TUNNG GO BEYOND NU-FOLK SEAS ‘AND THEN WE SAW LAND’

Interviews

Attaching basic organic instrumentation to machine-made computer samples and detached rhythms may sound technologically befuddling, but London-based band, Tunng, have taken their earthy folk rooted inclinations on a space-age journey beyond the sea. Bending quirky stream-of-consciousness lyrics and a goodly amount of stately low key charm into freshly coined ‘folktronica,’ they’ve acquired a deeper emotionalism over time.

Getting together during 2003, founding singer-songwriters Mike Lindsay and Sam Genders began experimenting with electronic folk elements from the start. Though Genders left the band prior to triumphant 2010 breakout, And Then We Saw Land, the unique stylistic blend the twosome configured for developmental ’05 debut, Mother’s Daughter And Other Songs, continued to succinctly evolve as Tunng gained momentum.

‘07s Comments Of The Inner Chorus layered poignant neo-Classical string arrangements atop rural folk abstractions and foggy Elliott Smith-affected notions such as the wonderful typewriter-clicked ballad, “Jenny Again.” Lindsay’s sonorously hushed baritone hangs in the air above the dirge-y incantations. Much like Matmos’ musique concrete glitch-pop masterstroke, A Chance To Cut Is A Chance To Cure, Tunng also successfully incorporated a brittle admixture of arcane rhythmic sound affects that snap, crackle, and pop inside your eardrum.

Better still, ‘08s sterling Good Arrows brought crisper acoustical ambience and more pristine percussive clatter to the forefront. “Arms” and “Hands” sling tinselly confectionery and wiry electronic samples across crystalline 6-string enticement. Alluring piano-based ‘oom-pah’ lamentation, “Bullets,” elegant tape-looped chime, “Bricks,” and mystical proggish stomp, “Take,” attain a transcending elliptical stillness only the finest folk provocateurs – going back to Dylan – could efficiently and effectively deliver.

Reaching extreme majestic heights, And Then We Saw Land conveys a surging nautical theme to an excellent assemblage of wholly traditional folk amblers. As if that wasn’t enough, Tunng herein merge fascinating indigenous African rhythms into the incipient baroque-bound computer bleats, bleeps, and bloops that consume their anxious elegies. Bongos, shakers, traps, and kalimba deluge an accessibly versatile array of well-defined tunes. Tribal Burundi beats underscore tingly horn-driven drum-clustered hex, “It Breaks,” and climactic epiphany “Don’t Look Down Or Back.” As an explosive sidestep, Tunng scamper through hard-rocking thrasher, “Sashimi,” with the riled intensity of The Who – a magical ceremonial highlight and their most thrashing guitar shredder since Good Arrows’ Megadeth-inspired prog-rocker, “Soup.”

But the big news is Becky Jacobs, who has stepped up her involvement to fill in the gap left by Gender’s departure. Her breezily uplifting harmonies add authentic Gaelic flavoring to Gregorian-chanted hummer, “These Winds,” and posh echo-drenched seduction to spindly acoustic piano twinkle, “The Roadside.” She shares nimble dulcet lead vocals with Lindsay on gentle banjo-laden homecoming, “Hustle.” Furthermore, current band mates Martin Smith, Phil Winter, and Ashley Bates affix synths, samples, Spanish guitar, melodica, and harp to the latest cavalcade of sounds. Newest member, drummer Simon Glenister, beefs up the backend.

Put aside any doubts, Tunng’s truly raised the bar with their fourth long-play excursion.

 

The album title, And Then We Saw Land, seems to indicate musical discovery and its inherent fulfillment.

MIKE LINDSAY: It’s a compilation of a few things. There’s quite an adventurous feel to the record – its romantic journeys and nautical themes now and again – to make it feel like an excursion. It was a challenging record and the title’s a bit of a metaphor for feeling good about our situation.

Despite your latest instrumental experimentation, there’s an obvious traditional folk setting embracing each separate track.
 
Some people don’t think it’s folk enough, others think it’s funky. Maybe it just has a bigger sound. I don’t know if it’s more experimental though. Maybe it’s more accessible in a way. We never used so many layers of voices before, or electric guitars and drums. The process may have been more experimental, but I don’t know if it’s more so than Comment – just a bigger sound, which we wanted.
 
Did Tunng’s ’08 tour with respected Malian desert Blues band, Tinawiren, affect the jungle rhythms and Burundi-styled drumming popping up on a few tracks?
 
We definitely learned some rhythms from them. A few subtleties may have rubbed off. There was a way we played live with a bunch of lovely guys who didn’t speak any English at all. But we weren’t trying to make a Mali Blues record after doing the tour. But we may have secretly stolen some rhythms. (laughter)
 
Becky Jacobs was given free reign to be a front woman. Her evolution within the band has been extraordinary.
 
  She was briefly on our first record’s “Mother’s Daughter.” But Sam left so we had to dig deep and find a new lead vocal sound. She’s great. Live, she’s more prominent than you’d think on the previous records. She stepped up and it worked well. Sam’s now working on his own record. I may try to help out. Now, it’s mainly the five of us with Ben composing some lyrics.
Tell me about the 15-person choir helping out on Land.
 
They were people I know as friends from an East London school. Some are in other bands. It was a rainy evening and I got them to sing along. Hopefully, in the live setting, the audience will play their part. But that might be a lot to ask.
 
On antediluvian folk rejuvenation, “These Winds,” Becky’s Gaelic phrasing is reminiscent of the late Sandy Denny.
 
It is the most traditional tune Becky has written. There’s a virtual a cappella moment Phil put through an otherworldly glitch. It’s kind of about hurricanes. That was done in about half-an-hour. We were gonna turn it into something else but it just seemed so sweet like that.
 
On the other hand, “Sashimi” is the most explosive rock song Tunng’s ever attempted.
 
It’s actually about a weird whirlwind Parisian romance. But you wouldn’t get that from the lyrics. It’s metaphorical. I really like the ¾ time stuff. That reminds me of a cross between Cornelius and Bruce Springsteen. That was one of the first songs written for the LP – an exploding three-chord powerful beast.
During Comments, there are tender moments where you sing in a hushed moan recalling Elliott Smith’s softer wisps. I notice you adapted that type of phrasing for “With Whiskey” as well.
 
Becky and I wrote that, changed some lyrics around, and actually did another version for a French film. It was written around that and we did a different version for Land. I just wanted to have a beautifully stuffed tune. Its chorus is in homage to Morten Harket of (Norwegian synth pop band) a-ha in a ‘best ‘80s pop tune’ kind of way.
Though your nautical themes are perhaps less authenticated, they compare favorably to the Decemberists and Port O’Brien.
 
Port O’Brien are one of my favorite bands. Their newest one, Threadbare, brought the girl (Cambria Goodwin) out front as well – which I found quite interesting after we did our LP with Becky up-front. They’re a great band. 
 
Were most of your songs constructed from simple acoustic guitar designs?
  A lot of the album started with acoustic guitar. I went to India for a couple months to get a few ideas on electric guitar as well. I fit lyrics to that and built rhythms. The middle section of “It Breaks” was a nice surprise with the addition of swelling horns. All four Tunng records were put together in the studio in a jigsaw manner through trail and error. We work out how to play them live later. In India, I got a chance to breakaway from live playing around Christmas ’08, hanging around and meeting people. There was a great Classical Indian music festival. I tried turning some of those elements into bigger tunes and “It Breaks,” as well as “Hustle,” were two of them.
Would you consider Tunng part of the contemporary Nu-Folk scene?
  I don’t know what we are anymore. I guess just a pop band. Five years ago there was a scene we didn’t know anything about but we got stereotyped – which worked out well for us. In England, Adem, Laura Marling, Rachel Unthank, Beth Jeans Houghton, and Memory Band are considered nu-folk. America had the freak folk scene with Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom. We just do what we do and I think it’s quite unique.
How has Tunng advanced over the course of four albums?
 
It has all been natural and organic. It’s easier to say there are differences. We’ve moved forward with production and haven’t stayed with such electronica cut ‘n paste and glitch methods.
 
Who were some formative influences?
 
My mom and dad were into the Beatles and liked Jazz. But they weren’t massive music fans. I played guitar since age nine. I was a metal head for awhile. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Megadeth, and Slayer rules. I got more into Pentangle and Fairport Convention and acoustic finger-style guitar later on.

 

-John Fortunato

 

PORTSMOUTH DIRTY BLONDE ALE

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More sour than sweet in 4-month old bottled version, fizz-popped hazy golden moderate body brings tart lemon peel bittering to floral, herbal, and grassy hops. At midst, teasing candi-sugared sweetness folds into vinous yellow grape esters, unripe orange rinds, and yellow peach skins. White-breaded backdrop softens citric illusions, allowing dry straw-hay-barnyard parch to gain influence. Touch of vodka or gin liquoring in deep recess.

THE LOW ANTHEM MUSICALLY ANALYZE ‘CHARLIE DARWIN’

Interviews,

The Low Anthem, Recorded Live In Concert : NPR

A fortuitous meeting at an Ivy League radio station partnered schoolmates Ben Knox Miller and Jeff Prystowsky in a worthy musical venture that has provided some great dividends along the way. Uniting in 2002 as Brown University on-air staffers at WBRU, the dynamic multi-instrumental duo became interested in learning everything they possibly could about compositional construction, studio production, proper miking, and other technical aspects from the outset.

Four years down the road, the humble Rhode Island twosome would hit the road as The Low Anthem, finding a national audience with their sympathetic travelogues, rustic road odes, and hexed lover’s concertos. In 2007, Jocie Adams came aboard full time and the skillful troika received great underground exposure with the convincing What The Crow Brings.

By this point, The Low Anthem had secured their status as one of the best Americana-related acts, comparing favorably against en vogue folkies such as North Carolina’s Avett Brothers and New York’s Felice Brothers. A more direct contemporary comparison with Seattle’s baroque rock-oriented Fleet Foxes is fair, but the dramatic pathos wafting through the drifting rural pastures this alluring Rhode Island troupe sojourn cuts deeper and goes further on ‘09s magnificent Oh My God, Charlie Darwin.

An ambitious achievement reliant on plaintive Country folk restraint and countered perfectly by feverish roadhouse Blues, Oh My God takes place in the 19th century when English naturalist Charles Darwin’s scientific theories on the transmutation of species were being developed. And despite Miller’s pragmatic lyrical perspective, his solemn requiems cannot escape dipping into spirited religiosity.

“The interest in Darwin is less with his historical figure and more with the way he challenged the idea of survival of the fittest. Especially when you look at morality and the teachings of Christianity,” Miller asserts during a phone call from a secluded Oklahoma village on route to Texas. “It’s a record about how our ideas and values are subjected to survival of the fittest. I’m not anti-religious, but the album recognizes the church has a missionary arm and the church is spreading itself and its ideas like an animal reproduces and the genes are passed on. There’s the reference that Darwin’s acknowledged that sort of analogy – looking for something to hold on to as far as values or identity.”

Miller’s parents were highly influential music informants. As a pre-teen, basic roots rock and acoustic folk artists topped the list of formative compositional inspirations.

“The stuff I heard as a kid were Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, and Pete Seeger. That’s what I heard at home,” he advises. “Certainly, I found the Beatles and Rolling Stones, but Pete Seeger was always on whether at school or wherever. I learned his songs at a young age.”

Projecting gloom, agony, and longing with his strikingly melancholic fragile tenor and nasally droned baritone whine, Miller’s trembled quiver stirringly haunts stripped-down meditational ruminations such as the whispered opening dirge, “Charlie Darwin,” and desolate Cathedral-bound Cowboy Junkies-like threnody, “Cage The Songbird.”

“Those are arrangements we came up with at the end of the process,” Miller informs. “We tried them different ways, changing the tempo, instrumentation, and who’s playing what instrument. That happened right at the end of the studio session. We said, ‘OK. Let’s do them an octave higher.’ There’s this choral quality where we all sing the harmonies together. It’s just a small fraction of what we do, but it’s an important part of our sound. I’m not sure whose idea it was but it came at the end of a long process of figuring out how to (make the songs gel).”

An air of desperation also bedevils poignant muzzle-voiced maunder “Ticket Taker.” Similarly, the barren atmospherics of comforting campfire command, “(Don’t) Tremble,” and mystical yearn, “To Ohio,” recall Nick Drake’s ghostly empyreal ‘70s recordings. Forlorn train-whistle harmonica, pump organ, banjo, clarinet, and saxophone help increase the magnitude of Miller’s solitary grief-stricken hymnals.

“Charles Darwin has a better live feel. What The Crow Brings was self-produced and engineered. Jeff and I did it as a duo and everything was overdubbed. We were learning to do basic production. It was a modest production,” Miller admits. “Because it was just the two of us, we spent a lot of time adjusting microphones and recording each other. Besides the first two tracks we laid down, there wasn’t much of a live feeling to the record. There weren’t as many hands on deck so we couldn’t experiment with these wild arrangements. You had to go one step at a time to see how the combination of things sounded. But when there were three of us (with the addition of Adams), you could try different things.”

Interestingly, the Low Anthem’s ethereal moniker could be seen as a teasingly sly referral to Minneapolis slo-core enchanters, Low, and the hushed anthemic lamentations thereof.

My hypothesis has Miller laughing before he jokingly quips, “That only occurred as an afterthought.”

Then again, he’s not so dismissive of my intimations that “Ticket Taker” alludes to Simon & Garfunkle’s majestic “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” (via lyrical tidbit ‘I will be your arc to float across the storm’) or equally resplendent neo-Classical elegy “The Boxer” (as per the agonized ‘boxer felt no pain’).

“Those are all references I’m very familiar with. But there’s a lot of other songs about boxers like Dylan’s “Hurricane.” So it’s not a direct reference,” he surmises.

Thankfully, The Low Anthem never feel relegated to only delivering drowsy Country & Western-procured entreaties a la the reverent “Will The Circle Be Unbroken” knockoff, “OMGCD.” They prove just as successful reinterpreting Mississippi Delta Blues, tearing it up with the best of ‘em on whiskey-bent junkyard rumble, “Champion Angel,” an electric guitar-driven number that’d fit alongside the Black Keys, North Mississippi All Stars, and early Kings Of Leon.

“That song shows a seriously different side to the band. Why should we be restricted when we’re able to use so many vintage instruments,” Miller maintains.

Moreover, scraggly gravel-voiced omen, “The Horizon Is A Beltway,” and Beat-derived Kerouac poem, “Home I’ll Never Be,” indulge Tom Waits’ raspy beatnik scruff. Another mournful pledge, “To The Ghosts Who Write History Books,” begs for consolation while indirectly exorcising demons.

Perhaps Charlie Darwin unintentionally mirrors America’s current economic woes with its downtrodden hard-times-in-the-land-of-plenty proverbs. One good listen will convince the unsure, and probably uninsured, proletariat that we’re all mere castaways betwixt the Atlantic and Pacific shorelines. It’s sometimes comparable to the bleak caliginous sundowners underscoring two of ‘09s finest long-play indie releases – Grizzly Bear’s divine revelation Veckatimest and Animal Collective’s equally enlightened Merriweather Post Pavilion.

The main difference is The Low Anthem’s reliance on established roots-based folk (dust bowl balladeering and old timey Appalachian anecdotes included) instead of conventional pop techniques. They inventively redirect present-day narratives and pave the way for a looming apocalyptic future with a few choice acoustical renditions. Their grim, bleary-eyed accounts plead for salvation in a world full of fear and pain and disintegration.

-John Fortunato

TRADE ROUTE GINGER PALE ALE

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GREEN FLASH PALATE WRECKER IMPERIAL I.P.A.

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On tap, raspy wood-smoked pine-needled resin-hopped bittering pungently reinforces front-loaded juicy-fruited glisten. Lusty floral bouquet enhances tart grapefruit peel veneer as well as apple-ripened pineapple, mango, banana, passion fruit, and kiwi tropicalia. Gin-soaked juniper berry harshness and sharp alcohol bite never exceed creamy malt richness, giving this a deeper resonation than most in its highly exalted IPA class.

POINT EINBOCK

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Pleasant Vienna-styled caramel-malted grain-roasted sweetness heightens red apple, cherry, peach, and melon fruiting that fades too quickly into phenol recess. Wood-dried floral-spiced hops and teasing grapefruit rind tartness subtly embitter fruited front end. Mildewed fig-prune souring and puckering white grape tartness fill the back end. But better maibock lagers have sweeter malt residue, brighter nectar juiciness, and bitterer hop counteraction for truer springtime ambience.

FLYING DOG GARDE DOG BIERE DE GARDE

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In the bottle, moderate-bodied French-styled biere de garde lacks originality, complexity, and character. In need of deeper rye malt penetration and rounder sour-fruited enhancement, this wavering golden-hazed farmhouse ale cannot properly follow-up likable bruised orange souring. Lemon pith, green apple, and apricot illusions lose luster as juniper berry bitterness gains prominence. Precarious dry-spiced tingle barely registers. On tap, light white-peppered hops prickle salty lemon-limed orange-grapefruit rind bittering and herbal nuances of veritable session  beer.

SOUTHAMPTON BIERE DE MARS

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On tap, French-styled copper-toned medium-bodied Bier De Garde spreads honey-roasted malts across sugar-spiced fruited plain and funky cellared yeast pungency. White-peppered grassy-hopped bittering reinforces acidic champagne-like white grape and green apple tartness illuminated by nectarine-peach-tangerine-mango tang. Sour-fruited midst receives sweet cinnamon-coriander spicing and tertiary sherry-burgundy wining that tames gin-soaked ethanol luster.

BLUE MOON GRAND CRU

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Balmy limited edition Belgian-styled witbier aged and sold as boozy Grand Cru brings tangy white-peppered yellow fruiting to frisky coriander spicing of yellow-hazed medium body. Tart orange-peeled lemon-bruised white grape proliferation enhances creamy butterscotch, vanilla, and banana liqueur whir as tertiary peach, pear, and cinnamon apple illusions receive gin-soaked candi-sugared sweetening. Though opulent peculiarities mesh well, its understated warmth and overall richness deteriorate over time.

Grand Cru - Blue Moon Brewing Company | Photos - Untappd

WEDDING PRESENT’S DAVID GEDGE ENTERS THE ‘BIZARRO’ WORLD

Interviews,
This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly March ’10.
 
 
During 2007, David Gedge joined the minions of semi-famous indie rock artists (Pixies, Primal Scream, and The Cult) re-creating classic albums in a live setting for a generation once removed. When his renowned British band, the Wedding Present, celebrated the 20th anniversary of their stunning post-punk debut, George Best, the Leeds-based crew gained an audience of younger heads poised to discover one of the most resilient rock troupes in the last quarter century.
 
 
Still going strong accruing large cult status in America, these legendary English rockers have now decided to revive their more melodic, less brazen second album, ‘89s enthusiastic breakthrough, Bizarro, with local shows at Maxwells in Hoboken (April 10th) and Manhattan’s Bowery Ballroom (April 11).
 
  A pre-grunge guiding light one small step below the Pixies, the Wedding Present’s exuberant chain-like guitar-jangled drum-beaten attack could be seen as a natural progression from The Fall’s unbridled punk-drunk frenetic intensity. Fronted by Manchester-raised Gedge, whose half-spoken Brit-accented baritone gurgle hurls idiosyncratic inflections, these amazing three-chord wonders grew into a more emotionally expressive outfit over the course of ‘91s moodier Steve Albini-produced Seamonster and two eclectic Hit Parade sets (collecting all their double-sided ’91 singles in order).

Perhaps taking lessons learned from the Pixies, the Wedding Present steadily developed a bouncier pop step and heightened insouciant flare to hedge against the elevated lovesick melancholia their next few full length recordings fully exposed. Seamonsters’ dissonant sonic rumble, “Lovenest,” and murkily feedback-drenched flange, “Carolyn” (plus Hit Parade’s scoffed-up revving of the Monkees’ breezy “Pleasant Valley Sunday”) also deployed a headier grunge-informed pounce.

“Actually, Seamonsters was recorded months before we knew grunge had hit big. The reason it sounds that way is grunge producer, Steve Albini, whose work on the Pixies breathtakingly wonderful Surfer Rosa I’m a big fan of,” Gedge admits. “We were probably trying to get away from the jangly Velvet Underground sound and become rockier. That ambition and Albini’s skills made it sound like one of the early grunge records – very aggressive, very intense.”

Thereafter, ‘94s Watusi widened Gedge’s musical range further, placing acoustic 6-string and piano into the scratchy circular lullaby “Spangle” and debonair ballad “Gazebo” while utilizing climactic multi-part harmonies for joyously surging Farfisa-based chant “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah.” Furthermore, he burns down the house on ass-shakin’ spitfire scrum, “Shake It.”

Gedge claims, “Watusi was a very strange album in a way. A lot of folks don’t like it. It’s different – a sidestep away from the wall of noisy guitars. It was more pop with a nod to retro ‘60s pop, surf, and a cappella. It’s experimental in many ways. But I don’t want to make the same album over again like some bands. That’s stultifying.”

Although ‘96s Saturnalia paled in comparison, wispy-voiced euphony, “2,3 Go,” and soothingly uplifting postcard, “Montreal” are topnotch, offering a convenient holding pattern.

Along with ex-girlfriend Sally Murrell, Gedge took another sidestep with the equally rewarding band, Cinerama, whose ’98 debut, Va Va Voom, brought an orchestral restraint to melodic flights of fancy. Then, ‘05s Take Fountain, originally slated as Cinerama’s fourth album, became Wedding Present’s triumphant re-entry, re-igniting the excitingly fast-paced 3-chord scurry of yore. Three years hence, the rampaging follow-up, El Rey, further substantiated Gedge’s prolific career.

“By Take Fountain, Cinerama had changed. The first album was very poppy, reliant more on keyboards and orchestration than guitar. They evolved into more guitar-based music, which I love.” He adds, “That filtered its way back into the arrangements. It went back to our original Wedding Present sound. We did a London session with the late John Peel for BBC radio, came in as Cinerama and they said, ‘David, it sounds more like Wedding Present.’ We used to have string sections and trumpets, but went back to just guitars. People would’ve been disappointed if it was a Cinerama LP. It created confusion so we switched back.”

Never losing focus on what’s most important – making aggressive music out of a few concise chords and well-constructed arrangements – Gedge continues to get sheer joy creating a harrowing frenzy. His splashy guitar assaults, bolstered by rail-bending bass and rat-a-tat drum patter, are easily digested, if oft-times skewed by quirky dissonant reverb.

Presently splitting time living in England’s southerly coastal town of Brighton and oceanic California haven, Santa Monica, I spoke to the inimitable Gedge during a snowy winters’ day in February.

How’d the European George Best tour go in 2007? Why didn’t you do American shows like you will for Bizarro?
  DAVID GEDGE: In ’07, our label in England wanted us to do a 20th anniversary re-release and mentioned the idea of playing the whole album live in its entirety. Honestly, my first reaction was ‘no.’ I’m more of a forward-thinking musician not dwelling on nostalgia. But everyone I spoke to said, ‘You got to do that. It’ll be brilliant.’ I’m now glad we did it. It’s quite surreal putting yourself back two decades, forgetting all you learned afterwards. You remember yourself as a naïve youngster. It was natural to do Bizarro next. We didn’t do George Best in America because it didn’t have the popularity of Bizarro, which was a better album.
I thought Bizarro and Seamonsters showed great restraint. There’s a bunch of reserved retreats countering the hard rocking stuff.
 
 
 
We just improved. When we did George Best, we were a young band with only a few songs. There was no plan. By Bizarro, we were in a position, by playing more concerts and recording more songs, to gain experience. We matured a bit and put newfound skills to work and became more imaginative and substantial.
 
 
There are three singles collections, including Singles 1995-97, that offer a perfect clearinghouse. Did those singles all make the British charts?
  Yeah. They did. We share the record with Elvis Presley for most hits in a single year. All twelve from Hit Parade made the Top 40, which Elvis did in ’57. He obviously sold a lot more. (laughter) But in this current downloading environment, people are going back to the way things were in the ‘50s, when singles were the main medium. Maybe the LP is dying. CD sales are way down. Originally, I’d play my mothers’ singles pretending to be a discjockey.
What are some of your favorite singles from back then?
Stuff by the Everly Brothers and Bill Haley. I’d play the Beatles to death. Then, in the ‘70s, I discovered Queen and Steve Harley’s Cockney Rebel.
 
If you didn’t have such a British singing accent would the Wedding Present have been bigger in America?
 
People’ve said that. But I’ve heard others say we’re not English enough. David Bowie’s very British sounding but became very successful in the States. It’s not the quality of music you make, but instead, being in the right place at the right time or having a hit on a film or big label affiliation.
 
 
 
“Don’t Take Me Home Til I’m Drunk” from El Rey certainly retained the ecstatic charge of yore. But “Santa Ana” had a fresh dramatic fervor confronting the usual hit-and-run blasts.
 
 
I suppose the early stuff is more personal and intimate. But the drama came later on. You move on and change as a songwriter. Certainly a lot of the bits on George Best I’d change now. Currently, I’m writing lyrics for a new album. The first half of my shows will have new and old songs. The second half will feature Bizarro. I have a deadline to get these songs prepared.