STEVE EARLE’S HARD ROAD TO ‘JERUSALEM’

May 5, 2009InterviewsSTEVE EARLEJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Amerika V. 6.0” addresses HMO’s.

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

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

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

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

You close the album with the “Jerusalem.”

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

What records have you bought recently?

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

STEVE EARLE

‘BAD BOY BALLADEER IS ALL HEART ON EL CORAZON

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

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

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

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

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

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

When did you start playing guitar?

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

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

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

How is El Corazon different from previous albums?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How’d you get involved with the Supersuckers?

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

Did your heroin bust actually revitalize your career?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is there so much animosity between Nashville and Memphis?

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

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

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

You have a collection of short stories due out soon.

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

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

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

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

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

BREEDERS RETURN FULL-THROTTLE ON ‘TITLE TK’

May 5, 2009InterviewsBREEDERS, KELLY DEAL, KIM DEALJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DECEMBERISTS CHRISTEN ‘HER MAJESTY’

May 5, 2009InterviewsCOLIN MELOY, DECEMBERISTSJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AW: Why does Portland attract so many intellectual bookworms?

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

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

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

Jimmy Page played guitar on Hurdy Gurdy Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How would you contrast Castaways And Cutouts against Her Majesty?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS DEVISE PERFECT ‘SOUTHERN ROCK OPERA’

May 4, 2009InterviewsDRIVE-BY TRUCKERS, SOUTHERN ROCKJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-John Fortunato

DONNAS GONNA ‘GET SKINTIGHT’ WITH YOU

May 4, 2009InterviewsDONNASJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were your parents typical ‘70s stoners?

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

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

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

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

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

Your songs are cute, sexy, and reckless.

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

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

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

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

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

Does a lack of radio exposure bother you?

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

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

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

DISTILLERS PUNK RESIDES INSIDE ‘SING SING DEATH HOUSE’

May 4, 2009InterviewsBRODY DALLE, DISTILLERSJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of us are Catholic school fuck-ups.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETROIT COBRAS STRIKE ‘SEVEN EASY PIECES’

May 4, 2009InterviewsDETROIT COBRAS, DETROIT ROCKJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

AW: Who were your early influences?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a shortage of good vocalists now.

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

Is Rachael from a tough Detroit neighborhood?

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

How’d the Detroit Cobras come to be?

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

What does Mink, Rat Or Rabbit sound like?

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

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

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

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE AIM FOR ‘TRANSATLANTICISM’

May 4, 2009InterviewsDEATH CAB FOR CUTIEJohn Fortunato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AW: What inspired you to get into music initially?

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

Your contemplative confessional serenades blanket Transatlanticism.

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

Is it difficult to express frustration without becoming vindictive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-John Fortunato

DANDY WARHOLS SURREALISTIC ‘MONKEY HOUSE’

May 4, 2009InterviewsDANDY WARHOLSJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: I got to be pretty friendly with Portland’s Dandy Warhols during 2003, hanging out with them at their hotel, the Bowery Ballroom, and again later, for a piece in High Times – a match made in marijuana heaven. Besides putting a spin on avant-garde artist Andy Warhol’s name, they were easily one of the most beatnik bands I’ve ever encountered. The Dandys were a closely-knit troupe that used royalty monies from the song Bohemian Like You to build a large Portland designing/ recording warehouse space called the Odditorium.

They gained a modicum of aboveground fame when leader Courtney Taylor-Taylor revelaed the dramatic tension between him and Brian Jonestown Massacre’s confrontational oft-drunk psychopath, Anton Newcombe, on winning ’04 Sundance Festival documentary, Dig! After ‘03s Welcome To The Monkey House, a slight musical departure reliant more on synth-based new wave glam, ’05 follow-up, Odditorium or Warlords of Mars, retreated back to heavier guitar treatments, and ‘08s Earth To The Dandy Warhols was released independently online. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

It’s 3 p.m. on a Monday afternoon at Tribeca Grand Hotel in Manhattan and Dandy Warhols’ diminutive Zia Mc Cabe is still hung-over from washing down six Corona’s with several shots of Jagermeister following last nights’ first of two shows at Chinatown’s Bowery Ballroom.

But at least she got to perform. A month earlier, the Dandy Warhols were scheduled to play The Conan O’Brien Show, but the New York blackout staled that and the band found themselves walking through Time Square, taking pictures, watching pissed off Hilton Hotel customers sleep on the streets, and visiting midtown club Siberia until 5 a.m.

Perhaps it was best to meet Ms. Mc Cabe first since she most profoundly captures the liberal bohemian attitude of hometown Portland, Oregon. Spending her formative years living in a log cabin forty-five miles north of Portland in a Battleground, Washington, hippie community, the kittenish keyboardist watched her mother grow grass, raise horses, and feed ducks.

“Now I live in the ghetto, but (bandmate) Pete lives in the up and coming Pearl District where ex-hippies grew up and became responsible,” she shares as guitarist Peter Loew grabs a couch seat next to us.

Loew spent three childhood years in England, coming back to the States in eighth grade wearing bellbottoms and sports shirts while other students had preppy Levi’s jeans on.

Adds Loew, “I had an English accent so I didn’t fit in. I was a complete outsider which affected what I ended up liking.”

Creating surrealistic music in the clean, floral-accented, pristinely renovated city along the floral banks of the Williamette River, where high end art galleries juxtapose low end counterculture art (screen printing, cheap jewelry), became a serious passion for Portland’s daringly darling Dandy Warhols.

“Influences are everything, not just music,” Loew maintains. “There’s a lot of ideas that get tossed around and 90% never happen.”

After the Dandy Warhols’ formative indie debut, Dandy’s Rule OK, drew attention from major labels, the band signed with Capitol Records and released ‘96s narcotic aural tapestry, Come Down.

“We were listening to My Bloody Valentine, Ride, Spiritualized – things that were ‘comedown’ music for people who didn’t listen to dance music,” Loew recalls.

When I speak to lead singer-guitarist Courtney Taylor-Taylor days later, he suggests, “We try to do what no one else is doing. The way to do that is find something obsolete or unfashionable or at least not what current trends (dictate). We have a signature feel but not a signature sound. Our first (Capitol) album was, ‘Wow – shoegazer’s been out for five years. No one’s made the perfect shoegaze record. By the next record (Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia), if you didn’t have a turntable, you weren’t cool. So we decided to make a 1971 record in ’99. This time, no one was making records for yachts off the coast of Monaco, so we did our Smooth Operator.”

Inspired by Simon & Garfunkle’s “The Sounds Of Silence” as a pre-teen, Taylor became infatuated with learning how to properly structure and compose songs. But this led to “strange social skills” in public.

“Anytime a song was on, which is 80% of your life, I was constantly tuned out (to my surroundings). I’d be in a supermarket with elevator music on and if there was a part of a song that had power to it or chord changes, those chords would move me. I’d distinguish between parts of the song I liked or didn’t like – which is why are songs are so repetitive and simple,” Taylor explains.

For the Dandy’s twisted take on Sade’s “Smooth Operator,” christened “Welcome To My Monkey House” (a title taken from the Kurt Vonnegut novel about sexual repression), respected surrealist painter Ron English combined band namesake Andy Warhol’s yellow banana image with the Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers metal zipper for the cover art.

Recoding began at London’s Sphere Studios, notoriously enough, on 9-11, across the hall from where Duran Duran were finishing a comeback album. That led to several Taylor co-productions with the English new wave icon’s keyboardist Nick Rhodes. Fellow Duran Duran member Simon LeBon added tenor backup to the funky “Plan A.”

“Courtney’s reflecting the worked up nostalgia of the ’90s pre-Y2K and 9-11. It was more fun then and we had less to worry about. We had a simpler life and problems were smaller,” Mc Cabe insists.

“We’d made a well-produced indie record that was very organic. When it was remixed (by Jeremy Wheatley), it got changed. It’s still tight, but the songs are individually sectioned instead of flowing into each other,” claims Loew.

One song inariably altered was the first single, “We Used To Be Friends,” which got chopped up in a machine-like manner, changing the feel of the original version. Though the band seemed skeptical of the Capitol-sponsored remix results, a skeletal lo-fi version of “Monkey House” may be released next year.

Taylor asserts, “I’ll try to achieve the same level of surrealism with less musicality. The theory explores how far you could reduce the musicality to make it seem bigger before you start losing the musical-ness.”

Delving further, the silly robotic “I Am A Scientist” leans towards Oingo Boingo’s ’80s electro tomfoolery while the ethereal “Heavenly” and the hallucinogenic “I Am Over It” provide shimmering mindbending escapades. “Monkey House” also contains a clandestine dialogue-driven short film. The End Of The World As We Know It, which derides ’00s national election fiasco, re-examines the WTC disaster and mocks the impending apocalypsic furor.

At the second Bowery Ballroom show, the tight combo displayed unfailing confidence. They enjoyed stretching their lesser known songs by taking a built-in groove and drawing it out, developing a single beat over the course of a jam, then gradually altering the glistening pseudo-psychedelic surrealism contained therein.

Donning vintage wool golfer’s hat, Taylor looked relaxed as he strummed 6-string elegantly, encouraging spontaneity during the swirly extended mantras.

Mc Cabe, wearing a ripped T-shirt with the Rolling Stones trademark tongue emblazoned by an American flag, handled assorted keys with care, shaking a tambourine or maracas to fill out the lathered arrangements.

Loew sported black eyeliner and a black T-shirt with PUNK spelled out in frizzy pink lettering, adding requisite 6-string and a touch of bass.

Behind the busy frontline sat De Boer, bare-chested with wild Afro flailing, punctuating the deeply penetrating reverberations while intermittent slide projections and ’60s soft porn flashed on the rear walls.

While in Toronto days beforehand, the Dandys, sans Mc Cabe, visited High Times promotional party for the just-released film, Pot Luck.

Taylor boasts, “We had the Rice Crispies treats, banana nut bread, and chocolate chip cookies. Everything had that nice, fatty, oily, crispy pot butter taste. They were all just genius. I ate more than I ever had in my life.”

This autumn, the Dandys will open for legendary rocker, David Bowie, a likeminded artful dodger whose ’70s masterpiece, Hunky Dory, celebrated Pop Art conceptualist Andy Warhol as gleefully as the Dandys do. Bowie admires the wry dry cynical wit of Taylor, claiming he “has me in fits from the moment he opens his mouth.”

That’s high praise from Ziggy Stardust.

In retrospect, Taylor rationalizes, ” I analyze my own insecurities and deal with my own petty problems through music, I’m a therapist for myself. I experience the world even though my disposition is to be afraid of things I try to overcome.”

CLINIC LET OUT ‘INTERNAL WRANGLER’

May 1, 2009InterviewsBRIT ROCK, CLINICJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: The attacks on the World Trade Center not only ruined my beer book deal with office-damaged Avalon Publications, but forced up-and-coming Liverpool band Clinic to postpone a live date. On the rescheduled date a month later, the surgically masked loons truly kicked ass at Bowery Ballroom. Though they never caught on in a big way, the resourceful Clinic continue to churn out albums and hit the road. ‘02s Walking With Thee outdid the bands’ debut and ‘04s Winchester Cathedral gave hope for bigger club dates. ‘06s Visitations found ‘em in fine form but I never got serviced with ‘08s Do It!

Formed in ‘97 by vocalist Ade Blackburn and guitarist Hartley, then quickly fortified with the addition of percussionist Carl Turney and bassist Brian Campbell, Liverpool-based Clinic spike cinematic lo-fi garage-psychedelia with a collage of jazzed up funk, dub reggae, and punk vagaries. Leaning on rock’s past for inspiration and ideas, but breaking new ground with a truly unique stylistic mesh, this art-damaged British quartet enjoys triggering different audience reactions by being perfectly confusing. Just as some of their ambiguous song titles can’t quite be pinned down, Clinic manage to flaunt kitschy eccentricities in an interesting, wholly accessible, yet equally obtuse manner.

A self-released ‘97 debut single humorously taunting U.K. media-hype, “IPC Sub-Editors Dictate Our Youth” secured Clinic’s position as one of England’s most profound new combos, leading to the ‘98 follow-ups “Cement Mixer” and the Velvet Underground/ Suicide-influenced “Monkey On My Back.”

Signed to Domino in ‘99, the primal post-punk confection “The Second Line” (somewhat reminiscent of late ‘70s underground linchpins Kleenex with its affectionate disjointed harmonies and murky bass bluster) set the stage for the engaging long-player, Internal Wrangler.

Loud melodica saturates buzz-toned, electronica-spiked “The Return Of Evil Bill,” beat-thickened bloozy swirl “T.K,” and the dark-hued surf guitar-laden title track. A driving sixty-six second ball of flame, “C.Q.” fully invests in early punk amateurism, retaining the same unbridled urgency and raw expediency of the gremlin-like “Hippie Death Suite.” Moody change-ups include the embalming, organ-droned “Distortions” (a somber-toned, weepy ballad right in line with Velvet Underground’s Nico-sang “Sunday Morning”) and the calm oceanic seduction “Earth Angel.”

I spoke to Turney over the phone a few days after their first U.S. tour began in Boston. We were to have met at Hoboken’s Maxwells prior to a show, but the unjust World Trade Center terrorist attacks took care of that.

AW: Though your band may be from Liverpool, you stave off Beatles and Echo & the Bunnymen comparisons by going off on a more psych-garage tangent.

CARL TURNEY: We distance ourselves from being completely retro by drawing from unusual sources and going one step forward. Hopefully, it’s something new.

Melodica gives some songs a dub-reggae Linton Kwesi Johnson atmosphere.

That’s it. It comes from Augustus Pablo and Jamaican influences like that. We like the actual effect of the instrument. It jumps out in a way you wouldn’t normally expect to hear on a record. We take influences and distort them so there’s no identical reference. We think a lot of the current guitar stuff is a bit cliché now so we try to put a twist on things. We try to be inventive to keep your ear fresh.

“C.Q.” reminded me of the snotty ‘70s punk X-Ray Spex once dabbled in.

It’s a crazy ragtime shuffle with a bit of sirens at the beginning. There’s a punk-jazz mixture as well. We have broad tastes in music. We read about what records influenced our favorite artists, then delve deeper. Shangri-Las records and Phil Spector’s Wall Of Sound broadened our listening scope and suddenly we realized there’s an enormous amount of records we don’t own that have influenced people we like.

Was your family into rock music?

My parents listened to tame commercial ‘60s music like the Beatles. But I branched out to the Velvet Underground and ignored the pop thing. We’ve been listening to the Nuggets collection. And “2nd Foot Stomp” is a bit more New Orleans-type marching band sloppiness with reverb added for that psychedelic effect.%0

HUGH CORNWELL RETURNS IN ‘BLACK HAIR, EYES & SUIT’

May 1, 2009InterviewsHUGH CORNWELL, STRANGLERSJohn Fortunato

FOREWORD: Would you believe the only time I’d get to experience former Stranglers front man Hugh Cornwell in concert, he’d come up sick. He told me that was the first time sickness prevented him from playing. Anyway, this ’99 phone interview with the ‘70s punk legend proved he was still full of piss and vinegar.

Although vocalist/ guitarist Hugh Cornwell’s former band, the Stranglers, dabbled with aggressive melodic pop more often than pure punk, their ‘76 debut, Rattus Norvegicus, was embraced by the same young, countercultural nihilists the Sex Pistols and the Clash inspired. The Stranglers instrumental prowess, engaging song structures, and subtle lyrical restraint gave them an expanded compositional scope even the spike-haired, heavily pierced, three chord punk crowd could get into.

Through the course of a dozen studio albums, the infamous British combo constructed such fine, memorable tracks as: the rousing rock-related anthem “Get A Grip On Yourself” and the spiffy, organ-doused chant “Something Better Change” (compiled on The Collection 1977 – 1982); the sinsiter “Ice Queen” and the Industrial-driven “No Mercy” (from ‘85s Aural Sculpture); and the gleeming new wave-ish dancehall blaster “Nice In Nice” and, perhaps their most compelling piece, the resilient summer anthem “Always The Sun” (from ‘86s Dreamtime).

In ‘88, Cornwell released Wolf, his first solo project. Eleven years hence, he strikes back with the feisty Black Hair Black Eyes Black Suit. Still full of piss and vinegar, and as witty as they come, Cornwell keeps the beat stompin’ on the harmony-laden “Nerves Of Steel,” the hook-filled pop gem “Endless Day Endless Night,” and the shimmering “”Hot Head.” Ghoulish organ penetrates staccato guitar and a deep bass groove on “Long Dead Train” while the soft, contemplative “Jesus Will Weep” makes amends in a sea of orchestral tranquillity. As for Cornwell’s future, he claims his next album will be “extremely psychedelic.”

After conducting this interview from a phone at some Boston venue, Cornwell got sick and missed his Mercury Lounge show in New York City the next night (apparently the first date he missed in 25 years). But he’ll be back, acoustic guitar in hand, to do some solo sets in the near future.

AW: How do you remain so vibrant and motivated after twenty years in the music business?

HUGH CORNWELL: I’m hungry. (laughter)

Do the Stranglers still exist as a band?

They got a new singer who couldn’t play guitar. So they got a new guitarist as well. Everyone’s disappointed with what they have achieved since I left.

Compare your solo work to the Stranglers records.

The song style is pretty much the same, but it’s more guitar-oriented. As I’ve gotten older, words became easier. My lyrics are more about what I want to write about. Practice makes perfect.

Does the album title, Black Hair Black Eyes Black Suit, refer to you in anyway?

No. Actually, it’s a line taken from an old Robert Mitchum movie. He’s a suspect in a strangling case where people say they think they saw a man in a black suit with black hair and black eyes. The detective says, “yeah, well there are about two million people that fit the description.” The song ended up being about the triumph of bureaucracy in our lives, and male domination, unfortunately.

So you feel women are discriminated against?

Absolutely. And it can’t be good. There’s a poet friend of mine who described it as the dull, deafening drone of male domination.

What about bureaucracy?

However much you try to achieve, people are constantly embattled with bureaucracy. It hinders the creative process and enters every facet of our life.

How has it affected your career?

On day to day things, I find it hard to cut through the bullshit. In fact, the word bureaucracy is another synonym for bullshit. Isn’t it?

In the Stranglers, your stage shows were wildly frantic. You’d take the stage nude at times.

There was a lot of testosterone going around.

How has the British scene changed since the ‘70s punk era?

The Brit scene has been dominated by dance music for the last ten years. Now, people are rediscovering songs, which is what I do.

What music did you listen to as a kid?

When I was young, I was into everything: Arthur Lee and Love, Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kinks. As I matured, I got into Velvet Underground, the Doors and Surrealistic Pillow.

On VH1, Chrissie Hynde said she almost joined the Stranglers.

Yes. She used to come to our early gigs and our manager wanted her to join as a singer. I said, “We already have two singers.” It didn’t happen, did it. (laughter)

There seem to be a few personal reflections on Black Hair, like “Jesus Will Weep.”

Oh yeah. That’s about me splitting up with a girlfriend.

Does “Nerves Of Steel” relate to your tenacity?

It’s like a modern day “Get A Grip On Yourself.” It’s about confronting life. But I’d hate to think all my stuff is taken so seriously.

I thought “Not Hungry Enough” might be about a young artist who doesn’t have the desire to carry on.

No. It’s a theory I have. Wars only start because people have full stomachs. When they’re hungry, they’re too busy trying to put a roof over there heads, getting food, and someone to cuddle. When these criteria are met, they get greedy and want to create wars.

Has liberal leader Tony Blair helped out the minorities and poor people in England?

He seems to be working out. I spoke to someone in Los Angeles who said the only reason the American economy is on its feet is because Reaganomics worked. It made sense. It takes ten years for an economic system to filter through. We won’t know if Clinton did good until another ten years. Whatever policies a politician brings in, you’re not going to see the fruits of them for a generation.

If you weren’t involved with music, what would you be doing now?

I’d probably be painting nudes.

WURZBURGER JULIUS ECHTER BAVARIAN HEFE-WEISS

May 1, 2009Beers A-ZhefeweissJohn Fortunato

Inviting pearly-headed yellow-hazed Bavarian wheat ale retains prickly peppered hop zest, sweet coriander-clove spicing, and ester-y banana tartness, staying lively on the tongue. Bubblegum illusions peak through lemony vanilla wafer midst. Musty apple-apricot-orange fruiting enlightens mild backend.

BEERMELODIES

For Beer Geeks And Rock Freaks