky Skaggs fan in the ‘80s. I heard Ricky got a hold of the song and said, “could you all leave the room while I listen.” Some bluegrass guys like Jerry Douglas and Tim O’Brien are fans of the song.

Are you as Dylan-obsessed as “Leanin’ On Bob” suggests?

I’m not top-level Dylan-obsessed, but I’ve seen him 12 times and read 20 to 30 books on him. What inspired the song was when I first went on the internet and discovered massive information on Dylan. I wondered how people lived just following Bob around. Most of the imagery is about myself. If you went to see Dylan, you’d think he consciously went after that crowd. He asked to join the Dead in the late ‘80s, but either Weir or Lesh vetoed it. The story’s in Down the Highway. You could discern his ‘80s records lost touch with what was good about him, but thankfully he found it by Time Out Of Mind.

How’s life on the road with Steve Earle?

Pretty cushy. We just did three Scandinavian gigs and finished a new album with half-political songs. One’s about Johnny Walker Lindh. Steve’s a true leftist. His view the death penalty is radical.

Who are some drummers you admire?

Keith Moon was an influence when I played like that when I was young. A few people could pull it off, but I’m more of a backbeat person. Kenny Jones, Tom Mooney from Nazz, and Bill Buford of Yes… I was into Yes until Close To the Edge. Then they went too far over the top. Zig Modeliste of the Meters is probably my favorite. Jim Keltner is so obscenely good it pisses me off. Dave Maddox of Fairport Convention and B.J. Wilson from Procol Harum’s Broken Barricades…

What’s up with fellow former dB’s Peter Holsapple and Chris Stamey?

Stamey lives in North Carolina and has a recording studio. He produced Whiskeytown and Alejandro Escovedo. Peter lives in New Orleans, but the Continental Drifters are in limbo. He’s going through a rough period and doesn’t know what to do musically. I hope to play drums on a few of his new songs.

-John Fortunato

TV ON THE RADIO WIRED FOR ‘DESPERATE YOUTH, BLOOD THIRSTY BABES’

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Arguably the most popular underground band of the new century, Brooklyn’s TV On The Radio are an enigmatic band clashing and colliding modern musical styles with surprisingly great aboveground success.

Following this ’04 interview with tape manipulating singer, Tunde Adebimpe, to support breakout LP, Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes, they went on critical acclaim with ‘06s superb Return To Cookie Mountain and ‘08s instant classic, Dear Science. Without giving up one iota of experimental brevity, TV On The Radio clearly achieved mainstream and MTV success on their own terms. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Spending part of his childhood in native Nigeria, cartoonist-painter Tunde Adebimpe found a permanent home in America when his father completed medical residency in St. Louis. After his family settled in Pittsburgh, teenaged Adebimpe attended a New York City film school. Soon, he began working on MTV’s Celebrity Deathmatch, starred in admirable ’01 underground movie Jump Tomorrow, then pieced together home recorded vocal tracks for the experimental 4-track, 24-song OK Calculator, which he made with percussionist-sampler-guitarist roommate David Andrew Sitek as TV On The Radio.

Though part of Brooklyn’s fertile Williamsburg scene, TV On The Radio bend rock, hip-hop, and funk influences in profoundly obtuse directions unexplored by their local brethren. Taken from ‘03s notable “Young Liars” EP (featuring an unlisted a cappella take on the Pixies “Mr. Grieves”), their anxiety-fueled schizoid drone “Satellite” gets your freak on like Wall Of Voodoo’s kaleidoscopic titillation “Mexican Radio” did way back in ‘82. Recruiting guitarist-vocalist Kyp Malone, the extended trio (including Yeah Yeah Yeahs guitarist Nick Zinner, flutist Martin Perna, and drummer Jaleel Bunton) thereupon assembled ‘04s startling full-length debut, Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes.

Singing auspiciously like prog-rocker Peter Gabriel, Adebimpe’s frothy moans, excitable shrieks, and yearning whimpers mollify each Desperate Youth track, cascading above the haunted forlorn mantra, “Dreams,” and the portentous apocalyptic apparition “Staring At The Sun.” Scantily resembling respected vocal troupe the Persuasions’ neo-psychedelic soul, or perhaps, warped ‘50s doo-wop, the scurrying a cappella rendezvous “Ambulance” juxtaposes Adebimpe’s overdubbed descant falsetto wails with his spherically rhythmic deep bass grunts. For the bewitching “The Wrong Way,” a blurted sax signature underscores tape-looped rhythmic dementia, securing its hex-like transience.

Since TV On The Radio’s unlimited stylistic maneuverability and variegated abstractions plunder restrictive borders, predicting the evolutionary growth of this still-maturing combo seems preposterous. Undeniably, they’ve already covered vast terrain with stimulating results.

How did TV On The Radio’s nascent OK Calculator come together?

TUNDE: I was living in an art space loft when Dave moved in. The 4-track stuff on OK Calculator Dave and I made separately, except three songs. It’s not a band. It’s almost like a sketchbook. I did a cappella, humming guitar parts, beat boxing drums. We put this together with Dave’s stuff. It’s as free and lo-fi as possible. We released it ourselves, but Suicide Squeeze may re-release it with a printed book I did. The album sounds funny to me now, but it works. Anyone can make music if they have a strong belief in their ideas.

Were ‘70s political hip-hop progenitors the Last Poets or legendary pre-punk eccentrics Pere Ubu influential?

TUNDE: My parents always had music playing. They liked Gospel, Classical. My dad played piano and taught my brother and sister. I really can’t read music. In high school, listening to college radio gave me the impetus to get involved in music. Stuff on K Records or records that didn’t have a lot of distance between who made it and who listens to it I listened to – the Pixies, Sonic Youth, NWA, Ice-T. There was a Pittsburgh college station, WPTS, I’d listen to religiously. Reception was shitty but they played vital music.

Did your parents’ African heritage and upbringing instinctively give you a tremendous rhythmic sensibility?

TUNDE: I don’t know. As a kid, I’d hear Nigerian radio. Fela Kuti was at the root base of a lot of it. But Dave’s from Polish descent and he’s making a ton of those beats. (dual laughter) I feel fortunate to be in a band with people who aren’t satisfied with making stuff that sounds like everything else.

To me, the TV On The Radio moniker projects the boundary expansion of telecommunication through imagery, mystery, and intrigue.

TUNDE: That’s a kind description. Actually, this kid, Martin, who Dave knew, was listening to our stuff and proclaimed we should be TV On The Radio.

Initially, the “Young Liars” EP blew me away. Its first song, “Satellite,” builds ceaseless friction and tension until seemingly going off the rail.

TUNDE: The plan was to make the EP longer, but we finished the five songs and had to do other outside work to get by and survive.

Its ominous post-911 mood invokes spiritually fearful lyrics.

TUNDE: We made it right afterwards, so it has that depression, hopelessness, and hopefulness about it. We were across the river when that happened. It was a confusing time. Personally, I needed to busy myself with something I thought was true.

Word on the street is you and Dave handed out percussion instruments to audience members during an early show.

TUNDE: We had a club residency at Brooklyn’s The Stinger. We’d go up and improvise a set, take requests, or write songs about something the crowd would shout out. At the end, we’d get the audience onstage with tambourines. Then, we’d sneak offstage totally drunk and go, ‘That’s our band!’

Why does “Staring At The Sun” appear on both the EP and Desperate Youth?

TUNDE: We wanted people to find a thematic balance on the album. It follows the trail back to the EP.

Is that personal or peripheral depression that “Dreams” deals with?

TUNDE: It’s a combination. You start with the person and how he relates to others and apply that to how humans treat each other in general.

You seem to take more chances on the final few Desperate Youth tracks.

TUNDE: “Don’t Love You” and “Bomb Yourself,” as far as what we put down sequentially, fit better at the end emotionally. “Wear You Out” is so different from the album’s beginning. It’s like taking someone on a trip and giving them only a hint as to where things will go.

Dave’s crisp, clean production for not only TV On The Radio, but also the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the Liars, truly captures the frenetic studio performances at hand.

TUNDE: He taught himself everything in a Baltimore studio as a teen. He’d listen to an album, read who produced it, and call them to find out what types of microphones they used. He had an intense passion and curiosity to learn how to use equipment and bend it to his will. When I first met him, I saw a ton of recording gear and thought, ‘I have to be friends with this kid.’

You’ve explored so many musical directions. Will your next album lean more towards the harmonious aspect, funkier leanings, or discreet Jazz snazz?

TUNDE: We have no idea and we like it that way. We’re focusing on getting the live show together. Our first show of the last tour was in Iceland for a festival. Dave’s samplers were crushed in transit so we figured out a way to strip down with a rock set up. Now we’re trying to integrate that with the samplers that we’ve fixed.

You made your acting debut in Jump Tomorrow, described as a ‘fashion screwball road trip romance.’ Do you have anything in common with the geeky character, Jorge, whom you played?

TUNDE: That character was probably the person I’d be in 7th grade. He’s reserved and scarily shy, but any standoffishness I have now is definitely not frightened. It’s probably more pissed. I’d like to act more, but I’m not pursuing it. I’m locked into working with the band and doing animation for my company, Studio Iodine. We directed the Yeah Yeah Yeahs “Pin” video. We get small jobs.

How’d you hook up with MTV’s Celebrity Deathmatch claymation series?

TUNDE: I was one of the first animators to work on the show as I was about to leave school. I’d made a short Cheerful Cricket animation which won a school award. I was bumming around Brooklyn when a friend said, ‘someone’s doing a stunt animation show and you should bring your movie.’ I hung out with the guy who created the show. I had no idea how to be professional and get a job. A week later I started a year and a half of work moving clay figures around. We set up scenes and moved characters around one frame at a time.

One of my favorite episodes was when Howard Stern farted and killed some famous actress-model.

TUNDE: (laughs) I did the Michael Jackson-Madonna fight and the Beastie Boys in a huge robot battling the Backstreet Boys – one of my favorites.

THE SIGHTS HAVE ‘GOT WHAT WE WANT’

Interviews, ,

FOREWORD: The Sights are diminutive singer-guitarist, Eddie Baranek, and whomever he decides to jam with. I originally befriended Eddie following a phone interview to support ‘02s colorful ‘60s-imbued garage rock set, Got What We Want. For a twentysomething kid, he had tremendous passion and a great knowledge of rock history. I met him at Bowery Ballroom and we partied like it was 1999. That night, he didn’t let a Rolling Stone reporter onto the guest list because that now-sterile publication had blown the band off before. Afterwards, he and the band came over, sucked down some brews, and slept over. I caught up with Eddie again in ’05 at the newly refurbished Manhattan hotspot, Canal Room. That’s where I got friendly with respected soundman, Nite Bob (mentioned below), who got me into a Steely Dan show thereafter.

 

“Get up! Everybody’s gonna move their feet/ Get down! Everybody’s gonna leave their seat,” Kiss excitedly exclaimed on ‘76s furious pre-punk glam-rock anthem, “Detroit City Rock.” Damn is it good to have that same freewheeling rock ‘n roll spirit back in the Motor City full swing thanks to insurgent bands like The Go, The Paybacks, The Dirtbombs, and Detroit Cobras. Bringing uncommon versatility and some of the sharpest pop hooks to this expansive scene, The Sights, fronted by vocalist-guitarist Eddie Baranek, reach a diverse audience by showcasing resplendent throwbacks at ceaseless gigs.

An American history buff who later attended local Wayne State University, the shrewd Baranek gained tremendous experience playing alongside several older, more talented musicians as a high school freshman, developing instrumental skills along with the confidence to be a worthy frontman by ’98 at the tender age of sixteen.

Now the sole surviving original member, Baranek got tiny indie label Spectator Records to release The Sights colorful ’99 debut, Are You Green?, prior to recruiting current drummer Dave Shettler. Along with former bassist Mark Leahey (since replaced by ex-The Go/ Witches member Matt Hatch), the newfangled trio recorded ‘02s fascinating Got What We Want (Fall Of Rome) with famed garage-punk producer, Jim Diamond, at the helm.

Taken as a whole, Got What We Want never relents, changing direction on a whim and succeeding thusly. Though the carefree “Be Like Normal,” with its stinging guitar, shimmery organ, and adolescent concerns, receives “emphasis track” status, Baranek’s much more enamored by the fast charging Chuck Berry shakedown “One And Only,” the wholesome Fab 4 throwback, “It’d Be Nice (To Have You Around),” and the bouncy psychedelic pop confection “Everyone’s A Poet.”

The Sights abruptly challenge these nifty pop influences with virile bluesrockers like the imperative title track, the bold “Last Chance,” and the pulverizing “Nobody,” recalling pre-metal heavyweights Cream, Mountain, Cactus, and the Amboy Dukes at different junctures. On the aforementioned “Nobody,” Baranek lets it all hang out, capturing skull-crushing psychotic tension by going from exhausted resignation to outraged anguish and then unleashing incredibly urgent primal screams atop the bluesy “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” lockgroove.

Contrasting insouciant teen pop harmonies against hard driving guitar pungency, “Don’t Want You Back” resonates succinctly as organ dollops and a dramatic pause induce feverish climactic splendor. Furthermore, the downtrodden despair of the slow drifting Blues sanctuary, “Sick And Tired” (which seems to brilliantly combine John Lennon’s “Cols Turkey” with the Beatles’ “Happiness Is A Warm Gun”), entirely juxtaposes the uplifting love remedy, “Sweet Little Woman.”

What music inspired you as a young kid?

EDDIE: Hearing the loud pipe organ at church and rare Motown songs. My mom had compilations she passed on, like the Marvelettes.

The Sights influences seem so varied.

EDDIE: We enjoy everything from the Flaming Groovies to Beach Boys “Wild Honey.” We used to be a little mod band in ’98, but I don’t want to sound like the Jam or Buzzcocks. There’s other shit I listen to, like Free, Humble Pie, Traffic and the Nice. All that comes out (in our music) along with soul like Andre Williams. We’re all just music fan geeks. You could tell. Our music is schizophrenic.

DAVE: You want to keep people’s attention so we change things up.

The Beach Boys-styled sweet choral harmonies and chiming sleigh bells counter hard driving verses on the truly accessible opener, “Don’t Want You Back.”

EDDIE: That was like eight songs I wanted to write. I had all these ideas and decided to make one song. Nobody cared a year ago when we put it out. It’s funny and good we’re getting all this attention now. You get a lot of bands around Detroit that tell us our influences aren’t ’68, they’re ’72, like Humble Pie, so we can’t do that. So we try to make it more heavy metal to piss more people off.

“Sorry Revisited” would’ve made a cool ‘68 dirgey b-side.

EDDIE: We did a song “Sorry” on Are You Green. It’s kind of like “Shapes Of Things” by the Yardbirds. And then, Jeff Beck did a little more cheesy laid-back version.

What’s with all the old hippie rock influences?

EDDIE: It’s a natural progression from being a record geek at 14 and hanging out with your pals. My Saturday nights were spent sneakin’ in a case of beers and going to buy records, then, going home and listening to them while drinking. Everyone wanted to play sports, and I was like, “Fuck that!” I just wanted to turn it up. It’s pretty cliched teenage angst. But for us to get into that, we had to be like-minded. When I was 17 and playing gigs with guys ten years older I had to know my shit or be dropped in a second. I went to see Detroit Cobras, the Go, and White Stripes before they were big. It was a good scene. We went to each others shows and supported each other.

There’s this sound guy, NiteBob, who did sound for the Stooges, Aerosmith, and Ted Nugent. He told me great stories. The Nuge had ten squirrels packed in ice. He tried to get them through the airport ‘cause he killed them. They were like, “What the fuck’s this shit?” He also said Nuge had the hottest 20-year-old daughter you’ll ever see.

The buzzing guitar shuffle “Got What I Want” grows into a psych-Blues rumble reminiscent of Nuge’s ‘60s Detroit band, the Amboy Dukes. But at the beginning, I thought I smelled the Strokes contemporary influence on the guitar riffage.

EDDIE: I hope not. I’m not digging the White Stripes, but I totally respect them. It’s like Loretta Lynn and Blind Willie Mc Tell and Captain Beefheart, whereas the Strokes are stuck in ’78, dude. These geeks think we’re a cool retro band, saying “Don’t you know it’s 2002.” Did you see that “Rock Is Back” Rolling Stone issue. What do you mean it’s back? Greg Shaw from Bomp Records has been around for ages and Get Hip Records is cool. The Cynics, the Lyres, I’ll take them any day over that watered down Southern California pop punk MTV shit.

DAVE: I think retro is what squares call what’s always been cool. I don’t see us aligned with traditional garage bands. We try to go earlier for our influences. But we’re not specifically looking backwards. We’re influenced by our diverse record collections. We started going to antique stores and record shops that had vinyl sections. I have a lot of the original singles from the Nuggets collection. I’ve even got the Banana Splits album. Local band the Underdogs used to play at the Hideout when Bob Seger System was around. They did the cool ’66 single “Judy Be Mine.”

The bouncy, upbeat “Everyone’s A Poet” reminded me of Emmitt Rhodes’ or Thunderclap Newman’s early ‘70s pop confections.

EDDIE: Emmitt Rhodes, the forgotten songwriter. We’re not afraid to put in these cheesy piano things. The lyrics “everyone’s a poet and everyone knows it all” is about what pisses me off more than anything. There’s 24-hour diners 17-year-old kids hang out in. They’re like, “I’m on three cups of coffee now. I don’t need beer.” They smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and talk about their bad poems and think they’re cool. And I wrote “how they adore me” just to be a dick.

How’d Jim Diamond’s production help?

DAVE: He’s very open-minded. I had worked with him on a Moods For Modern record in the past.

EDDIE: He helped get interesting ascending and descending harmonies. Everyone says he’s the king of garage and punk now, but he has massive respect for pop history. He’ll go, “Oh Bobby Fuller Four, let’s try something like that.” Plus, he has great old gear like Farfisas, Leslies, Vox organs. He buys shitty ass amps that don’t work at garage sales and fixes ‘em.

SILKWORM DISCOVER ‘ITALIAN PLATINUM’

Interviews

FOREWORD: One of the greatest and most underrated guitar-based bands of the ‘90s, Silkworm boasted skillful axe handlers Andy Cohen and Joel Phelps (who left by ’95). Too competent and proficient to be labeled grunge while less accessible and headier than masturbatory hard rockers, Silkworm suffered for its aggro-rock art. I caught them at Manhattan basement club, Arlene’s Grocery, in ’02, interviewing dexterous drummer, Michael Dahlquist, to promote Italian Platinum. A month forward, I journeyed a few blocks south and saw them again at Knitting Factory. They released their final album, It’ll Be Cool, in ’04. Tragically, Dahlquist was killed in ’05 when a suicidal woman rammed the car he was in. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Could two white collar employees of Shore Microphones (drummer Michael Dahlquist and bassist Tim Midgett) and a full-time lawyer (guitarist Andy Cohen) manage to thrive musically without losing the edge, focus, and determination that brought them a decade of continued underground acclaim?

Right about the time Seattle was festering with grunge, Missoula, Montana transplants Silkworm already had two homemade cassettes, one Punchdrunk 7″ record, and the developmental full-length, L’ajre, under their belts. Surviving an amicable split with guitarist-songwriter Joel Phelps (following the screechy psych-induced feedback of ‘94s twin sets, Libertine and In The West), ‘96s trebly Firewater offered newfound minimalist restraint to counter Cohen’s Neil Young-ish guitar wanker.

Still spicing things up with crazed witticisms and feeling more comfortable as a three-piece, ‘97s Developer contrasted soft-to-loud mood shifts in a dignified manner that affected ‘98s lyrically acute Blueblood as well as its much better follow-up, ‘00s Lifestyle.

Since then, Dahlquist completed Silkworm’s five-year trek to their adopted hometown, Chicago, and the resilient trio scored possibly their best effort yet, Italian Platinum. Hook-filled charmers like “The Brain,” the buzzy, guitar-revved “A Cockfight Of Feelings,” and the keyboard-laden “White Lightning” (with Chicago-via-Atlanta singer Kelly Hogan decorating the chorus) would fit comfortably alongside post-Nirvana Northwest faves Built To Spill and Quasi.

Guest Hogan’s descant vocals offset Cohen on the humorously snide, love-sickened “(I Hope U) Don’t Survive,” which cheekily recalls Mike Watt’s duet with Geraldine Fibbers’ Karla Bozulich on the Me Generation diatribe, “Against The ‘70s,” in sound, if not vision. Thereafter, the pendulum swings from the hard-hitting “The Third” to the relatively spare “Is She A Sign” without compromise.

No. Silkworm hasn’t put music on the backburner or lost their lust for making stimulating recordings. They’ve just managed to incorporate it differently into their busy lives as a still-worthy entity.

How does Silkworm have time to construct and record a valid album while each original member has a day job?

MICHAEL DAHLQUIST: The first big session we did together took a week while we were working full-time. It was a wretched week. We’d stay in the studio until 1 or 2 A.M. It was my third week on the job. Now we’re playing weekend shows for this tour.

Some of your best songs came out of these sessions. I especially enjoy the liquor-stained wry humor of “Bourbon Beard.”

MICHAEL: I’m convinced that song is about me. It sounds to me like it’s about a relatively young guy with a beard who likes to drink and thinks of himself as a young whippersnapper when that might not be the case. (laughter)

Andy gets to stretch out on “LR72.”

MICHAEL: “LR72″ stands for Lou Reed 1972 and it sounds like that. The lyrics come from an old funeral dirge sung, played, or chanted centuries ago by a primitive African tribe. It’s Andy’s take on that gorgeous lyric. I treated it as a military march and we played it along those lines.

Speaking of Lou Reed, I thought “The Old You” copped a bit of his narrative style.

MICHAEL: Yup. I find that song touching, but it’s so quaint. For Andy, it’s so lyrical and charming.

Were you disappointed when your last studio set, Lifestyle, didn’t receive as much exposure and praise as Firewater? It seemed to be just as worthy.

MICHAEL: Firewater was the first record we did for Matador. So they put their machine behind it and had a big financial stake in it. They thought they could sell a million records. Lifestyle was my favorite. The obvious progression was we expanded our musicianship and got more people involved for Italian Platinum. It’s a little softer, sweeter, and feminine.

Well Kelly Hogan adds that femininity. She takes the reins singing lead on the balladic departure, “Young.”

I think Tim felt like a schmuck singing a song that overwrought. So he pictured it with a woman’s voice. So Kelly could sing overwrought shit very well. It sounds appropriate with her singing.

How has long-time producer, Steve Albini, affected Silkworm’s sound through the years?

We had been working in Seattle after putting out two singles and the ’92 long- play debut, L’ajre. We got in touch with him and did the …his absence is a blessing EP. We recorded six songs and mixed four in a day, which was the polar opposite of what we’d done before. It sounded so fast and efficient and was so good. We were sold on his recording process. He has a strong emphasis on the live sound, but we’ve been straying from that over the years. The way the instruments sound is affected by Steve. In an effort to make things sound as good as we can in the studio, we’ve built the best live sound we could. But I don’t know if he helps with the structure of the songs. Andy’s always had a propensity for noodling. He was this meandering guitarist.

The entire grunge scene came into fruition after Silkworm moved to Seattle and began playing. But there’s still quite an underground scene going on there.

Every time you think nothing is going on, there’s a large amount of post-Built To Spill bands like Modest Mouse, Death Cab For Cutie, and Pedro The Lion. There’s also a lot of garage bands. Grunge is well past but there’s stuff going on.

Instead of moving to the middle to attract grunge fans from the Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, and Pearl Jam camps, Silkworm always remained proudly left-of-center. I like how your band and Mudhoney never made concessions.

We felt what we were doing was fine. There was no reason to get popularity and fame.

How has Silkworm evolved?

In the past five years, since Andy moved to Chicago in the post-Matador era, we stopped traveling all the time and making a living as a band. We realized it’s the only way to stop sleeping on people’s couches. Individually, we gradually decided we wanted to do something besides playing rock music and suffering with poverty. We went back to school, got careers, bought houses, and went to that next step in our personal lives while maintaining the band as an important entity. It influenced our attitude towards the music and added an injunction of humor. We do it because it gives us pleasure and has some value in the world. But we don’t treat it so precious anymore.

-John Fortunato