Wayward golden ale with acetous lemon-soured Seltzer fizz inundated by spoiled orange-grapefruit compote, pungent sulfuric funk, and vegetal carrot-maize-asparagus slunk. Bottled version needs to get vinegar-y yeast-contaminating brettanomytes under control.
Thin ultra-dry straw-paled light body with only 99 calories fails to ignite. Unleavened white bread barrenness and washed-out Seltzer-fizzed white aspirin chalkiness made worse by drab maize-rice finish. Faintest sweetness evaporates on impact. Inoffensive. Horrid canned version sucks more, allowing tinny metallic acridity to completely nullify barren corn-husked astringency and unbuttered popcorn spell.
Drab sunset-hued Mardi Gras fave fails to impress from its washed-out pale amber hue to its ridiculously inappropriate mildness. Astringent honey-soured caramel malting, musty orange-banana-cherry trickle, phenol spicing, and caraway seeding make for ineffectual Maibock or Helles bock traits.
FOREWORD: Brooding The The brainchild, Mark Johnson, made some of the catchiest indie pop you’ll ever hear. After spending the ‘80s and ‘90s garnering college radio attention, he drifted into obscurity after ‘00s Naked Self (promoted by the following piece) and ‘02s less worthy 45 RPM. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Currently living above a laundry shop in Lower Manhattan’s Chinatown, The The mastermind Matt Johnson is a self-described “restless, nomadic person wandering the world in anonymity.” A veritable musical chameleon, he has constantly re-invented himself through a series of scattered albums drenched with dark political themes, melancholic despair, and bleak desolation.
On The The’s ‘83 breakthrough, Soul Mining, Johnson’s bass throbbing Goth melodrama “The Sinking Feeling” captured the abandonment, detachment, and moodiness which has blanketed his entire life, cynically lambasting “I’m just a symptom of the moral decay that’s gnawing at the heart of the country.”
After ‘86s Industrial beat-driven Infected secured further US club exposure, former Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr came onboard to enhance ‘89s downcast diatribe, Mind Bomb (featuring the apropos “Armageddon Days Are Here Again”), and ‘92s compelling, yet confounding, Dusk. Following an impressive leftfield tribute to Country & Western legend Hank Williams (Hanky Panky), Johnson had to deal with record label fiascoes before bringing ‘00s blustery implosion, Naked Self, to Trent Reznor’s Nothing Records.
Joined by Iggy Pop guitarist Eric Schermerhorn, MC 900 Ft. Jesus drummer Earl Harvin, and bassist Spencer Campbell, Johnson’s latest entourage pits burbly electronics against acoustic retreats and eruptive guitar noise against hypnotic dreamscapes. Lyrically, Naked Self condemns manipulative corporate greed and advocates individualism. Johnson’s at his passive-aggressive best when he takes up the cause of the oppressed proletarian, dispatching a vigilant streak of palpable emotions and hushed anxiety.
Brooding, cacophonous dissonance unsettles the melodic acoustic bed of Naked Self’s first single, “Shrunken Man.” “Swine Fever’s” brusque aggro-techno resilience contrasts soft-spoken verses with loud, resonating choruses in a manner similar to Nine Inch Nails. And the urgent “Voidynumbness” crawls out of “Weather Belle’s” ethereal slumber into a deluge of manic mayhem.
I spoke to Johnson via the phone.
Naked Self seems mired in bleak desolation, perhaps detailing a post-Armageddon world.
MATT JOHNSON: There’s an optimistic undercurrent running through it though, which is important. I believe in embracing your demons in order to release the goodness. One can only look at one’s life to understand the different insecurities and fears, as well as hopes and desires. We’re all different, but underneath it all we’re more similar than we think we realize.
In “Global Eyes,” you sing of “Kentucky fried genocide.” Does this relate to the stock market and multi-national corporations manipulating and corrupting individuality?
MATT: Absolutely. I think we’re facing a world of the corporation versus the individual. Corporations are becoming more powerful than entire nations. There are no rules and regulations to police them because they’re shifting money around the world to get the best tax break. Whenever they shift production around the world depending on whims and doing favors for other countries, they’re completely undemocratic and unaccountable. I think we’ve got to start limiting how powerful these entities can become and start breaking them up, particularly when you add into the equation the latest advances in genetic engineering and biotechnology. I think it’s alarming that there’s this company that’s trying to patent the human gene map. It will probably reach a situation where you’ll have to apply for a royalty every time you want to have a child. That’s taking it to an extreme level, but it’s heading in a strange direction and big business is too influential, particularly in America with its corrosive lobby system.
Does “Voidynumbness” intentionally reflect the insensitivity of corporate phonies?
MATT: It’s about the layers of insulation people surround themselves with and not being able to face the cause of their pain by numbing themselves through alcohol and sex and isolation. My favorite line is “you got to know your pain by its real name.” Pain manifests itself through many disguises – depression, jealousy, and anger. It’s important to cut through the layers, like the layers on an onion, to find out what’s at the heart of what you are.
Do you feel more secure than you were in ‘81 when your debut, Burning Blue Soul, came out?
MATT: I feel pretty positive now. “Phantom Walls” and “Soul Catcher” have a lot of hopefulness. To me, Naked Self is an ‘up’ record. But perhaps I have peculiar taste compared to some people. I’m 38 now and I’m happier now. I had difficult teenage years and had a very lonely period of my life. I’m more stable.
Naked Self is probably closer to Burning Blue Soul than any other album though. I’m really going back to my roots. I come from the British post-punk industrial movement of the late ‘70s/ early ‘80s, like the bands Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle.
Are any of Naked Self’s songs from the unreleased Gun Sluts album from a few years back?
MATT: Just “Diesel Breeze.” Gun Sluts is an album I completed between a ten month period when I was out of contract with Sony Records. That will come out on my own label, Lazarus, next year. It’s slightly more dissonant and unstructured than Naked Self.
What lyricists and poets inspired you as a teen?
MATT: More than anyone else, John Lennon is my biggest influence. Sylvia Plath and Yeats were poets I enjoyed. Songwriters I liked were Hank Williams, Robert Johnson, Bob Dylan, and Bob Marley.
You mentioned Hank Williams. Is that why you assembled the Hanky Panky album?
MATT: Instead of trying to copy the originals, it’s a real challenge to see how elastic songs could be and push them in different directions. If people cover my songs, I want them to be radical with them. It was a real pleasure working on Hank Williams’ songs. His daughter wrote me a letter saying, “My daddy would be proud with what you did.” I plan to do LP’s of John Lennon’s and Robert Johnson’s songs in a series that began with the Hank Williams album.
What have you been listening to lately?
MATT: Japanese flute music or Classical music. Japanese flute music is very calming to hear in the background.
FOREWORD: Here’s a fun read. The Unband took very little seriously, especially rock critics. And their manager, the truly sexy Erin Norris, was a dominatrix who I’d befriended in Manhattan over the years. She told me about some strange requests beyond spanking and whipping that she had to turn down from horny males. As for The Unband, whose 2000 album, Retarded, kicked up dust, I have no fucking idea where they are now. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Terrorizing New York-via-Boston bad boys with an unavoidable penchant for sleazy antics and chemical indulgence, the Unband collide heavy metal thunder with MC5 punk gism and New York Dolls glam-rock spunk on their TVT Records debut, Retarder. By touring in their ‘Vangina’ (which guitarist Matt Pierce claims “is as cozy as a pussy”), the trio have gained a reputation for both exciting live shows and aggressive behavior.
Popular Soho dominatrix/ band manager Erin Norris initially met bassist Michael Ruffino at Tramps for a Gov’t Mule show while he was twitching on speed. While he’s first to greet me at TVT headquarters this March evening, guitarist Matt Pierce soon walks in wearing a black t-shirt with glittery silver Cocaine lettering. The Unband’s most turbulent ‘member,’ drummer Eugene Ferrari (a penis-bearing extrovert once arrested for lewd on-stage behavior), arrives shortly afterwards with Norris.
“We’re the call of the wild,” Pierce shrieks on Retarder’s bludgeoned, Sabbath-like “Rock Hard.” As if to further prove his point, the anthemic stadium rocker “Drink And Rock” states the bands’ intentions up-front and center with even more attitude and spunk. The explosive, turbo-charged “Geez Louise,” is a rollicking, straightahead hard rocker emblazoned by stratospheric, angular three-chord riffs and Ferrari’s demonic rhythmic thrust. Just for fun, they pump up Billy Squier’s cheesy ‘80s smash “Everybody Wants You” and frolic through a tunelessly stark piano-based faux-Blues novelty “Cocaine Whore.”
Supposedly all first-born sons from well-adjusted homes, I spent over an hour burning rope, discussing The Simpsons and The Sopranos, and drudging up dope quotes from these reckless subversives. Who knows if I quoted the correct band member half the time for this piece? Anyway, proceed with caution.
How has the Unband progressed since its formation around ‘90?
EUGENE: We’ve stunted.
MICHAEL: He’s lying. We have grown.
EUGENE: I was reminded recently we had a brief Hawaiian music period before we did hard rock. Struggling is very easy to do.
MICHAEL: It takes a lot of drugs and very little motivation. We live off the chicks.
How’d you guys originally hook up?
MICHAEL: That’s a hard question.
How do your live shows compare to your albums?
EUGENE: You could probably imagine. (laughter)
Great answer. If you guys get successful…
EUGENE: We won’t have to talk to assholes like you anymore. (more laughter)
You’ll be talking to better-known assholes. If you guys get huge, will you get a pompous rock star mentality like Ritchie Blackmore or Puff Daddy?
MICHAEL: We were assholes years ago.
So you guys are extreme bohos that sit around and fuck off without caring about society because we’re all going to hell anyway? And are we gonna get a president besides Clinton who could get his dick hard this year?
EUGENE: I certainly hope so.
Al Bore?
MATT: At least he has smoked grass.
He won’t legalize it.
EUGENE: Neither would I. My best friends are surviving off of selling pot. They’d have to get jobs.
MICHAEL: When we were in Chicago, Cynthia plaster caster came to the show. I tried to get her to do me, but she said, “I don’t just do it out of the blue.
Will she do it into the black? And what about people who claim rock is dead?
EUGENE: Do you know where to get any rock? (laughter).
MATT: People who say that never liked rock in the first place. Anyone who likes it listens to it all the time. There’s never gonna be a time when they’re gonna say, “Gee. I only have my crappy records to listen to.”
MICHAEL: It’s not like the records evaporate because someone decides staring at your shoes and singing about buying sox is cool.
EUGENE: When I was young and going to shows, it was shit like the Circle Jerks. They’d sit around, drink beers, and make up dumb shit. They rocked. We’re a natural progression.
MICHAEL: I still own every Ramones record. They’re all great.
Do you guys enjoy the new metal bands?
MICHAEL: I’m just confused about what the term metal means now.
MATT: It needs more subgenres.
What percentage of drugs should listeners use while listening to the Unband?
MICHAEL: I think it depends.
EUGENE: You get something different out of every combination. You could do 100% cocaine and that would be an interesting way to listen. I’ve got to try to be careful of doing blow before we play because I play fast enough anyway.
ERIN: It gets to the point where he forgets to breathe.
MICHAEL: Did we have mushrooms the other night?
ERIN: Last summer was great for mushrooms. It was the Summer of Shrooms. We were on them from Memorial Day to the Fourth of July. It was fantastic. I just like it because everything becomes fun.
MATT: You’ve got to mix mushrooms, coke, and ecstasy for whatever. Getting up in the morning. Then you drink all day and night.
ERIN: You like the cocaine.
MATT: Yeah. But not when I’m tripping my face off.
MICHAEL: The coke keeps you awake while the booze keeps you…
MATT: In theory, yes.
EUGENE: I like mixing crack with coke. Two great tastes that go together well.
Erin, aren’t some of the men you dominate in the torture chamber hung like a pimple? Is that embarrassing?
ERIN: (laughing hysterically) No. I see all shapes and sizes and tiny mushroom caps.
Do you ever hurt the guys on purpose during a session?
ERIN: It’s all controlled. It would be great to kick the shit, throw them up against the wall, grab them by the hair, and throw them on the floor. Someone would get hurt and I’d be sued.
Do you ever get guys who want diapers changed or have Marv Albert fetishes?
ERIN: That’s out. Marv’s more into infantilism and cross-dressing. I don’t feel a kinship to the big babies. They look silly. Masochists are fun because you could do all sorts of shit.
Get any hairy lesbians with a vertical unibrow?
ERIN: (gagging) I’ve seen gross stuff like leather dykes, but not in my dungeon. They’re hardcore scary.
Was the “Numbskull” video for Brit-band Ash deemed pornographic by Dreamworks?
ERIN: It couldn’t be shown on MTV so there was no outlet for it. There was fellatio. He was sucking my dick.
Would you wager the dildo you used in that video was bigger than my pecker?
ERIN: It was a stake so it was a different kind of thing. Would you suck cock for AC/DC tickets?
If you had a cock, Erin, I’d suck the shit out of it.
Super Furry Animals/ Irving Plaza/ April 24, 2002
After witnessing Super Furry Animals enthralling Bowery Ballroom show promoting ‘99s extraordinary Guerrilla, I had unusually high expectations for this sold-out Irving Plaza date three years hence. Utilizing video images and provocative graphics to enhance their sterling performance, this leftist psychedelic-folk quintet achieved nearly everything I’d hoped for.
After opening with an apprehensive take on the brilliant title track to their recent Rings Around The World, these intriguing Welshmen lathered on the dramatic tension. Stammering guitars and seductive harmonies graze “Sidewalk Surfer Girl” and poignant neo-orchestral anthem, “It’s Not The End Of The World” (complete with stimulating nuclear images). Then, we got comfortably numb with acoustic-based sedative “Run! Christian! Run!” and the sweeping cinematic urban futurism of the lush, disco-beaten “Juxtapozed With U.” Next, bright cartoon illustrations and Beach Boys-styled multi-harmonies illuminated the ELO-tweaked creamy pop of “Receptacle For The Respectable.”
Following a few riff-slashing guitar-driven bangers, SFA pissed on tyranny propaganda with the propulsive “Man Don’t Give A Fuck.” Offering a first-hand peak into their sociopolitical consciousness as simultaneous black and white film clips flashed early 20th century demagogues across the screen, its persistent “they don’t give a fuck about anybody else” mantra (courtesy of Steely Dan’s “Show Biz Kids”) drove home the point. They shrewdly closed this 90-minute set with a laser light spectacle consuming the loud percussive drones, noodly tape loops, and poli-sci rhetoric of gap-toothed action hero Arnold Schwarzenegger lip-synching “best mindfuck ever.”
But the band left the stage pre-maturely as a pre-recorded track of the Beatles hazy, psychedelia-induced LSD trip “Tomorrow Never Knows” created an ethereal whir. While I could never find fault with the bands’ monumental ambitions and compelling presentation, the tightly sequenced video allusions left no room for vocalist-guitarist Gruff Rhys to humor fans with his usual canon of witty quips and spontaneous interjections. And though they definitely played their hearts out, the ending seemed rather anti-climactic since everyone was waiting patiently for just one little encore that did not come to properly applaud the boys and truly show them how much we appreciated their incredible multi-media extravaganza.
FOREWORD: The Shins front man, James Mercer, creates beautiful musical vistas to surround his loftily emotional baritone compulsions. In ’03, I got to speak to him about phenomenal surrealist folk album, Chutes Too Narrow. Though ’07 follow-up, Wincing The Night Away, contains Mercer’s best known song, the soothingly contagious, “Phantom Limb,” it’s not quite as consistently good as its predecessor. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Born in Oahu, Hawaii, where his father attended Air Force Weapons School, vocalist-guitarist James Mercer moved frequently throughout his relatively shy childhood. After a three-year stint in Great Britain, Mercer began collaborative Albuquerque band Flake in ’92 with basement-jammin’ Dinosaur, Jr.-inspired beer buddies Dave Hernandez (ex-Scared of Chaka), Yavapai apache Marty Crandall (ex-Freakazoid Doilies), and Peruvian-born Jesse Sandoval, settling on their current instrumental assignments (bass-drums-keys respectively) as the Shins thereafter. (Note: local friend Neal Langford assumed Hernandez’s role for a few years).
Perhaps England’s wet weather affected Mercer’s stormy musings and ’01 move to the drizzly Pacific Northwest. Now residing in the gentrified inner city of Portland, Oregon, the reserved wayfarer mastered the art of composing delicately shimmering indie pop, keeping one eye on Revolver and the other on Pet Sounds.
Never confined by their encouraging ‘60s influences, the Shins magnificent Sub Pop debut, Oh, Inverted World, combined the melancholy rainy day disillusionment of cryptic contemporary insomniacs the Flaming Lips, Grandaddy, and Black Heart Procession with the tidy melodic serendipity of Neutral Milk Hotel, Guided By Voices, and the Minders.
A sly sophistication enveloped the sleepy angelic harmonies creeping through the barren acoustic landscape of the solemn peculiarity “Weird Divide.” The restless scamper “Know Your Onion” and the quirky Rickenbacher-glazed “Girl Inform Me” provided uplifting relief to the whimsical surrealistic experimentation and camouflaged Country-folk adoration. Startlingly, the light acoustic jingle, “New Slang,” got picked up for a fast food commercial despite the Shins comparative obscurity.
Stimulatingly meditative and discreetly refined, ‘03s delightful Chutes Too Narrow carefully positions its laid-back sedatives next to upbeat dulcet counterparts. Reluctant to dwell on sanctimonious resignation, Mercer seems more assured, poised, and content on the sentimental neo-Spiritual “Saint Simon” and two luminous bass throbbing power pop confections, “Fighting In A Sack” and the head-spinning tender trap “Turn A Square.” “Kissing The Lipless” inadvertently collides the ailing love-struck joy of Jane’s Addiction’s “Jane Says” with the stately pristine stammer of Robyn Hitchcock’s solo ventures. “So Says I” hearkens to the early ‘70s pop insouciance of lost legends Emitt Rhodes and Thunderclap Newman.
One commonality I find with Portland musicians such as the Dandy Warhols, the Thermals, the Decemberists, and Steve Malkmus is their profound literary enlightenment. Did that affect your move?
JAMES MERCER: I read a fair amount. But I didn’t move here for that – maybe indirectly. I did fall in love with Powell’s Bookstore – it’s the biggest in the country. I don’t try to emulate the feel of any writers but I like Joseph 
Heller. And Norman Duby’s poetry is impressive.
What early musical influences informed you?
JAMES: My dad played guitar and sang in Country cover bands my whole life and I spent time in nightclubs as a kid. My mom would watch him and bring the kids instead of getting a babysitter. My dad loved the Beatles, Rolling Stones, and the early ‘70s Eagles. Pop and Country music surrounded me.
Perhaps those Country influences affected “One By One All Day” and “Gone For Good,” which seem reminiscent of Gram Parsons, the Byrds, or Flying Burrito Brothers.
JAMES: I don’t wanna sound like I’m doing a Country song, but I’m very attracted to the traditional scaling bass line Country incorporates. So the influence is aesthetic and low key instead of full blown. It’s a little dishonest in a way.
How did your tenure in England affect your musical taste?
JAMES: I lived there three years and during high school I fell in love with pop and punk. I was listening to the Cure, the Smiths, the Housemartins, and Echo & the Bunnymen. They were popular on the radio overseas alongside the hor
FOREWORD: I interviewed conversationalist folk satirist, Jill Sobule, at the old Paramus Picture Show, where she was headlining to support ‘04s Underdog Victorious. She had received a smidgen of aboveground fame with flirtatious lesbian gag, “I Kissed A Girl,” nearly a decade earlier. And she knew my friend, Phil Calitre, since they both attended Colorado University. In ’09, Sobule got online fans to raise thousands for the recording of California Years.
Blessed and cursed by having a hit single with ‘95s kitsch-y sapphic gimmick, “I Kissed A Girl,” Denver-bred, Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter Jill Sobule now commands a sturdy grassroots cult following. Going from a Colorado University street busker to reluctant faddish pop starlet to furtive folk-frolicked sage has been an arduous trip for this giddily satiric blonde pixie. She battled an eating disorder and despair along the way, finding temporary relief as lead guitarist in British post-punk legend Lloyd Cole’s Negatives before re-establishing herself as a solo force with ‘00s resplendent Pink Pearl and its reminiscently kaleidoscopic follow-up, ‘04s ironically titled Underdog Victorious.
Sobule managed to keep busy through thick and thin with various side projects, receiving nice exposure for the giddy romp “Supermodel” from Alicia Silverstone-starred movie Clueless, finding interim off-Broadway work, and recently, acting for Eric Schaeffer’s independent film, Mind The Gap, and composing music for Nickelodeon kids series, Unfabulous. Bestowed with self-effacing humor, acerbic wit, and a girlish voice blending Woodstock hippie Melanie’s childish quaver, chic rocker Sheryl Crow’s breezy charm, and ballad rhapsodist Aimee Mann’s quivering fervency, this provocative coffeehouse damsel wraps radiant bittersweet optimism around downright modest sentiments.
Some fans rightfully claim ‘97s Happy Town, with its cleverly juxtaposed weeping anguished retrenchment countering joyously congenial resolve, as Sobule’s high water mark.
But ‘04s more diversified pictorial Underdog Victorious is arguably better. Recollecting naïve teen dramas with sharp-eyed detailed precision, she cops the limber piano loop to Chicago’s rustic “Saturday In The Park” for the simply sumptuous invigoration “Cinnamon Park” and parlays the airborne “Jetpack” into a courageous moonlit pickup line. Warranted jealousy seeps into the gloomy “Freshman” and Country bumpkin slide work affects the endearingly pastoral gay charade “Under The Disco Ball.” Sensitive Classical eagerness informs “Nothing Natural,” which, admittedly, swipes the tearful arrangement to the Beatles’ forthright ode, “Yesterday.”
During a typically affable solo acoustic performance at snug Paramus Picture Show, Sobule pleased avid followers with whimsical poetic jaunts, delectable adolescent vagaries, and silly antagonistic ditties cross-cutting her entire career. In a hushed whisper, she delivered “Last Line” (concerning a cocaine dependent couple) while a female volunteer held up the laptop storing its paradoxical verses. She cell-phoned her freshly bathed mom to harmonize on the factual foot-deformed adolescent memento “Big Shoes” then cynically lampooned a former misanthropic shoe store boss on the scheming “Karen By Night.” On a touching take of the carefree Doris Day ‘50s hit, “Que Sera Sera,” English friend Julian Dawson came onstage to blow tender harmonica.
Between ticklish tunes, Sobule offered amusing anecdotes that cracked up the audience. She boasted that her autographed CD would bring good money on E Bay when she assassinates someone important, then roasted Bush crony Condelisa Rice for being only the second most popular St. Mary’s Academy graduate – behind her. Several shrewd remarks about two misguided Alabama girls whose lives were supposedly changed by the absurdist lesbian yarn “I Kissed A Girl” were belly busting. What a pisser! Anyone with an underused funny bone must witness this elfin lass live.
Who are some early influences?
JILL SOBULE: I had a brother seven years older than me. He had ‘the’ rock band in town. My parents were the nice ones who’d let them rehearse in the basement. So I had this rock influence. They played Small Faces and English rock. He turned me on to singer-songwriters like Dylan and John Prine. My parents had all these bossa nova records by Stan Getz and Jobim. Later on, I went to a highly innovative school in the ‘70s and loved R & B. One of the first singles I had was “ABC” by Jackson 5.
How have you grown as a writer-musician since ‘90s promising synth-layered debut, Things Here Are Different?
JILL: I’ve meshed my personality with my music better now. Back then, I was trying to be this maudlin singer-songwriter. Just recently I was able to listen to my debut. There’s some nice things on it, but it was a tough experience working with (producer) Todd Rundgren. I love him and his work, but it was my first time in the studio. I was totally insecure being with an icon. He doesn’t have the best bedside manners. Back then, I’d sing a song and he’d say, ‘Alright that’s enough. Let’s move on to the next one.’ That would be an arrow through my heart. His girlfriend would say, ‘That means he likes it.’
There’s a nostalgic zeal ringing through Underdog Victorious.
JILL: I thought there was something about this record that reflected back. Just using that Chicago loop. And “Jetpack” is very Nilsson-like. I was sampling goofy stuff and thought “Saturday In The Park” is the most uncool sample ever. But I love it! My lyrics were so evocative of that time I thought I’d write a story of being at the battle of the bands doing mushrooms. Those were more innocent times. I remember going to the foot of the Evergreen Mountains in Colorado and there’d be high school battles of bands. It was a great event. I never played in any of them and was bummed out, but I played in my junior high stage band and we won state and I think it was due to my solo on Deodato’s “2001.” I was like 4 foot 1. I borrowed my brother’s Marshall amp and had wah-wah and distortion pedals. I wanted to be a li’l rocker.
On the title track, a schoolyard lament, you mention historic Manhattan dive, Max’s Kansas City, and the New York Dolls. Were its lyrics referring to transsexual punk Jayne County?
JILL: I was thinking of this misfit kid, which I was. While my friends were liking Jackson 5, I was starting to enjoy what I thought was underground FM radio. I remember getting these magazines with Iggy Pop and David Bowie. But I was stuck in Denver.
“Joey” laments ‘60s sex symbol Joey Heatherton, whose drug abuse and eating disorder seemingly parallel your problems combating anorexia and depression.
JILL: On Pink Pearl, I talked about (child molester) Mary Kay Laterneau. So I always had these tabloid characters I somehow laugh at and am fascinated by. “Joey’s” the Greek tragedy of the record. She could have had it all but fucked it up. I still have the idea of doing a concept record, Tabloid Music. Why are we interested in these stories? Somehow we like to see the great fall or how we relate to them.
The sedate serenity of “Tel Aviv” has the casual calmness of Dan Fogelberg’s otherwise repugnant “Longer.” Lyrically, it seems like weird tabloid umbrage.
JILL: “Tel Aviv” is a semi-imaginary tale I got from the newspaper. That may have been a frontline BBC story about prostitutes from ex-Soviet Union countries coming to Israel thinking they’d get a job but found forced slavery.
The unlisted closing song, a country bop lark, is perfect for radio.
JILL: That’s “I Saw A Cop.” I wish I put the title on the album because people want to hear it. That song’s just an excuse to use Angie Dickinson’s name.
She’s another blonde bombshell a la Joey Heatherton. What about “Cinnamon Park”?
JILL: Some conservative Triple A stations began playing “Cinnamon Park” but got complaints because, first of all, people don’t have a sense of humor. Maybe they were older. They were going, ‘she’s ripping off Chicago.’
On the Warren Zevon tribute album, Enjoy Every Sandwich, you cover “Don’t Let Us Get Sick.”
JILL: I did two tours with Warren. I loved that song from Life’ll Kill Ya. I wanted to do it before he got sick. He became a mentor and pal. I remember people warning me he was gonna be real curmudgeonly. But he was just a doll.
What’s with Underdog Victorious’ Snoop Dogg spoof design on the back cover?
JILL: It was just an underdog. I went with an artsy fartsy photographer. Except I don’t have the naked women and the breasts on it. I respect the Snoop.
What was it like being in Lloyd Cole’s touring band?
JILL: It was my first time since high school playing in someone else’s band. We toured for two years before I made Pink Pearl. I met Lloyd at a songwriter thing in Ireland. He said, ‘I really like your guitar playing. Have you ever thought about being in a band?’ I thought, ‘OK. I got nothing better to do.’ It was a fantastic experience and for the first time in years I had to woodshed, learn all his Commotion songs, too. I had to learn (6-string aficionado) Robert Quine’s parts. I remember Quine saying, ‘I don’t like any of those guitar parts, but you do it well.’ I was good at the noisy, slinky stuff. That was great being a side person serving someone else. I love how Lloyd comes across as a cold, distant, handsome Englishman on his albums, but he’s the complete opposite: goofy, sweet, and warm as a teddy bear – which makes him all the better.
You’ve worked off-Broadway in the past.
JILL: I did a musical that played at the Summer Playhouse Festival, Prozac & Platypus. I did the music. It was fun. The playwright wanted to find someone who was more into rock and pop. She wrote the lyrics so it was easy. I also played a struggling singer-songwriter, what a stretch, in Mind The Gap at Angelica Theatre. Showtime may use it. I never acted, but I knew how to play that part.
You’re selling Folk Years 2003 to 2003 exclusively on-line.
JILL: It’s got “Angel Asshole” on it. That’s a sympathetic song for breaker-uppers. (laughter) No one’s taken that angle.
FOREWORD: In the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, before Arcade Fire became enormous and got respected indie label, Merge Records, topnotch exposure, I was friendly with owners Laura Balance and Mac Mc Caughen, the ex-couple that fronted Chapel Hill combo, Superchunk. I’ve seen ‘em play riveting sets at Maxwells and Mercury Lounge. Nowadays, I have trouble getting serviced with new CD’s by their still-thriving company. Such is life. I’ve included two Aquarian Weekly articles herein. The first was done to promote ‘99s Come Pick Me Up and the following supported trusty compilation, Cup Of Sand.
Born in Charlotte, bassist Laura Ballance frequently moved around North Carolina, due to her father’s roving job in the Sears Automotive Department. In an unexpected twist of fate, the shy Ballance met vocalist/ guitarist Mac Mc Caughan in ‘89 and formed Superchunk, a band which would become the prime movers of a burgeoning Chapel Hill scene that included Archers Of Loaf, Polvo, and Dillon Fence.
Along the way, they released several 7″ singles on their own Merge Records, made three formative albums for indie giant Matador Records (an amateurish eponymous debut, the pivotal No Pocky For Kitty, and the awesome On The Mouth), and recruited Connecticut-born guitarist Jim Wilbur and local drummer Jon Wurster. While Merge gained critical attention for recording nifty pop wunderkinds the Magnetic Fields, Butterglory, Beatnik Filmstars, East River Pipe, and Lambchop, Superchunk kept the ball rolling with resounding albums like ‘94s Foolish, ‘95s Here’s Where The Strings Come In, and ‘97s Indoor Living.
For their tenth anniversary, they put together Come Pick Me Up, another solid collection featuring the signature sound of soft to loud dynamics and jangling versus distorted guitar interplay. Searing electro-rockers like “Good Dreams” and the catchy “Honey Bee” hearken back to the youthful vigor and naive, simplistic charm of their early singles. The amped up “Hello Hawk” reaches for the sky with flailing riffs and melodic whimsy. “So Convinced,” a lo-fi guitar rambler reminiscent of the Breeders, relies on a new wave-ish synth-obsessed syncopation. “June Showers” pulls the listener in with its stark reflections and power pop-injected hook line and the shimmering “Tiny Bombs” may just be Superchunk’s finest song yet.
Throughout its tenure, Superchunk never sounded tighter or more emotionally riveting than on Come Pick Me Up. Horns and strings color some of the fabulous arrangements as well. I spoke to Ballance in early November.
What’s the secret to remaining a vital independent band for over a decade?
LAURA BALLANCE: Patience. Bands break up when they don’t get along. It could be because of personality conflicts or touring too much. We never set goals for Superchunk. It was really exciting when I got to quit Kinkos and tour. None of us are expecting to sell a million records. We’re happy with how the band is doing and we’ve become good friends.
Did your parents listen to rock music while you were growing up?
LAURA: My dad was into acid rock, Cactus, Mountain, and the Moody Blues.
Sounds like he smoked lots of pot.
LAURA: I think he did at one point. He played air guitar. (laughter) My mom was into Carole King, Roberta Flack, and opera.
How’d you meet Superchunk band mate, Mac Mc Caughan?
LAURA: We worked at the same pizza place and he was adamant that I learn how to play bass. It never occurred to me to play in front of people. I was an introvert. It was through coercion and pressure from Mac that made me do it. I was scared to death. I’d get tunnel vision on-stage and mess up.
Superchunk’s early singles and LP’s were loose, reckless, and elemental. What changes have there been?
LAURA: We’ve been playing together for so long. I’m a better musician now. You start to play a certain way that relates to other band members. I’d be afraid to play with anyone else. It’d be scary.
What did producer Jim O’Rourke do to enhance Come Pick Me Up?
LAURA: We’re control freaks so the producer doesn’t do too much. We went in with songs already written and arranged. He did little things with percussion ideas, hand claps, weird sounds, and miking. He made us sound cleaner. We’re used to playing like a loud rock band. But he’d take the bass out and show us how to be quiet in sections. He’d take drums and put them through a synthesizer and make them sound freakish.
How’d you come up with the album title?
LAURA: Naming an album is a horrible thing. We took the title from a line in “Hello Hawk.” But it’s like pre-determining the destiny of one of your children by giving it a name. If the title is dumb, it bothers people and they’ll like it less.
What’s on your stereo lately?
LAURA: In the last few days, I’ve been listening to the first Bio Ritmo record. They’re a Richmond, Virginia salsa band. I’ve also been listening to the new Busta Rhymes record.
So you like hip-hop.
LAURA: Yeah. I listen to this hip-hop station in the area. Have you heard the new Q-Tip song? There’s a song called “Vibrant Thing” that’s so cool.
Q-Tip’s from A Tribe Called Quest. I love their subtly soulful Low Key Theory album. Anyway, I’ve noticed you did the cover art for Come Pick Me Up. What are you trying to convey with that little bird and colorful flower design?
LAURA: It’s always like, ‘oh shit, I gotta do a record cover.’ If I had more time to paint, I’d have paintings sitting around to pick. But I’m always painting specifically for a cover. I saw this bird in D.C. and took a picture. But the bird was only a quarter inch tall. I looked in books trying to find the bird, but couldn’t find it. I didn’t intend for the cover to mean anything specific. I also did the cover for Foolish.
How do you find time to be in a band and run the respected indie label Merge Records?
LAURA: It’s difficult. Merge gets neglected when we get involved with Superchunk on the road. That’s a priority to help secure the label. I know I can’t jump around on stage until I’m 45, but it’s hard to imagine giving it up. It’s bizarrely addictive.
How’s the current Chapel Hill scene?
LAURA: I’m less in touch with it now than I was eight years ago when our era was in its heyday with us, Polvo, and Archers Of Loaf. Now, there’s Shark Quest and a really great pop band called Ashley Stove. There’s also alt-country bands like Two Dollar Pistol.
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BUSY MC CAUGHAN RUNS MERGE; FRONTS INDIE NOVAS SUPERCHUNK AND PORTISTATIC
Notwithstanding overwrought major record companies dropping the ball in a blind search for quality product, an extensive number of underground competitors have continually persevered, signing fascinatingly vital bands at an increased rate. Beginning operation around 1992, former couple Mac Mc Caughan and Laura Ballance inaugurated Merge Records to release singles and cassettes by their respectable amateurish combo, Superchunk. Despite problems caused by freely exchanged downloads and a receding economic climate, Merge remain foremost enterprising exponents securing highly merited artists such as Magnetic Fields, Spoon, Lambchop, the Rosebuds, and Matt Suggs.
Leading ambassadors to the vibrant Chapel Hill, North Carolina scene that once included honorable indie rock vestiges Archers Of Loaf, Polvo, and the Connells, Superchunk have survived impulsive industry idiocy unscathed for over a decade now. After recruiting iconic producer Steve Albini (Nirvana/ PJ Harvey) to capture the penetrating guitar intensity enveloping ‘91s nifty No Pocky For Kitty, the stabilized Superchunk lineup of Mc Caughan (guitar-vocals), Ballance (bass-vocals), guitarist Jim Wilbur, and drummer Jon Wurster then went into effect.
Recorded by equally inspired Rocket From The Crypt frontman John Reis, ‘93s more appealing On The Mouth flaunted a dead-on firy immediacy handily replicated on ‘94s somewhat elaborate Foolish. The latter contains the piercing exhortation, “Saving My Ticket,” and several fine protracted arrangements, raising the bar and setting a high benchmark for future endeavors.
Entrusting exemplary producers to elucidate Superchunk’s loud, oft-times askew sound became justified early on.
“It keeps the recording process interesting,” Mc Caughan offers. “You’re cooped up in the studio and it gets quite tedious. At some point, you want someone else to hear the tracks and tell you what might suck. You want someone’s opinion you could trust. At the beginning, we did it ourselves.”
Sentimental hi jinx, tear-stained letters, skylines, and airplanes consumed ‘95s languid Here’s Where The Strings Come In, a sinewy departure well worth investigation.
Mc Caughan reflects, “We tried to use the studio more like an instrument and not be so worried about making it sound like it does live. So starting with John Plymale – who co-produced Indoor Living – then Jim O’Rourke and Brian Paulson, they helped us do weird shit. They make great sounding records and we used their outside knowledge. So it would be a waste not to let them add new sounds. As you get older, you forget about thinking a producer is gonna mess with your stuff. Those guys know what we’re about and they’re not gonna let us sound like something we’re not. At the same time, we have a lot of cool ideas to take advantage of.”
The savvy quartet’s most approachable, easily digested album, ‘97s ace pop step, Indoor Living, caught the attention of fence sitters with the durable “Burn Last Sunday,” the star-crossed gambit “Marquee,” and the cuddly insouciant “Watery Hands.” Not to be outdone, ‘99s Come Pick Me Up hoisted verbal clarity, textural variety and subtle complexities better suited for ‘01s reserved, diligently mannered Here’s To Shutting Up (its title spits in the face of wanton press naysayers).
“Just writing good songs has been our focus. But we try to surprise the listener as well. We don’t want them to get bored so it’s important to try new stuff,” claims Mc Caughan. “Part of me feels like people would rather us stay a rock band, especially playing live. Annie Hayden, formerly of Spent, was brought in on the Here’s To Shutting Up tour to add keyboards and guitar as a fifth member so we could re-create some studio material. But we don’t mind keeping it simple and straightforward.”
Regaling the past without relying on a predictable greatest hits set, Superchunk recently dropped their third collection of sundry ephemera (following Tossing Seeds: Singles 89-91 and the 18-song Incidental Music 91-95), ‘03s two-CD barrage Cup Of Sand. Top notch leftovers traverse David Bowie’s giddily shirked “Scary Monsters,” a sped-up, slacked down take on Adam & the Ants goofy S&M buzzsaw “Beat My Guest,” the carefree charmer “The Majestic,” the jittery “Fader Rules,” and the flanged rocker “Reg.” To coincide, an ample DVD companion, Crowding Up Your Visual Field, features a documentary European tour, old live footage, video shoots, and facetious commentary.
“Many times you get collections that are interesting, but not pleasurable, so we wanted to make sure the sequencing on Cup Of Sand was such that you’d want to listen from one end to the other,” the entrepreneurial Mc Caughan suggests. “Crowding Up started as a video compilation. But unlike a CD, you don’t have to listen to it all at once. We put hours of stuff in there. It’s complicated to set up since menus and technical stuff is involved.”
At a jam-packed mid-October gig in Hoboken’s Maxwells, the anticipatory crowd jostles for close stage proximity to welcome back their reluctant heroes. Superchunk lead off with the stammering On The Mouth signifier “The Question Is How Fast,” as slight-framed, crop-haired Mc Caughan bellows smirky lyrical utterances like an outraged choirboy, pogoing, scampering, and prancing across the stage alongside pouty-lipped, trim-bodied beauty Ballance. Though calm and reserved off-stage, the undersized partners let it all hang out, jumping about with the gleeful innocence of obnoxious adolescents. Meanwhile, firmly grounded, thin-haired Wilbur expertly tears at his axe and wavy-maned beat keeper Wurster keeps his head down, pelting skins relentlessly.
They revisit past glories in celebratory fashion, surging forth on the urgent “Hello Hawk,” the scampering “Punch Me Harder,” and the on-target “Becoming A Speck.” Still connected to the early ‘90s Generation Y “Slack Motherfucker” days, Superchunk’s action-packed hard candy refrains usurp the mangled twin guitar clusters, slurry bass frippery, and forceful percussive punch driving the investigative verses. Numerous Cup Of Sand faves are strewn about, as are two worthy new tunes readied for an impending album.
On the side, Mc Caughan moonlights in Portistatic, a loose collective dormant since the fictional nautical scenarios imbuing ‘97s The Nature Of Sap (previous releases include the ’95 debut, I Hope Your Heart Is Not Brittle, and its refined follow-up, Slow Note From A Sinking Ship).
“Superchunk was really busy so Portistatic took a backseat. But I did a Brazilian covers EP and the instrumental score for Looking For Leonard. Then, I did an EP (A Perfect Little Door) with Chicago musicians Ken Vandermark (reeds) and Tim Mulvenna (percussion). I had all that done but hadn’t prepared a full-length album. So after the last Superchunk tour, Laura decided to take a year to concentrate on other things and I took the time to write and conceptualize Portastatic’s Summer Of the Shark,” he recalls.
Recorded at home in autumn ’02 and then mixed in the studio, Shark’s gorgeously melancholic intimations and spectral illuminations retained a deep thoughtfulness its predecessors inadvertently shied away from. Mc Caughan actually toured as Portistatic, which was previously impossible to do. As preparation, Mac’s band (brother-drummer Matthew and bassist Aaron Oliva) did a series of nights at tiny local tavern, the Cave.
He remarks, “We did a bunch of covers, had a bunch of people play with us, and toured with Yo La Tengo. Some of the songs sounded so good I decided to record live in the studio for a whole band feel. We also recorded one new song that thematically fit in. My wife was pregnant so I didn’t think I’d have time to promote another Portistatic record, so I did a bunch of acoustic shows for radio stations.”
Autumn Was A Lark contrasts its nocturnal feel with spry, bright-eyed covers comprising Springsteen’s reflective “Growing Up,” Ronnie Lane’s crisp travelogue “One For The Road,” and a chirpy run through Badfinger’s “Baby Blue.”
“I saw “Baby Blue” as an opportunity to have Country artist Tift Merritt sing harmony. I felt all three covers were wide ranging and the ones we played best live,” he admits. Though perceived as a 5-song EP, the low-priced compendium Autumn wound up more than twice the length.
So where does he go from here?
Concerning Merge Records destiny, Mc Caughan hints, “We’ve grown at a gradual pace without over-investing or getting ahead of ourselves. Being a small label, we can adjust to what’s got to be done with each band. Major labels don’t do that. They spend a certain amount of money just to get records in stores. By tailoring things the way we do on an individual record basis, we can sell 4,000 copies on Merge and make money if bands aren’t asking for big advances or spending all their money in the studio.”
FOREWORD: Teenage Fanclub roughen up glammy power pop with noisy guitars in a way shoegazers and grungemeisters approved. The Scottish band, led by Norman Blake, achieved tremendous indie exposure for ‘91 masterpiece, Bandwagonesque. I spoke to Blake ten years hence, during promotion for TF’s valiant Howdy! It bettered future endeavors such as ‘02s middling Words Of Wisdom And Hope (done with Half Japanese pop eccentric, Jad Fair) and ‘05s return-to-form Man-Made. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Prior to the grunge explosion, Scottish rockers Teenage Fanclub merged lessons learned from post-punk legends Sonic Youth and the Replacements with the ripe influence of Big Star and the Beatles on ‘90s thrilling debut, A Catholic Education. Though they received fabulous press and great underground exposure, American commercial radio denied vocalist-guitarist Norman Blake’s combo the much-needed access Nirvana’s groundbreaking Nevermind was afforded one year afterwards. So following the raw 12-minute quickie, God Knows It’s True, Teenage Fanclub hooked up with famed indie pop producer Don Fleming for ‘91s brilliant Bandwagonesque.
A great step forward, Bandwagonesque was better recorded, more lyrically focused, uniformly sequenced, but undeservedly hidden beneath the shadow of Seattle grunge masters Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam. Its crown jewels included the insouciant power pop charmer “What You Do To Me” (owing as much to ‘70s band, the Raspberries, as Big Star), the exuberant post-punk standout “Star Sign,” and the glam-rock T. Rex knockoff “Metal Baby.”
‘93s sprawling, 70-minute extravaganza, Thirteen, traded some melodiousness for fuzz-toned sonic guitar energy, gathering the opus-like neo-orchestral enchantment of the aching lament, “Hang On,” and the portentous ‘new vibration’ “Fear Of Flying.” Though ‘95s lighter-textured Grand Prix captured the genuine innocence of ‘60s folk-rock, ‘97s wholly decisive Songs From Northern Britain streamlined this newfound acoustic tunefulness with better pastoral refinement and earthier rural concision.
This subtle approach continues four years hence on Teenage Fanclub’s belated ‘01 re-entry, Howdy! Showing a passionate commitment to economize song ideas and unafraid to share their Byrds and Beatles influences while asserting a definitive personality, the democratic triumvirate of Blake, fellow guitarist Raymond Mc Ginley, and bassist Gerard Love, composed four tidy songs each.
Echoes of the Byrds could be heard on Blake’s resiliently surging “Straight & Narrow,” Mc Ginley’s affectionate “I Can’t Find My Way Home,” and Love’s bright-eyed “The Town & The City.” The languid ballad “Cul De Sac” may be the most beautiful composition Blake has recorded yet, but Mc Ginley’s love-soaked “The Sun Shines From You,” and Love’s illuminating “Near You” offer solid competition. Experienced indie musicians/ brothers Finlay (Vandals/ BMX Bandits) and Francis Macdonald (Speedball/ BMX Bandits) provide keyboards and drums, respectively.
Despite some downhearted lyrics, Howdy! feels utopian in spirit.
NORMAN: We certainly never conceptualized it because there’s three of us writing separately. We never planned what we were gonna do besides showing up at the studio with new songs. As far as lyrics go, they’re fairly optimistic. We’re all singing about different specific things. My songs are fairly reflective and quite down. When you think of “”Dumb Dumb Dumb,” I wrote that when I wasn’t feeling that great. That’s a sullen song.
And so is the softly ticking, piano-based ballad, “Never See You Again.”
NORMAN: Yeah. That’s where my head was at during the making of that record.
The front cover imagery appears to show Teenage Fanclub hitting fertile ground or new territory.
NORMAN: I guess we were travelling around North of Scotland and decided to use one of the images. We had never put ourselves on any of our sleeves before.
The Byrds’ folk-rock and the Beatles’ Revolver seem to affect the acoustic dynamics of Howdy! The dewy harmonies and psychedelic ambience of “Accidental Life” reminded me of the Fab 4’s “If I Needed Someone.”
NORMAN: We feel comfortable constructing our harmonies after that model…or the Beach Boys.
Give me the scoop on the Words Of Wisdom And Hope record Teenage Fanclub did recently with Jad Fair.
NORMAN: He’s been coming over here (Scotland) to exhibit his art and play music. He’d been staying at my house and we became friends. I think one night, over a game of Scrabble, we got to talking and he suggested recording together. We did it on a whim. We thought it’d be different and fun. He’s constantly sending me records. Every three months I get, like, five albums.
Tell me about the hard-to-find early Teenage Fanclub U.K. release, The King (Creation Records), which contained versions of Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” and Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar Overdrive.”
NORMAN: It was deleted the day of release. We were in the studio with Don Fleming a couple weeks. One night, we decided we’d have a day off and come up with song ideas, sort out instruments, jam, and make a racket. We thought it would be a funny, drunken session. It was just us messing about and was released as a thank you to our fans.
What about the one-sided single of the Beatles’ “Ballad Of John And Yoko”?
NORMAN: We had been in New York for the first time and originally met Don Fleming. We went down to Wharton Tier’s studio on what would have been the anniversary of Lennon’s 50th birthday. The guy who ran the label, Dave Barker, was a Beatles obsessive. It was his idea we went along with for fun.
I always thought the flourishing grunge scene, specifically Nirvana, influenced the hard driving, ear splitting Thirteen.
NORMAN: I guess. We were big fans of Sonic Youth and Dinosaur. We also liked melodic stuff by Love as well. So it was a mixture of influences.
Speaking of Arthur Lee’s fabulous ‘60s band, Love, “Need Direction” perfectly captures the essence of ’67 Flower Power. It’s also doused by ‘66 L.A. sunshine via Spanky & Our Gang and the Mamas & the Papas.
NORMAN: That’s the music we really like. Over the years, our records have become less heavy. We’re trying to concentrate on the arrangements more, using keyboards and different instruments to change and develop. “Need Direction” is Gerry’s song. He’s obviously a fan of West Coast ‘60s music and Northern Soul.
I thought Songs From Northern Britain may have been influenced by Northern Soul.
NORMAN: It’s not really. It’s just a way to say Scotland without saying Scotland. People would never say Northern Britain. It’s kind of an ambiguous statement. I can’t remember when it was coined, but there’s no reference to Northern Soul other than Gerry’s a major fan.
You’ve been working on new tracks lately.
NORMAN: There’s a compilation of our last ten years of work we’re putting together with three new songs that are different stylistically. Hopefully, they’ll add to the album. We’re not entirely sure which tracks will be on it. We may do another record compiling B-sides soon.
FOREWORD: It’s rare when you get the chance to interview a band you grew up with once they receive fame and fortune -especially one with such a mystical aura. But I got to speak candidly to Steely Dan co-leader Walter Becker when the band reassembled following a few solo LPs.
Luckily, by the time these unequivocal ‘70s-based jazz-rock ‘meshers’ got back together to do 2000′s Two Against Nature, they were looking for further exposure.
Three years later, I tried to get Donald Fagen on the phone for follow-up, Everything Must Go, but was turned down. But this Walter Becker piece suffices.
At the Beacon Theatre in ’06, my friend Todd and I met every subsidiary Steely Dan member at a post-gig reception, but not its two main principals. Oh, well. Great show. Fagen’s fine Morph The Cat dropped in ’06. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Indelibly labeled “the ultimate subversive ‘70s band” by lo-fi boho-rock freak Dean Ween, Passaic born Donald Fagen and Forest Hills native Walter Becker are the exalted masterminds behind Steely Dan. Inspired by Jazz legends, Beat Poets, Bob Dylan, and Russian novelist Nobokov, these sinister misanthropes began the Me Decade as precocious sessionmen/ composers at Dunhill Records and wound up the most idiosyncratic FM radio regulars.
When Becker’s masterful studio skills and technical guitar prowess were wed to Fagen’s peculiar, mewly-mouthed nasal whine and keyboard eccentricities, the instant result was ‘72s promising leftfield debut, Can’t Buy A Thrill. A diverse collection of songs highlighted by the harrowing Eastern mysticism of “Do It Again” and the resonating scree guitar fury of “Reeling In The Years,” it seemed like a fluke stroke of genius at the time.
After its ambitious follow-up, Countdown To Ecstacy, gained critical acclaim and expanded their audience (a lip-synched version of its horn-pelted Bard College remembrance “My Old School” made American Bandstand), the twisted Pretzel Logic caught postgrad freaks and studio geeks off-guard with its expansive variety of musical ideas and state-of-the-art production. While the equally fascinating Katy Lied featured the ominous “Black Friday” and the longing New York City contemplation “Bad Sneakers,” The Royal Scam collided shady South of the Border decadence with sarcasm and wry wit.
Their most popular album, Aja, was bolstered by a host of contemporary Jazz fusionists: guitarists Larry Carlton, Steve Khan, and Lee Ritenour; pianists Joe Sample and Michael Omartian; and horn arranger Tom Scott. By late ‘79, Steely Dan reflected on a decade of excess, greed, and turmoil with the somewhat restraint Gaucho. The cocaine-mired basketball ode “Glamour Profession,” the ‘Cuervo Gold and fine Colombian’ of the generational faux-pas “Hey 19,” and the chemically-indulged recapitulation “Time Out of Mind” were significant signposts.
Since then, Becker has recorded the under-appreciated 11 Tracks Of Whack and produced Rickie Lee Jones and China Crisis. Fagen headlined the guest-packed Live at the Beacon – The New York Rock And Roll Ensemble and released two uniform studio sets, The Nightfly and Kamikiriad (produced by Becker).
Still cynical after all these years, Steely Dan’s invigorating Two Against Nature continues their rendezvous with escapist romance (the pyro-cryptic love triangle “Gaslighting Abbey,” the menage trois escapade “Janie Runaway,” and the taboo rural narrative “Cousin Dupree”) and shattered expectations (the self-deprecating “What A Shame About Me” and the checkered indictment “West Of Hollywood”). A splendid return to form, Two Against Nature mines the past to insure their future.
Fans will be interested to know Steely Dan was recently featured on a fine VH1 Storytellers segment.
On Two Against Nature, there are ‘60s references to Little Eva, “Cara Mia,” and the Amen Corner. Plus, Gaucho’s “Hey 19″ mentions Aretha Franklin and the Soul Survivors. Were you a big record collector in the ‘60s?
WALTER BECKER: I had very few records until I was eleven years old. Then I got a radio of my own and listened to rock and roll stations. I heard Elvis Presley and Ricky Nelson and stuff that was most prominent in that environment. I listened to New York area radio and started buying singles. Not long after that, I became more interested in Jazz. That’s when the earth moved for me. My father had a Dave Brubeck live record with Paul Desmond solos. It was incredibly great. It was musical, lyrical, and swinging. It was a whole new world of music for me. Shortly thereafter, I dropped my allegiance for rock and roll and started buying Jazz records. I wasn’t a big collector in the sense of trying to accumulate a large amount of records. I was buying records by people I liked. When I went to college, I had about 100 albums.
It’s ironic that you phoned me while CBS-FM was playing Jay & the Americans “This Magic Moment.” I’ve heard you and Donald played on one of their records.
WALTER: By the time we were working with those guys, they made one record that wasn’t a big success. There was a song I remember called “Trisha Tell Your Daddy.” It was a cheesy pop song about Trisha Nixon – “he’s everybody’s daddy for awhile” sort of thing. (laughter) So we didn’t catch them on the uphill side of their meteoric rise.
Former creative legends Paul Mc Cartney, Pete Townshend, the Rolling Stones, and Elton John now mark time with tired, rehashed ideas. How has Steely Dan retained its vitality, virility, and creative passion over the years?
WALTER: I’m not familiar with what Paul Mc Cartney and Pete Townshend do anymore. But without referring to anyone specific, I think there’s a tendency for writers and rock and roll people to get nostalgic and mellow out in an unattractive way. Their perspective becomes more ordinary when they reach some certain point in their lives. Donald and I are aware of that and we wouldn’t want to produce that sort of stuff.
Did you go from being a respected sessionman to co-leader of a band out of necessity more than desire?
WALTER: We always had the idea when we started writing that we’d write some songs we’d perform with our own band. It took us awhile to get to the situation where we could do that. We knew early on that our songs were too personal and idiosyncratic in a funny way for other people to do them.
In retrospect, was Can’t Buy A Thrill a crude, formative, rough draft for future endeavors?
WALTER: That’s a fair characterization. There was a natural progress from there.
Did the beatnik poets affect your songwriting?
WALTER: Donald and I are big admirers of Nobokov, a Russian novelist. The beatnik period of writing was a formative period for us. We weren’t an active part of it. Most of it happened before we were at the age to participate in it. But it’s something we identify with and a source of a certain sensibility in modern American life we tapped into. Nobokov was a premiere novelist of the day. He had great characters, great situations, incredible use of language, and had a very creative and imaginative way of exploiting formal devices. He was a seminal post-modernist.
Steely Dan’s songs have many augmented chord structures, difficult dissonant patterns, and disarming cadences. Was that done intentionally so each song would have an iconic permanence typical bar bands would have difficulty duplicating?
WALTER: No. That may be true that they’re harder to play. We do it because we want them to stand out in a certain way. The harmonic stuff in our songs are sometimes derived from Jazz, swing bands, or Classical records. That’s not usually part of the vocabulary of pop, rock, folk or blues-based musicians because those people aren’t always particularly great music readers.
On the title cut, “Two Against Nature,” Donald’s singing about “skanky things” and “slinging dread.” Is Steely Dan influenced by Jamaican music? In the past, it seemed The Royal Scam also had a Caribbean feel to it.
WALTER: Most of the imagery in “Two Against Nature” is Haitian voodoo stuff and the rhythm bed of the song is vaguely African sounding. I don’t think it’s particularly Jamaican. It’s maybe an amalgam of things that came from Africa to the New World and landed in various places.
Who were some of the guitarists that inspired you?
WALTER: Until ‘65 or ‘66, I was mostly listening to Jazz. I wasn’t particularly interested in guitar and bass. But I started listening to Dylan and electric blues records and that got me interested in playing guitar. People like Hubert Sumlin, B.B. King, Jimi Hendrix, Muddy Waters, and Clapton interested me.
Did Steely Dan stop touring in the ‘70s because the studio experimentation of your LP’s outstripped what could have been done live in concert at that time?
WALTER: No. We just stopped because we didn’t enjoy it and thought it was counterproductive to the other things that were more important to us, like writing and recording.
