GOING DOWN WITH THE BIGGER LOVERS

Interviews,

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FOREWORD: It’s a downright shame when fine bands like the Bigger Lovers breakup and go away. But that’s just what happened a year or so after this interview took place. Anyone who experienced them live or on record will recall their greatness and enjoy this trip back.

Alongside Burning Brides, Marah, and Capitol Years, the Bigger Lovers rank as one of Philadelphia’s best contemporary bands. Less rockin’ than Brit-influenced Capitol Years, louder than sleepy-eyed depressives Marah, and less visceral than intuitive neo-grunge stoners Burning Brides, the egalitarian quartet consisting of guitarists Bret Tobias and Ed Hogarty, bassist Scott Jefferson, and drummer Pat Berkery mold well-constructed tunes with huge choruses resolved by reclining guitar solos.

 
Recorded in a nearby Wilmington, Delaware studio between Halloween and Thanksgiving ’99, Bigger Lovers spectacular ’01 debut, How I Learned To Stop Worrying, dealt with heartbreakingly provocative emotional concerns in an unexpectedly mature manner, gaining instant plaudits from serious indie pop aficionados. After piquant power pop opener, “Catch & Release,” the quartet settles into the sentimental hand-clapped, organ-droned apology “I’m Here” and the dirgey neo-psych sedation “Change Your Mind.”

Neighborhood pedal steel pal Steve Hobson gives the pretty ballad “Steady On Threes,” the static-y hangover “America Undercover,” and the rural Western tearjerker “Out Of Sight” a lilting Country twang. In lesser hands, the ethereal moments might sink to murky depths of self-indulgent misery, but not here. Every lucid lick, hymnal harmony, rollin’ rhythm, and ephemeral embellishment falls perfectly into place as the bands’ collective instincts are fully realized.

‘02’s stunningly consistent Honey In The Hive brought greater lyrical awareness and broader song structures to the fold. Its warm crested peaks, eloquently streamlined valleys, low key charm, and deliberate drawn-out tension nearly parallels the Wrens mysteriously lovely The Meadowlands. Moreover, the energetic beat-driven stomp “Ivy Grows” juxtaposes the otherwise mellow backend just fine.

Harder to pigeonhole but just as cohesive, ‘04s contradictorily This Affair Never Happened…and here are Eleven Songs About It conservatively expands the Bigger Lovers’ palette, bringing their wistful world-weary melancholia to beautifully supple new heights. Chintzy strings, dozy harmonica, and chirpy harmonies give the bouncy retro-pop enticement “Slice Of Life” its amorous Beach Boys appeal. The somber acoustic retreat “No Heroics” recalls the somniferous slow-core daze of Low or Slint and the tearful “Ninja Suit” seemingly pleads for reciprocal acquiescence.

But they also know how to rock out when necessary. The reflective “I Resign” builds to a snappy upbeat crescendo while the hard-boiled melodic rocker “You” gets high on emotion and the equally resounding “You Don’t Feel Anything At All” plies pulsing no wave bass throbs and friendly guitar shapes to fuzzy vocal jaunts. Crosscutting bittersweet sympathies with guileless splendor, the streamlined “Peel It Away” begs for mainstream accessibility and the irrepressibly irresistible “You’ve Got To Pay” inadvertently wanders into Pat Benatar’s assertive “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” at the climactic breaks.

While growing up, which artists had a profound influence on your musical tastes?


PAT: I was massively into the Beatles since age 8. Then, when MTV came into the picture, the Pretenders, the Police, and Van Halen. Since I grew up in South Jersey, inevitably hair metal took over at age 14. But I had an older sister into Fleetwood Mac. I had a punk rock chick friend who brought me to the Replacements and Depeche Mode. I had one foot in cock rock and one in the bedroom thing.

ED: I’m from Poughkeepsie. My first influence was Classic rock radio. The holy trinity of Poughkeepsie was Foghat, Blue Oyster Cult, and Eddie Money. Rush and Van Halen impressed me.

BRETT: I’m from the depressing town of Reading, Pennsylvania. My dad had a lot of ELO and Beach Boys on the hi-fi. I got into hair metal then quickly discovered the Who and Replacements in high school. Later, I got into ‘70s not-quite-punks like Soft Boys, XTC, and Only Ones.

SCOTT: Early on, I played violin and was into Classical living in Massachusetts. You could rent records from the library. I was into the Beatles’ Rarities record, Abba’s Greatest Hits. When I got into Connecticut College, I worked radio and got into noisy stuff like Sonic Youth and Butthole Surfers. I got so high with the Butthole Surfers once. It was scary watching them live because they had such a bizarre connection with the audience. They lit things on fire and were starving for attention. We got King Coffey to do a backward promo. People were crawling through the backstage window sneaking in to the show and the band was letting them.

Have the Bigger Lovers gotten more democratic over the first three albums?


ED: We’ve become more democratic. Scott is a great 4-tracker. Pat starts the musical critique. He’s like Van Dyke Parks. (laughter)

PAT: The new record is more off the cuff because I was touring with the Pernice Brothers. They were sending demos to show what was going on, so we had a night of pre-production. Then, we went to the studio and arranged on the spot. At this point, I’d rather do that. I don’t get a thrill anymore banging out songs for three weeks in a basement when we could learn on the spot, record it. There’s better energy.

The ’01 debut, How I Learned To Stop Worrying, had Country leanings unexplored on the two follow-ups.


ED: That’s because we had a pedal steel player living down the street. He’d come over and play…but we got the alt-Country tag.

BRET: When we were demo-ing songs for the second record, Thom Monahan was producing. He was in the last incarnation of the Scud Mountain Boys with Joe Pernice, but Thom hates alt-Country because while living in Massachusetts, he went through Northampton when guys would be into rock one day and the next they’d be wearing Stetsons and heels. So when our demo leaned that way, Thom immediately said, “No.” But we weren’t married to the songs he disliked anyway.

ED: He took the cream of the crop and let it work.

I’d guess from the barroom atmosphere of the Bigger Lovers louder numbers that you guys are into pub rock by Dave Edmunds, Nick Lowe, and Brinsley Schwarz.


PAT: Yeah. Did you know Legacy is reissuing the Rockpile record and doing the same for Dave Edmunds’ Best Of and Porky’s Revenge soundtrack. Yep Roc’s trying to repackage Nick Lowe’s records. But Nick’s in no hurry to do anything. He put out The Convincer in August 2001 and didn’t tour America til July 2002.

Was the reference to “Something In The Air” on the suspicious “Ninja Suit” intentionally lifted from Thunderclap Newman’s 1970 mini-hit?


ED: They’re vaguely familiar. Pete Townshend may have produced that and may have been on “Something In The Air.”

PAT: Tom Petty does a real good version of that. It’s his last song on the Greatest Hits package.

Contrast This Affair Never Happened with the previous album, Honey on The Hive.


ED: Honey’s more manicured and thought-out. We’d work to two in the morning, sometimes five, going through stuff. We’d come back next day and re-examine. On the new album, all basic tracks were cut by dinner. We did both albums in one mammoth block, went back, and touched things up. But the new one, we left things for chance. We’d do a track a day instead of separately doing drums, then bass, then guitar.

BRET: We’d go through an entire song a day; basic tracks, vocals, then overdubs. No one had to sit around eating Doritos.

How will your future recordings differ?


BRET: They won’t be as planned out. We’re getting more complex. We don’t want to sound like a typical power pop band. When you get pigeonholed power pop, you never go anywhere. I’d be inclined to call us rap metal so we could sell more records.

STOP TWO-PARTY INSANITY, DAN BERN FOR PRESIDENT!

Interviews

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FOREWORD: When you look at the politicians ruining America at the time, it seemed obvious to run quirky mod folkie, Dan Bern, for prez in ’04? Bush turned out to be a dopey joke while Democrat loser, John Kerry, fibbed about his military credentials then couldn’t quash his embarrassing ski stumble. Bern turned out to have informed, witty, and controversial opinions on many national subjects. And he ain’t bad live, either, as his October ’04 Bowery Ballroom show proved. He’s molded from Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen, but always follows his own muse. Too bad I’m not familiar with his ’06 release, Breathe, and its ’08 follow-up, Moving Home. Maybe soon.

Before endorsing my latest candidate for US president (I endorsed satirist Mojo Nixon in ’96), a short history lesson is in order. Flexible singer-songwriter-guitarist Dan Bern may be the best modern folk purveyor mingling sympathetic love-struck meditations, reflexive melodic lullabies, and sneered political decrees. Hailing from Iowa, Bern’s parents were Jewish immigrants’ deeply rooted in Classical European tradition. His father, a concert pianist-composer with down to earth family values, played standards and originals night and day, but his son became more impressed by the local agrarian progressive folk community.

“I was like a rebel for not studying Classical music,” boasts the shy, soft-toned Bern.

Admittedly, inspirational literary marvels Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain, Charles Bukowski, and Kurt Vonnegut affect his writing style, alongside influential music icons such as blues legend Lightnin’ Hopkins, Country kingpin Johnny Cash, renegade rocker Lou Reed, and the reliable Dylan-Springsteen-Costello axis.

Moving outside Los Angeles (before residing in New York by ’98), Bern became associated with the neo-folk scene that spawned Beck, touring relentlessly and releasing a belated self-titled ’97 debut which still holds up under intense scrutiny. The commendable follow-up, 50 Eggs, featured the cult hit, “Tiger Wood,” and retained a whimsical no-holds-barred quirkiness. The double-album, Smarty Mine, collected a bunch of loose repertoire that hung together well, cresting with the lofty salutation, “Talkin’ Woody, Bob, Bruce & Dan Bern Blues.” ‘01s trusty ‘road epic,’ New American Language, remains an absolute fan fave.

Settling into the desolate bucolic splendor of New Mexico by 2000 – faraway from chastising consumerist mentality – Bern finally felt completely at ease by the time ‘03s prestigious Fleeting Days arrived. The faithful rural postulation “I Need You,” the tender ransacked train song “Chain Around My Neck,” and the escapist talkin’ Blues, “Fly Away,” owe small debt to mentor Dylan, but more so, bluegrass. Perhaps transcending those noble highpoints, the foreboding monotone moodiness of the hauntingly earnest “Closer To You” and the Marshall Crenshaw-obtained rush of the contentious “Jane” enticingly linger. As do the Elvis Costello-like sweetheart tidbit “Eva” and the majestic “Superman.”

Countering the joyous uplift of Fleeting Days with intuitive acoustic restraint, the admirable My Country II (Messenger Records) takes on oppressive governmental fundamentalists by borrowing the nervy Dust Bowl-derived verve bestowed politically savvy folk pioneers Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and subsequent ‘60s luminaries Phil Ochs and Leonard Cohen. As its masterful proposition, the cherished 8-minute ditty, “President,” a friendly enough country bumpkin fiddle gimmick, convincingly describes Bern’s first days in the Oval Office while invoking the biblical parable where God creating the world in seven days. However comical it may be, its giddily didactic message should garner votes for the polite former Iowan.

Fence-straddling voters should know the simmering title track reaffirms Bern’s allegiance and civic duty, as he shuns obsessive conservatives with pliant defiance. Using Cubs slugger Sammy Sosa’s corked mallet as a silent analogy, the nasally Dylan-esque guitar strummer “Sammy’s Bat” ominously equates nightmarish Quantanamo Bay prison grievances and mad cow disease with impending apocalyptic ruination. The flagpole-sitting loud guitar rocker, “Tyranny,” shames feigned democracies while the glorious piano-based march, “After The Parade,” dissects crippled blood-shedding homeward soldiers. Finally, Bern unmasks the enemy within on the pleadingly repetitive critical jab, “Bush Must Be Defeated.”

Due to Dubya’s antiquated views on abortion, stem cell research, and religion, and gold digger Kerry’s warbling Viet Nam rhetoric, faux-war hero status, and off-putting arrogance, a radical change must come to America. Though I disagree with some of Bern’s socialist agenda, his revolutionary thoughts on ridding irresponsible bureaucrats, expanding US borderlines, promoting oil-free automobiles, allowing gay marriage, and advancing marijuana legalization, hit home. So, to captivate disenfranchised minions (and because our national election has become a sick joke – Florida’s hanging chads, anyone), I’m running Bern for president as leader of ‘04s independent post-Gunk Pragmatist Leafblower Party.

AW: First, as our next president, let’s discuss your thoughts on marijuana legalization, since it’ll undoubtedly rationalize thought process.

DAN BERN: Let it grow in all its glory. It seems obvious. It makes economic sense. Plus, it’s a natural plant that grows, so unless God made a mistake… It grows back faster than trees to make paper, clothing, and rope.

Marijuana may be a better medicinal alternative to prescribed drugs.

They’ll make a pot pill some won’t prefer because they can’t smoke it. We should combine THC and Bioxx to get in pill form.

Should there be an age limit imposed for sale?

The government seems to do fine with liquor. I’d leave some finer points to my cabinet, advisers, staff, and lawmakers. I’m an idea guy. It’s not necessary for me to do all the nuts and bolts. Some of that is up to families. If you’re nine years old, you could drink wine. I believe in strong family values.

Would you offer a 13 year-old a joint?

It depends on the situation. It may be someone else’s job to do that. There may be an introductory phase out in the woods. It’s proven people make better decisions high. It gives you an occasional glimpse into God’s point of view if you’re able to handle and appreciate the value and make use of it in good stead. If you’re gonna use anything and be stupid about it, good luck.

In lieu of America’s constant border surveillance, you suggest, instead, to annex Cuba and Mexico.

I’m not advocating imperialism or a takeover. It’s saying, ‘If you want to be part of us, join us.’ It’s all or nothing. Either you’re all coming in or not. You won’t be partitioned. Instead of borders and walls, we could work together.

You suggest ridding capitalism in “President,” but some people will label you a commie pinko.

…Is that bad? I sailed past the Statue of Liberty the other day and thought about that. There’s a word for those who value liberty. It’s ‘liberal.’ Sometimes they make that into a dirty word. The point of collective farms is capitalism isn’t working. Maybe another system would work better. Should we be afraid of that word if it makes things better for people?

‘Liberal’ gets tossed around next to denigrating terms such as bleeding heart or ultra leftwing. But liberal open-mindedness requires responsiveness to change.

That’s what this country is built upon. But if we’re afraid of liberty, if that becomes shouted down, then we’re lost. We have to allow for the messiness of democracy. It’s not neat and clean and doesn’t look like Disneyland.

Were the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq more trouble than they were worth?

I think if we take care of our own people and concern ourselves with that, looking closer to home, then we would act in a more humane way around the world. We wouldn’t have people looking at us as a symbolic target to bring down. If you’re the big dog, people take potshots. But going around destroying countries ain’t the way to go.

You’d make Saturday ‘sex with impunity’ day.

That’s less irritating, more relaxing, and more rational. Imagine a day when you could carte blanche shag anyone you wanted. Obviously it’d be consensual. It wouldn’t destroy marriage, promote guilt or deception. That alone would make us more open, free, humorous people. There needs to be some encouragement of pleasure and widespread celebration of ourselves as sexual creatures. A national day of nudity would be the simplest, most revolutionary idea.

Should Bush go on trial for war crimes like Saddam Hussein will?

For someone who has gloated over the execution of hundreds of Americans, it would be beautifully just.

Some would argue we didn’t go into Iraq unilaterally after Hussein broke 17 UN resolutions.

But name a country with an army that was with us (besides England). The new European Union countries were eager to finally be aligned with a new superpower and probably wanted our contracts. But the traditional, stronger European democracies said no. I think the Iraq War was fought under false pretenses. There was a pattern of lies.

As America’s first Jewish president, I hope you don’t suffer the consequences our first Catholic prez did – a bullet to the skull.

(snickering) I vaguely remember that.

Will you renounce our obsolescent two-party system as insufficient?

I could see the rationale of setting up better parties, but you don’t want a fringe third party – like the KKK – to gain power. But not having a smaller minority to be represented is hurting us. That’s why people supported Nader and Perot. Our current situation is there are thugs in power. So we have to put aside objections to the two-party system and fight the powers later.

Possibly your most durable track, the scintillating “Ostrich Town” knocks people who have their head in the sand.

No one is exempt, including myself. It’s nor meant to point fingers or ride a high horse. I have to work hard everyday to keep my head up. But sometimes you just want to put on WFAN to hear someone rant about the Mets.

NATACHA ATLAS SPICILY ENTICES UNDERGROUND WITH ‘GEDIDA’

Interviews

FOREWORD: If there’s one so-called World Music Artist I truly admire, it’s multi-ethnic Belgium-reared England-based lass, Natacha Atlas. She ably incorporates her Arabic heritage into British techno and trance styles, gaining initial attention as lead singer/ belly dancer for vibrant troupe, Transglobal Underground, before breaking out on her own. Since this ’99 interview, Atlas has released ‘03s Something Dangerous, ‘06s Mish Maoul, and ‘08s acoustic-based knockout, Ana Hina. This article originally ran in Washington DC’s Brutarian.

Arabic vocalist, exotic dancer, and Transglobal Underground member, Natacha Atlas, explores her Egyptian heritage through indigenous shaabi music, which she effortlessly flavors with Western music influences. Her latest disc, Gedida (Beggars Banquet), is an easier to grasp, natural progression from its predecessors, Daispora and Halim.

Full of heartache, sorrow, and paranoia, Gedida’s elaborately arranged operatic laments like the yearning “Bilaadi” and the harrowing “Bastet” offer ominous introspection and bewitching imagery. These chilling moments get countered by the softhearted scamper “Mahlabeya,” which crosses Lene Lovich with Eastern mysticism in a ticklishly seductive manner, and the elegantly breezy “One Brief Moment,” a collaboration with soundtrack composer David Arnold. Atlas previously contributed the spellbinding “From Russia With Love” to Arnold’s James Bond compilation Shaken Not Stirred.

Currently living in London, I spoke to the beautiful and talented Atlas over the phone in April.

AW: How does Gedida differ from the previous two solo albums?

NATACHA ATLAS: Musically, I wanted to get more traditional without losing the Western touch. It naturally evolved and progressed. I’m trying to work on my Arabic grammar as well.

Why did you interpret both “One Brief Moment” and “The Righteous Path” in English instead of Arabic?

Because the English Record Company (Mantra Recordings) wanted me to. They’re trying to get me a larger audience.

I read somewhere you’re half-Jewish, half-Muslim. Don’t the beliefs conflict?

I’m actually Muslim, but inherited the Jewish religion through my father. It’s a bit complicated. My great grandmother was Muslim.

Are most of your vocal arrangements spontaneous or pre-planned?

Most are planned out. There are some improvisations, but otherwise things are quite arranged. But there are areas within most songs for improvisation. That’s how most Arabic music goes.

Does your belly dancing inspire some of your songs? A few seem perfectly suited for belly dancing.

It happens naturally since most Arabic music is danceable by nature. It’s rhythmic. I try to incorporate belly dancing into the live shows, but it’s not always easy since I have to do costume changes while the band does something instrumentally.

How has the experience with Transglobal Underground affected your solo work?

We’ve always had a good band. On Gedida, they follow my direction but have just as much to do with arrangements. We write music together and throw ideas around. Many of my songs place me on the outside looking in, though “One Brief Moment” was about an encounter I had at a hotel. Principally, they have more to do with “The Righteous Path” than the other compositions.

You’ve worked with soundtrack composer David Arnold before. Would you consider doing movie scores?

Yes. I’d like to. But it’s a closed market sewn up. You need for someone to offer you something first. Both myself and Transglobal Underground would like to do scores.

What was it like touring with Page & Plant in ‘96?

They were very encouraging. We did the tour with them because they respected our music. It’s weird touring with them since they’re so huge. They like Arabic music and tried to get a rock and roll audience convinced that we were worthy, which takes a lot of courage.

Would you consider your music avant-garde?

I make rai shaabi with a Western technical edge. I’d never say it’s avant-garde. No way am I Diamanda Galas. It’s not my scene. It’s great to be weird, but you have to be weird naturally. She is. I’m not. I’m quite simple by the end of the day. I grew up with the duality of Oriental and Occidental. All the scales and melodies are there for an African audience so that the Oriental elements and funked up rhythms seem more natural.

Who are some of your favorite artists?

Faye Ruth. She’s Lebanese and in the ‘60s she did modern, open-minded music. It was very impressive. Let’s see, I like Sinead O’Connor, Bjork, Portishead. I even enjoy Will Smith. I’d like to meet him. He’s such a cheery fellow. But Marilyn Manson seems scary and I wouldn’t want to come across him.

What will your next project be?

I’m going to do my next album in Egypt with Mika Sabet, who’s half Egyptian, half English. He does the same kind of music as I do. An Egyptian engineer, Sameh, will record it.

-John Fortunato

MC PAUL BARMAN PROCLAIMS ‘PAULLELUJAH’ FOR PROLETARIAT

Interviews

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FORWARD: I got to know rascal-y white rap suburbanite, Paul Barman, pretty well over the years. I’ve taken his wife and kid, Felix (one-year old in 2005), out for dinner near their Manhattan apartment. And we’ve attended a couple shows together. I’ve even unintentionally angered his mom with some asinine, ridiculous remarks made while helping Barman move his junk to the Big Apple from Ridgewood, New Jersey. I don’t know who’s more of a character, him or me, but I do know he at least has great talent and some renown.

Skinny, bespectacled, curly-haired post-teen MC Paul Barman received critical recognition when respected producer-rap impresario Prince Paul (formerly of Stetsasonic, then Gravediggaz) lent a hand to 2000’s spastically fun-tastic 6-song EP, It’s Very Stimulating. An intellectually idiosyncratic Jewish geek-hop gourmandizer, Brown University grad Barman grew up in Ridgewood, New Jersey, and spent weekends in Manhattan, splitting time between divorced parents. Perhaps the insecurities and paranoia caused by their separation informed Barman’s muse, providing a non-prescribed psychological remedy.

On Halloween at midtown basement club, Makor, Barman’s dressed as a loony professor in white lab coat, offering jocular highlights from the newly waxed Paullelujah while bunny-outfitted DJ Anna spins discs, drops beats, and scatters samples to his right. He’s got the lurching crowd in the palm of his hand rhyming about an all-purpose “Yamaichi Bra,” drawing a portrait of a blonde audience member during one self-deprecating rap, and asking the huddled gathering to shout out names for improvised one-liners. The lunacy hits fever pitch when he puts on a wolf mask and howls about societal ills like a wounded coyote.

As for the suggestive innuendoes and variegated insinuations of the multifarious long-play debut, Paullelujah, this contented varment sprawls quipped parodies across crusty backtracks resembling randomly patched quilts perfectly suited for The Onion canon (whom we visit post-interview, leaving with Our Stupid Century calendars and priceless Drugs Win Drug War t-shirts). A tantalizingly twisted newspaper insert, Jew Dork Rimes, is enclosed within the cardboard-encased disc.

The madness ensues when a joyous female choir helps Barman celebrate “the most amazing career in newspaper history” on the way-over-the-top crazed alchemy of the Gospel-spiked title cut, climaxing in delirious hymnal falsettos Weird Al wouldn’t dare attempt. Next, the “Rock Lobster”-inspired cum-fest “Cock Mobster” dissects delicious Hollywood trim in a gynecological “porn utopia of cornucopia,” becoming the most hilarious celebrity rip since Rocky Horror alum Tim Curry’s ’79 semi-hit “I Do The Rock.” As strangely empathetic as Eminem’s heartfelt stalker masterpiece, “Stan,” the affective “Old Paul” slips into peachy keen neo-Classical “Love Is Blue” Spanish guitar mode while sensitive flute and rainy day ‘60s orchestration embellish Barman’s plaintive memories.

The Prince Paul-produced paradoxical palindrome profundity of “Bleeding Brain Grow” segues into the cheerleader-chanted “get laid” call and response of the clitoral conundrum “NOW” while the MF Doom-twiddled Scrabble schism “Anarchist Bookstore Part 1” slips comfortably into neo-Jazz elegance overlaid by George Duke-like organ motifs. Above a haunting “Gone With The Wind” choir, Barman’s over-intellectualized dialect entices the interlude-ish “Excuse Me.” Somehow even the indelicately sophomoric “Burpin’ & Fartin’,” with its “Apache” groove and uppity orchestral Holi-daze, fits in next to the “darn tootin’” acoustic-minded Woody Guthrie-inspired Country-folk space warp, “Talking Time Travel.”

Opinionated, musically finicky, and reluctantly forthright concerning borrowed samples and soundbites, Barman also sketches cartoons in his free time. He’s even drawn two of Spin’s funniest back page segments.

AW: What’s the secret formula for your success so far?

MC PAUL BARMAN: I try to search for truth and express it like wonderful artists I know, though sometimes I feel like nothing’s happening.

Are you as bad in bed as you let on prior to “Cock Mobster”?

No. I’ve learned tricks in a secret… Did you ever hear of the Yoga Ranch? They have this underground layer near Hawaii in a giant air bubble emanating from an underwater volcano where the sexy swami teaches you the things I know.

How has emcee-producer MF Doom enhanced your style?

Dude, can we give it up for him just a moment. Nobody rhymes like MF Doom. He taught me certain words aren’t important. I have this sentential style where I leave words like I’m, this, or the in. But if you rhyme fast each word has to count. Little words become extraneous since they’re taking up space they don’t deserve. That’s one jewel he gave me. But the beautiful part about working with him is I was a huge fan. When his Operation Doomsday came out, I remember thinking, ‘they don’t make ‘em like this anymore.’ It was the genuine article like De La Soul’s Three Feet High And Rising. Did you know De La Soul didn’t like its hippie-ish cover ‘cause love and peace weren’t cool? They wanted themselves stuck in an elevator three feet below the floor. I could totally picture that ill cover. You should always let an artist do the cover they want. That’s why I’m thinking of recording my next album with a reel-to-reel and a microphone under a tree. I tried to make Paullelujah as multi-dimensional and awesome as possible, using my strengths to cover my weaknesses. If that’s not authentic enough, I’ll do the Folksway record. (laughter)

You’ve already touched upon old folk by turning Woody Guthrie’s “Talking Fishing Blues” into your own “Talking Time Travel.”

I have a friend in a rockabilly band named Nicky Tabasco, who sang backup in “Old Paul” and told me about the Talking Blues format. I already had the anthology of the first volume of Woody’s Ash recordings. It was a raw style with a new cadence for me. So I told producer MikeTheMusicGuy in San Francisco I’d love to do something with a guitarist. We walked 15 feet to his kitchen where Etienne (de Rocher) was cleaning up. Mike asked if he could play guitar with me tomorrow. The next day, I walked around with Woody on headphones and stressed about an ideal storyline.

What’s the genesis behind “Burpin’ & Fartin’”?

That song title was in my head for awhile. I forgot about it until the song was ready. It’s nice when you’re like a word processor. One day you’re like, “that’s a fun idea,” then forget about it. Three days later you have the rhyme version of what the funny idea would be. That goes into the song structure. (Barman breaks into a quick-drawn freestyle rap denigrating news crews) Anchormen are more despicable than confusing politicians and much worse than crack dealers. Every time they open their mouths to say something, they have giant invisible cocks shoved down their throats. They deserve to be prosecuted by the mystic beings that don’t exist to the fullest extent of humanity.

You’ve heard Don Henley’s media diatribe, “Dirty Laundry,” about the bubble-headed bleach blonde. I’d like to see t.v. news reporters die in a fiery plane crash so I could report the damage.

I saw this documentary about pro-automobile lobbyists who end up with powerful regulatory government positions. Everything’s at such a low level with politics. I don’t know how to climb out of the abyss.

My favorite cartoon shows are The Simpsons, Family Guy and King Of The Hill.

I like Dexter’s Laboratory, Powerpuff Girls, and Spongebob. Tom Kinney, an early cast member of Mr. Show, is a cool funnyman who does the voice of Spongebob and was in Bobcat Goldwaith’s Shakes The Clown. He’s an inspiration who struggled in the trenches as a fuckin’ despised comedian and did good work along the way. That influence has a penthouse now.

AL ARONOWITZ: LEGENDARY ‘BLACKLISTED JOURNALIST’

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FORWARD: In his last year prior to dying of cancer, I got to know Al Aronowitz, the highly respected and much-maligned journalist responsible for introducing the Beatles to Bob Dylan (possibly the greatest cultural meeting of white musicians in music history). He actually confided in me and felt compelled to call one afternoon to tell me he had terminal cancer. That was difficult. I felt privileged to have met his acquaintance.

But Aronowitz was a stubborn man who despised magazine editors and hated the way book deals went down. He began organizing his works prior to death but felt publishing agents were trying to rip him off. In the ‘70s, he became sidelined by cocaine abuse and time spent in jail on drug charges. He never got his big break or a chance to tell his stories to the mainstream, but the books he left behind, especially “Bob Dylan and The Beatles: Volume One of the Best of the Blacklisted Journalist,” offer compelling evidence of his involvement with the greatest musical icons. Also included here is my second Aronowitz interview concerning his book  “Bobby Darin was A Friend Of Mine.”

Quite simply, Al Aronowitz is a living legend. As the “Godfather of Rock Journalism,” he was an ambassador to young folk and rock aspirants during the most rebellious, politically challenging decade – the Swinging ‘60s. As a writer for Saturday Evening Post, Aronowitz had unlimited access to beat poets Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, but more importantly, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and other disparate genre-defining rockers. He developed a personal relationship with these icons, gaining their trust and confidence before getting involved with crack cocaine while destroying his career in the ensuing Me Decade.

The profound ‘60s uprising, with its frenzied excitement and social turbulence, created a truly bizarre, totally necessitated phenomenon that still engulfs a less naïve, though still cruel, world desperate for enlightenment 40 years hence. Now a defiant septuagenarian with a walking cane, depleted voice, facetious half-smile, and pissy disposition, Aronowitz embraced the Beat Generation as a fly on the wall during the great countercultural revolution that influenced the whole Civil Rights Movement, provoking the universe to think differently and more independently.

When I visit Aronowitz at his cramped Elizabeth, New Jersey apartment, there are tapes, CD’s, and newspapers scattered about walls and floors. He has covered the shelves holding his extraordinary record collection to prevent the landlord from ripping off more valuables. He takes me to the local post office to mail promotional material for his newly released book, Bob Dylan and The Beatles: Volume One of the Best of the Blacklisted Journalist. A journey back in time, the bold text revisits old acquaintances, pulling no punches and cleverly hiding many mind-bending particulars ‘til the last chapter.

The son of Eastern European Jewish immigrants, Aronowitz was named after 1928 Democratic presidential candidate, Al Smith, a liberal-minded sage he seems proud of. As a child, his older sister would take him to the library, where he initially became interested in writing stories. He attended Rutgers University, broadcasting football games for a year while studying journalism. By the ‘50s, he befriended the beat poets, Bobby Darin, and sundry well regarded artists. But it was his meeting with Bob Dylan at West Village speakeasy, Chumley’s, that would forever change his life.

“Many people thought Dylan was the messiah. I did. He’s the Shakespeare of our time,” Aronowitz says retrospectively. “But I wasn’t a music critic. I wanted to write stories with a punchline at the end.”

By ’64, Beatlemania swept America and Aronowitz got to hang out with the Fab 4 at Manhattan’s posh Delmonico Hotel, eventually introducing marijuana and Dylan to the Beatles. Believing Aldous Huxley’s claim that marijuana opens the doors to perception as nourishment for the brain, he turned on the young, impressionable Liverpudlians straightaway. Lennon was cracking up so much the first time he inhaled, he’d subsequently quip, “let’s have a larf” as a rally cry to party.

So began a long relationship with the biggest band the universe has ever seen. Soon, Aronowitz would get a reluctant Dylan to rendezvous with the Beatles, thereby influencing the poet laureate to go electric and the moptops to bring in folk elements. By ’65, Dylan penned “Mr. Tambourine Man” at Aronowitz’s Berkeley Heights, New Jersey, home (the historic 56 Briarwood Drive West) after listening to Marvin Gaye’s “Can I Get A Witness” repeatedly. The Beatles, conversely, brought Dylanesque acoustical refinement to ‘66s twin pillars, Rubber Soul and Revolver.

But life wasn’t a bowl of cherries for this storied writer. His wife, who died of cancer in the ‘70s, played him for a fool, cheating during marriage with the New York Post editor that hired, then fired him, and possibly, Dylan. He was able to promote a few poorly attended Country concerts featuring legends Dolly Parton, Merle Haggard, and Charlie Rich at Madison Square Garden that ended up in the red. In fact, his Bob Dylan and The Beatles trove discusses his fall-outs with Paul Simon (“I owed him $10,000 I never returned”), creepy radio personality-hustler Murray The K, cranky misfits The Band, and more profoundly, Dylan.

“I think he was fucking my wife. I didn’t satisfy her so she went elsewhere,” the formerly gullible white-haired maven claims. “Dylan would play head games by making others feel small. He’d make up his past. First time I met him, he said he spent time in an infirmary. One time we were walking through the Village, and he lied about (folkie) Richard Farina getting killed.”
Spookily, Farina died shortly thereafter.

Aronowitz candidly dispels a few myths about Dylan, inferring “I was with Dylan when he bought the (infamous) Triumph bike he may’ve crashed on. He made it sound so dramatic. I think he was full of shit.”

Instead, Aronowitz maintains Dylan dabbled in white heat, a thought that evaded him ‘til his own ‘70s cocaine problems struck. “He had a heroin addiction so why would he care about my cocaine craze. But I’ve never seen tracks on his arms.”

Even Dylan’s former road manager agreed he used to score drugs for the folk legend. Drugs were so rampant that Aronowitz, after being fired by New York Post, sold them to gain funds for his own troubled lifestyle.

“I used to score junk for Mick Jagger in Berkeley Heights, but the dealer started ripping me off, so I disassociated myself from him. Mick and Keith Richard were long-time junkies,” he shockingly avows ‘bout the Rolling Stones’ famed Glimmer Twins, before recollecting, “Brian Jones’ drowning death was a setup. He was getting stoned, trying everything for recreation. I tried a lot with him. He got into amyl nitrate. Then, he had epilepsy, which I got too from smoking cocaine. He had an epileptic attack and drowned. Mick was mad because Brian wasn’t showing up for rehearsals and wasn’t focused. Mick felt really put out because Brian wanted to stay with the Blues.”

More disturbing, he recants, “The Band were buying coke from me. I caught Richard Manuel ripping me off for boots and a shirt. I put a curse on him. (guarded laughter) He hung himself! The Band went through a fortune being big time stars in California and trusted the wrong people. Levon (Helm) and Rick (Danko) now can’t stand Robbie Robertson for taking all the writing credits.”

A drug-addled warlock himself, Jerry Garcia was one of Aronowitz’s favorite musicians.

“He was uptight about what happened to his (stumpy middle) finger,” Aronowitz divulges. “His daughter, Sunshine, at the end of our interview, said ‘Did you tell him how your brother cut your finger off!’ He was all upset.”

Nevertheless, that hacked-up unit gave Garcia the clipped guitar sound Deadheads craved.

Another scandalously unrevealed admission is that Aronowitz was the Velvet Underground’s first manager.

“Lou Reed was hostile. The only reason Moe Tucker became their drummer is the former percussionist didn’t want to carry equipment upstairs where they’d play. (Tormented diva) Nico wanted a band to back her up even though she couldn’t sing for shit. (She appears on their debut.) But she was a beautiful piece of ass. But I have no respect for (ensuing manager/ pop art geek) Andy Warhol. I don’t like his art. He was lazy. His concept of editing a film was when the reel ran out.”

He brings forth so many disreputably delicious details in Bob Dylan and The Beatles that expounding upon the peculiar facts seems trite.

“John Lennon was a mean drunk,” he consents.

“Paul Mc Cartney was hard to get to know. He could be harsh but we got along fine. His wife, Linda, was a stabilizing force,” he reminisces.

Remaining friends with George Harrison ‘til his cancerous death despite scoffing over $50,000 from the ex-Beatle in unpaid loans, Aronowitz asserts, “He had the right attitude. He didn’t think he deserved all the money. Money changes everybody.”

Because of Aronowitz’s begrudging demeanor, distrust for editors (“They’re fucking assholes”), and suspicion towards agents, Bob Dylan and The Beatles has been self-published. According to him, former drug predicaments ruined his vocation. He couldn’t get a decent writing gig and felt like a man sentenced to life imprisonment for a crime he didn’t commit.

Notwithstanding, he agrees there’s therapeutic evidence of marijuana’s lingering positive affect on our culture. Chapter One pictures him with buddy, George Harrison, enjoying a joint at Friar Park.

“My voice has deteriorated so I’m congested and stay away from it. I cough up phlegm,” he insists. “Last time I had marijuana it was in a cookie. It’s easier. You’re stoned all day.”

He claims “the government is full of shit” and prohibition created the Mafia, which in turn led to drug gang crime.

“Pot could be a good Kentucky cash crop. I wouldn’t recommend hard drugs. I had my taste and now I have too much to do in my golden years. But I don’t like politicians,” he declares. “Bush stole the election and took over the country in a coup. It’s totalitarianism. He wants to start a Christian crusade. He’s a cynical moron and evil liar.”

Obviously, this old hipster may be withered, but he’s not feeble, though he’d rather watch 60 Minutes or Nightline than pay attention to newer artists. He pops in a tape of powerful mezzo-soprano Jean Maderi leading the Vienna Symphony Orchestra after discussing beloved musician-friends Joni Mitchell, Miles Davis, and Ornette Coleman.

Aronowitz plans on releasing more books as soon as possible. Perhaps the Bobby Darin treatise will surface next. Either way, there’s no denying Aronowitz’s rightful place atop the elite literary pop culture pantheon.
-John Fortunato

—

UNDER-APPRECIATED JERSEY ICON RESCUES BOBBY DARIN’S LEGACY

How many times do you befriend a cultural figure who had the luxury to turn the Beatles on to weed, introduce Bob Dylan to the Fab Four, hang out with nearly every important ‘60s artist imaginable, and stand by terminally ill premier Italian-American ‘50s entertainer Bobby Darin from the beginning? If you’re a valued columnist like my own humble self, the answer is ONCE! That’s how much!

So before 75-year-old self-described ‘Black Listed Journalist” Al Aronowitz finally succumbs to whatever heart, leg, or throat complication he next tries to endure (editor’s note: he died of cancer by ’06), you’d better give this prized writer his fuckin’ due. (Are you listening, Rock & Roll Hall of Fame snobs?) Continuing to mount a strong comeback after cocaine addiction nearly destroyed his life two decades hence, this true “Godfather of Rock Journalism” follows up recent godsend Bob Dylan and The Beatles: Volume One of the Best of the Blacklisted Journalist with equally compelling Bobby Darin Was A Friend Of Mine.

Unlike more recognized rock and roll raconteurs or media peers such as American Bandstand’s Dick Clark, troubled New York discjockey Murray The K, and olden television host Ed Sullivan, Aronowitz maintained unlimited access to the era’s most talented and widely exposed stars. He’d contributed frequently to now-defunct Saturday Evening Post and the still-viable New York Post (whose editor fired Aronowitz in ’73 shortly after the luminary reporter’s wife died of cancer, most likely contributing to his spiraling junkie downslide). Absolutely nobody gained as much first-hand knowledge concerning the inner fears, turmoil, and contradictory lifestyle rock’s tumultuous giants experienced as Aronowitz did. The proof is in the pages of both above-mentioned tomes this once-Berkeley Heights, now-Elizabeth, New Jersey native drafted.

Focusing on Bobby Darin Was A Friend Of Mine, Aronowitz details the dramatic accounts of Bronx-bred Walden Robert Cassotto. Born May 14, 1936, to 16-year-old mother, Nina Walden, whom he believed to be his sister ‘til post-fame adulthood, and unschooled low-level mobster, Saverio Anthony Cassotto, killed prior to his son’s birth, Darin fulfilled his adolescent dream of reaching major worldwide stardom. Growing up poor in various tenement dwellings with rent-skipping parental vagrants, ‘The Kid,’ as Darin referred to himself, suffered from rheumatic fever and was heavily pampered by matriarchal grandmother, Vivian Fern Walden. Before husky, hulking professional agent Steve Blauner took over Darin’s business duties, brother-in-law/ stepfather Charlie Maffia worked as Darin’s original trusted road manager, and astonishingly, womanizing companion.

Recalling Darin’s gloriously sex-starved star-fucking days, Aronowitz affirms, “Bobby liked to walk in on other people when they were fucking and he liked others to walk in while he was fucking. He’d even wear a condom onstage because he’d sometimes reach orgasm.”

After becoming a commercial jingle singer sponsored by rising entrepreneur Don Kirschner, novelty ’58 debut hit, “Splish Splash,” put ‘The Kid’ on the charts, leading to legendary Las Vegas gigs at the Sahara Hotel. Battles with headstrong manager Blauner (wonderfully staged by Aronowitz early in the book), took place often, but never to the detriment of Darin’s career.

“It was Blauner who demanded Darin to cut “Mack The Knife” as a single, even though no one else gave three pennies for its chances,” Aronowitz writes.

Preceding this crescendo-building Swing Jazz rendition of Kurt Weill/ Bertold Brecht’s Threepenny Opera German murder ballad, which easily became 1959’s runaway smash, Darin had gained notorious teen icon status with “Queen Of The Hop” and “Dream Lover,” inspiring the Italian-American pop idol craze. Fellow Bronx native, Dion, and lesser talents Fabian and Frankie Avalon profited from Darin’s massive success.

Aronowitz claims, “Bobby didn’t pay much attention to them. He didn’t acknowledge their achievements. He concentrated on getting to living legend status by age 25 because he knew he wasn’t going to live long. Then, when he found out his supposed sister, Nina, was actually his mother, it came as quite a shock to him because all his life he never liked her. She was a very crude person and had a mouth like a stevedore – very uncultured. All of a sudden, he finds out she’s his mother and he goes a little crazy. He then wants to be Bob Dylan and write protest songs.”

On his own label, Direction Records, Darin cut political song, “Long Line Rider” and a few unfairly ignored albums, which were dropped on the heels of his last Top 10 Atlantic Records conquest, ’66s sympathetic Tim Hardin-penned neo-Classical ballad, “If I Were A Carpenter.” Incredibly, Darin never consumed drugs during the hippie-dippy ‘60s, despite dabbling, jabbling, and rabbling with tons of well-known marquee tranquilizers, making him quite an anomaly amongst sundry acid-tripping, marijuana-inhaling peers.

“He tried marijuana once or twice and didn’t like it. But his manager, Steve, was a big pot head. We’d smoke in front of Bobby but wouldn’t let him in on it,” Aronowitz recollects with guarded laughter.

While Aronowitz brings out the fragile nature of many renowned musicians in Bob Dylan and The Beatles, the only significant fragility Darin endured was a weak heart from childhood. A consummate all-around professional entertainer in the manner of Sammy Davis, Jr., Darin toyed with different instruments, executed vigorous dance routines, told jokes, and occasionally pontificated during magnanimous performances, receiving myriad plaudits as a true blue one man spectacle.

“He’d say, ‘People hear what they see.’ He was a great showman the same way Mick Jagger’s a great showman,” Aronowitz explains. “Bobby was special. I loved hanging out with him and going to his shows. He was a regular guy – a practical joker and a hell of an impersonator.”

Was he as charismatic as Dylan and the Beatles? I ask.

“No. They beat him by a mile. Bobby was in his own niche. But he had such a fantastic story. He had a tremendous life fighting the odds against death. He’d do such great shows into the early ‘70s. Then, he would be so exhausted he couldn’t climb two steps down off stage. He wanted to die onstage.”

During Darin’s final months in ‘73, he had called Aronowitz to come out to the West Coast to start writing his memoirs, but quickly began struggling with paranoia, senility, and bowel problems. So Bobby Darin Was A Friend Of Mine got compiled post-death from piles of notes the aged-in-the-wool author had been saving instead.

*Coincidental Happenstance:  ‘Beyond The Sea’ film*

Anyway… Famed actor Kevin Spacey recently directed, performed, and sang in the semi-biographical Beyond The Sea, a post-Christmas ’04 movie named after one of Darin’s biggest, snazziest, horn-blarin’ hits and apparently reliant on only half the facts.

Aronowitz clarifies, “It’s been fictionalized like all biopics. When Bobby dies in the film, he’s still with (formerly naïve actress, ex-wife) Sandra Dee, not last love Andrea Yeager. Hollywood just can’t do true stories. They don’t have room for that. But Steve Blauner wants the movie to be a success because he thinks it’s the only one that’s gonna get done on Bobby. He wants to start a whole Bobby Darin buzz. His records will start selling again and he’ll get a piece of it.”

 

APPLES IN STEREO INCREASE ‘VELOCITY OF SOUND’

Interviews,

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INTRODUCTION: Apples In Stereo was the brainchild of eclectic pop-lovin’ music freak, Robert Schneider. He continues to release great stuff, such as ‘07s wonderful New Magnetic Wonder. Since this 2000 interview, he divorced drumming wife Hilarie Sidney, whose ensuing band, High Water Marks (with new husband, Per Ole Bratset), released a few brilliant low-key pop gems such as ‘07s Polar and ‘09s Arivar Sullimer. This article appeared in HITS magazine and the earlier  ’99 interview at Maxwells that follows originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.  

When I first had the pleasure to meet underground pop staple Robert Schneider following an energetic Maxwells set by his combo, Apples In Stereo, the friggin’ guy couldn’t stop fidgeting and jittering while he went off on numerous humorous tangents. Was he some goddamn half-baked ADD case or just hyperactive? All I know is the instant melodic hooks and shimmering insouciance of Apples In Stereo’s startlingly bright-eyed ’97 release, Tone Soul Evolution, and its yummy quickie follow-up, Her Wallpaper Reverie, knocked me off my feet.

Now bearded, balding, and married to bandmate Hilarie Sidney (mother of his 1-year old son, Max), the pre-pubescent Schneider originally met classmate Jeff Mangum (of Neutral Milk Hotel) in Ruston, Louisiana, forming the vibrant musical coalition known as the Elephant 6 collective in creative hotbed Athens, Georgia. Releasing interesting lo-fi indie pop by Elf Power, Olivia Tremor Control, and the Minders during the late-‘90s to counter corporate-sponsored teen-pop tripe dumped upon Barney-generation pre-teens, Elephant 6 represented freedom of expression and a bonding of mutual admiration.

While ‘00s fabulous The Discovery Of A World Inside the Moone preserved the harmonic sensibility and bubblegum melodicism of Apples In Stereo’s wild, garage-driven, neo-psychedelia, the recent Velocity Of Sound rocks harder than anything in their growing catalog. From the candy-coated urgency of “Please” to the Ramones-like stammer of “She’s A Little Girl,” Schneider’s terse nuggets blast out of the speakers with newfound grit. Even catchy kitsch like the hummable “Mystery” and the Cheap Trick-clipped scorcher “Rainfall” carry extra weight and pack a harder punch than previous endeavors. Those in search of lighter, easygoing fare are directed towards the toot-sweet emotionality layered across the absorbing “Where We Meet.”

I caught up with the busy Mr. Schneider after he had finished an instrumental remix of Discovery’s bouncy “Go” for an unspecified t.v. commercial.

AW: Incredibly, you’ve managed to condense your musical ideas even further on Velocity.

ROBERT SCHNEIDER: I’m not conscious of that, but it’s what I’m trying to do – make a simple, pure statement in song that has depth without sophistication and complexity of delivery. We strip away past elements and add other direct elements. This record is a culmination of that. I cultivate amateurism in our band by changing up what we do. New influences come to us and we try to head in different directions. We were obsessed with R & B on Discovery. But to do raw R & B, we had to do what came natural by playing garage songs the purist way. There’s an essence and spirit of stylistic pop that doesn’t require thinking. This record is more pissed off, not in a drastic way, but the contrast is the sadness, cynicism, and loneliness get transmuted into pleasant perspectives. It’s obvious to write about being dismal, but making misery sound happy has been our objective. Take something sad and marry it to bright pop instrumentation.

Hilarie has a more prominent role harmonizing on Velocity Of Sound.

Our harmonies tend to be more of a wash so she’s in there with a bunch of singers. I always used her to double my lead vocals, but I spent so much time on instrumental arrangements I didn’t put as much focus on singing. This time, we practiced singing these songs around our house and I captured the purity.

The teen-spirited decadence of “That’s Something I Do” and the Beatles-esque “Baroque” feature Hilarie’s lead voice as she growls in a manner reminiscent of the Muffs’ Kim Shattucks.

That’s cool. They’re an awesome band. I’ll tell her you said that.

“Yore Days” has to be the most pungent, hard-hitting song you’ve recorded yet.

Eric, our bassist, wrote that. I love it. It’s the first thing he wrote and I was excited so the enthusiasm and creativity shows through.

What’s with the Powerpuff Girls connection?

Craig Mc Crackin, the creator, was putting together songs inspired by Powerpuff Girls. I was super-psyched. They sent us a package of comics. As soon as I hung up the phone with him, I came up with a large chunk of the song, “Signal In The Sky,” in five minutes. Then, they did little videos to play between cartoons. We dressed up in different costumes and play-acted in front of a Godzilla-styled Powerpuff Girls video with puppets.

Tell me about the tracks you’re working on with XTC’s Andy Partridge.

I was making a solo record, Marbles, and he received copies of it, slipped them under the bed, and didn’t listen to them ‘til two months later. He’s one of my heroes I admired above the Beach Boys, Beatles, and Velvet Underground. I was so nervous I didn’t call him back for a month. Hilarie encouraged me and we got along right away. Every conversation we had, we’d write a few songs. We both strummed guitars and made so many songs it’s going to be a separate record, tentatively as Trombone Or, which means golden paper clips in French. It’s like a swinging psychedelic Lovin’ Spoonful record with a jugband Riverboat feel. We’ll record in Swindon, England, with Andy next spring. He knocks off free-flowing melodies off the top of his head. You feel you know someone through their music. But when you get a feel for their personality by talking to them, you see what an interesting, creative person they are. I met Brian Wilson and talking to him gave me a new view. He’s so sweet and interesting. Andy’s more talkative and outgoing.

As a founding member of the loose, closely-knit Elephant 6 collective, you’ve sharpened your skills using home studio equipment.

I began 4-tracking as a teen. I’ve produced records by the Minders, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Olivia Tremor Control using 8-track. It’s what I’m comfortable with and seems essential to our sound. There’s a different vibe waking up, stretching over, and picking up a guitar as opposed to driving to a studio to work. I’m turning the garage in our new house into a studio, but Velocity was done in a separate Denver studio. We did Tone Cool Revolution in a Connecticut studio, but I’m happier with the recordings we did on our own. The 16-track recording of Discovery was more hi-fi and clear. Bryce Goggin (Pavement/ Ramones) mixed half of Velocity. I wanted a direct, fuzzy electric sound so rocking, louder songs sounded like the Ramones instead of Blue Cheer. My mixes sound live, but his were roomier, less slick, more raw. I was frustrated my mixes weren’t in the speakers enough. I’m used to mixing psychedelic stuff with a headphone-y vibe. On this album, the basic band tracks were transferred from 8 to 16-track and I did some editing for a symphony of guitar fuzz. I don’t want to be a perfectionist on detail. We tried to capture our live train wreck sound in thew studio by using no acoustic instruments so we wouldn’t get hung up on standard sounds.

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APPLES IN STEREO REVEAL ‘HER WALLPAPER REVERIE’ IN HOBOKEN
 

 

FOREWORD: Originally, I spoke to Apples In Stereo brainchild Robert Schneider after a colorful pop set at Maxwells in Hoboken during ’99. He was a hyped-up fast-talkin’ dude with a great sense of humor and even better sense of melody. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.

After relocating to Denver, Schneider formed the Apples In Stereo and continued to produce Elephant 6 projects. Doused with bright, sunshiny, late-‘60s hippie idealism and that bygone era’s daisy age innocence. The Apples In Stereo combine quirky Beatles melodies, charming Beach Boys harmonies, and glazed Summer Of Love psychedelia.

 

A major architect in the ever-expanding Elephant 6 collective – an independent-minded community of DIY home studio recording retro-pop enthusiasts – singer-songwriter Robert Schneider began producing and collaborating with Olivia Tremor Control’s Will Hart and Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum while living in Louisiana.

Romanticizing exuberant, free-spirited ‘60s pop with an inescapable amateurism and endearing naivete, these welcome individualists have captivated and inspired a good part of America’s current underground rock scene. Bands as diverse as the Minders, Beulah, Elf Power, and the Music Tapes share musicians, song ideas, and instruments under the Elephant 6 banner.

Unlike some of their peers, the resilient quintet refuses to rely on whimsical unfinished demos or obtuse half-baked kitsch to fill out its infectious oeuvre. Apples In Stereo’s paisley ’97 sophomore set, Tone Cool Revolution, blew away formative ’95 debut, Fun Trick Noisemaker, as Schneider’s troupe found a way to really jam-pack condensed song ideas over an entire long-play disc. And now they return with ‘99s playful Her Wallpaper Reverie EP, connecting lysergic ditties with twinkly commercial interludes.

At Maxwells in Hoboken, the Apples In Stereo adrenalize their shaggy pop-rooted songs with shambolic Velvet Underground-derived spontaneity, employing high-powered amps and cracklin’ feedback residue. Live, the fuzz-toned “Allright/ Not Quite” gets its swaying Syndicate Of Sound/ Big Star studio sheen replaced by a dusky garage rock tone strikingly similar to Boston legends, the Lyres.

After a magnificent one-hour set, Schneider is a hyperactive speed-talkin’ demon constantly shaking hands and taking pictures with fans and local radio personalities. Somehow, I got to catch up with him and bassist Eric Allen for a few moments of conversation.

What music intrigued you as a kid?
ERIC: The first band that really intrigued me was Kiss. The first song I remember really liking was Hues Corporation’s “Rock The Boat.” I got my mother to buy me that single when I was three years old. That song just blew me away.

ROBERT: I grew up in Northern Louisiana and I was originally from South Africa. The social influence from growing up as a kid got me into music. I’d listen to the radio and watch MTV. My parents sent me to Beatlemania, and Cheap Trick was my first real concert. The Beatles and pop music have always been an influence on a lot of our taste preferences. That’s what we’ve gravitated towards and been obsessed with. We love those songs because they’re so great sounding. On top of that, the recording style, songwriting, and the amount of rock energy they put into them was important. The soul of the music is so great. I hear so much humanity in it.

ERIC: My dad had all these records. By the time I was in fifth grade, I’d listen to all the Beatles records. The Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers is still my favorite record. I have three copies on vinyl, a CD, and a tape for my car. It’s the same thing with Exile On Main Street. Also, as a kid, one of the first words I ever said was “Moonshadow,” because my parents had the Cat Stevens album that song’s from. So I got interested in my parents’ collection.

How have the Apples In Stereo evolved since Tone Soul Revolution?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: One thing that makes the new album kind of different is we got a 16-track two-inch machine which is what Led Zeppelin I and II were recorded on. Also, we were listening to more rhythm and blues and it came out in our playing. It’s weird. In the studio we may go over a song laboriously. We play live, work on it in practice, but if no one’s excited about it, we won’t record it. Then, there’s songs that immediately click. And there’s studio songs which Robert teaches us. He’ll say, ‘There will be only bass on the bridge and the choruses.’

In the studio your songs have sweet bubblegum appeal, but live the songs are louder and more aggressively rock-oriented. Why?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: The candy coating gets disseminated for an MC5/ Blue Cheer sound. I think the new album has heavier songs. It’s going for a Led Zeppelin/ Sly & the Family Stone warmth.

Do you think we’ll see a full scale pop revival on the airwaves soon?
 
 

 

 

ERIC: It seems absurd that there are great pop songs that stick in your head being made all the time, but radio is looking so hard for the newest thing, they can’t see the forest for the trees. Maybe these songs will be heard on oldies radio at some future time. Look at old AM radio and its recycling of R & B and jump Blues. Someone would take an old song, take the same lyrics, and have someone honking on the baritone sax instead of playing it on the guitar. It becomes a new song and a new sound. Everyone loved it and it got through to the kids. I think that’s how pop music carries on the tradition. There’s always going to be 13-year-old girls who get into trendy Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and Jennifer Lopez. But does radio have to spend 100% of its time exposing that?

How does a nice pop band like Apples In Stereo fit in with all those jam bands out in Colorado?
 
 

 

 

ROBERT: We jam. But we try to keep it under two minutes. The Minders lived out there, and they’re a cool pop band. But they moved away. There are a lot of bands out there, but the music scene is very stylistically diverse.

How’d you realize fellow musicians Jeff Mangum and Will Hart shared similar musical tastes?
ROBERT: We were friends forever. I like to record and I just got caught up with that bunch of rockers. We all fooled around with equipment, but we’re not really technical. We don’t feel there’s only one way to use anything. So we fool around with a lot of stuff.
-John Fortunato  
 
 

 

 

BARE JR.’S ‘BRAINWASHER’ TURNS HEADS

Interviews

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INTRODUCTION: This interview with Bare Jr. took place just months before Manhattan club, Wetlands, got hit with debris from 9-11 and forced the hippie-ish venue to close down a few weeks earlier then expected. But while Wetlands couldn’t last as a friendly bohemian retreat (with good beer selection), Bobby Bare Jr. continues to put up the good fight. I saw him a few years hence at Maxwells in Hoboken and he still kicked raw arse.

As I stand drink in hand at Tribeca’s Wetlands Preserve, it becomes perfectly clear what a great live band Nashville’s Bare, Jr. has become. Constant touring has cemented the quintet’s reputation for full throttle live sets. As serious road warriors, they unleash brazen pop and in-your-face rock in the best honky tonk tradition.

The pride of Country & Western legend Bobby Bare, frontman Bobby Bare, Jr. first appeared alongside his father on 1974’s Top 50 novelty single, “Daddy What If,” as a five year old. Now a seasoned troubadour in his early thirties, Bobby, Jr. kept the crowds’ attention by singing in a rough and tumble style both Southern Rock and hard rock fans would appreciate. To his left side, lead guitarist Teel shows off mannerisms probably learned from The Who’s Pete Townshend (rambunctious axe wielding) and John Entwistle (stoic facial expressions). Long-haired bohemian bassist Dean Tomasek (a cartoonist with a 2-page comic strip featured in the recent issue of CMJ Monthly) and drummer Keith Brogdon provided rhythmic force while lanky dulcimer player Tracy Hackney tried desperately to rise above the loud din of raunchy noise.

After this sweaty set, Bare, Jr. quickly slipped into The Who’s “Baba O’Riley,” which cleverly and seamlessly segued into The Cars’ “My Best Friends Girl” without a hitch. It made for a fantastic, stylistically intriguing encore.
On record, Bare, Jr. obtained a solid reputation with ‘99s blistering Boo-Tay. Its more consistent follow-up, Brainwasher, continues to bottle up and then extract anxiety and emotional pain. The fierce “Kiss Me (Or I Will Cry)” and the whiny “If You Choose Me” beg for consoling. And the twangy slacker anthem, “Why Do I Need A Job,” proves these devilishly post-adolescent nightcrawlers have no intention on growing up too soon.

AW: Do you really face all those insecurities portrayed in your self-deprecating lyrics? I’ve noticed you sub-titled this set More Songs About Girls That Don’t Like Me.

BOBBY BARE, JR.: Any decent art should have humility and honesty. Getting up on-stage and laying all this shit out is almost like being a stripper. I’m obviously not hiding anything. Many songs are somewhat confessional. I’ve been raised around some of the greatest songwriters and it’s all about blood and guts. Who has the balls to show their ass. Who’s the most courageous.

So are a lot of your songs truthful reflections of real life experiences?

Some of them are and others are complete fabrications. But all the feelings involved I’ve felt. If I could address these things and get a room full of people to giggle along, it makes it not so heavy to air them out.

There’s plenty of mixed emotions scattered along the way.

Twist it up and pervert it anyway you can. I like to build things up to tear them down just as fast by being as abstract as I can be. But what I do with songwriting isn’t abstract. If I lose you at any point on Brainwasher, I fucked up. Except for “Limpin’,” which is completely abstract. I’m the only one who knows what that song means. The words were read into a voice recognition thing on my computer and they came out purposely fucked up. But usually we want to have as much freedom and fun as we can have.

I know you sang with your father on the novelty “Daddy What If” as a child. But what made you pursue music later on?

I just wanted to be like my dad. Most kids look at their father as some kind of God. My father just happened to be playing guitar and shakin’ his ass. Well, not really shakin’ his ass, but definitely rocking. His best album was ‘74s Lullabies Legends And Lies. It’s one of the first double albums in country history. It was maybe the first country concept record, too. And the first album a country artist did with just one songwriter – Shel Silverstein (recently deceased Playboy cartoonist and composer of Dr. Hook’s “The Cover Of The Rolling Stone”). Shel co-wrote a song on my first album and he critiqued everything I wrote up until he died. He was my dad’s best friend. But I had written bad songs for a long time and just started writing songs that didn’t suck so bad. We started rehearsing and within five days I had a publishing deal and within ten days I had a record deal. So it just happened fast.

Did you listen to funky ‘70s Southern Rock by Wet Willie, Ozark Mountain Daredevils, or Charlie Daniels while growing up in Tennessee?

Oh yeah. I grew up listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd. But I also went to Lollapalooza to hear Jane’s Addiction and the Pixies. Frank Black (of Pixies fame) is the pinnacle. I can’t think of anyone in rock and roll I respect more, except maybe Neil Young or Morrissey. Morrissey’s more of a lyricist than a rocker.

Why title the album Brainwasher?

All the songs are basically love songs because they deal with issues concerning girls. At “Brainwasher’s” bridge, I say “My mind is so dirty I got mud running out of my ears.” I was in rehab with an old man who was talking about the first time he got out of rehab. His friends all said, “You been down in rehab getting brainwashed.” He said, “You know what. My brain needed some washing.”

So you don’t drink anymore?

No. I do. I did eight years without drinking but at the millennium I decided to drink again.

You learned to handle liquor better?

Not really. (laughter) I haven’t ended up in jail. I still black out like crazy if I drink six or more beers.

ST. LOUIS FRAMBOISE

Beers A-Z

Resilient ruby-magenta-bodied pink-headed framboise offers pungently eye-squinting mouth-puckering raspberry tartness. The essence of raspberry seeds seeps into tonsils as lemony cranberry, cherry and blackberry illusions settle below syrupy pureed raspberry core. Serve to Chambord Black Raspberry Liqueur buffs and wine cooler fems as better alternative. An excellent dessert beer, indeed!

St. Louis Premium Framboise – Louis Glunz Beer Inc.

SHMALTZ HE’BREW JEWBELATION TWELVE

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Viscous 12th anniversary ale utilizes one dozen hops and malts to anchor concealed 12% alcohol luster. Syrupy sweet brown chocolate malting and maple-sapped molasses-dipped toffee fudging receive cinnamon-toasted hop-spiced raisin-prune souring. Oaken vanilla subsidy pervades lilting bourbon, barleywine, cherry wine, and dark rum warmth. Boozy brown ale makes superb dessert treat.

WEYERBACHER FIRESIDE ALE

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Languid ’08 ‘dark ale with touch of smokiness’ (previously known as ‘Charlie’ and now a permanent seasonal release) needs deeper flavor insistence. Dry-hopped meat-cured beechwood-smoked frontage drops off quickly as tranquil cocoa-powdered tartness rises above tobacco-leafed vegetal nuance. Staid hickory-smoked molasses malting fades into nutty chocolate murk.