luke mcgarry

Jesse Sykes stepped away from her band the Sweet Hereafter to sing a song with SunnO))) and Boris but is back touring now with her longtime backing girl and boys. Their new album Like, Love, Lust & The Open Halls Of The Soul is out now on Barsuk. This interview by Nikki Darling.

How did you end up on a record with SunnO))) and Boris?
Jesse Sykes: My bass player Bill Herzog is friends with Greg Anderson, and his label Southern Lord puts out all the records by SunnO)))—it’s a really good label! They’ve been friends for years. We’re a pretty close-knit band and Greg—whenever we played in L.A.—would come to our shows and he would say he really liked us and I would tell Bill, ‘You’re kidding me—what?’ And Greg was like, ‘It’s so dark!’ This was years ago, and somewhere along the line they asked me to write the lyrics and music to a song, and we came out with ‘The Sinking Belle.’ What’s cool about it is now I’m going to go on tour with them—I’m really excited because I had been secretly wanting to and was hoping they would ask! And now there’s going to be a tour and we’re going to England and it’s fun and I love that it’s such a departure and it’s so theatrical. In a way it’s insane! It’s just loud and intense droning—it’s powerful! It can almost cause you to weep—all the crying you’ve been holding back all your life. It’s almost visceral—it kind of gets you deep inside the bone. I was blown away.
I read that Lynyrd Skynyrd inspired you to pick up guitar.
It’s funny—I just love all types of music. Like whatever I’m listening to at that time is so beautiful to me, and it’s like that’s the only thing that exists and I can’t believe anything else ever existed—know what I’m saying? And music’s so funny—I just got George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass, and I grew up listening to it and I was listening to it as I was driving through the mountains, and I just got so overwhelmed and I got kind of sad. It’s so beautiful, and you start to think about how today that might not even be released, and how much music we don’t even get to listen to because it wouldn’t be released today—it’s just such beautiful stuff. Ultimately, when you’re a kid it could be anything. When you’re ready to be awoken and dangerous—listening to George Harrison today reminded me how easily you’re still able to fall in love, and I haven’t thought that way or wanted to weep in a long time.
You used to be a waitress. I find that there is a time in every young person’s life when they hit the retail or food-service fork in the road—you decide to go one way or the other, or there are those kids that end up doing both. And you chose food service.
I completely know what you mean! I did both—I worked in retail briefly. I could never survive in New York, though, especially in retail—it’s completely different. I could never work in, say, a high-end store out there. I just feel like there’s this archetype—this sort of attitude that the girls that work there have. Although I’m sure that I had that, too, but my heart was good. I could never work in a high-end place—I would get fired in a second, and as a woman, the horror of walking into a place where the women are intimidating is horrifying. But I found waitressing to be heartbreaking because people walk in and you never know what kind of mood they’re in or how they feel and you sort of have this obligation to make them feel okay. I don’t know—maybe I’m too empathetic or whatever, but I couldn’t handle it, you know? And maybe one day I’ll have to do it again—who knows, with the way the music industry is…
You moved to Seattle in 1990—what was it like to be when everything exploded?
It was pretty exciting. And without offending anyone—I wasn’t a huge fan of a lot of the bands that made it huge, but I was there and the weird thing about that time… I keep bringing up archetypes. I’ve been thinking about that time and I’m fascinated with that stuff because I’m a musician and I draw from what’s happening in society and vibe off any era. So weird to think of that time! Anyway, the sort of archetype of back then is gone. It seems to have been replaced with the indie-rock kid with like the Romulan haircut—you know, the average indie-rock fan. They’re not scary. When I was younger and I went to a show, it was scary! You had to be worried about getting kicked in the head! It was more violent and raw. But I’m not a fifteen-year-old anymore, so maybe that energy is still there. I don’t know. I mean—some of the mythology was created in the wake of it all, but having been there, there was an electricity and people could make records in their living rooms for a thousand dollars. Definitely a feeding frenzy ensued, and that definitely did not affect me. It was a dark time in Seattle, too—a lot of drugs and a lot of heroin. That was not a made up story—a lot of my friends are dead now. And it took me sort of a long time to recreate my relationship with Seattle. And when Kurt Cobain died, that affected everybody. It still has an effect on people. And now Death Cab for Cutie holds their stuff in the place where Bleach was recorded. It’s such a strange way to bookend that whole time, you know? It was just—I think you understand why that is ironic.
What bands that came out of that time do you think are overrated?
I’m a big fan of Nirvana but I don’t own any Pearl Jam records. But they don’t make me feel any animosity toward their success. And you know what the hardest thing is? It’s when you’re a rock ‘n’ roll music-er, you can’t talk about music because people forget that you’re a fan, too. And it’s so hard because, like, I just like Nirvana—does that make sense? I’m a fan, too, not a critic. I’m friends with a lot of these people, but so much time has passed under the bridge that I feel like they’re exempt because I know they’re good people. The thing that bothers me is I feel like it’s so much easier now for people to accept somewhat lukewarm stuff. Like buy a record for their little iPod shuffle or whatever—I feel like not enough people are questioning music or there’s not enough rock criticism. People need to know a little bit about something to appreciate it. I don’t want to sound negative—it’s beyond me and my music. It’s hard. As a person, I have concerns. I guess I’m old school and the whole iPod and whatever—maybe I’m just being immature, but I’m just going through a grieving process for the way that we receive things. I mean—what is that going to do to the emotional response on a grand scale? There was something nice about the past when there wasn’t as much music being released. It didn’t matter because it was a shared experience. And now I don’t know how I feel about sixty zillion bands or sixty zillion web zines.
What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you on the road?
Oh God! We have had so many epic things, from like close-to-death experiences—I’m trying to think of something that doesn’t have to do with the band. It could be something as small as like a spooge on a wall or some dirty baby diapers in a refrigerator. We’ve stayed in some hotels that were so horrible and everything had a stain on it. And really epic breakdowns—the last tour I got a staph infection and it was like taking care of a sick child. Bill found a dildo in the middle of the desert—in the middle of nowhere in the Mojave desert when our van broke down. Bill came out of the desert with a dildo hanging on a stick, and we were like, ‘Who was out there?’ But there are so many beautiful things, too—so many moments that are just amazing. These moments when I’m alone, I don’t know what you call it—when you’re just so centered and it’s just a such a crazy whacked-out life, and then out of nowhere you feel like a kid on summer vacation!

JESSE SYKES AND THE SWEET HEREAFTER PLAY WED., JULY 25, WITH THE MOANERS, BOLERO AND HELEN MONEY AT THE BORDELLO, 901 E. FIRST ST., LOS ANGELES. 8 PM / $12 / 21+. WWW.FOLDSILVERLAKE.COM.