LONGWAVE BREAKOUT ‘THE STRANGEST THINGS’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Longwave may never move beyond underground praise, but they compete favorably against fellow mood-rock ambassadors Radiohead, Coldplay, Flaming Lips, and Mercury Rev. Formed in ’99, Longwave’s self-released debut, Endsongs, and a string of dates at tiny New York club, Luna Lounge, provided early exposure. Signed to major label, RCA, they were put on tour with more popular label mates, the Strokes. ‘05s introspectively melodic, There’s A Fire, and ‘08s straight-ahead pop endeavor, Secrets Are Sinister, expanded their audience a bit. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

On their breakthrough major label debut, The Strangest Things, New York City-based Longwave lather emotionally penetrating lyrical concerns with luxuriant atmospheric moodscapes full of sonic angular guitar bluster, bell-toned melodies, and probing rhythms. Before touring Europe in 2002 as openers for audacious Aussie rockers, The Vines, this refreshing quartet developed their repertoire and built a firm reputation performing at small Manhattan clubs CBGB, Baggot Inn, and Sidewalk Café (with an accordionist). Singer-guitarist Steve Schlitz even did a solo acoustic set warming up for Elbow at the larger Bowery Ballroom once.

Originally from Rochester, Schlitz and soon-to-be Longwave drummer Mike James (formerly guitar and vocals) began local band Native Kin at age 14 and within a few years had opened shows for jam bands Moe and Screaming Cheetah Wheelies. When Schlitz moved to New York City in search of musicians, he met Queens-based bassist Dave Marchese through a bulletin board ad and then hooked up with Petuluma, California-bred guitarist Shannon Ferguson, who set up a recording studio for initial demos. Soon after, James moved from the rural confines of Rochester and came aboard.

Compare The Strangest Things to Longwave’s self-produced indie-released full-length set.

STEVE: We had a different drummer at the time. Shannon recorded it in our rehearsal space with an engineer. Midway through the recording, Shannon joined the band and we became more serious. Then, we did a 5-song EP and Jim Merlis became our manager and got us signed to RCA. My singing changed from the debut to the EP. There’s another jump in vocals because we’d been playing shows all the time and I had greater confidence.

I like how “Wake Me When It’s Over,” builds from minor chord dramatics to full-on dirge.

STEVE: We wrote that together in London in a rehearsal space. I went up to go to the bathroom. Then, I was talking to one of the guys in the Libertines to see if he had anything good to say, and halfway through our conversation I had to break it off because these guys (Mike and Dave) were playing a beautiful piece of music downstairs. I heard it through the floor. I thought, “who’s that?” Dave played this great bass line that’s like 8 minutes long. We were gonna close the new record with it.

Instead, the beautiful wordless lullaby “Day Sleeper” got to be the lucky closer.

STEVE: It’s an old one. At the eleventh hour it went on the album. The day we mastered the record is when we decided to put it on.

Despite its U2-ish angular guitars, “Everywhere You Turn” reminded me more of ‘80s symphonic new wave by Orchestral Maneuvers In the Dark or Simple Minds.

DAVE: I don’t think that really came into play. I grew up on (Long Island station) WLIR and listened to those bands, but I don’t look to them as influences. It’s more from modern rock like U2. “Wake Me” came together in ten minutes, but that one took about twenty.

“Pool Song” has a jangly resonation. Is that song about lessons learned from teenage indulgence?

STEVE: I wrote it as a joke and didn’t like the words. Ever hear “That’s Entertainment” by the Jam? So it’s got these two chords, A and F sharp minor. I thought it’d be great to have a song like that. So we were sitting next to a pool on tour and found our oasis in Phoenix, I think. We’d been driving all-day and night and decided to relax at this hotel pool. Mike asked me to play this guitar riff for him and I sang “when I was young.” It happened so fast. I came back to New York and finished the words but didn’t think it’d be any good. I liked the arrangement we came up with, but at the time I thought it was a rip-off.

There’s a naive innocence running through the album. “Tidal Wave” seems to be about surviving a damaged relationship and persevering.

STEVE: That’s another one I wrote that I didn’t think was any good. We put it on a 4-track tape and listened over and over and finally I came around.

“The Ghosts Around You” nicely layers sonic guitar sustenance above a pretty bell-toned riff.

STEVE: I thought it was a little like the Cure even though they don’t do that kind of guitar stuff. But it’s really dark in feeling.

How did Dave Fridmann’s production affect the new album?

STEVE: He wanted to work with us because he thought we had a proclivity for textural sounds. He thought we wrote songs he liked and we were interested in adding wacky sounds. To his credit, he left some songs alone because he thought they were great the way they were. But he made us change the endings to some songs.

DAVE: He added various accents, stressed release, and had good song sense. He helped us with the details of some drum and bass parts and tried to cut it completely live. A lot was first takes and no overdubs.

STEVE: I’d tell him I want to go back and re-do guitar and get it better. He’d play back the first take and say, “you’re not gonna do this better. It’s great the way it is.”

DAVE: I’d want to play things over because it was sloppy, but he thought it was great. “It’s how you play. It’s cool,” he’d say.

I think Longwave’s subtle rhythm textures are closer to artful Pink Floyd than modern rock-driven bands.

DAVE: I like that comparison. It becomes difficult sometimes to figure out what you’re doing because the guitars are really textural and very big on top of that. But it’s that ‘less is more’ philosophy.

Is there a broken thematic flow, perhaps concerning lost love, surrounding The Strangest Things?

STEVE: We thought about the sequencing a lot. I liked when there was even more of a thematic line but it wasn’t as good musically from start to finish so it was changed.

DAVE: (kidding) I thought our next album should be a rock opera of the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup.

-

John Fortunato

JACK LOGAN’S HERE TO ‘BUZZ ME IN’

Interviews

FOREWORD: A reputable motor repairman, Jack Logan moonlighted as a local Athens musician, composing scrappy originals from 1979 to 1996. When Logan’s massive lo-fi DIY collection, Bulk, caught the attention of now-deceased Billboard scribe, Timothy White, indie rockers lined up to check it out. Soon after, I attended the tail end of a’96 CBGB performance.

In ’99, Logan made time for me, pre-gig, to answer some questions about his latest project, Buzz Me In. Upon meeting the entrepreneurial Georgian, I was struck by his down-to-earth nature and sharp sense of humor. He has recorded sporadically since then. ‘06s Orthodox Garage was credited to Third Creature, Logan’s latest creation.

This article originally appeared in Cover Magazine.

“In my opinion, there’s more good, well arranged music being made now than ever before,” confident singer/ songwriter/ cartoonist/ motor repairman Jack Logan shares as we lean against opposite sides of a mailbox outside Maxwells in Hoboken.

The chameleon-like Athens, Georgia native, whose expansive 42 track Bulk debut became a high water mark for mid-90s indie lo-fi amateurism, has just released the intimate, Exile On Main Street-inspired Buzz Me In for Capricorn Records (produced by legendary Clash manager/ Jazz enthusiast Kosmo Vinyl).

Two years after Merge Records balked at its initial delivery, ’99s Buzz Me In effectively trades Logan’s raw, one-take earthiness for newfound dramatic grandeur (the orchestral “Hit Or Miss”), seductive County & Western poignancy (“Melancholy Girl,” “Anytime,” “Pearl Of Them All”) and swaggering soulfulness (the brassy “All Grown Up”). The explosive “Weren’t Gone Long” breaks the tension, giving fans the power chord rocker they’ve come to expect.

Along with band member/ entrepreneurial partner Kelly Keneipp, Logan runs local label Backburner Records, which concurrently issued his honky tonk-induced eleven-song sidewinder Tinker (with the Compulsive Recorders in tow) and the powerful folk-rooted melodic pop debut by the Possibilities.

Never one to stay dormant, Logan has been doing several tour dates with Scrawl.

“As we were loading out of the Knitting Factory last night, I watched this incredibly wack Jazz band at the downstairs stage with only three other people. New York’s so big and there’s so many shows to go see. But those guys were great,” Logan admits.

Buzz Me In relies more on somber first-hand accounts than any of your previous releases.

JACK LOGAN: A huge influence on it was Cosmo Vinyl. He leaned towards personal, atmospheric material. Left to my own devices, I’d have more raucous rock stuff. He has broad tastes and loves jazz and soul. Our common ground was we were both big Solomon Burke and Rolling Stones fans.

Will you disappoint hardcore fans because you’ve temporarily abandoned the off-the-cuff lo-fi approach of Bulk?

Yes. But at the same time, I released Tinker on the internet through Backburner Records. We’re pedaling that. It’s closer to Mood Elevator but has more offbeat, weird stuff. I prefer the crude method of guitars and amps since I can’t afford more gear. Me and Kelly put Tinker together as a small scale project. A lot of labels would have told us to hold off on the internet thing since they’re recording us, but Capricorn didn’t bother us.

You remain quite proficient. How do you decide which songs go on which album?

On Buzz Me In, Cosmo had more of a vision than I did. It was the first time I recorded in a real studio. He paid excruciating attention to tuning and pitch.

He gets you to sing in a deep, stately voice. On “The Possibilities,” you show off a jazzy lounge-pop tone closer to Anthony Newley or Scott Walker.

Cool. Cosmo was attracted to that side of it. He called me Mr. Soft and Smooth. Some people prefer that side of me since I’m not a great soul shouter. I worked within my limitations. Bulk had some songs in that vein and he wanted to make a more sophisticated record. Some fans complained this album isn’t as direct. But I’m stupid enough to think I could do loud rock, shambling country, and introspective songs. I owe it to myself to record in a serious, professional manner.

Commercial radio offers no support for many significant rock and hip-hop artists. Is there a way to circumvent that frustration?

Radio is the best way to get exposure. I don’t know who comes up with their formats. Back in the days, you didn’t have conservative shareholders to please. Dylan got signed because John Hammond thought he was good. AM stations used to mix British Invasion records with novelties and soul music. They didn’t worry if it didn’t fit together seamlessly for everyone to swallow. Major labels are not in that position anymore. They’re scared. So they throw ten bands against the wall to see which one sticks and has a hit. Costs are covered and they drop the other nine bands. But I’m resigned to the fact I won’t get much airplay. You deal with it and go forward. There’s better songwriters than me, like Mark Eitzel, who stands less of a chance than I do. He’s without a label. Tom Waits put out his latest album on Epitaph because his former label lost interest.

Most worthwhile music has been hidden underground since the Ramones defined the ‘70s. Friends I used to hang out with in my twenties became lame in the ‘90s, leaving behind their music interests when Stevie Ray Vaughan died in that plane crash.

Right. They’re listening to the Allman Brothers and whatever they liked when they were 18. Some people get smacked in the face by reality and use that as an excuse to become boring. I’ve retained my youthfulness by having a blast with my band. They’re the funniest bunch of motherfuckers.

I’ve enjoyed your masterful cartoon script for the Coolies best album, Doug, and the colorful illustrations you’ve done for the children’s album, Not Dogs, Too Simple (A Tale of Two Kitties). When did you develop an interest in that artistic mode?

 

I’ve been doing cartoons for years. I’m probably as good a draftsman as I was at 16 but I’m more comfortable – use what you’ve got and don’t let fears keep you from trying. It makes it easier to extend adolescence while you become more responsible.  

 

LITTLE STEVEN TAKES THE UNDERGROUND ABOVE THE SURFACE

Interviews

FOREWORD: I spent over an hour on the phone in ’05 with Steve Van Zandt (a.k.a. Little Steven), whose long tenure in Springsteen’s E-Street Band doesn’t overshadow his role as pouty Sopranos mobster Sylvio Dante.

One of the nicest guys you’d ever wanna meet, he spends oodles of time exposing subterranean garage rockers via his satellite radio show.

After this interview in support of his Underground Garage Festival at Randall’s Island, I saw Van Zandt at various club shows ‘round Manhattan. He was gracious to everyone wanting pictures. What’s funny is how easily it is to separate him from his vicious mob character, unlike James Gandofini, whose Guinea boss man profile precedes him. Though often overlooked, Van Zandt’s politically charged ‘80s albums are a real find. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Humble New Jersey icon Steven Van Zandt remains a reluctant American hero; the blue collar everyman with courageous working class resolve sticking up for the little guy deserving a break.

Besides finding initial fame playing rhythm guitar in Bruce Springsteen’s renowned E Street Band during Asbury Park’s glorious Stone Pony heyday, the Boston-raised Van Zandt was an original member and part-founder of legendary R & B party combo, Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes. He spent most of the ‘80s as an outspoken political activist, expressing his provocative opinions through a few overlooked albums.

Unbeknownst to him, he’d land the role of a lifetime as a vengeful Jersey mobster during the late ‘90s. Now the host of Little Steven’s Underground Garage Show, this good-hearted, scarf-headed entertainer-musician has maintained his youthful vigor and burning ambition, whether battling repression or calling out dip-shit bureaucrats.

Taking a risky chance leaving the financial security and comfortable confines of the E Street Band in 1980, Little Steven dropped his fine solo debut, ‘82s metal-edged, R & B-doused Men Without Women, before taking on noble causes and helping people to rise above destructive segregation, discrimination, and genocide.

The soulful “Lying In A Bed Of Fire” pointed the way for future projects such as ‘84s politically motivated Voice Of America, its high profile South Africa-concerned follow-up, Sun City, credited to multi-racial star-studded assemblage, Artists United Against Apartheid, and performances on the Amnesty International Conspiracy of Hope tour.

Taking bold steps forward encouraging solidarity and responsible patriotism, he sustained autonomy, revitalized anti-establishment conviction, shunned anarchism as a cop-out, and stood up for vanished South American dissidents on the bitterly retaliatory “Los Desparadiscios.”

His third solo release, ‘87s folk-conscious Freedom – No Compromise, took on Native American suppression with a Woody Guthrie bent. But he lost interest in putting out ‘92s cyberfunk Revolution stateside probably due to major label bullshit. Along the way, he produced raw-boned rocker Gary U.S. Bonds’ comeback album plus merited works by cowpokes Lone Justice, neo-punks Lords Of the New Church, and respected Texas guitarist Charlie Sexton.

Since joining Springsteen’s band in ’75, Little Steven has retained a workmanlike vitality. Like many of us, he’s an eager music fan looking for new, different sounds to grab onto at every corner. Despite thriving on his celebrated role as Silvio Dante on the hit series, The Sopranos, you could still find this venerable East Coast rocker at small clubs listening to old and new favorites. In fact, I’ve met him at Manhattan’s Mercury Lounge on a few occasions watching worthy bands such as the Chesterfield Kings, Romantics, 45’s and Datsuns.

Which brings us to his current project, promoting Little Steven’s International Underground Garage Festival at Randall’s Island August 14th. The incredibly generous, amazingly strong lineup includes performances by well-regarded acts Iggy & the Stooges and Bo Diddley, under-recognized heritage combos Pretty Things, New York Dolls, Electric Prunes, and Fuzztones, plus astounding contemporary proteges Mooney Suzuki, the Raveonettes, and many others.

It’s truly commendable you’re spending time giving much needed exposure to some exemplary bands between your radio show and the upcoming Underground Garage Festival at Randall’s Island.

LITTLE STEVEN: It’s what I grew up with. I’m thinking the next generation of kids should hear what radio sounded like. Not only the new stuff nobody’s playing, but some of the neglected old stuff, too.

The Underground Garage Festival has an amazing lineup. But why’d Dunkin’ Donuts sponsor the event?

They came to us and heard what we were doing and the CEO is a rock and roll freak and that’s how it works. They wanted to support what we were doing and did the whole Battle of the Bands which concludes tomorrow night at Irving Plaza (August 23rd) and the festival. They dig what we’re doing and don’t like the way things have gone regarding popular culture and felt what we were doing was really needed by young kids who just haven’t heard real rock and roll. They were into it on a pure philosophical basis. The local bands are from nine cities and are unsigned. Our radio show doesn’t play unsigned acts, though we support the independent record labels’ bands. Headlining are two great underground bands, Rocket From the Crypt and the Charms

You hooked up with indie promoter Jon Weiss in 2001 to continue the fabulous Cavestomp series.

We did 16 shows that year. Very exciting at the time because nobody was supporting this stuff and he’d been doing Cavestomp since 1997. So we’re just taking it to the next level now. The Pretty Things most important members are still there and still terrific, Phil May singing, and Dick Taylor, who was one of the original Rolling Stones. He started the Stones with Brian Jones, Mick Jagger, and later, Keith Richard. He left before they recorded to go back to school for a minute and realized that ain’t gonna work so he quit school and started the Pretty Things. They went through band members quickly and were one level more primitive than the Stones and a couple levels wilder. They were the real wildmen of England. Their drummer, Vin Prince, was Keith Moon before he became destructive. They had a history of arrests, drug busts, and criminal busts, getting kicked out of hotels, the whole routine. In a similar vein, nobody knows about (‘60s psych band) the Creation. The first time they came to America, me and Jon Weiss booked them. Eddie Philips, the guitarist, played with a violin bow before Jimmy Page. That’s where Page got it from. The singer used to paint the stage as they sang. So two of the absolute coolest English bands, huge overseas, are coming. Then, we got the Pete Best Band. They sound exactly like the Beatles at Hamburg, which is as good as it gets. We have the reunion of Big Star and all the original members of the Dictators.

Plus there’s the original New York Dolls with David Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain, the Fuzztones, and the Romantics, whose raw, spontaneous set I saw with you.

They’re better than ever. They’re showing where they came from. People put them down because they had two hits (the ever-present Beatles knockoff “What I Like About You” and the gingerly pop dollop “Talking In Your Sleep”), but people forget they carried the garage flag by themselves for ten years. There was no garage band to have a hit for 30 years. They are amongst one of the top bands in the world. Why they aren’t bigger, I have no idea.

What’s your opinion on compromised conservative radio ruining diversity and excitement by limiting exposure to these trendy no-face gimmick bands?

That’s been going on for thirty years. One of the reasons I started the show and the station on Sirius Satellite was to promote these bands. We’re launching, with legendary d.j.’s, a 24-7 station. The reason I started in the first place was to get the Ramones on the radio. Why didn’t the Ramones ever become part of the classic rock format? They’ve got more songs on my playlist than anyone but the Stones. It sounds like 40 great records that never were mainstream hits. That’s why we do what we do.

These bands deserve recognition. Rock and roll is far from dead though the media would have you think otherwise.

Absolutely right. Instead of whining and complaining about it like we used to do, now we’re doing something about it. We are changing the whole world as we speak right now. The modern and alternative formats are all being forced to loosen up. They can’t play the White Stripes and Hives for more than a week or two because the stations are hard rock-based. This is a different genre. But they’re starting to figure that out now. So the good thing is we are now influencing these stations to loosen up their formats. A new station started in L.A., completely copying my show.

Good!

That’s how I feel. Let’s get rock and roll back on the radio. I’ve played 75 new bands in the past two years.

Your solo career started with the semi-autobiographical Men Without Women, but I lost track of you after ‘92s Revolution. Were their any other releases?

The fifth, last solo album, was Born Again Savage. I put it out myself on Renegade Nation in ’99. It’s the only straightahead rock record I ever made. It was a ‘60s hard rock record. My solo albums were divided by themes. This one was mainly about religion, then sex and politics. It was myself, Jason Bonham on drums, and Adam Clayton of U2. It’s in that Led Zeppelin/ Bad Company kind of school. I’ve felt religion is extremely personal. It’s unlikely the nature of organized religion is gonna suit most people. There’s a lowest common denominator, but how could someone generalize about religion. There’s a thousand details. Everything’s connected in this world, so do the best you can.

You deserve major recognition for creating political awareness amongst listeners in the ‘80s. You were a responsible anti-war libertarian and virtuous civic-minded pathfinder. We lack a grassroots representative in this country. Both parties are full of shit. America’s had two former coke-addicted presidents in a row. One was a womanizing con artist and Bush is a failed oil businessman with lousy verbal skills.

(laughter) I was critical of our foreign policy in the ‘80s. I did nothing but politics for ten straight years, learned what I wanted to, and got out.

On to The Sopranos … When we last left, you were sabotaging Tony Soprano by fucking up the timing on some shit, getting jealous of his nimble-minded cousin, Christopher, and being pissy to the now-deceased, Tony B.

Wait. I’ve been Tony Soprano’s loyal man.

Bull shit! You’re undermining him.

No. There’s just some things going on that were misunderstandings. (laughter)

My brother and I think the show’s got too soft. It’s more like a soap opera. We want more killing sprees.

So do I.

Yeah. ‘Cause you’re doing the killings!

We’ll try to work that in.

You shouldn’t have killed Pussy.

I know. We realize that now.

You and Springsteen have maintained a high profile while staying down to earth and never getting spoiled by fame. How’d that happen?

We were playing for years before we got anywhere. So that humbles you. It took years for us to get as big as we got. People don’t know that. Also, people don’t realize Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes were the first bar band to play original material live. It used to be they’d only play covers. At the time, we didn’t know how revolutionary we were. But bands like Graham Parker & the Rumour, Elvis Costello & the Attractions, Dave Edmunds’ Rockpile, and Nick Lowe’s band followed us.

 

LIBERTINES ON THE BRINK OF EXTINCTION

Interviews

FOREWORD: In 2002, England’s Libertines had a chance to be the biggest band since ‘90s pop stars, Oasis, gaining further exposure opening for press darlings, the Strokes. But singer-guitarist Peter Doherty’s drugging, drinking, and debauchery put an end to that after only their second album in ‘04.

Never one to let scandalous press clippings get in the way of boozing and cocaine, the unstable punk got arrested for robbing co-front man Carl Barat’s house, dating skinny fashion model, Kate Moss, and assembling Babyshambles (which temporarily coexisted alongside the Libertines) on the winding path to destruction. Babyshambles second album, ‘07s inconsistent Shotter’s Nation, had some surefire winners. Barat’s less known, Dirty Pretty Things, split in ’08.

I spent some time in ’04 with Barat at Big Hassle Publicity’s New York loft deck as a Fujifilm blimp sailed by overhead during our discussion. And yes, some hallucinatory rope got burnt afterwards. Natch! This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

The wayward saga of the Libertines began when tousled oddball Carl Barat began dating loony troublemaker Peter Doherty’s older sister. The demonic duo then started writing songs together while still in their teens, performing around the East London area soon after. Though having the tendency to fight like brothers, their voices fit together so naturally it felt like the pulse of drunken prophets’ naïvely zeroing in on the lecherous anti-establishment punk of yore. Doherty’s destructive tendencies led to drug problems, burglary arrest, band feuding, and a premature short-lived breakup, but despite punches thrown, rehab blown, concerts canceled, and a tour manager being sacked, the Libertines amazingly won Best British Band by New Musical Express.

Finding initial success through ‘02s thrilling debut, Up The Bracket, these uninhibited Libertines struck a chord with confrontational youths awaiting post-millennial revolution. Slovenly delivered vocals and flailing guitar scrums forged the rugged charm bedeviling the Libertines slurry serpentine brilliance.

Thick Brit-accented heaves intoxicate the disheveling Strokes-like hand-clapped “Vertigo,” the stutter-beaten breakdown “Time For Heroes,” and the semi-conversational scream-n-shout anthem, “Boys In The Band.” Castigating a coke-addled bitch, the scurrying “What A Waster” saliently abuts the card-losing cunt-peering dud depicted on the low-key off-handed sniggle “Mockingbird.”

With a rumbling Sex Pistols snarl and snotty ‘fuck ‘em!’ scoff, the snappy ass-shaker “I Get Along” may be their most venomously harrowing statement. Former Clash guitarist Mick Jones produced, leaving in the jagged edges to deepen the unbridled intensity of this electrifyingly raw masterwork that seemed hard to top.

Internal warfare nearly disbanded the Libertines, but happily the two principal songwriters reconciled for a solid self-titled sophomore set with Jones again manning the studio. As semi-biographical bookends, the scampered vocal exchanges of “Can’t Stand Me Now” deal less about heartache than mutual disgust while the wry “What Becomes Of The Likely Lads” dismisses conflictive turmoil with a cocksure ‘blood runs thicker’ disclaimer.

Between these fractious pillars lies the hustlin’ “Last Post On The Bugle,” the coy falsetto-heightened “Don’t Be Shy” (with its nonchalant intoxicated dribbling recalling the Kinks’ Ray Davies), and the frantic Pink Floyd-gone-psycho guitar-licked “Narcissist.” The folk retreat, “Music When the Lights Go Out,” connects delicate piano and strummed acoustic to sincere confessional sentiments, proving that beyond the nasty infighting and squandered squabbling there’s an undeniable interdependent respect keeping the Barat-Doherty songwriting partnership fluid. To appease pop lovers, a carefree whimsy and casual sway underscores cute li’l ditty “What Katie Did.”

Just how “The Saga” of these mischievously ruinous brats will turn out is yet to be determined, but ‘til then, enjoy the bumpy rollercoaster ride. Could it be any more profoundly ironic that the publicity machine behind these restlessly reckless rockers is dubbed Big Hassle?

AW: Was it difficult assembling new songs with all the craziness you’ve been through this past year?

CARL: Not really, breaking up was just a stopgap. Making the record and getting into the studio was a bit more work this time. Too many things happened.

Who were your early influences? Punk rockers?

I was never into punk until recently. I was more into The Jam. That was good background music when I was a kid. I loved the Beatles, too. My dad was into music, but he had to work at the factory. My sister could play the harp.

Are you an existentialist bohemian?

I’m a free thinker, a reactionary, like our name, the Libertines. But I’m not interested in politics.

So you’re in it for fun!

Absolutely!

What did Mick Jones’ production add to the Libertines sound?

In the studio running the boards he was just one of the lads – a fifth member of the band. He comes from the same background and has the same understanding of what we’re trying to do with the songs. In a production sense, he took the songs for what they were and brought out the powerful stuff in them without manipulating them towards one style. It’s quite unusual. I think he made sure the songs produced themselves because they were done live. He was dancing around with headphones on and a doobie in hand.

Good ole weed. Do you think marijuana should be legalized?

It makes sense, doesn’t it? It may be a bit bad for the Dutch tourist trade though. The laws are more relaxed in England. Everyone’s growing hydroponic pot. But there’s so much crime in our part of London you don’t get charged with possession. But you could get charged with dealing if they find you smoking on the streets. We get mellow homegrown. People grow it in greenhouses. I’m not into getting blitzed. I like to take a puff. I just got home from Amsterdam. But we don’t bring it out of the country due to customs. I’ve technically given up weed, but it’s fun. It affects my attention span, which is only about four seconds – which is bad when you’re writing a song ‘cause you could lose a few masterpieces getting stoned.

Peter wrote the apologetic amble “What Became Of The Likely Lads.” If he’s aware of his public problems, why can’t he control himself?

Yeah. He could write about it, but he’s in sort of a denial.

Did the Libertines really go into a ‘Jazz odyssey’ while opening for the Vines on the first night of a tour? If so, could you perform serious Jazz?

We got nervous and just jammed out a bit. I’m not an aficionado in the sense of strict purist Jazz. But our musical vocabulary comes from all over the place. I love Django Rheinhart. He’s very smooth. We used to play in a Jazz club to get paid 20 pounds for five hours work – and one free drink. So we pretended we were a Jazz band every week to get money.

Suede guitarist Bernard Butler worked on two singles: the sympathetic hook-filled elegy “Don’t Look Back Into the Sun” and “Death On the Stairs.” How did his production approach differ from Mick’s?

He’s very structured and disciplined, building songs from the bottom up whereas Mick’s really into a live feel.

What was it like opening for Morrissey? He seems like a normal dude despite the press clippings about his sad, lonely, insecure life.

We did that out of the blue. He’s very straight up about what he’s like. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He says he’s got about seven friends in the world.

Who are you listening to nowadays?

The Streets. Mike Skinner is great.

-John Fortunato

TED LEO’S GOT WOODEN ‘HEARTS OF OAK’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Ted Leo is one of the most exciting performers in inide rock. His fast-fingered axe work, advanced literary sense, political defiance, and friendly demeanor make him way too multifaceted to be labeled a ‘punk.’ Born in South Bend, Indiana, he’d move to Jersey, then return to his native Indiana birthplace to attend prestigious Notre Dame University.

After playing in Chisel and other early bands, he went solo, then added the Pharmacists. A highly dependable and well-respected artist, I caught up with Leo during his ’03 tour for Hearts Of Oak, catching a Bowery Ballroom and Maxwells show along the trail. He has remained consistent, as ‘04s Shake The Sheets and ‘07s even better Living With The Living (highlighted by acerbic wartime rant, “Bomb.Repeat.Bomb”) attest. In ’09, his internet EP, Rapid Response, brought attention to Minnesota’s Republican National Convention police raids. This article was originally published by Aquarain Weekly.

Posing a dazzling triple threat as talented pop-rock song stylist, lyrically keen folk romantic, and fierce axe slinger, Bloomfield native Ted Leo is one of the Garden State’s most impressive musical entertainers. His father provided formative influences such as the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and Bob Marley, giving the pre-teen Leo a considerable understanding of genre differentiation that courses through his own eclectic compositional range. Though he never took guitar lessons, by age 19 Leo began raking the six-string with determined vengeance.

A Seton Hall High School graduate, he founded formidable punk band Chisel during sophomore year at Notre Dame with a DC-area student friend. After seven years and three albums together, they broke up and Leo, influenced by The Who, Small Faces, and The Jam, as well as hardcore punk, created short-lived mod revival three-piece, the Sin-Eaters, recording a demo and some live tracks while touring for a year.

Following a nifty ’98 self-titled solo debut on respected Jersey boutique label, Gern Blandsten, Leo hooked up with his first version of The Pharmacists for 2000’s more consistent Treble In Trouble EP. But it was the soon-to-follow full length, The Tyranny Of Distance, that brought the ever-changing unit national prominence.

Thereupon, Leo’s live shows became popular, impressing a legion of fans with nimble fretwork, scurried solo numbers, and delectable melodic interplay fronting a very capable bass-drum rhythm section. Three years after I first caught him at Chinatown club, the Bowery Ballroom, Leo sold out the same venue supporting ‘03s magnificent Hearts Of Oak and its thoughtful, stripped down 8-song companion, Tell Balgeary, Balgury Is Dead. Admirably, his increasing fan base showed up for this terrific Sunday night show despite a foot of snow curtailing highway travel.

Hearts Of Oak, in particular, reveals tremendous emotional anxiety and deep sociopolitical conviction juxtaposed by a dollop of heartwarming merriment. Yearning for ‘80s British ska pilots the Specials, Selecter, and Madness, the feverishly exhilarating “Where Have All The Rude Boys Gone?” finds Leo breathlessly huffing atop staggeringly dexterous licks Pete Townshend would be awed by. Raging with virile certitude, “The High Party” could bring fellow mod copper Paul Weller (whose “Ghosts” gets an acoustic spin on Tell Balgeary) to tears. And the reverent expressiveness of the scanty gauntlet “First To Finish, Last To Start” nips at the Impressions soul stirring righteous contemplation “People Get Ready.”

As for Tell Balgeary, Leo mostly goes-it-alone on electric guitar-and-voice versions of his own material and worthy covers of Split Enz loopy “Six Months In A Leaky Boat” and Ewan McColl’s Celtic bourgeois Blues “Dirty Old Town.” His pedantic wit, observational antidotes, and punctual strumming invoke leftwing activist Billy Bragg sans the menacingly overt Socialist shrewdness.

Initially, your former band, Chisel, made DC its base. Then, you moved to Boston before coming back to hometown, Bloomfield, New Jersey. What’s up?

TED LEO: We were gonna move to Chicago after college. It’s an hour from South Bend. That’s where we had shows and some connections. But John, our drummer, got an Amnesty job, so since I wasn’t moving home, DC was fine. When Chisel broke up, I spent six more months in DC, but I was dating someone from Boston and got nostalgic for the Northeast. At that time in DC, everyone was tight and in serious bands. I felt I should make a break and start anew.

How’d your self-titled solo ’98 debut on Gern Blandsten set the tone for the future?

TED: People hated that record. There are 19 songs – 10 just solo with guitar. The others have tape-looped samples, dancehall and hip-hop beats. I listen to reggae more than anything and at that time there were new Lee Perry compilations. I got into that and had all these tapes I was messing around with and it all cohered into a thematic album. In retrospect, that served to contextualize the actual songs. But some people thought the songs took a backseat.

Were the sparer songs similar in scope to the solitude electric guitar-and-voice ramblings regaling Tell Balgeary?

Definitely. Some had faster Billy Bragg-like strumming. There’s also quieter stuff than I’ve done since – my attempts at soulful moments.

Tell Balgeary’s stripped-down version of “The High Party” got me believing the pointed lyrics were directed at the Bush administration.

(laughter) To be honest, the title came from the high guitar part. When the lyrics came along in that political vein, other thoughts of what the words may mean came in.

“A shitty war to fight for Babylon” seemingly nips at the Iraqi invasion.

I think (Secretary of State) Donald Rumsfeld is evil. He’s too slick.

You use Ewan Mac Coll’s “Dirty Old Town” as a forum for Bloomfield’s controversial Harvest Fest.

It’s awesome to celebrate the historic district of town I live in. But I see a new influx of commuter population wanting a tiki version of Williamsburg, Virginia, or a smaller Times Square. That pisses me off!

You save your most savage commentary for the visceral respite, “Loyal To My Sorrowful Country,” which scorns American oppression in a manner folk legends Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, or Phil Ochs could appreciate.

Maybe this is pompous, but the implication isn’t America sucks, but that it’s been co-opted, disenfranchising people. It’s a rallying cry with a glimmer of sadness. Folk music is a well I draw on for vibe, vocal melodies, or chord progressions. I thought I’d do something specific to that tradition. The song’s a challenge. I don’t plan to renounce my American-ness. I love where I’m from. When I sing it, I feel it to my core. But I could talk to you about struggles and temper that. Maybe it’s an exorcism to get the anger out so I can come back to the table and be more constructive.

Besides better songwriting and tighter arrangements, how would you contrast Hearts Of Oak to previous LP, Tyranny Of Distance?

Hearts Of Oak captured the band in one room playing together. With Tyranny, there was a loose feel – which actually worked. It was me, a singer-songwriter, inviting friends to the studio to play my songs, whereas Hearts Of Oak is more focused.

Compare Nicholas Vernhes’ Hearts production to Brendan Cantor of Fugazi’s work on Tyranny.

They’re both skilled and have known me for years. With Tyranny, the sonic template was like Paul Mc Cartney’s Ram – splashy ‘70s drums and glam-rock guitar. Brendan helped me get that. On Hearts, there was a tighter sonic structure Nick tried to capture.

The Irish-styled talk-sing violin-drum arrangement for Hearts opener, “Building Skyscrapers In The Basement,” navigates Celtic folk. 

 

Putting that song upfront – it wouldn’t fit anywhere else – I hoped it’d set the tone. If “Rude Boys” were first, people might misunderstand the record as being a fun pop record. But it’s a lot more serious.

The guitar work on “Rude Boys” hearkens to Thin Lizzy.

Without a doubt, Thin Lizzy’s first guitarist, Eric Bell, was a super influence. He’d played in Them with Van Morrison during the ‘60s.

The full-on dramatic version of “The High Party,” with its descending ‘drink down the poison’ choral hook, reminded me of Elvis Costello due to the snarled tenor-screamed crescendo and murky organ drone.

People drop the Elvis comparison a lot. I like him just fine, but he’s not a conscious influence. However, there’s no question that has a lot of Elvis Costello in it.

“The Ballad Of Sin-Eater,” indelibly named after your old band, touches upon the ugly American theme while celebrating UK rail workers.

It’s not named after the old band. I’m just obsessed with the concept of sin-eaters, an Irish-Welch term. When someone dies, they placed a loaf of bread on their chest, hire a sin-eater to munch on the bread, thereby taking that persons’ sins as an untouchable bearer of sin doing the dirty work. There’s metaphorical modern parallels you could find right down to the grunts in the field who take the heat for bullshit political machinations of boardroom fat cats.

In Tell Balgeary’s publicity sheet, you mention how too little money and lack of exposure discourage fruitful artists enough for them to quit trying. Captain Beefheart gave up his valiant musical pursuit for sculpting and painting due to this dilemma.

There’s underlying motivations why you do it. Age is a factor. I’ll never stop playing and doing shows, but when does it stop becoming what I’m trying to do to make a living. In the past, it didn’t matter that I was slugging it out in the trenches just to do it for love. But now, I’ve had some success at 33, so taking risks that are easier at 23 is scarier. So I’m on the razor’s edge for the next few albums.

-John Fortunato

LAMBCHOP KICKS AROUND IMPEACHED ‘NIXON’

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Lounge-y Nashville-based country-folk ensemble, Lambchop, headed by campestral singer-songwriter, Kurt Wagner, convinced many hard-headed indie rock fans to absorb their engaging acoustical symphonies in the late ‘90s. Displaying the same pacific confidence as he does on record, Wagner spoke to me in hushed tones during 2000 about ‘asshole’ President Nixon (the loose subject of his then-current album) and how country radio eats shit. He has since eased into the near future with a steady stream of eloquent albums, including ‘02s Is A Woman, ‘04s Aw C’mon, ‘06s Damaged, and ‘08s OH (Ohio). This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Lambchop singer/ guitarist Kurt Wagner is sitting at the top of a loading ramp in Midtown Manhattan’s Town Hall ready to perform with his eleven-member entourage in a few hours. While most mortals opening for Yo La Tengo would be nervous wrecks beforehand, Wagner’s cool as can be and up for the challenge.

For ten years, his soulful countrypolitan ensemble has imbibed a wellspring of traditional American popular music. Since getting signed to North Carolina indie label, Merge, Lambchop has dropped four fascinating full lengths (‘96s How I Quit Smoking, ‘97s Thriller, ‘98s What Another Man Spills, and the new Nixon), the hick-ish Hank E.P., and sundry singles. Somehow, Wagner found time to hook up with sensitive singer/ songwriter Josh Rouse for Chester (Slow River Records), a rural five song meditation.

Nixon’s two most stunning achievements re-invigorate majestic ‘70s soul by bringing to life the sweet sounds of the Delfonics and Blue Magic. “Nashville Parent” streamlines orchestral lushness with debonair instrumentation while “The Book I Haven’t Read” clips Curtis Mayfield’s “Baby It’s You,” lacing honeysuckle rhythm guitar with emotionally compelling lyrics.

Wagner’s trivial observations and cracked humor recall deceased Southern underground icon Opal Foxx, especially on the delicately beautiful, violin-laden dirge, “The Old Gold Shoe.” He chirps a Prince-like falsetto on “What Else Could It Be?” and places delicate slide guitar and sleepy vibes beside his spoken baritone on the illuminating “The Distance From Her To There.” Without a doubt, Lambchop remain one of the most underrated, eccentric bands in America.

Is it difficult to arrange a large ensemble and take it on the road?

KURT WAGNER: It’s no more difficult than any other band. It comes over time. We work out our songs together. It happens pretty naturally.

Your newest songs seem more reflective and introspective.

Maybe you get a little sappy with old age. It’s more about trimming the fat. The band does the arrangements. I try to get in the way as much as possible. They take what I give them as a structure and they figure out their parts. I think about band members sometimes when I’m writing songs. I try to highlight someone in the band. But a lot of arrangements happen in the studio.

On close inspection, many songs contain dark, humorous lyrics.

I think they’re pretty funny sometimes. It’s not fun just to do straight tragedy all the way through.

The only band I could truly compare Lambchop to is the now defunct Opal Foxx Quartet.

God, I wish I had played with them. That’s a pretty high compliment. Not many people know about Opal Foxx. I really admired the man.

You’ve experimented with ‘70s soul in the past, recording Curtis Mayfield’s “Give Me Your Love” and Frederick Knight’s “I’ve Been Lonely For So Long” on What Another Man Spills. You admirably blend that influence with ‘60s countrypolitan arrangements reminiscent of Billy Sherrill, Chet Atkins, and Owen Bradley. How did this come about?

It’s natural. I’ve spent a lot of time in Memphis going to art school. Soul is in the water in Memphis. It sticks to you and doesn’t rub off. I like Nashville, too. Memphis is like mortar and bricks while Nashville is more sociological, encompassing a soul-funk vibe. In Nashville, it seems to be separated more by class and ethnicity. That’s why people don’t think Nashville has any connection to R & B music – which it frankly does. Country music does, too.

What did you listen to as a kid?

Like any normal kid, I listened to pop music and soul stations. The country stuff was going on all around us and would be featured on television on Saturdays. You couldn’t get away from it. It was on after the morning cartoons. You know, here comes Porter Wagoner. It wasn’t until I moved away from Nashville that I started figuring out what incredible stuff was being made there.

You mock former President Nixon in the liner notes and use his name for the album title. You claim young Republican cronies used to prey on kids with their “Up With People” slogan. What’s your perspective on the impeached prez?

He was an asshole. He was the devil and everyone hated him. I try to think I’m not so bitter about him now. I’m no Hunter Thompson, but he was fucking cruel. When he died, the eulogy of him was pretty rough. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not out to try to defend him or find something good about him. He was a family man. His wife, I’m assuming, got along with him. Like any tragic figure, there’s probably something endearing about him. But he was sending my friends off to war to die. It was stupid. That’s what was going on at the time. He was a demon.

There are subtle differences between each of your albums. I’d say the soul influences now outweigh the country influences. What styles would you like to incorporate in the future?

I’d like to do voice and guitar like Leadbelly did. It’s heavenly. I’m fascinated by that simplicity of sound. I think, for me, it would be great fun and a great relief to work with very simple elements and still incorporate eleven people. That’s a challenge. If it’s done right, it would be right for us. I’ve been studying old blues lately and I’m finding out it’s connected to all the things we’ve been doing so far. It’s just a different sound and a different challenge.

Was Nixon a major challenge for you?

I did struggle with the content. I picked songs according to how I wanted this album to sound. I’ve always felt if country music had decent content today, it would be such a major improvement. They just don’t give people a lot of credit for having any intelligence and true emotions. Soul music and hip-hop, on the other hand, are full of content. It’s almost like diarrhea, though. You need Pepto Bismal to refine it.

When will country music marketers finally dig deep and start supporting serious, independent-minded musicians like you? They no longer support George Jones, Merle Haggard, and Willie Nelson. They hardly play contemporaries such as Dwight Yoakam on radio anymore.

I think they’ll have to become totally bankrupt. And that will match their morally bankrupt state and then it’ll be fine. They’re all scared now. Sales are down. They have time on their hands and the machine isn’t running full tilt. They’re getting nervous. They should worry more about music than money.

BEN KWELLER HAPPY TO BE ‘ON MY WAY’

Interviews

FOREWORD: Gracious pop-rooted singer-songwriter Ben Kweller was taught to play guitar by his father, a Greenville, Texas-based doctor whose school buddy, veteran rock guitarist, Nils Lofgren, got the talented thirteen-year-old a record contract. But when Kweller’s over-hyped teen combo, Radish, couldn’t get decent mainstream exposure for ’93 debut, Restraining Bolt, he resourcefully moved on to a successful solo career.

I got to do a phoner with Kweller in ’04, when he was promoting commendable live-in-the-studio album, On My Way. In ’06, he played all the instruments on a mellifluent self-titled disc. Then, he stepped into rural countrified territory for ‘09s divergent Changing Horses, utilizing pedal steel and dobro players. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

Sometimes outrageous media hype and record company interference could destroy the aspirations of even the most resilient, talented young artists looking to ascend puerile teen idolatry. Happily, Ben Kweller overcame such early obstacles to become one of America’s most admired musicians.

After gaining major label access leading post-grunge Texas high school band Radish, whose ’96 album, Restraining Bolt, showed promise despite instigating corporate tyranny, Kweller grew tired of bullying music execs and prejudicial Lone Star rednecks and headed North to live with his girlfriend, Liz, in coastal Guilford, Connecticut.

Inspired by Manhattan’s anti-folk scene, he decided to move with his significant other to nearby Brooklyn, assembling ‘00s roughhewn DIY independent solo project, Freak Out, It’s Ben Kweller. Soon, he constructed ‘02s more polished, band-oriented Sha Sha, for stalwart singer-songwriter Dave Matthews’ ATO Records (an RCA subsidiary). A folk-spirited pure pop sureshot, the vibrant Sha Sha appealed to hip urbanites, curious teen damsels, and sleek post-collegiate geeks alike. Its stony tempo-changing rocker “Wasted & Ready” and solemn Country-derived “Family Tree” (based on the Beatles’ “I’m Only Sleeping” acoustic riff) reveal spectral contrasts, balancing hard, loud defiance against brittle, soft passivity.

Deciding he wanted to create more distinct rock ‘n’ roll using a simpler old school approach, Kweller hired Ethan Johns (Kings Of Leon/ Ryan Adams), son of storied produced Glyn Johns (Beatles/ Rolling Stones/ The Who/ Led Zeppelin) to handle boardroom chores. Working live-in-the-studio without headphones and using few overdubs, Kweller’s exuberant On My Way boasts improved compositional diversity, better melodic cohesion, and ambling guitar spunk.

On My Way’s rapturous opening declaration, “I Need You Back,” gets the proceedings going. Joyously begging for the adulation of an erstwhile love interest, its catchy repetitive chorus convincingly pleads for redemption. Just as marvelous is headstrong undulation, “The Rules,” an impulsive dual guitar blaster bristling with contagiously melodious sweeps, compact rhythmic implosions, and screaming lyrical exhortations compulsively similar to fellow solo male artist Ted Leo. Keeping up the hastening pace, “Down” builds to a frothy crescendo as Kweller determinedly bellows ‘when I’m in your arms/ nothing can bring me down’ at the top of his lungs. After the Dylanesque sentimental piano reflection, “Living Life,” the savagely snarled “Ann Disaster” takes a familiar ‘60s guitar riff along for an exasperated ride.

Were On My Way’s songs bouncing around in your head for awhile? They seem so fully developed.

B.K.: I had the songs finished, but I’d only show the guys tunes at soundcheck. We’d play it and it’d sound great but I quickly decided not to show them more new songs because I wanted to wait until we got in the studio. That’s why it sounds raw, live, and spontaneous. This new batch has faster tempos because that’s how they were written. They have a more driving beat.

“Hospital Bed” particularly sounds heavily worked on. It’s nearly a medley with its piano boogie shuffle taking on a shifty tempo change.

Believe it or not, that didn’t take very long. I’m lucky to be playing with great musicians. Rock and roll is pretty easy if you’re a good enough musician and if you’re all on the same page. You can do crazy stuff. The hardest part to get was the slowed down changeover to the verse. The sped up part wasn’t that hard.

On the other hand, “My Apartment” is a simpler tinkled acoustic breakdown.

That’s one of the

MARK KOZELEK’S SUN KIL MOON MAKES ‘GHOSTS’ APPEAR

Interviews,

FOREWORD: Melancholy San Francisco-based singer-songwriter Mark Kozelek achieved a modicum of underground fame fronting the illuminating Red House Painters from ’92 to ’01. His revelatory autobiographical anecdotes also endeared a few solo projects as well as ‘03s Ghosts Of The Great Highway, a highly ambitious boxing saga credited to Sun Kil Moon (an appellation taken from a Korean bantamweight fighter). Kozelek has made appearances in a few films, including Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, and Steve Martin comedy, Shopgirl. His ’08 Sun Kil Moon undertaking, April, featured vocals by contemporaries Will Oldham and Ben Gibbard (Death Cab For Cutie). This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

 

Mark Kozelek’s distinguished acoustic-based meditations took hold when American Music Club’s like-minded Mark Eitzel discovered the lone Ohio-bred troubadour grappling to find acceptance. As Red House Painters’ mastermind, Kozelek began developing a reputation for writing protracted minimalist abstractions reflecting the misery, insecurity, and anguish of misspent youth. But don’t shed a tear for this laid-back singer-songwriter yet. A dreary low key hopefulness and compelling spirituality underline nearly every moody introspection he’s composed since ‘92s unvarnished Down Colorful Hill demos.

Living in mentor Eitzel’s hometown of San Francisco for more than a decade now, Kozelek sidestepped his band after ‘97s Old Ramon was reluctantly put on the backburner. In the meantime, he did a half-covers/ half-original solo EP, Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer, and used leftover AC/DC re-interpretations on the surprisingly heartfelt, What’s Next to the Moon.

“I enjoy surprising people by doing metal covers that make people cry,” Kozelek explains. “They say, ‘It’s such a sad song.’ I’m like, ‘Bon Scott wrote it.’ I’m not about wearing influences on my sleeve. I’d rather take a Kiss song, re-arrange it, and make it my own.”

Aided by new comrades, Kozelek’s latest endeavor, Sun Kil Moon, delivers the loosely thematic Ghosts Of The Great Highway, a grandiose dreamscape chock full of abstruse metaphoric allegories and unexpected boxing imagery mirroring true life experiences. His expressive monotone baritone drone effortlessly saddens haunted pastoral vistas, as he drowsily moans through the hypnotizing apologetic escapism of the pondering “Carry Me Ohio” and the relaxed six-string serendipity of the calm orchestral “Floating.” He slips into an elegantly mumbled falsetto whine on the tidy string-laden Spaghetti Western “Last Tide” and adapts Neil Young’s narcotic warble for the sleepy twin guitar sonic inducement “Lily And Parrots.”

Longtime Kozelek admirers won’t be disappointed by the melancholic longing hedging Sun Kil Moon’s solemn retreats. Just as Red House Painters’ brooding eponymous ’93 sets (the sprawling 75-minute rollercoaster-covered long-player and its less enthralling footbridge-cloaked follow-up) recalled deceased folk-rocker Tim Buckley – especially the graceful melodic seduction “Katy Song” and the pining lullaby “New Jersey” – the restrained nasal lyricism and lumbering atmospheric pace remain Kozelek’s trademark.

Moreover, ‘95s Ocean Beach flaunted naked blissful resolve while the subsequent pedal steel-adorned Songs For A Blue Guitar found our desolate hero going-it-alone on less expansive terrain such as the wispy “Have You Forgotten,” the distant title cut, and unanticipated slo-mo covers of Yes, Wings, and the Cars. Though delayed three years, the eloquent Old Ramon topped predecessors with its lithe tension, peaking on the arresting choral caress “Void” and the mellifluent guitar-ensconced shimmer “Between Days.”

Like the antique artwork and rustic home furnishings decorating his humble abode, wise sage Kozelek continually gains charm value.

Was it difficult making sullen songs sink in during the height of ‘90s grunge hype?

MARK: Before the Red House Painters records came out, I had difficulty developing an audience. I opened for Mark Eitzel’s acoustic band. But we were really slow so we had a major disadvantage when big bands were Primus, Jane’s Addiction, and Nirvana. I’d thought about working with producers, but they’d say, ‘What’s going on here?’ Interestingly, ten years later, incredible bands like Sigur Ros, Cat Power, and Low are doing extremely well. If they came out in ’92, they might’ve gone through the same struggle. But as an artist, I didn’t wanna do fast songs.

Is Neil Young an influence?

I definitely love Neil Young. I was introduced to music by neighborhood kids’ older siblings. My parents weren’t hip. They may have Bing Crosby records, but not Nick Drake or Pink Floyd. Bands like Led Zeppelin I got into at a young age.

While Red House Painters covered prog-rockers Yes, Sun Kil Moon’s opening track references Judas Priest guitarist Glenn Tipton.

There’s also references to Cassius Clay, Sonny Liston. “Glenn Tipton” was the scratch title. That came from being a kid arguing who the best guitarists were. You pick out the Scorpions, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest. Any band with two guitarists, you’d pick who’s better.

Many boxing allusions consume Sun Kil Moon. “Duk Koo Kim” was a Korean fighter accidentally killed by Boom Boom Mancini, leading to his mothers’ suicide.

The referee killed himself first, then the mom. I’m getting closer to knowing what that song is about. Partially, I wrote it on tour in South Korea. It’s more about things I was going through at the time. “Duk” is a metaphor for what I was worrying about in my personal life. Somehow deep down it made sense to use images of that fight.

You go South of the Border thrice. There’s “Salvador Sanchez.”

He was a fighter who died at 23 in a Mexico City car accident. His biggest fight was his last against Guyana’s Azuma Nelson. Sanchez had 42 wins, 1 loss, lived fast, died young.

Tell me about “Pancho Villa”?

The bizarre thing is there was a Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa, and also a Philippine boxer in the ‘20s named after him. He died in Oakland, 1925, from blood poisoning after getting teeth knocked out. After “Duk,” I heard Nina Simone’s “Four Women” and thought for the fuck of it I’d write a song about four men – four boxers – who died early, including Benny Parrett and Battling Shekee, who was shot to death in Hell’s Kitchen. All of them had hard, fast lives deserving tribute.

So that explains the title, Ghosts Of The Great Highway. Who, then, is Sun Kil Moon?

He was a Korean boxer who’s still alive. He was an ‘80s banterweight champ. Only in the last ten years did I get into boxing. You start watching as a series like The Sopranos. You get addicted. I’d wait for my girlfriend to get home from work to watch on cable.

Then, there’s the instrumental mariachi “St. Paloma.”

It’s just a folky acoustic song I recorded with Portuguese guitars. It’s like the Gypsy Kings. But that’s not how I expected it to turn out.

You played Almost Famous bassist Larry Fellows in the band Stillwater. Did director Cameron Crowe take their name from the ‘70s band that had a minor hit with “Mindbender”?

As far as I know, Cameron based it mostly, at least aesthetically and for the way Jason Leigh looked, on the band Free. The stuff in the movie happened to him (as a Rolling Stone reporter) with Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, and the Allman Brothers. We studied Free videos during rehearsals.

How’d the movie songs come about?

They were written by Cameron, Nance Wilson (Heart), and Peter Frampton. There were half a dozen with different people recording them. By the time I got down from San Francisco, they’d pieced it all together. They were going for authenticity and perfection. It didn’t take long to learn the bass parts.

You had a cameo in Vanilla Sky.

Now I’ve got a part in a Steve Martin movie. I hope I don’t get cut.

You served as producer for the John Denver tribute, Take Me Home.

Growing up, I didn’t listen to his stuff more than I did James Taylor, Cat Stevens, or Jim Croce. I felt when he died he deserved respect. It bummed me out no one acknowledged my borrowings from him. “Glenn Tipton” is a complete rip-off of his cover, “Darcy Farrell.” Consciously I didn’t steal it. But if you AB that with “Tipton,” it’s very similar. But he’s never been given credit as an influence. It’s always someone I don’t listen to. No one took him seriously so hopefully I showed people he wrote great songs by having Will Oldham, Innocence Mission, Rachel Haden, Tarnation, and Low cover him. Probably only a few thousand people bought the record, but now they know some new amazing songs.

You also seem inspired by your physical surroundings and nature – much like John Denver.

There are always references in my music, whether it’s parks, trails, ponds, lakes. As an artist you can’t help but be inspired by stuff around you.

ILLUMINATING ‘POT CULTURE’ GUIDE HITS STREETS 4-20

Journalist, , ,

I first met Pot Culture author/ CelebStoner host Steve Bloom at, ironically enough, a 1st anniversary party for co-author Shirley Halperin’s now-defunct indie rag, Smug (one of my early writing gigs). It was a fortuitous night down in the Bowery at CB Gallery (an extension of illustrious dive, CBGB’s), since Bloom then hooked me up with High Times, the leading counterculture marijuana publication, a freelance job I’d only dreamt of. I took Bloom out for a bowl within minutes of meeting him, and my social life in the city, already topnotch, got elevated – more interviews with highlife celebs, better contacts, and softball with High Times’ infamous Bonghitters.

Alongside Bloom, Halperin, soon-to-be MTV editor Joe D’Angelo, and prominent photographer Dennis Kleiman, we essentially owned Roseland Ballroom at its indie rock height (‘93-’99), gathering at dozens of downtown shows, imbibing on-house drinks galore, smoking the best herb, and getting the freest tix. Halperin went on to prosper at Rolling Stone, US Weekly, and Enertainment Weekly, becoming a notarized celebrity hound frequently commentating for MTV, VH1, CNN, Fox, MSNBC, and E! I reminded her of a “long lost uncle.” She borrowed small amounts of cash, begged for late night rides back to Williamsburg, married renowned producer (and ex-Pernice Brothers bassist) Tom Monahan, moved to the Left Coast (boho hipster refuge, Silver Lake), and no doubt haunted Bloom to complete ‘joint’ endeavor, Pot Culture (Abrams Image). The tidy A to Z guide ‘to stoner language and life,’ readied for release April 20th (a.k.a. 4-20, the international time zone to toke up), is literally a Whole Earth catalog for fiendish weed demons and doobiously dawdling dabblers alike.

A fun read, Bloom and Halperin’s stony tome never directly snubs America’s antiquated marijuana laws, but indirectly encourages consenting adults to turn on, tune in, NOT drop out. Perhaps most easily palatable for skeptical dilettantes and casual readers are the purple-paged Pot Culture Picks, a nifty addendum encompassing favorite stoner movies, scenes, characters, and dialogue, plus druggy dramas, comedies, sci-fi, cartoons, slogans, and stony recipes –no to mention a handy section on best pot-influenced music!

Original onscreen stoner, Dennis Hopper (starring in summer of love flick, The Trip, and ‘69s preferred Easy Rider) is said to “embody the fear and loathing inside every pothead’s heart,” a re-contextualized phrase snatched from gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson’s exalted beat-styled treatise. Cheech & Chong are credited as the best pot comedic duo while Sean Penn’s Fast Times At Ridgemont High surfer dude and Carlito’s Way cocaine-inhaling mongrel afford him most famous solo pot act status.

Pot Culture should convince all but the most abstinent person to strike down ridiculously strict laws governing the friendly weed. Better yet, vote out the deadwood clogging our log-jammed congressional system. Free the weed and the mass will follow. (Download Charlie Daniels’ outspoken libertarian rally “Long Haired Country Boy” here for proper musical affect).

For the uninitiated, ‘pot’ unequivocally encourages and magnifies artistic ideas, enhancing all five senses. And let me add a vicious ‘fuck you!’ to wrongheaded androids denying marijuana medication to a bulky handcuffed populace. Only the most sober individual could validate an opinion against the cursed ‘evil weed’ since alcohol is dangerous while pot is, holy shit, probably not. Safer by a fuck-load than beer and wine, marijuana’s cautious harmlessness shames all legal drugs and habitual cigarettes. An unprocessed indigenous plant lacking negative long-term effects, marijuana guilelessly outshines alcohol, uppers, downers, nicotine, and recreational cocaine-heroin. Alcohol overdose kills 5,000 yearly while pot’s psychoactive intensification stimulates brain receptors and eschews toxins. Unlike alcohol, tobacco, and coke, its prenatal use does not, I insist, cause birth defects. So stuff that in your hashpipe during pregnancy!

As we indulge at former long-time High Times editor Steve Bloom’s spacious Brooklyn apartment, the Jewish redheaded Bronx-raised website publisher, movie reviewer, sports fan, Obama supporter, and conversational pot icon commences, “Pot Culture was Shirley’s idea. She lived in Jersey, went to Rutgers, started Smug, and came up with the stoner dictionary/ encyclopedia. While I was High Times editor in ’06, she contacted me and mentioned a proposal to collaborate on the book. She was still at Us Weekly. It’d been percolating in her mind since the ‘90s. Our combined experience as stoners – I represent the Baby Boomers, she reps the younger crowd – plus my professional experience as a marijuana journalist and her orientation with celebrities, combined for a tightly written Pot-o-pedia. We siphoned information and wanted an exciting book full of pictures like a magazine – full-page spreads, visual elements, and sidebars. My knowledge is deeper in marijuana history, science, and activism while Shirley takes on everyday stoners and how they speak and act.”

Before joining High Times in the early ‘90s, Bloom admits to being “a pretty average stoner oblivious to New York’s Washington Square Park rallies” and didn’t see himself as an activist. Coming up through the ranks, the future Central Park softball commish had broke into the biz writing for Downbeat, Soho Weekly, and Rolling Stone. He credits editors Jim Henke and Peter Occiograssi with giving him a break. Fortuitously, he enjoyed funk, soul, and disco, black music overshadowed by the ’77 punk explosion. He found his niche covering Kool & the Gang and Brothers Johnson (for $5) and kept the ball rolling. He interviewed James Brown for a Soho Weekly cover and became a lifetime friend of the Godfather of Soul. As video games took over local arcades, Bloom pitched an assignment then published his first book, Video Invaders. Music editor Henke allowed him to cover the coveted New Orleans Jazz Fest, Gladys Knight & the Pips, the Pretenders, and Eric Clapton.

“My peak piece for Rolling Stone was a feature on Wynton Marsalis. I was into the jazz scene and wrote for Downbeat early on. Wynton was a 19-year-old new on the scene. I pitched the story, called “Young Man With A Horn.” But I could never work my way into the Byzantine world of Village Voice. I didn’t like their stridently leftist view…and I’m a lefty,” he laughs.

Soon after, he got the gig that would define his bohemian lifestyle. As a High Times news editor, he became informed about the expanding marijuana community.

“High Times was fun because it was advocacy journalism. I believed in the marijuana cause and wanted to change people’s opinion on legalization. I stress in Pot Culture how we don’t use negatives. The government spends billions convincing people marijuana’s bad. I didn’t want to play into that. We didn’t refer to pot as a vice or ‘lesser evil.’ It’s the opposite – within reason. Nobody should sit on a couch watching t.v. all day toking and being inactive. That’s the stereotypical perception – passive apathetic people with no life ambition. Be open for discussion. Pot may cause bronchial problems but is it causing cancer? No. And the THC in pot inhibits the expansion of tumors,” he insists.

The loquacious Bloom acknowledges modern marijuana is much stronger than the ‘70s stuff he used to toke. He admits marijuana was condensed, flattened out, seedy, brown, and came overseas from exotic countries back then. There wasn’t radiant green marijuana with flecks of red, orange, and purple covered by snowy oozing resin. Truly, today’s beautifully delicious plants with grown-out buds are spectacular.

Bloom goes on to explain the disparity between indica and sativa strains.

“There’s a genetic difference between tall, tropical, spindly sativa, an energetic, uplifting strain, compared to indica, shorter, bushier, tighter nuggets – sleep-inducing mountainous weed from Pakistan that withstands harsher weather conditions.” He swoons, “Most marijuana’s a combination now. Pure sativa is haze, but it’s been crossed. Indica is generally Northern Lights. I like mostly skunky, fruit-flavored indica with full taste that won’t make you gasp for breath strength-wise, but has a deep flavor you’d get from a Cabernet Sauvignon red. I love the fullness on the palate of a good strong smoke, the fruity bouquet and the nice heavy pull into your lungs that has a thick impact. From the second you smoke it, you think, ‘That’s good stuff!’”

Dutifully, Pot Culture advocates proper smoking etiquette. Lighting the corner of a bowl instead of passing a scorched pipe is an obligatory nicety. Childproof lighters are a no-no. And while pot smoking isn’t a replacement for nausea-inducing chemotherapy, according to singer-guitarist Melissa Etheridge’s 2-page scoop, it’ll ease the recuperative pain. Bloom encourages readers to move around the book instead of going front-to-back. The index quickly guides readers to subject matter. While lengthily discussing the stoner album covers illustrated, Bloom cites David Peel’s ’68 mandate, Have A Marijuana, as the first to feature the ‘good herb.’

Then my fifty-something buddy leads me on a journey through marijuana’s dark, glorious past.

“The book has a wide spectrum of data, dating back to the ‘30s Reefer Madness era. Actor Robert Mitchum and musicians Louis Armstrong and Gene Krupa’s marijuana arrests may go unrecognized as celebrities who took hits for being busted and suffering for their right to smoke. There was no NORML for protest. Following Jazz, the Beat’s in the ‘50s embraced marijuana. The Beats were influenced by jazz. Jack Kerouac was into Charlie Parker and be-bop. They were into pot – and Benzedrine, because they liked the upside of things. That was cool daddy-o!” Bloom continues, “They were puffing, drinking, traveling. The Beats led to the hippies’ ‘60s psychedelic era. Ken Kesey was part of the new generation coming off the Beats. He and Timothy Leary were the next players addressing the drug issue broadly. Kesey on the West Coast and Leary on the East were the first to proselytize LSD.”

Though Pot Culture focuses on natural narcotics (marijuana/ hashish/ mushrooms/ peyote), chemically altered drugs such as LSD and ecstasy, relatively safe if used properly, are discreetly endorsed while dangerous anodynes such as cocaine and heroin are shunned. The deaths of musicians Jerry Garcia, Rick James, and Gram Parsons are related to hard drug abuse, but none are traced back to non-addictive substances such as weed, schrooms, or cacti. Even Pink Floyd acid casualty Syd Barrett is listed as dying from “natural causes,” forty years after getting tossed from his acclaimed prog-rock band. Rightfully, college heads laughed at stupid government-aided anti-marijuana movies such as Reefer Madness upon its ‘70s re-release. Hypocritically, during World War II, the government actually sponsored brief film, Hemp For Victory.

“Jack Herer, author of pro-hemp scrapbook, The Emperor Wears No Clothes, and fellow activist, Maria Faro, traveled around during the ‘90s, selling t-shirts and going to DC’s Library of Congress, digging up Hemp For Victory, a 15-minute short patriotically saluting ten foot high hemp plants waving in the wind. The government wanted hemp for rope, parachutes, and ships. It’s strong, durable, and benefited our overseas effort. It became popular when Reefer Madness gained a cult following. Interestingly, NORML founder Keith Stroup discovered Reefer Madness, brought and released it in the ‘70s. Herer suffered a stroke recently but nonetheless has an initiative to legalize marijuana in Santa Barbara. He no longer travels to campuses.” Bloom continues, “I took on college tours to educate students while at High Times, discussing pot’s use beyond recreationally, as an industrial plant used for paper and rope or for medicinal purposes. The seed could be used for soap, shampoo, food items.”

Happily, the ‘90s decade was a boon for marijuana subsequent to the conservative ‘80s. Though decriminalized in some states during the ‘70s, the ensuing ‘Just Say No’ Reagan era had put a temporary crimp on the pro-pot movement. Presently, there’s a rebirth of activism ratified by California’s Proposition 215, legalizing marijuana for medicinal use. In fact, there are several worthy stoner inventions recently unveiled.

Bloom chimes in. “Indoor growing allowed American cultivation to expand. Kind bud is a stoner innovation. Many innovations don’t come from big corporations. It’s done through grassroots underground efforts. Glass pipes, grinders, and vaporizers were invented by reliable stoners. But if marijuana were legal, there wouldn’t be the pursuit for, and accentuation on, indoor growing. It’d be made available in many ways.”

Thankfully, Bloom’s CelebStoner site parallels veritable godsend, Pot Culture. The beliefs and travails of pro-pot dignitaries such as Willie Nelson and Tommy Chong are interspersed with ‘toking gun’ pot-related news stories. Top Ten Celebstoners, January ’08, included Snoop Dogg (number one), Bill Maher, Matthew Mc Conaughey, Cameron Diaz, Jack Black, and Woody Harrelson. Approximately one hundred pot-friendly celebs were recently listed supporting different ’08 presidential candidates.

Though he regularly samples high quality marijuana, Bloom contends the stronger stuff will allow people to smoke less and lead healthier lives. Just don’t mistake Bloom for a pro-cigarette espouser, since the harmful legal smoke, unlike marijuana, poses extreme health risks “poisoning the system.”

He exhorts, “Cigarette smoking is a plague that must be eradicated. I’m offended by laws that prosecute marijuana users when there are 400,000 people a year dying from legal tobacco. It’s a foul habit. It’s rude to see half-smoked cigarettes in the gutter. It’s gross. You may not like marijuana, but it’s not a despicable habit turning lungs black or affecting people around you. I steer away from cigarette smokers when walking down the street. Do it privately. If you can’t smoke joints in the street, why are cigarettes o.k.”

EAST BRUNSWICK HIGH GRAD FOREMOST BEHIND-THE-SCENES CELEBRITY EXPERT

Shirley Halperin, a diligent Israeli-American with a hard-working reputation enjoys the high-pressure life of a celeb reporter. The respected entertainment editor graduated East Brunswick High School, attended Rutgers University, then had the unmitigated nerve to drop out with one semester left to start Smug Magazine, New York’s best alternative rock source from ’93 to ’97. It was a ballsy move that earned her immediate indie cred, and subsequently, through US Weekly and Enertainment Weekly, aboveground notoriety. She’s consistently done television commentary, lending lucid content to Bravo’s 100 Funniest Movies, Britney Spears True Hollywood Story, American Idol Untold, and soon-to-be-revealed Pussycat Dolls True Hollywood Story.

Obsessed with popular culture and an admitted t.v. junkie, Halperin originally poo-poo’d reality shows, but now loves them too. Four years at Us Weekly befriending Hollywood stars prepared Halperin for more mainstream coverage at EW. Yet beyond the faddish reporting and hyped-up documentaries, the persevering lass decided to go back to her subterranean roots by anthologizing marijuana fun facts for Pot Culture.

“I’d been working on the book before I took the EW job. They’ve been supportive. As a woman in the corporate world, it’s difficult enough to battle. Luckily, I’m strong and independent. Some find that intimidating. But I also smoke pot,” Halperin affably permits.

Keeping up with Hollywood gossip while preparing for Pot Culture exposure, the industrious author used her L.A. connections to amp up mod marijuana coverage.

“I did a Rob Thomas ‘In The Studio’ piece for Rolling Stone. Within ten minutes he pulled out a bong. We became friends and he was the first person I called for a celebrity essay. The stoner bond is very strong. Once you smoke with someone, you’ve got common ground. On a certain level, we could relate strictly because of that,” she shares. “Adrianne Curry from America’s Top Model, who’s married to Christopher Knight (a.k.a. Peter Brady), is a huge pot head. It’s rare to find visible female celebs volunteering information. She talked about the troubles she went through hiding weed stench. She was very open. Not every stoner’s a lazy slacker that’s crunchy, dreadlocked, and tie-dyed.”

Unlike tobacco-averse Bloom, Halperin is an on-again off-again cigarette smoker (though Bloom smirks at the off-again part). She admits smoking cigs is hard to stop and agrees marijuana may not be addictive.

“Quitting cigarettes is tough. They’re extremely harmful and have become a great tragedy I still struggle with,” Halperin confirms.

However, unlike Bloom and I, she’s wearily unsure of marijuana’s dissenting quandaries. “Pot hasn’t been studied long enough to know if there’s physical and mental dependence. Are the carcinogens damaging? Are there any proven cases of lung cancer due to pot smoking? I don’t think so.”

One of Halperin’s favorite marijuana strains, Sour Diesel, has become increasingly common out West, where growers have seemingly perfected the once-indigenous East Coast bud. She understands there’s different smoke for different folk.

In step with Bloom, Halperin concludes, “I’ve learned from California Medical Law that certain strains are better for certain people. Sativa is lighter and gives most people more energy whereas an indica strain like Kush could put you to sleep. Some patients may need to be sedated to cope while others want to be invigorated and animated. So picking the right strain is important. People should be able to medicate for both common and uncommon ailments.”

No argument here.

In the future, the enterprising authors hope to publish updated Pot Culture guides, since technological advances, innovative methodology, and newfound material need amended ascertainment. One glaring omission may’ve been the exclusion of High School Confidential, an audaciously forward-thinking ’58 film featuring West Side Story ’Jet’ Russ Tamblyn and platinum blonde hottie, Mamie Van Doren. Brought to my attention by Bloom, the legendary drama is loaded with much of the jargon modern stoners still utilize. A fascinatingly sympathetic morality play informed by James Dean’s rebellious Rebel Without A Cause flick, it disses heroin but leaves open the argument against marijuana as a gateway drug.

JON SPENCER BLUES EXPLOSION BITE BACK WITH ‘PLASTIC FANG’

Interviews, ,

FOREWORD: The first time I saw Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, they played a brilliant two-hour set at CBGB’s. I had to piss halfway through but waited ‘til conclusion because I was pressed up against the right-hand speaker and could barely move. But that’s the kind of crazed adventure it is to watch these venerable Blues-punk denizens. I spoke to Spencer, second guitarist Judah Bauer, and drummer Russell Simins at Matador’s downtown New York office. Spencer was there first, so I got some tidy quotes off the rather shy front man. Then, the real fun started when his two co-conspirators showed up all loosey goosey. A sold-out Irving Plaza show followed a week later, where I hooked up with the trio backstage for some friendly debauchery afterwards. ‘04s Damaged, under the shortened moniker, Blues Explosion, was the last recorded outing for the threesome, as of ’09.

Currently, Spencer’s married to Boss Hog vocalist, Cristina Martinez. His ’05 side-project, Heavy Trash, benefited from eager spontaneity. Bauer backed Cat Power on an ’06 tour. And Simins was last seen at Bowery Ballroom in ’08 backing pre-teen brother-sister punk novelty, Tiny Masters Of Today. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

First and foremost, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s unbeatable live shows bring back the crazed excitement and frenzied sexuality of post-World War II Blues legends Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf. Furthermore, skinny, jet black-haired frontman Jon Spencer’s gyrating pelvis and swiveling hips mutate early rocker Elvis Presley with Rhythm & Blues sensation James Brown. Finally, his spindly guitar mannerisms and rubber-legged duck walks imitate Chuck Berry and Pete Townshend to a tee.

New Hampshire-raised Spencer first gained ‘80s underground attention with New York scuzz-rockers Pussy Galore, which included Neil Haggerty (before hooking up with guitarist/ heroin chic model Jennifer Herrema as Royal Trux) and Cristina Martinez (Boss Hog leader whom Spencer married). After stints in the Gibson Brothers and Honeymoon Killers, Spencer borrowed the two guitar-one drum approach of raw-boned bluesrockin’ trio Hound Dog Taylor & the Houserockers and formed the New York-based Blues Explosion with like-minded Wisconsin-raised guitarist Judah Bauer and Long Island-based drummer Russell Simins.

Inspired by the unbridled amateurism of ‘60s garage rock compilation, Back From The Grave, ‘92s developmental Crypt Style! put this experimental blues-wracked combo on the map and ‘93s funkier Extra Width expanded their scope. But these deconstructive neo-Blues minimalists truly hit stride on ‘94s hip-hop-flavored Orange. From the Elvis-stoked title track and the soulful retro-fashion workout “Bellbottoms” to the name-checking boogie-shuffled chant “Sweat,” its rip-roaring appeal found an eager audience soon to be knocked out by the primitive Southern Blues of Fat Possum Records’ septuagenarians R.L. Burnside, Junior Kimbrough, and T-Model Ford.

One-off collaborations with Burnside and renowned funk soul brother Rufus Thomas (on the Stax-derived “Chicken Dog”) helped make ‘96s rural Blues-fried Now I Got Worry JSBX’s heaviest, hardest hitting set yet. Offering a more refined approach, ‘98s techno-infiltrated Acme (with additional remixes extracted for the arguably better Xtra Acme USA) depleted the scruffy shagginess of its predecessors for more structured uniformity. (Remix fans should check out indie rocker Calvin Johnson’s ancillary Dub Narcotic Sound System Meets JSBX)

With their sleazy gutbucket ‘rawk’ still intact, ‘02s Plastic Fang chills with more consistent, persistent thrills. Spencer’s love of monster movies and scary beasts inform the demonic “Killer Wolf,” the blustery “Midnight Creep,” and the whiskey-bent “Down In The Beast” (where the ghosts of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and Howlin’ Wolf meet Captain Beefheart in the backwoods). The wankering fuzz-distortion of “Shakin’ Rock ‘N’ Roll Tonight” recalls Keith Richards’ Exile On Main Street rhythm guitar work while “Over & Over” re-visits Chuck Berry circa ‘57. Big Easy pianist Dr. John and Funkadelic keyboardist Bernie Worrell punctuate the juke joint ditty “Hold On” and Spencer’s theremin blurts complement the icy “Point Of View.” Capturing Plastic Fang’s spontaneous energy and exhilarating performances was veteran producer Steve Jordan.

Last time I caught JSBX live was at CBGB’s around ’97. There was a line around the block waiting for tickets and then you proceeded to play for two straight hours. How’s the show changed?

JON: We just go out and do it and things happen on their own. The live show evolves in its own way. We’re playing all these new songs live for a year now.

How do you transform from a low key, shy guy off-stage to such a sexually gyrating extrovert on-stage?

JON: I don’t know. It’s crazy and puzzling. I’m sure it has something to do with where I’m from.

Did the thick, bushy moustache and beard you had last year influence the werewolf alter ego of Plastic Fang?

JON: Monsters and horror movies have always fascinated me. It’s fun for me. (At this point, Judah Bauer walks in and starts reading a copy of this publication)

What made you decide to work with a full-time producer for the first time?

JON: Steve Jordan, the producer, and Don Smith, who recorded and mixed it, are more traditional mainstream guys. They did a great job and are largely responsible for the way it sounds. We had a great time making Plastic Fang. It was hard work, but a pleasant experience. We were lucky to use really cool old equipment. Most vocals were done using incredibly rare, valuable, expensive microphones. We’re students of music and these producers showed us some of what goes on in the recording studio and how records are made. We just hit it off. It was nice to entrust someone else. They made small changes to a couple song arrangements.

Your vocals sound cleaner and more up-front.

JON: Don spent a lot of time with the vocals, going through specific syllables and words. For him to be able to hear the entire story was crucial. We had 19 songs, but mixed 17. We left some of those out so the album wouldn’t be super-long.

What influences affect your guitar playing, Judah?

JUDAH: I like the influence of open-string Delta Blues, like John Lee Hooker.

Besides JSBX, are there any current bands exploring the blues through rock music you enjoy?

JUDAH: There’s a bunch of bands influenced by the Blues. How ‘bout the White Stripes – one guitar and drums. The North Mississippi All-Stars are great Blues-influenced rockers. (The somewhat tardy Russell Simins now enters)

Is JSBX appreciated as much Down South where the Blues originated?

JUDAH: There’s a rock circuit we play. I don’t know if the small juke joints exist anymore. People down there don’t have the affinity for the Blues anymore. There’s more people up North into the Blues now. The kids Down South are now into hip-hop.

RUSSELL: I’m into DJ Shadow’s Brain Freeze with Cut Chemist. It was a series of cut-up 45’s with amazing funk and R & B sounds. They sampled these unknown 45’s and took ads like “milk is good for you” and made it sound new, fresh, and vicious.

JON: My favorite period of hip-hop was the early ‘90s with Public Enemy, Ice Cube’s Death Certificate, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, the Geto Boys.

RUSSELL: There’s some great shit now, like Outkast. Their live show is unbelievable. On the Grammy’s, they were fuckin’ great. I also think that new Dead Prez record is cool.

Our conversation then slips into favorite t.v. shows such as The Sopranos, Family Guy, and Greg The Bunny. Then, the New York-based trio head out of Matador’s offices for some photography sessions.

-John Fortunato

JOHN VANDERSLICE & MOUNTAIN GOATS @ KNITTING FACTORY

Live Reviews

John Vanderslice / Mountain Goats / Knitting Factory / Nov. 6, 2002

FOREWORD: Lyrical indie rock singer-songwriter John Vanderslice and Mountain Goats’ bard John Darnielle hooked up for this snug Tribeca concert during ’02. By ’04, Darnielle had hired Vanderslice to produce ‘04s We Shall All Be Healed. The next two Mountain Goats albums, ‘05s recommended The Sunset Tree, and ‘06s lesser Get Lonely, continued to unload hauntingly autobiographical retreats. I’m less familiar with ‘08s Heretic Pride.

As for Vanderslice, he went on to make several conceptualist albums, such as ‘04s Cellar Door, ‘05s instrumentally expansive Pixel Revolt, and Iraq War protestation, Emerald City. ‘09s Romanian Names is yet to be perused. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

A polished cut above contemporary lo-fi bedroom recorders, San Francisco troubadour John Vanderslice and Iowa-based John Darnielle (Mountain Goats principal) sketch earnest minimalist folk for their growing minions. Looking dapper despite unkempt crops of dyed blonde hair, humble Vanderslice warmed up the sweaty, packed Knitting Factory with a reliable set of efficiently revelatory charmers.

Backed by former MK Ultra partner, bassist Dan Carr (Creeper Lagoon), drummer Christopher Mc Guire (Kid Dakota), and an off-stage sound booth sampler, Vanderslice alternated between acoustic and electric guitar. His flickering songs lost none of their emotional intensity, haunting anxiety, or conviction in live performance. He neatly contrasted ever-changing moods and abrupt tempo shifts, never getting overly sedate or conversely, too unsettled. In support of his critically acclaimed Life And Death Of An American Fourtracker, the veritable handyman brought an unerring honesty to bittersweet fare such as the neo-orchestral “Me And My 424,” the burbling earthy dreamscape “Under The Leaves,” and the reserved dirge “The Mansion” (with its nifty sampled South of the Border horns).

Bloomington, Indiana-born, California-raised Mountain Goats curator John Darnielle applied his expressive high-pitched baritone to Gaelic-tinged Anglo-acoustic songs, contributing whimsical between-song quips. His half-spoken vocal inflections straddled between urgent Billy Bragg insistence (minus the politics) and abstract Tim Buckley surrealism (sans weird eccentricities). Before bassist Peter Hughes came aboard to accompany the confident acoustic strummer, Darnielle broke out five resplendent postcard narratives full of everyday observations and imagery-laden vistas. With Hughes in tow, he spanned the Mountain Goats sprawling catalogue of terse trinkets going all the way back to ‘95s Sweden album. Some were thrifty openhearted love letters glimpsing into the artists’ fascinating trivialities and minor insecurities. He kept the audience in suspense with the solemn title track to his latest release, Tallahassee, then closed with another Florida-bound treasure, the UK-only single “See America Right,” a perilous post-jail fable about “driving up from Tampa.”

You could comfortably place these intelligent poet-lyricists next to convincing though less colorful, less charismatic, and drier DIY brethren Smog (Bill Callahan), Palace Music (Will Oldham), or Mark Eitzel. But I’d bet if you asked either one, ‘60s luminaries Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and the above-mentioned Buckley inspired them more.

GARLAND JEFFREYS @ PARAMUS PICTURE SHOW

Live Reviews

Garland Jeffreys / Paramus Picture Show / June 12, 2006

FOREWORD: Brooklyn-bred singer-songwriter Garland Jeffreys was a multi-cultured artist with an expansive stylistic range from soul to rock to reggae. His most popular competition became a semi-hit for unheralded rockers, the British Lions. In ’07, a year after this set at the now-defunct Paramus Picture Show, Jeffreys delivered respectful comeback, I’m Alive. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

While inconspicuously walking down the aisle to the stage of this converted movie theatre for a criminally under-attended two-and-a-half hour Paramus Picture Show gig, biracial Brooklyn troubadour Garland Jeffreys politely quipped ‘how ya doing?’ before entertained adoring fans that hung on his every word. Alternately wearing several black and white fedoras that metaphorically matched the racial dichotomies of his mulatto ancestry, Jeffreys initially performed solo acoustic like he’d originally done in the early ‘70s at West Village coffeehouse Gerdes (where he paid to perform onstage).

Commendably working for goodwill charities when not rendering compensated performances, the sixtysomething Jeffreys’ voice held up fine, crackling only a tad at his upper register as his aching baritone dispatched vivid reflections and childhood confessionals. He brought up long-time partner Alan Friedman for the balladic lullaby, “New York Skyline,” before a full band consisting of veteran musicians (Mekons drummer Steve Goulding, bassist Bryan Stanley, electric guitarist Mark Bosch, and Zecca Esquibel) joined the close-knit duo for the scruffy “Rough And Ready,” danceably exuberant “Jump Jump,” and other ‘70s/’80s fare. The Gospel-derived anti-prejudicial “Don’t Call Me Buckwheat” got the crowd clapping along while “Matador” seemed eerily reminiscent of Van Morrison circa ’68.

After a short break, Jeffreys began the second set alone with two sullen down home acoustical Delta Blues. Then, he brought back his ‘Coney Island Playboys’ for the riveting rocker “Modern Lovers” and rootsy covers of Dylan’s “Don’t Look Back,” Muddy Waters’ machismo “King Bee,” and Jimmy Reed’s Bright Lights Big City.” His blisteringly nostalgic guitar anthem, “R.O.C.K.” and a perky version of ? & the Mysterians’ heartbroken garage classic “96 Tears” were saved for uproarious encores.

Jeffreys’ poignancy, grace, and dignity have only increased with age, as the multi-culti minstrel went through subtle Blues, contrapuntal reggae, and sociopolitical folk with relative ease (despite a few mike problems). A reluctant hero of the asphalt jungle, the Sheepshead Bay native asked for no quarter. He’s currently working on new material for indie release perhaps this summer.