Download: Bare Wires “Ready to Go”

Bare Wires play a kind of glam-influenced garage rock that’s been labeled “smooth punk,” which seems to mean it’s played tightly and sincerely, drawing lyrical inspiration from the best of power-pop: girls, dancing, love and the trials of youth. If The Warriors had ended with a dance party instead of a guy getting a switchblade through the wrist, Bare Wires could have been provided the soundtrack. Lead singer/songwriter/guitarist Matthew Melton bravely battles the interviewer’s digital fidelity problems in order to discuss high school beatings, late ‘80s Memphis underground cassette rap and exactly which American city lives up to its frightening reputation. This interview by Tom Child.

Your video for “Don’t Ever Change” features a group of high school delinquents. What was the most trouble you ever got into in high school?
Matthew Melton (guitar/vocals): I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee and one time in high school, I was sitting on my desk. I was a punk kid with this blonde Mohawk and this other kid who was, like, a preppy fucking king of the soccer team was sitting on his desk on the other side of the class. The teacher was, like, “Matthew, get off your desk,” and the other dude’s still chilling on top of his shit so I was like, “I’ll get down when he gets down,” and she threw a big fit, sent me to the principal and they beat the shit out of me. I actually received licks. I think you can still receive licks in Tennessee. But yeah, I received ten licks for being insubordinate and then I just walked out. They just beat me so I was just going to leave. I’m not going to go back to class. There was a bunch of shit. I got kicked out of one high school just for poor attendance and shit. I had a pretty classically terrible high school experience and it’s a big inspiration.
Well, that actually leads into my next question pretty well. A friend of mine insists there are still some parts of the country where a guy can spend a night in jail just for having long hair. Have you ever experienced any prejudice in the USA for your appearance?
M: One time in Canada, we had just played in New York City and we were coming up the road going to Montreal across the border. We crossed over about eight o’ clock at night, running late for our show in Montreal and we fucking cruised through and they pinned us as being drug users so they searched the whole vehicle and they actually found three hits of LSD in a small drug bag that we had forgotten about. So, they make you stand there and watch them as they search your car and they hold it up and they don’t say anything about LSD so they’re like, “What is this weed bag? What is this?” and we were like, “Uh, yeah, man. That’s just garbage. That’s nothing,” and they grill us on it. “What do you mean? You just keep garbage in your wallet? What is this shit?” We just played dumb and they were like, “Do you have anything else like this in your van?” and we were like, “No, we’re totally cool.” They kept searching that van but they weren’t able to identify what those hits of paper blotter acid were so they actually gave it back to us and let us go into Canada.
Whoa, that is some awesome karma you’re working with there.
M: I guess we stumbled on a little loophole because there’s no real test for LSD. There’s a test for cocaine. It’ll turn blue or something if it’s real but LSD, you just have to take it. So, it was pretty cool. We didn’t know that but I guess it’s only if you say, “It’s LSD! You busted me!” then they can do something. But if you don’t admit what it is, they can’t really do anything. I thought it was really funny that the Canadian people gave it back to us. Like, “What? It’s obviously something!”
It’s that legendary Canadian politeness.
M: Yeah, “Here you kids go.”
I was reading an interview in which you mention that your SXSW festival survival kit included a lot of California marijuana. What are the logistics of transporting that kind of contraband through the Southwest? When I’ve done that trip it always seems that my car gets sniffed four or five times by scary dogs before I get to Austin.
M: Well, here in Oakland, marijuana is basically legal. Shit, I’m going to be discrete about this in print but basically there’s this Measure Z that got passed that makes marijuana and hash the lowest priority so underground stores actually pop up where you can go in and buy grass. You used to need a medical exemption from your doctor but now you can just go in there. Here [in Oakland] it’s so legal that we just got used to certain types and higher grades of it so we just have it shipped to various points along our tour. It’s just our preference. I don’t know. I just started smoking weed recently.
What is the perfect drug combo that one should take to get the most out of a Bare Wires show? Is there a Bare Wires cocktail?
M: Well, shit, probably just… I don’t know, man. Maybe, like…aw, shit…nitrous? Like a nitrous balloon? I don’t know. I’m not a big advocate of drugs. I honestly wish I didn’t have to smoke weed but it just becomes this kind of necessary weird thing…a habitual thing. I don’t drink anymore. I quit drinking.
Oh, good for you! How is that treating you?
M: Definitely our touring became more efficient because we would do shit like blank out and leave cymbals behind and shit. Just stupid moves. You know, everybody’s wasted and people’s buddies are carrying stuff out of the club and nobody knows what the hell is going on.
You mentioned in another interview that you had developed a way of sort of spacing out through the whole experience of touring. Can you provide any tips for other touring musicians on how to achieve this Zen like state?
M: Well, I think what happened was we just booked way too many shows. We’ve been touring nonstop for the past two years and it’s just kind of gotten pretty ridiculous. It kind of becomes this funny thing. But it’s cool. I’m excited for this. We’re leaving on tour in basically two days and I’m very excited to come down there because we worked up a bunch of old shit and a bunch of new songs and kind of abandoned the record that we’re touring on, which is kind of a cool move. We totally went back and took it down a notch. But yeah, spacing out? I don’t know, just smoking shit loads of weed. Just getting there. It becomes a super surreal experience.
At the end of a show, do you ever think, “Whoa, did we just play a show?”
M: Yeah, it’s like, “What happened?” It’s like second nature.
Tom Petersson of Cheap Trick allegedly coined his band’s name upon noting that he had gone to see a Slade concert and they had “performed every cheap trick in the book.” What’s your favorite rock ‘n’ roll live show cheap trick?
M: If things are going well, I like everything to stay going really well. But it seems that sometimes we’ll play clubs and venues where things aren’t going well on stage with the sound and our response is usually to push the microphone stands over into the audience and that usually makes things worse so it generally snowballs into a really psychedelic performance where we just kind of forget about the structure of our songs and go a little further out. It’s just kind of a response, you know? If this place can’t get its shit together to have, like, a monitor… I’ve kicked a couple monitors over into the audience, especially if it’s a little piece of shit that’s not doing anything anyway and the guy is making it feed back but most of those guys don’t give a shit. I’d like to tour with my own sound person but I just don’t know who that would be right now.
Do you remember the first time you heard a Slade song? How did that feel?
M: I remember really liking the production on all that classic Slade stuff but they did that movie called Flame. I thought that was pretty cool. Slade’s ok but a lot of times, I’d just rather listen to the Testors, you know what I mean? I like a lot of that ‘70s glam produced stuff.
Do you foresee a Bare Wires full-length movie in your future?
Fuck yeah, dude. We’re totally doing a full-length movie where we go to Coney Island and take over a cotton candy stand or something. It’ll be tight. Yeah, we want to invade New York City. I don’t know. We’re going on tour in Australia soon too.
You mentioned in another interview that your album title, Artificial Clouds, is about the feeling you get when you wake up and realize that things weren’t the way you thought they were but rather than being discouraged by this knowledge, it just inspires and motivates you. Can you tell me the most important “artificial clouds” moment in your life?
M: Well, I think everybody can relate to that because the way people live today is pretty lame, I think. I don’t know. I have something like that everyday because everybody’s in a different mode and you can be going along with your day and you can run into somebody who’s so brought down on themselves, that it just changes. I think I understood the question you were asking but I couldn’t hear at all! I feel bad because I can’t hear you very well so I’m kind of interpolating every other word. Am I on speakerphone or something?
I’m trying this thing through Skype. I’m basically just yelling at my computer. You mentioned in another interview that you were listening to a lot of dollar records that had been discarded on the street. What’s your greatest dollar record score? What’s the best record you’ve ever found on the street?
M: Definitely Dwight Twilley. The Dwight Twilley band. That guy’s cool. I like that guy’s early stuff that he did with Phil Seymour. You’ll see him in the dollar bin. The Bay Area has some great records. All of us are homeless and unemployed at our core so…I don’t know; I don’t really have a record player anymore because I don’t have a place for it to be because we have been traveling so extensively. I go places, I see cool records, but I can’t really buy them because I don’t have a place for them. I guess records are kind of one thing you’ve got to give up if you’re really touring, unless you can afford to hold down a swanky apartment in Echo Park or something.
When you were in Memphis, did you ever visit Ardent Studios?
M: Yeah, I checked it out. I’ve never recorded there. I left Memphis when I was still pretty young but people would always be passing through town like, “Yeah, we’re recording at Ardent, blah blah blah.”
If you were going to cover an Alex Chilton song, which song would it be?
M: Alex Chilton? I don’t know if I would cover an Alex Chilton song. You know what? I take that back. His 1970 album…it’s him and you can hear that he’s pretty wasted throughout the whole experience, or at least chunks of the experience. He does a really good cover of “Sugar, Sugar.” That album is cool. I think that’s the best record he ever made.
You’ve said you don’t really listen a lot to other people’s records when you’d rather be recording yourself. When you start listening to too much music, what does that do to your creativity?
M: I don’t listen to a whole lot of music mainly because I don’t have the time. If I had more time and I had a record player, I’d definitely collect records but I don’t think I’d be a big collector person. I’m a person who would just rather make something happen than sit around and listen to the same records over and over. I don’t know. Things will inspire me for a time but everything has an expiration date and I just sort of get burned out and want to move on. I don’t have any problems never looking back. Just trashing a bunch of cool records and being like, “Well, it’s cool. I’ll find other shit.” Or the radio is even more interesting sometimes…like AM radio in a weird town or something.
What bands do you like that someone familiar with the Bare Wires’ music would be most surprised to find that you like?
M: Ah, that’s a good question. I like really specifically Memphis underground rap from the late ‘80s into the ‘90s. I’d say that’s probably some of the best stuff. All these young rappers were cruising around Memphis, releasing these songs they recorded on, like, 4-track cassette tape and they’re so raw that they definitely blow my mind. There’s a guy named Tommy Wright III. That guy is badass.
Do you have any good Dodge Ram van breakdown stories or has she been consistently sweet to you?
M: Yeah, I got a good story about our last van, the first van I ever had. It was an all black Dodge Ram. It was black and we put green shag carpeting in it and we called it the Black Widow. We did a tour with it and by the time we made it back it was pretty non-functional. It was making terrible noises and it was basically on its last legs. This drug dealer in the neighborhood in Oakland…I ran into him on the bus running down the street that my house is on and he offered me a thousand dollars cash. I needed money at the time so I took it and he came back later that night with this really torn up girlfriend and he smoked a blunt with me and took the van. He never registered it in his name and two major events happened to the van in a month period. He pissed off some tweaker people who lived upstairs from him and they drilled holes into his radiator to sabotage him and then, like, two days later, somebody else stole the van. I get a call from this guy going like, “Hey man, you gotta call the cops, man. The van got stolen and it’s in your name still.” I was just like, “Aw shit.” So that’s the fate of that thing. But then he got it back a couple months later and then it disappeared. But you’d see it parked. You’d see our van parked, like, right down the street. It was really fucked. But I have a really good van now, a GMC.
You played in Monterrey, Mexico and you said that it wasn’t super dangerous like everybody thinks. Have you ever played a town that turned out to be exactly as dangerous as everybody thinks?
M: El Paso. Yeah, El Paso’s fucked up, dude. It’s just long strips that have these washed out tequila bars and it’s pretty desolate in a lot of places. It just feels like people are cruising back and forth over the border and you just don’t know what’s going to happen. We saw some people having sex in the bar where we were playing. This dude was just wasted and he started fingering his girlfriend at the bar. It was just gnarly. It was like, damn, people are getting gnarly here.
What’s the most wholesome rock ‘n’ roll experience you’ve ever had? You ever finish a show and go drink some tea or something?
M: Well, hang on just one second. Let me pass this question off to Nathan Price who is our drummer. Nathan, it’s L.A. RECORD. He wants to know what our sleaziest rock ‘n’ roll moment was.
Nathan Price (drums): Woo! Let me think about that for a second. That’s a good question. Me and Fletcher [Johnson, bass] got arrested in Tijuana and spent the whole day down there. We were in the wrong part of town at the wrong time and it was this really gnarly drug zone. They just picked us up right off the street with machine guns. They handcuffed us together and marched us off down the street. That was fucked up. We barely got out on bail. They wanted to keep us for two days. We barely bailed out of there after the third jail we were in around seven or eight o’ clock and then Matthew somehow magically had a cab. I don’t know how he popped up but we drove straight to the venue in San Diego and played our show that night. That’s probably the best story I’ve got because I really thought it was possible I might die in there. It was really shitty, man. It was totally like a Tarantino movie when I got in there. I was like, “Is this fucking real?” Everything looked so gnarly. It looked like a set for a movie almost. The first jail had dirt floors and two cells. In one cell there was this snappy chick and in the other cell there were three dudes. Then there was, like, a chair that had been ripped out of a car sitting on the dirt floor, and a table, and then a stack of broken bicycles and a stack of used car tires behind them. I was just like, “What the fuck is this? Where the fuck are we?” I seriously thought I was in some sort of a movie. It was trippy. We got moved around to three different jails and they wouldn’t speak English to us. We were the only white guys. It was terrible. But we definitely learned a lot that day.
So was that show you played that night in San Diego like the best show you’ve ever played in your life because you were just so fucking relieved?
N: It felt pretty good but we were really out of it and really tired. We were really dirty after being in jail for a long time but we played with our friends the Dead Ghosts and the Indian Wars from Vancouver. They’re kind of our buddies that we went on tour with and they’re really badass. Check out the Dead Ghosts and the Indian Wars, they’re good dudes. So, yeah, that was probably the best one.

L.A. RECORD PRESENTS PSYCHO BEACH PARTY WITH BARE WIRES, SHITTY LIMITS, ROUGH KIDS, COSMONAUTS ON FRI., JUNE 10, AT THE BLUE STAR, 2200 E. 15th ST., LOS ANGELES. 8:30 PM / $10 / 18+. LARECORD.COM/SHOWS OR BLUESTARROCKS.COM. VISIT BARE WIRES AT MYSPACE.COM/THEBAREWIRES.

Teenage Fanclub make pop songs like Big Star but make them faster and lasted longer, and their newest Shadows is out now on Merge. They speak now before returning to America and display respectable capability for details on rock ghosts and rock genitals. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

What happened the day you met Little Richard in an L.A. hotel?
Norman Blake (vocals/guitar): I can tell you exactly what happened—I can’t tell you the year. We were staying in the Hyatt in L.A.—that famous one on Sunset. At this point we had an American manager, but that was only a short time. But for the opportunity to meet Little Richard, we’re eternally grateful. We were in the lobby and the elevator doors opened and Little Richard walked out! I have a memory of a big suit—big shoulders—looking like a million dollars! Tons of make-up and lipstick—he looked great! Our manager had worked with Living Color, and they had worked with Little Richard, and he was like, ‘So if you wanna say hello…?’ I can’t remember what he called him. ‘Hey, Mr. Richard!’
Hey, Little?
N: And he says, ‘Hey, Jim! How’s it going?’ ‘I’m working with this band now from Scotland—Teenage Fanclub.’ And he grabs my hand! ‘Teenage Fanclub from Scotland! Woo!’ That was pretty much it, but it was enough! It was like touching the hand of God. I didn’t wash for a day.
By the transitive property, who have you know shaken hands by proxy with?
N: Little Richard toured with Buddy Holly, so maybe he shook Buddy’s hand. ‘Have a good night, Buddy Holly!’
Ellis Amburn’s biography claims Buddy Holly lost his virginity in a Texas gangbang.
N: There’s many stories about Buddy. The amazing thing is how young he was when he died. But that’s quite a way to lose your virginity. Lots of men and one woman or lots of women and one man?
One woman and a bunch of men in the back seat of some car.
Raymond McGinley (vocals/guitar): Did Little Richard not write a scandalous story? Saying Buddy Holly had a really big cock?
Are you thinking of the famous Crickets-walking-in-on-the-orgy story? Where the Crickets supposedly caught Little Richard and friends backstage and either joined in or just watched in shock?
N: Either way, they didn’t leave the room!
What’s the most famous Teenage Fanclub orgy story?
N: There are many—but maybe just in some of my fantasies. They’ve never been realized.
Gerard says he only had a job for three months in his whole life. How do you two rank in terms of avoiding employment?
R: I’ve never had a job ever! I was a paper boy—the only job I ever had.
N: I was a chef for one morning. In a hotel. They told me it’d be split shifts—like ten til two and six til ten. A break in the day and you have to go back. Like going to work twice in one day! So I finished one shift, said, ‘See ya in four hours!’ and never went back.
What is the secret to never getting a job?
R: If you’ve never had gainful employment, you get used to not having money. As soon as you get used to having money, it gets difficult. For a while, we didn’t have money. But that was fine!
Didn’t you sell a refrigerator to fund your first recording session?
R: That and a washing machine! They’d been leased to me and an elderly neighbor.
So after you made that record, she had to go hungry and stay dirty?
R: No, she died. She left them to me and I sold them and paid to record the first album.
N: It was winter, so you could keep food on the window ledge in the kitchen!
R: It was a smart investment! Don’t sell your refrigerator in the summer! Sell it when you’re just getting to winter. And then we made our money back and got another one. These Wall Street guys shoulda taken a clue from us and there wouldn’t be all these problems!
Kim Deal said she wanted to write songs about boys the way you write songs about girls. How exactly do you write songs about girls?
N: I’m not sure! I’d think we should ask Kim!
R: Can you get her on conference?
N: She’s probably referring to ‘The Concept.’ The girl that goes to rock ‘n’ roll concerts. That’s what I think she meant.
Is the girl liking the Status Quo in that song a compliment or a dig?
N: It’s not a dig, really! ‘Pictures of Matchstick Men’ is a classic! I’m not totally crazy for ‘em but I also think using the name of a band … like if you use an NME band that’s really hip then, they could be rubbish now. So a band that’s perennially unfashionable is what I was thinking.
R: I didn’t write the song, but as an observation—there’s something about girls where they aren’t as uptight whether bands are ‘cool’ or not. It’s sort of a questionable link but girls are less uptight about what they like than guys are.
What’s your favorite band that a girl turned you on to?
R: We’re guys! It doesn’t work that way. Only kidding!
N: Maybe my wife—she’s taught me quite a lot of things I’m unaware of. Things I didn’t really have a lot of time for in the past. Cat Stevens in Harold and Maude. It’s a great movie and I hadn’t seen it in years, and my wife said the music’s really good. That was the last music I was turned on to by a woman.
R: Yeah, Cat Stevens! As recently as a few months ago, my wife bought the entire Cat Stevens back catalogue. She’ll tend to do that—hear one song, like it, and buy everything. Like Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I saw ‘em play years ago. But we were on holiday and got Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! and my wife really liked it and bought the entire Nick Cave catalog.
Do people ever do that for Teenage Fanclub?
N: I wish they would! Unfortunately it’s never happened. That’s the fantasy of all musicians. Apart from the orgy one, of course.
Who was the Lesa Aldridge of Teenage Fanclub? The girl behind all the love songs?
N: Just our girlfriends at the time. Now we’re married to other people.
So we should quit talking about this.
R: Don’t get him started!
N: On my past muses!
Do you ever run into your old muses?
R: Not yet!
N: I suppose my girlfriend—she used to fancy herself a French girl, so now she lives in the south of France. And I’m not spending a great deal of time in the South of France.
Do you really have a tape of Joe Meek having a séance with a cat in a graveyard?
N: Yeah—that’s true!
R: Is that not commercially released?
N: The BBC had a documentary series called Arena, and they made one on Joe Meek like 25 years ago. On the show, they ran a tape of Meek in a graveyard with Geoff Goddard, and you sort of hear this noise. ‘Meow? Meow?’ ‘Hello, do you need help?’ ‘Meow! Meow!’ They think he’s saying yes! It’s pretty bonkers. You can get the documentary on YouTube. If you wanna hear that talking cat, you can hear it this afternoon!
R: If you want to have a séance of your own and contact Joe Meek, he’ll tell you where on YouTube.
N: Geoff Goddard actually claimed that song [‘Tribute to Buddy Holly’] was written by Buddy Holly! It’s a pretty good scam. ‘John Lennon! Bob Marley! They’re all hanging out fucking jamming in heaven!’

TEENAGE FANCLUB WITH RADAR BROS. ON MON., OCT. 11, AT THE EL REY, 5515 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 8 PM / $25 / ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. TEENAGE FANCLUB’S SHADOWS IS OUT NOW ON MERGE. VISIT TEENAGE FANCLUB AT TEENAGEFANCLUB.COM.

Just when you think summer’s over, a heat wave comes to L.A. and Waved Out 2 comes to the Echoplex, to hose us down with the reverb-soaked sounds of teenage noise pop, chill wave, surf punk and psych-folk. I didn’t know what to expect. The only bands listed on the bill whose names I recognized were the trippy headliners, the Entrance Band and Dungen, who were playing the first show of their US tour.  Sponsored in conjunction by the Aquarium Drunkard music blog, KXLU and L.A. RECORD, the all-day event featured an eclectic assortment of West Coast bands on two stages, a vegan tamale stand, DIY silkscreening station, and tarot card readings.

Kicking off the event, the Zig Zags played the loft at Origami Vinyl. Hailing from Oakland, California, the two piece won my heart with their lo-fi surf punk jams, reminiscent of the Wipers but with Beach Boys harmonies. The highlight of the Zig Zags set was what I think was a Big Star cover (“I was outta my mind…”) and an original tune they ended the set with “It’s What I’m Looking For,” a sludgy garage punk singalong. Zig Zags don’t seem to have any releases yet, but I hope they record some demos with their friend Greg Ashley soon, because I’m hooked!

Next up were Young Prisms at the Echoplex. The aptly-named San Francisco quintent plays loud, wall-of-sound shoegaze bathed in prisms of light. Stef’s haunting vocals blend perfectly with Matt and Jason’s layers of fuzzy, droned out guitar. Although I had them pegged them for 17, they are indeed very young (21-24) and sure enough, they met in high school. Now, why weren’t there any My Bloody Valentine fans at my highschool?

Summer Darling at The Echoplex; this taut, angular 4-piece plays angsty, post hardcore indie rock ala Hot Snakes, Clinic and Spoon. Not what I was in the mood for, but an energetic performance nonetheless.

In between beers, I hung out with Oliver, (the Young Prism’s bearded schnauzer), photographer extraordinaire Sarah Morrison snapped pics of the local kids we met, and I got an unbelievably spot-on tarot card reading by the lovely and talented Marcella. While the tarot cards clearly spelled out my destiny (romance and creative pursuits on track, whew!), she failed to tell me I was missing a great band. I ran up the stairs and back to the sweaty loft at Origami Vinyl just in time to catch the end of a short and sweet set by So Many Wizards!  Hailing from Long Beach and L.A., this 3-piece plays jangle pop heavy on the reverb. I definitely see more of So Many Wizards’ magic powers in your future!

Now Shannon & The Clams was the 1st performance of the evening that blew my mind.  Imagine the Ventures meets King Kahn & BBQ Show and you’re half way there. Fronted by a statuesque blonde who looks like she stepped out of a John Waters movie, the voluptuous female vocalist/bass player Shannon is the Anita Eckberg of cowpunk, commanding the stage with all the star presence of Dusty Springfield or Peggy Lee, but with the pipes of Wanda Jackson. Man can that girl sing! Sharp dressing and impish guitar player/male vocalist Cody is like a post modern Link Wray or John Doe, all elbows and knees, playing tawngy 60s seaside guitar riffs. Their set highlights include wild covers of Del Shannon’s “My Little Runaway” and Dion’s “The Wanderer” and catchy original garage punk numbers like “Hunk Hunt” that got the whole crowd rollicking.

I caught Hanni El Khatib, a two-piece consisting of guitar and drums of spirited post rockabilly garage in the tradition of Alan Vega and the Gun Club. Then, the very handsome John Carpenter took to the Origami stage, starting his set playing a solo set of folk ballads with hushed vocals reminiscent of Leonard Cohen, lulling his rapt audience with dreamy story songs. Carpenter dispensed with the acoustic vibe as his set went on, wailing on an electric guitar and screaming like The Yardbirds.

Hailing from Brooklyn by way of New Jersey, doe-eyed singer-songwriter Sharon Von Etten played pretty heartfelt songs with a breezy sincerity. Sharon has a beautiful, bird-like velvety voice and an easy rapport with her audience, consisting primarily of girls, many of whom sang along to her standout songs like “Sick of Trying,” an ode to her family, Sharon explained, “and dealing with my Pisces-ness. Is that a word?”  Uh oh, Lillith Fair, watch out! We have a contender!

Kicking off their tour with Dungen, The Entrance Band was in top form at the Echo, playing new material including “Masquerade” and “Spider.” Between Guy’s wild gesturing and Paz’s free-spirited hopping and barefoot strutting, The Entrance Band are one of the most highly original psych bands to come from L.A., evoking a whirling dervish take on 1960s rock, informed in equal measure by Eastern influences and Nuggets flashbacks.  Through heavy touring, The Entrance Band has definitely evolved and become a more sophisticated and tight unit. Paz has to be one of the most exciting bass players today—her body is her instrument—all legs, swaying brown hair, and hypnotic rhythms. Their set highlights included an inspired cover of Arthur Lee & Love’s  “A House is not a Motel” and “Temptation” on which Guy channeled Jason Pierce of Spaceman 3.

The Entrance Band Sarah Morrison

by Gather fanboys now for Dungen! Starting off their set with an oldie but a goodie, their breakout U.S. single “Festival”, the Swedish psych-folk/acid jazz pioneers whipped their bespectled fans into a frenzy.  Some of us even tried to sing along. Good luck! In broken English, frontman Gustav announced: “We will now play some new stuff—in Swedish!” You gotta love them Swedes! One can’t help but remark how perfect it would have been for Dungen to score a remake of The Wickerman. Dungen continues to release epic, sprawling records that deserve subtle contemplation, but I’m not sure if American audiences are ready yet to stand watching a 15 minute set of extended flute playing in a rock club. Unless you are really, really stoned. That said, Gustav’s virtuosity is remarkable, and his vocals in Swedish are unreal. Switching from flute to piano, with unusual song structures closest to free jazz, Dungen is the kind of band that would make Ornette Coleman proud.  Me on the other hand, I was all waved out.

—Zoë Bower

Chilton’s eccentric career kept going and was in full-tilt revival mode—with a SSW appearance with surviving members of Big Star scheduled for this Saturday—when he died on Wednesday of an apparent heart attack. The music biz there and elsewhere assembled is still grieving and encomiums continue to pour in from everywhere, even the floor of Congress, where Rep. Steve Cohen (D-TN) eulogized Chilton in terms any oldtimey rocker would lift a Bic to. All seem to mourn a part of themselves and they’re right. Along with Booker T. Jones, Ray Davies, and Roky Erickson, Alex Chilton was one of the last living links between the fabled past that made us and the raucous present we caper in now. Hipsters, charge your glasses, fire your bong and pound one down as our loud and lovely circle is shortened by one irreplaceable link. R.I.P.

—Ron Garmon

Cops and Unpaid Bills: Though his likeness still haunts everywhere you look, the King of Pop was finally laid away. Meanwhile, Los Angeles has spent the rest of the month looking for someone to slap with the bill for the king’s Nebuchadnezzarian sendoff. Though unattended by me, his funeral orgies fetched hundreds of thousands and that the LAPD was out in massive force didn’t need my eyeball confirmation since there was scarcely a cop to be seen anywhere else. All Jackson’s shove into Eternity meant to rockers and the party set downtown was that J.Q. Law was occupied in heroically overpolicing one event instead of the usual twenty. That the city attempted to hand fans and the (sore-bereaved) Jackson family a $1.4 million bill for its twitchy, long-running, and surreal policy of cop-overkill at every public gathering is bad enough. Add the fact that more police were around Staples Center for Jacko’s last appearance than for the entire 1984 Olympics and the public gets a broad hint of what underground parties and live music now face on a weekly basis. Thin blue line or no, there was little change in Angelenos’ customary sheeplike behavior after dark—even the very muggers did as told when directed to fuck off, I’m happy to report. Perhaps the city will know similar rebuffs while rattling its tin cup.

The Great Kim F.’s Lesbian Hunt and the Silver Lining on Mateo Street: Straight and Frankenstein tall stood Kim Fowley in the low-roofed Redwood Lounge last weekend. Presiding over another installment of “Hollywood Sexual Underground”, the legendary songwriter-producer-impresario was haranguing a roomful of sweating freaks and lovelies when I clambered in off the street on another boiling hot Friday night. “Are there any lesbians or drunks in the house tonight?” he intoned from somewhere near the ceiling, glowering about the narrow room like a rock ‘n’ roll Vincent Price. There were no confessed Sapphics, but that the place was packed with lushers was discernible by the naked nose, yet nary had a peep arose from the bar. Amateurs, I snorted. Just wait ‘til L.A. Decom. Impossible to rattle, Fowley breezed through the intro to Trophy Wives, who let out as deafening a caterwaul as I’ve ever heard loosed in the place. The lead singer’s mic died, but the drummer went off like a long string of M-80s and the narrow bar began to suitably rock. Grinning, I left, loping south through Little Tokyo and the Arts District as the floating parties and nuzzling lovers heralding the start of another off-the-hook weekend. I toked a buzz all the way down a dark slit of Mateo Street to Silver Factory Studios. This (literally underground) rock venue likewise surged, only this time with friendly indie rockers and the bent-neon psychedelia of 60 Watt Kid. This local trio went on at senatorial length, sculpting a too-big-for-the-room groove out of reverb and pleasantly unnerving electronic soundscapes. Their Women rez ends on the 27th, and I urge you to buy the ticket and take the inner-space ride.

Rock Around the Block: My run the following Saturday night was more of a downtown dogtrot, begun at the Smell with a fusillade of heavy noise from Christmas Island. This San Diego three-piece served up the blare with minimalist brio, as a double handful of spritzing kids capered crazily. Around the corner at the Five Star Bar, Anaheim’s Thee Makeout Party was doing the same to an older crowd, far gone in beer. TMP is power pop done the populist way, their raveups eschewing all Alex Chiltonian subtlety in favor of Cheap Trick-style detonation gratification. Out in the street, gaudy rockers mixed easily with the tranny ladies and street vendors, the whole gladsome magilla distancing themselves from the overflow crowd at the Edison just up the block. Smiling miniskirted ladies and glowering beaux greeted me at the Ed’s alleyway entrance, their attentions further warming an already sweltering night all the way back to the Smell. Bipolar Bear was just then going off inside, their horror-movie hodad rock blistering away as stylishly as ever. Anyone who can imagine mutant descendants of the Trashmen shooting the curves eleven toes over off a post-apocalyptic San Onofre already loves these guys whether they’ve heard them or not. I faded into the heat-glazed night with ears blistered by more better rockin’ than any half-block in Los Angeles.

The Glazed Daisies of Alex Chilton: The long bake of last week made grim my writerly slog through speculative fiction and reportorial fact. One of the consolations of a rock writer’s life is the vast haul of incoming schwag suited to every facet of one’s weirdo tastes. My latest audio bauble is Fantasy Records’ single-CD remaster of two longtime power-pop cult artifacts —#1 Record and Radio City by wildly influential Memphis maudits Big Star, an act blessed with far more talent than luck. Alex Chilton’s post-Box Tops comeback attempt zigged when the rest of rock zagged, despite first-rate collaborators like Chris Bell and Andy Hummel, but their sound lingers on in pretty much every four-piece Beatle-inflected rock band since. The sound is fully up to the standard set on Fantasy’s Isaac Hayes reissues earlier this year, with classics like “Don’t Lie to Me” and “September Gurls” packing an intensified wallop and lending a gorgeous Southern context to SoCal’s yearly spate of Dixie-like heat.

—Ron Garmon

Stream: Peter Holsapple and Chris Stamey “Here And Now”

(from hERE aND nOW out now on Bar/None)

Chris Stamey and Peter Holsapple were (legendarily) the only people in North Carolina who bought Big Star albums the very first time around, and they’d team up most famously for the power-pop band the dB’s. (Stamey would also release Chris Bell’s ‘I Am The Cosmos’ 45 and Holsapple would go on to play with R.E.M. and Hootie and the Blowfish!) They are now teamed up and touring as a band with no official name. This interview by Dan Collins.

Peter, you joined a band when you were eight?
Peter Holsapple (guitar/vocals): What?
Admittedly, this is from Wikipedia. But it says you were born in ’56 and joined a band in 1964.
Peter: That is true. I played in combos. But they weren’t professional. The first professional band I played in was when I was 12—when I earned money. We lived in a city with a lot of very active places for young people to play. They were the assembly halls for churches. On the weekends they’d get a PA and bands would play. That was kind of fun.
Did you ever cut a single?
Peter: No. Chris and Mitch [Easter] and I had a band that had an album in 1973 called Rittenhouse Square. It was not very good! It was what you’d expect out of 14- or 15-year-olds. We certainly listened to a lot of Yes, a lot of the Move. Things were funny and grind-y, but in retrospect it’s pretty naïve stuff.
Sounds like you met each other early in life.
Peter: Chris and Mitch were ahead of me in school. I do remember him standing in the parking lot of the school with an instrument case waiting for his parents to pick him up. His dad was a pediatrician in town—a lot of people went to Dr. Stamey! I saw him as a sort of inroads in a lot of ways. When I met him, he wasn’t playing music at all. He was learning to record, which I thought was very cool.
Yeah! And Chris, you produced Peter’s band Little Diesel in ’74.
Chris Stamey (guitar/vocals): We made it in an afternoon in my bedroom at my parents’ house. I’d moved the bed a little bit, and I had little tweed Fender amps nailed up to the wall and we made it on a four-track tape recorder. At the time I think they made 10 copies. They recorded it on an eight-track recorder, and by that I mean a little recorder that made 8-track cartridges. There were only literally a few copies made.
Do you have an 8-track you can send to me in the mail?
Peter: No! But a vinyl edition did come out a few years ago. It came out on Telstar records.
Chris: I was talking to Mitch about how we should find that, and he was like, ‘Oh, I’ve got the master tape still!’ So we dug it out and I mixed it up a little better than I had back then, and it’s a really cool energetic record! Anybody who’s heard it loves it.
Peter: There were a breadth of covers that we were trying to tackle. We were doing Free and Spirit and Status Quo. We didn’t really ascribe to the Allman Brothers/Marshall Tucker stuff that was popular there at the time. We sort of rooted for the underdog. That’s probably why we were such huge Move fans. That’s probably why the first song off our new album is by a band called ‘Family,’ who we love very dearly. That’s a band that had really meant an awful lot to us.
Chris: The MC5 had just come to town and just really transformed the Winston rock scene.
Peter: I was in school in New Hampshire at prep school for a year, during which time I did get to play in bands with Bob Tench, who went on to be Tom Petty’s keyboard player. He was one of those guys who was very deeply into the MC5 and the Stooges. The first Mott the Hoople album came out, and we really absorbed that.
Did you see the revival tour the MC5 did a few years ago? Evan Dando and Mark Arm from Mudhoney were singing with them.
Chris: And Marshall Crenshaw playing with them too—I have to say, the night I saw them in Chapel Hill, it was not a huge success, but it was only one night on a tour. It was kind of dark, I guess you’d say—the energy. The singers were reading all the lyrics—it wasn’t totally all together.
Well, enough about the past—tell me about the sound on your new album.
Chris: Well, what’s refreshing about talking with you is that it does remind me of a sixties interview. It’s not the usual questions. But Peter and I think about this as a band that we have together that has its own identity, and we just don’t have a band name for it. We recorded Mavericks in 1992, and in some ways we see this as a continuation of that.
Why is that?
Chris: It makes a connection to I guess what used to be called ‘good guy’ radio, almost like sixties AM radio. My experience with Big Star, for example, was hearing them—they were a hit band in Winston/Salem, and they were on the radio with bands like the Grass Roots and the Seeds. It’s just that they weren’t anywhere else but my hometown. It just isn’t a Porsche—more of a Woody! A family station wagon.
If somebody was a dB’s fan who had never heard this album, what differences would they see between this album and your old stuff?
Peter: dB’s records and the duet records are such that they both have as their main contributors myself and Chris. But if they’re dB’s records, they’ve got Will on drums and Gene on bass and it’s a harder rocking and slightly more frenzied thing.
Chris: The way the dB’s bass player and drummer play together is kind of like you drop an electric blender in a bathtub, and yet it keeps running. It’s a very explosive combustible combination. And we use really good players and we have more drums on this record than we thought we would, but this is more about our guitars and our voices.
Peter: It is two different voices! Even though Chris and I are the main guys writing for both groups. You know, there’s only been one saxophone on a dB’s record—on a single maybe. And here we’ve got Branford Marsalis who played on a couple cuts on this album.
That’s a score!
Peter: Yeah, Bran is a great guy. For years I was the keyboard guy and utility guy for Hootie and the Blowfish, and Branford always came down for their charity golf tournament every year and played. A couple years ago I said, ‘Well, I’ve got these songs that would be really well served if you could find some time to come and play on it. It’s about New Orleans.’ He was like, ‘I’m busy, but let me know! We’ll make it happen.’ Both tracks were lifted incredibly by his presence.
Lou Reed, before he was in the Velvet Underground, cut a single with King Curtis as the session horn guy! But I think you just beat that. Do you want to gloat at Lou Reed for besting him?
Peter: Lou’s contribution is sacred! Even his bad records aren’t that bad. I have no opportunity to diss him, frankly.
A few years back you recorded an album called A Question of Temperature.
Chris: Peter and I just came up with that title, I recall. On a record with a lot of covers, to name it after a cover that we weren’t doing seemed, you know… it was originally called Vote, and it was done as an EP. We did too many things… it became the world’s longest EP! We put it out right before the election that John Kerry lost to try to encourage people to vote. It seems crazy in retrospect. It was then released as a regular record in January. It was never intended to be an album-album.
What songs did you cover?
Chris: We covered a song of mine called ‘Summer Sun.’ The Yardbirds, we did. We covered ‘Venus’ by Television.
Can I get a statement from you about the death of Sky Saxon?
Chris: He was a friend of Chilton’s. I never really met him. When I played with Alex, we used to do ‘I Can’t Seem to Make You Mine’ almost every night. Alex was a really big fan.
How did you meet Alex Chilton?
Chris: I was making a record with Terry Ork. He’d put out the first Television 45, and I’d just moved to New York. And he said that they were putting out a record by Alex Chilton, and he needed a band because he was going to come up for one day—to play Valentine’s Day in New York. And Alex called me up, and we talked, and he asked me what my sign was, and everything seemed to be okay. I was playing bass—I think Tina Weymouth almost got the call, but I ended up getting it. And Alex stayed for over a year, and we kept playing. He’d stay on my couch a lot, and we went up and recorded a lot, most of which never came out.
There was another celebrity death this month as well. You guys once had a song called ‘Neverland.’ Do you think Michael Jackson named his ranch after you?
Chris: I think that would be a stretch.
The dance music movement that came along in the mid-early eighties, with Michael and Prince and Sheila E.—did that eclipse the fame that bands like the dB’s might have earned?
Peter: It certainly didn’t help it get on the radio! But… the music was great. All the music was great. We felt that we weren’t particularly in competition with that.
Chris: I think that for most bands, the whole idea of making it big wasn’t around. Once MTV came along, and it went out into the world, people got the idea, ‘Yeah, let’s make it big!’ But that wasn’t why we were making music. We weren’t trying to win the lottery.
Peter: Even as well known as we are for our contributions to sort of ‘new wave’ with the dB’s, we had already been writing and recording well before that. We just happened to come along at the time. The dB’s didn’t even have an American label for many years.
Of the people who were your contemporaries, who would you say sounded like you?
Chris: I think the Soft Boys! I clearly thought Television had the right idea, but I think the Soft Boys would be the closest.
Peter: Without meaning to be left of center, it appears that we were left of center. My dear friend Mark Brian from Hootie & the Blowfish says things to me like, ‘You’re my favorite eccentric weird songwriter.’ And I listen to my songs, and I don’t think they’re all that eccentric and weird. They’re simple, they’re rock ‘n’ roll, they have verses, they have choruses and bridges. What’s so different? Same thing with a Michael Jackson record. They’re still set up approximately the same way. Yet there’s a world of difference between them. The thing that we’ve all had to learn over the years is that this is not about huge success. That would be wonderful! I’d love it if a song got used in a commercial that would take the load off of being an unemployed musician. If I could ever get my publishing straightened out, maybe I could do something! The great thing is that I’ve got a job that I love. I love to be a musician. I love the reaction of people when they like my songs. Maybe I’m just a ham, but I really do dig it a lot. It feels really good. I’m not really comfortable in the rest of the world. I am on stage, though. Music was just about the most important thing to me until my kids came along.
Can you get your kids involved in music?
Peter: I play at my son’s school. I was the kids’ entertainer at Borders in New Orleans for about five years. I started working on a kids record, but then I realized that practically every old semi-failed new waver had done a kids record! I don’t want to be in that number until I can do something really good. Dan Zanes does a great job! Robert Warren is great! Disney’s got the Imagination Movers—that’s just the shit! I love it! The kids love it! You want to make kids music so that parents don’t jump out the window.
Chris, you haven’t released any kids albums to my knowledge—but you released Chris Bell’s first single on your label, right?
Chris: Right! Again, that was through Alex. Alex told me about it. I was very proud to have done that, but it wasn’t anything very creative except to the extent that A&R is creative. He’d made it a while back. He’d done in a guy’s garage, in a shoe box in Memphis, and then moved to London and mixed it with Geoff Emerick at George Martin’s Air studios.
In the last couple decades, we haven’t heard a whole lot from you! Have you been recording and producing bands or selling crystal meth, or what?
Chris: I do an album or two a month—some mixing, some producing. I probably work on about fifteen records a year. I just did a band called Megafaun. I did Rosebuds, on Merge. The Old Ceremony. Luego, which hasn’t come out yet…
How about some L.A. bands?
Chris: I did a whole bunch of recordings with Patrick Park! I don’t think he qualifies as a ‘band,’ but if anybody qualifies as a one-man band, he can really do it. That would be the most recent thing. I lived there, working there with Scott Litt on a Flat Duo Jets record for a while at Ocean Way, which became Cello. I definitely put in time in California. In a lot of ways, I consider the span I spent with Peter Holsapple to be a California band. We really started in L.A. We live in North Carolina, but the spirit of our birth was really in the Santa Monica kind of thing.
I have the Sharp Cuts compilation you came out on in 1980 on Planet Records with ‘Soul Kiss.’ You’re on there with a lot of other L.A. bands. Did that record come about because of your association with people out here?
Chris: No, I think that would be prior to it. I think we just got a call about it. I do remember they accidentally put the wrong tape on there, which always bugged me. That was a joke mix! It never was supposed to be out like that.
If it makes you feel better, on the album sticker, they list Suburban Lawns twice and forgot to list the Alleycats.
Chris: It figures.
Besides just songs, did people constantly misspell the ‘dB’s’ name on albums and flyers and such?
Chris: I think we knew we were in for trouble. It was interesting to see how things change in translation. I kind of liked that it did change all the time, but I guess it was an uphill struggle.
Did people ever spell it ‘D-e-e-B-e-e-s’ like the Bee Gees?
Chris: I think we’ve had every kind of possible ramification. The embarrassing thing is that we never should have put the apostrophe in there to begin with. It was archaic even then. It’s pretty incorrect.
I was listening to your early discography, Chris, and I feel like you were playing a brand of power-pop that even now sounds a bit more youthful. I feel like other power-pop sounded a bit mannish, and yours sounds more teenaged—even maybe had a bit of a bubblegum feel.
Peter:We listened to everything—depending on what you feel is bubblegum. I was married to Susan Cowsill of the Cowsills, so I love the Partridge Family. I love the stuff that was on Buddah, the Kasenetz-Katz Orchestra and things like that. But I don’t love it anymore than I love Otis Redding or the Dave Clark Five or Big Star. I will admit to having listened to more than the lion’s share of AM radio. Anything that goes from about 1964-1974.
Did you have a hard time convincing your peers to appreciate something more gentle and delicate?
Chris: I always played with good musicians, and we just talk about how to play music. You know on iTunes, they have a little pull-down things for genre when you want to make an MP3? I actually think I do more ‘folk rock’ over ‘power pop.’
What folk rock bands inspired you?
Chris: I would say the Byrds would be the biggest.
Speaking of 8-tracks, you guys did a lot of cassette releases as the dB’s. You did one that came in an actual can! Wasn’t that expensive?
Chris: We didn’t get the bill, but I don’t think it was that expensive. Probably a big waste of chow mein noodles or something! Cans can’t really cost that much—otherwise, they wouldn’t put cheap food in them.
Did the people who bought them actually have to use a can opener to get the tape out?
Chris: Oh yeah!
Why did things end? Why did you shelve the dB’s?
Chris: I think it’s more of a mystery why things continue. I look at bands I like like Blind Faith where they last for five months and a few gigs. It seemed like it went on a long time.
And you guys are still working together as a duo, so it’s like this working relationship that was in the dB’s is still going.
Chris: It had started 11 years before that, really. It’s just that the dB’s got more press because there were press agents involved.
Peter, you had a huge bunch of press when you played with R.E.M.
Peter: I did play with R.E.M. We did a tour for Green, the first album they did on Warner Brothers, and we recorded Out of Time—I played the acoustic guitar on ‘Losing My Religion.’ And then we went to England, and we reached a point where it was ‘untenable’ to work together. Much as I love those guys and respect what they’ve done, it was time for me to move on. I joined the Continental Drifters for ten years, and was serving in the same capacity I had with R.E.M. in Hootie & the Blowfish, which was a great gig I had for thirteen years.
You were saying that the dude from the Blowfish thinks you write weird songs. For our readership the weirdest thing you’ve EVER done is play in Hootie & the Blowfish!
Peter: The guys in the band are remarkable people. They truly are! They worked very, very hard for their success. They did some things that were probably ill-advised—they rushed out a second record out because they were afraid their fans were sick of the first record! They were thinking of their fans, which I thought was really cool.
Yeah, but… Hootie and the Blowfish! Chris, were ever moments where you were like, ‘Peter is killing the brand?’
Chris: I can’t even think in that way! He had been doing flower deliveries in New Orleans before that happened. I can’t think of how many times he went to Vietnam with them. I think it was kind of fun!
Peter: I would certainly rather do this than not work! That’s probably the best job I ever had. I enjoyed playing the music—it was really comfortable music, and really comforting music. It was not like playing with Yes. But to get to back up a world-class singer like Darius Rucker for 13 years was a serious honor. I was able to rope him into a tribute to Sandy Denny—I was the music director for a show that was celebrating the work of Sandy Denny, in Brooklyn, and I asked him to sing ‘Black Waterside,’ and he just tore it up! We got him on the R.E.M. tribute show at Carnegie Hall, and he did ‘I Believe’ with Calexico. People are more inclined to hate Hootie & the Blowfish because they think they’ve heard Hootie & the Blowfish. But Hootie did five really good studio records. Every one of those records had songs that could have been hits on them. The shape of radio changed, and the band stuck with their style. It was tough to go from being nobody, to being a huge hit, to being a punch line. People just think it’s ‘Hold My Hand’ and Darius in a cowboy hat hawking Burger King.
What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever played?
Chris: They all seem so normal! With the Golden Palominos, we played the Montrose Jazz Festival. We were playing after the Herbie Hancock Quartet, with Ron Carter, Herbie Hancock. I think we played after Miles Davis, too.
Have you had any crazy stories recently where you two put out an album or did a show, and some rabid fans did something… rabid?
Chris: I usually hide after shows! You seem to be looking for fun, tabloid stuff, and you’re probably looking in the wrong direction. We come from a very Southern, polite tradition.
I was actually at the 99 Cent Store on York in Highland Park, and ran across the Chris Stamey and Friends’ Christmas album— for a buck! It wasn’t bad! Can you tell me how that came about?
Peter: I did ‘O Holy Night’ on the very first version of the Christmas album years ago. I love that stuff! I grew up in the Episcopal Church, singing in the choir. I love the popular stuff! The Beach Boys’ Christmas record, the Ventures Christmas record, the Phil Spector Christmas Gift for You, the Beatles 45. Love ‘em, love ‘em, love ‘em! And the best part of Christmas albums is that they sell every year.
Chris: Gene Holder, who plays bass in the dB’s, always wanted to make a Christmas record, always thought that would be a fun thing to do. We were so impressed that even after I was no longer playing with the band, I wrote a song called ‘Christmas Time’ kinda with him in mind and got the other guys who had been in the dB’s to record it with me. And we put together other tracks based around that one song.
Who sings ‘Silver Bells?’ That was my favorite tune off the album.
That was Kirsten Lambert. She’s a friend of ours who lives here. That may be her only recorded effort, as far as I know.
That’s a tragedy! Tell her! If she ever goes on tour, I’ll give her an interview.
Chris: Okay—haha!

PETER HOLSAPPLE AND CHRIS STAMEY ON FRI., JULY 17, AT McCABE’S GUITAR SHOP, 3101 PICO BLVD., SANTA MONICA. 8 PM / $20 / ALL AGES. MCCABES.COM PETER HOLSAPPLE AND CHRIS STAMEY’S hEAR aND nOW IS OUT NOW ON BAR/NONE. VISIT PETER HOLSAPPLE AND CHRIS STAMEY AT HOLSAPPLESTAMEY.COM OR MYSPACE.COM/HEREANDNOWPETERANDCHRIS.

Stream: The Dream Syndicate “Merrittville”

(from Medicine Show on A&M)

The Dream Syndicate found whatever was in Sister Lovers and Tonight’s The Night still breathing in L.A. in 1984 and used it to make Medicine Show, still a nervous and wild local classic. Guitarist-singer Steve Wynn will perform the album in its entirety tonight with his band the Miracle 3. He speaks now from a quiet park in New York. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

What’s an easier cover song for you to do at an instant’s notice? Flamin’ Groovies, Roxy Music, Modern Lovers or the Ghostbusters theme song?
Every one of those. Every single one. They’re all fair game. I’d play any of those right now. I could do a medley of ‘Roadrunner,’ ‘Ghostbusters’ and ‘Shake Some Action.’ That would work out pretty well.
What was it like growing up in the Hollywood Hills while Manson and friends were on the prowl?
I was nine years old at the time and that was a nice introduction to the more sinister side of life. I remember being absolutely certain that they were coming for me, that they were going to be knocking on my window. Because if you remember, they weren’t caught right away. I think there were several months between the Tate-LaBianca murders and when they were arrested. During that time, I’m sure a lot of people thought this way. Definitely being a nine-year-old kid living up in the hills where you hear all kinds of sounds all the time-you’re sure it’s Susan Atkins and Tex Watson knocking on your window. It was a scary time. I’ve written a lot about these kinds of things and maybe that was my earliest influence. The Beatles, Creedence and Charles Manson.
Was that the first time you encountered the concept of evil?
Well, it’s funny. When I was growing up Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were killed and I was just barely old enough to grasp that-but something about that was more abstract. I didn’t quite understand their importance and impact and what they represented. Then you hear something like the Manson killings and you think, ‘Well, that seems like something that could happen right here.’ The Robert Kennedy assassination didn’t seem quite as immediate. It seemed terrible and I had the sense that something very bad had happened and I kind of understood the overview-but at that age you don’t fully grasp that. But you can completely understand the concept of someone coming into your house and killing everyone savagely. That was definitely my first sign that there were people out there who would do very bad things for almost no reason.
You said once the best serial killers all came from L.A.
It’s a little glib to say the ‘best’ ones because they’re all pretty awful. That’s something I said a long time ago but yeah, it’s interesting. Most of the well known serial killers seem to be in L.A. or Florida. What does that say? Beautiful, full of sunshine and full of open spaces-well, not L.A. but California anyway. You’d figure they’d all be in Detroit where they’re miserable. Maybe people get bored in California and Florida.
Maybe they really are cold blooded. They need that nice warm weather or they get sluggish.
Maybe that’s it. I lived in L.A. for years. I feel like I know L.A. probably better than any other city I’ll ever know in my life and L.A.’s got a lot of secret places. As anyone who lives there knows, it’s got the shiny, slick veneer and when you flip on the lights all the cockroaches start running around. There are a lot of very seamy things hidden by a very shiny exterior. Living in New York, the grit’s right there staring you in the face the whole time and nothing really surprises you. I think maybe that really shines a light on the difference between the beautiful and the horrible. Maybe when there’s that kind of a contrast, there’s no limit to how horrible you can get.
Is that uneasy coexistence between the beautiful and the horrible sort of the same thing we get on Medicine Show?
I think it’s definitely on Medicine Show. When the Dream Syndicate started the thing that we were all intrigued by in the band was taking very essentially straightforward hooky pop songs and just destroying them-having no reverence for them. At the time, most bands either played pop music or punk music or roots music and there was no mixing it up too much and our obvious reference point was the Velvets-but a lot of other bands as well-who would do that sort of thing, who would take a beautiful thing and then just trash it. That’s what we were doing on Days of Wine and Roses. I think on Medicine Show we kind of took away a lot of the beauty and went into the ugliness. It’s a very, very dark record but still catchy songs, still hooks, a lot of moments of beauty and elegance. It’s a much darker, disturbed record than Days of Wine and Roses.
You described it as the most ‘emotional, frightening and unique’ of the Dream Syndicate records. Why?
Well, I love that record. It is my favorite Dream Syndicate album and, you know, among other reasons it’s because there is no other record like it. When I hear the other three Dream Syndicate albums, I like them, but I can hear things that came before and things that went after but I can’t think of any other record either before or after that was quite like what we were doing on Medicine Show and it’s a pretty unique little thumbprint of where we were at the time and all the good things and the bad things about being in that band at that moment in time. Having said that, I spent every day for six months making that album and it was not the happiest times for me and Karl. On the one hand, we were at a peak as far as what people thought of us and the interest in us and at the same time kind of a downslide in the way that we were getting along with each other. So it wasn’t a record I wanted to go right back to right away. As much as I liked it, it brought back a lot of bad memories. But especially in recent months when I hear that record I’m really proud of it. I don’t listen to my stuff that much. I usually only listen to my records when it’s time to rehearse for tour but I started playing that record in the last few months and I was very happy with what I heard. It holds up really well.
What was the cost or price of making this record happen? You said you were losing your mind when you were making it.
A lot. First of all, it’s not the way I liked to work then or since then. I don’t like spending that much time on a record. I think that once you spend that much time you start second guessing yourself too much-you start making decisions because you’re bored, you start not getting along with each other. That’s a hard process so I wouldn’t recommend that for anybody unless you’re making some mass-market pop hit record-maybe you need to do that sort of thing but it’s not the way I would choose to work. But the cost beyond that? Look, we made Days of Wine and Roses in three days and that’s amazingly quick-that’s beyond belief. And we made Medicine Show in six months, which was too long. Probably somewhere in between would have been good. I mean, Karl and I were both twenty-three at the time. A year before that we’d been working minimum wage jobs and hoping we could get a gig third billed at Madame Wong’s. It was a lot of stuff coming in very quickly and we reacted in very different ways. If that kind of thing happened now, or ten years ago, I would know how to deal with it but at the time we were just confused. It was pretty, pretty heavy stuff.
How did making Medicine Show change the way you made the rest of your music afterward?
Well, I wouldn’t change a thing about that record. I’ll say that right away. But at the same time, I think we could have made the exact same record in one month. I think all that push and pull and the doubt… and maybe there were reasons certain people had for having it take that long and that’s all I’ll say about that. But I guess the main thing I learned is that I won’t take that long to make a record again. I’d rather make a record in a month or less and knock it out and it is what it is and it’s a moment and then you make another one a year later. That’s one thing I took away. On the other hand, another thing I took away from that record is that it’s good to dig deep and go to some very ugly places either to get something you’re looking for or to put you on a path to get to something else. If you’re making music or art or writing books or whatever, you sometimes have to go someplace where you’re not comfortable going and we definitely did that making that record.
You had a quote where you said, ‘If I was one of my own subjects, I’d be dead.’ Is that what’s happening on Medicine Show?
Yeah, the people in those songs and in a lot of my songs, they push themselves to a limit with no regard for themselves and no regard for people around them-they maybe make a lot of bad choices and then they regret them and then they make more bad choices. That’s a common theme in my stuff. Like anybody, I’ve got elements of that in myself and I enjoy going there when I’m writing or recording but I’m not living that all the time. Having said that, when I was making that record I was a wreck. I was drinking a lot. I was drinking a fifth of whiskey every day.
What brand?
Jim Beam. I was a big fan of Jim Beam and I knew every liquor store in San Francisco that stayed open until two in the morning where I could go and get a bottle right before closing time. I was definitely a drunk and I was not happy because I felt out of control of the record we were making and I was afraid that something that was very, very exciting and meaningful to me-the Dream Syndicate and the music we were making-was being hijacked. Turns out in a way it was-because it wasn’t necessarily how we would have gone about doing things. But again, like I say, the end results were fantastic. When you’re twenty-three, you’ve only made one record in your entire life and that record took three days and now you’re working on a record every day for five months, you’re going to go through all kinds of emotional places. And when you add a lot of whiskey to that… and also on top of that I think that one thing with making that record that had a lot of impact is that we did it in San Francisco, away from home. We were away from all our friends and away from our families and away from the places we hung out and the clubs we liked and the bands we liked and we were kind of isolated. That was in a way a good thing because it maybe freed us up to go further but it also took away a little bit of the compass, a little bit of a reference point that we might have needed at the time.
It sounds like an echo-chamber effect.
Exactly. And beyond that, it wasn’t just with each other because Dennis Duck and Dave Provost, the rhythm section, they were gone after two weeks. They spent two, maybe three weeks and then they were gone and then it was just me and Karl for about two months and then he was gone and then for the last two months I was pretty much there by myself with [producer] Sandy Pearlman. It was definitely some sort of Patty Hearst Stockholm Syndrome-esque experience.
Are you saying that you and Sandy Pearlman had a Stockholm Syndrome relationship?
In a way. In a way. I still see Sandy now and then. He’s a great producer, did a great job on the record, but there was definitely a lot of… I wouldn’t say intentional. It wasn’t malicious, but a lot of definite mental manipulation being that close together for that long a period of time.
Was it sort of like a Phil Spector waving a gun vibe?
There were no guns. It was more psychological, but at one point I threw a whiskey bottle at him and he said, ‘You can’t throw a whiskey bottle at me. Mick Jones didn’t even throw a whiskey bottle at me.’ I took that as high praise.
When you were going through that kind of thing, what did you do to escape?
I was reading a lot. I think the same thing that influenced me on the songs added more paranoia. I was reading a lot of Faulkner, a lot of Flannery O’Connor, a lot of Harry Crews, a lot of Southern Gothic dark writers so that just compounded everything. And then on top of it I was in a zone where each day I would play Funhouse by the Stooges at least two or three times. I think at the time I was a lot older at twenty-three than I am now at forty-nine. I pictured myself sort of a vagrant gypsy type, just wandering the streets of San Francisco at all hours, looking for trouble, looking for bars, looking for people I could get into confrontational discussions with-just kind of looking for the darker side of things. I was living the record. I was living the songs and there was also some self-flagellation going on there. It was an interesting time. I was also watching the television preacher Gene Scott. I was obsessed with Gene Scott. There was a channel at the time in San Francisco that had him on TV twenty-four hours a day. I watched Gene Scott when I woke up. I wasn’t converting. I wasn’t sending any money. He just became sort of my alter ego. I think I sort of looked at him and thought that’s who I was. I was Gene Scott. I wanted to get a full-length fur coat and dark glasses and wander around the streets. I wanted to be Gene Scott. Since that time, I’ve seen that kind of early success followed by self-flagellation. You see it in a lot of people. You saw it in Kurt Cobain, you saw it in Eddie Vedder, you see it in a lot of people. It happens over and over. There’s a pattern there and who’s to say why it happens? But I think when you’re young and doing something that means a lot to you and maybe the same kind of vulnerability that makes you do the stuff in the first place-when you get that kind of thing where suddenly you’re successful and everyone’s watching you, you might not react in the most stable, sane way as you would if you were older and had perspective.
F. Scott Fitzgerald said when you get success really early, it really wrecks you.
Well, it’s why I’m really grateful that twenty-five years later I’m still touring and making records and doing better than ever so fortunately I’ve had both sides of it. I had that whole experience that was enlightening and horrific and now I’m able to kind of enjoy the good things that happen so I’ve had both ends of it. I’ve always said the one regret I have about Dream Syndicate is that I wish there had been one more album. I think Medicine Show should have been our third album. I wish we would have made one more record with Kendra and a couple more tours. Just because what we were doing on Days of Wine and Roses and on those first few tours was really exciting, a really great thing and I think we could have had a little more of that and then made the grand epic.
Was there anything that came between the two records that never made it out?
Nothing, nothing. It was really quick. Days of Wine and Roses came out in November of ’82 and by March Kendra had left the band and by the summer we were in the studio. It was all happening very quickly. I wasn’t writing as much at the time. Now I write a lot, but at the time, getting those eight songs on the record, that’s all there was. There were no other songs, there were no outtakes. That was it. Again, the pressure you put on yourself… Those are songs I still play all the time, songs I still love.
Did you feel pressure coming off Days of Wine and Roses and going right into Medicine Show?
Yes, but we handled it in different ways. You know, I was a very big music fan and I had my heroes and they were all people like Lou Reed and Big Star Sister Lovers. All the people I was into-also Jeffrey Lee Pierce, Neil Young, John Lennon on his first solo album-all people at their darkest, most confused, fucked up, plumbing the depths period-this is what I thought was cool. I didn’t like Radio City or #1 Record, I liked Third. I didn’t like Imagine, I liked Plastic Ono Band. I didn’t like Harvest, I liked Tonight’s the Night. I was going for that dark place, so I felt that I was carrying the torch to take us darker and weirder and make something very disturbing and that was an extreme reaction. Karl, on the other hand, saw it as our chance to be a stadium rock band and he said we’re on a major label now-we’re playing with the big boys and he wanted to take it to a more slick, professional, let’s be a big rock band kind of thing. And both reactions were completely heartfelt and noble but they don’t work too well together so we drove each other nuts. That’s why we drove each other absolutely nuts and you can hear it on the record. And what drove us nuts on a personal level, musically is interesting. I think the nice thing about Medicine Show is it is very disturbing, very dark and it’s also very big and regal and epic. It’s not a trashy little record. It’s a very grand record. There was sort of a push and pull between my record collection, my record label, my reality and my band mates that maybe added pressure. The thing I learned at the time, and I’ve seen this in a lot of bands since then, is that it’s just as much of a sell-out to make yourself more repellent than you need to be as it is to try and make yourself more glamorous than you need to be. They’re both somethings that may not be true to what you really are. So, self sabotage and selling out are sort of two sides of the same coin.
Do you think you would have agreed with that at the time?
Of course not. That’s the thing, you get perspective and that’s why I say I don’t have any problem with any of that, but it’s something that I’ve learned since then. It’s natural to go there. And it’s something I’ve always admired about R.E.M. Maybe it’s because they were all such good friends, maybe it’s that they all lived in Athens, whatever it was-they really managed to kind of keep a pretty even keel in a way that a lot of other bands didn’t. If I look at most bands from that period of time, whether it’s the Replacements or us or Hüsker Dü or the Long Ryders, they all had a lot of inner turmoil, a lot of mercurial moves musically, career wise… and R.E.M. didn’t seem to do that and that’s probably why they’ve had such long term success. Then there was no road map. Now you come along and Pitchfork writes about you and you can look back and see a lot of bands around you or that came ten years before and see how they handled it. There was really no road map for us. There was no such thing as indie rock. Yeah, there had been punk rock, but that was kind of a very isolated thing and kind of imploded very quickly. We were the first band of our ilk to sign to a major label-before R.E.M., before Replacements, before kind of anybody we were the first ones to kind of go that route and it was ‘What now? What do we do now? Are we the Scorpions now? What can we base this whole thing on?’ And then you would tour around and if you were any of the bands that I mentioned you were going cross-country playing in cities where they didn’t really get what you were doing. Even when we toured with R.E.M. a few months after Medicine Show we would play cities like Boisie, Idaho and the headline in the paper the next day was ‘New Wave Comes to Boise.’ Are you kidding? New wave? I wish I would have saved it because it was the most amazing thing. We saw it and our jaws dropped. But as much as New York and L.A. got it, it was still this mostly completely mysterious thing. Are you a punk or are you new wave? We were still getting that then. And the other thing we’d get then was, ‘Now why are you playing guitars? Is that some kind of statement? Because guitars are dead.’ And it was mystifying. Also it was kind of the era of the producer. We just hit a point where bands just didn’t go in and make their music and have it documented. Producers were meant to manipulate bands to make them ‘better.’ And so the producer became the star. Like, ‘I can take ten seconds of what you’re doing, mess it around and make you a much better band.’
The producer as alchemist, kind of?
Kind of, and the band was the tools. Of course I’m sure that Grizzly Bear and other bands now and Animal Collective have their own problems now and things they have to face, but they can at least say, well, here’s what the hot indie band did two years ago. Here’s how Arcade Fire handled it two years ago. So there’s a little more of a rudder to the whole thing.
It’s like everybody’s got somebody working for them now.
I’ve gone the exact opposite way. I’ve found a real freedom beginning about fifteen years ago when I started managing myself. I stopped caring about making it, which I did or didn’t care about at different times. And all I really want to do is make records I like and then go out in front of people and play them. And if the arc takes me one tour in front of three thousand people, another tour in front of thirty, it doesn’t matter. After this many years, it’s just kind of a continuous thing and when I’m ninety I’ll have made a handful of records and some will be my favorites and some will be ones where I kind of missed it by a few marks here and there and that’s great. That’s a good life. It’s a lot easier to do it when you’ve been around for twenty-five years and a lot easier when you’ve made a lot of records that people like. The thing I always liked about the ’70s for example, as opposed to right now, is that really good artists made some really bad records and I think that’s great. I think that’s a great thing. I don’t think people give themselves as much freedom now to make really shitty records. I’m not sure if it’s because people aren’t making as many or that there’s so much importance on it, but I love that there are some really bad Neil Young records and some really bad Bob Dylan records and some really bad Lou Reed records and it’s great because I think sometimes you have to get through a really huge misstep to get to something really good.
There’s not the freedom to make those kinds of mistakes anymore?
Or maybe they just don’t allow themselves to. I mean, they have the freedom to because these days you could make a record in your living room and have it out a couple weeks later but maybe people are more savvy now. People are a little more self-conscious, a little more aware. And everything that’s good about having the road map, everything that makes it easier also makes it a little bit harder to completely go off the deep end. And on Medicine Show, that’s a record where we went way off the deep end. We went to this crazy, extreme place that no one had gone to before. I keep going back to this but when I hear Days of Wine and Roses I can hear a lot of bands in that record, before and after. Medicine Show? You tell me. I mean, I hear certain Nick Cave things that came after, but there’s this kind of weird mixture of things, very dark, very big at the same time and I think it’s pretty unique.
What do you think about the fact that that much of your personality and mind state came come through in Medicine Show?
Well, I think that the people who were really affected by Medicine Show-and it’s important to remember that in the U.S. there was really a backlash because people wanted Days of Wine and Roses, but in Europe it was taken to be the best record of those couple years. People freaked out over it and still do. So on one side of the Atlantic people were saying we dropped the ball and on the other side they were rolling out the red carpet, so I think I found it more amusing than upsetting. But the people that that record touched, over here especially, were people who really enjoy that dark ride. One thing I heard that really flattered me was I saw an interview with Greg Dulli where he said he moved to L.A. because he heard Medicine Show and that’s great. And he’s a pretty fucked up, disturbed guy too, so it was definitely a little mating call-a little radar signal to the malcontents and the wackos out there. It goes back to what I said about loving Tonight’s the Night, and Plastic Ono Band and Big Star Third. I think those kinds of records aren’t for everybody but the people who are touched by those records, those are their favorite records. They think, ‘That was made for me.’ There’s no grey about it. It’s black and white. You either get it or you don’t.
You know that famous story about some kid coming up to Lou Reed and saying, ‘Man, I started using because of you. You were the guy who turned me on to it.’ Have you had that ‘what have we really made here?’ feeling?
Fortunately no one ever came up to me and said they set fire to a field because of me, so I guess I’m ok on that front. I’ve never incited arson or any of the things that happen in ‘Merrittville’ so I think I’m ok on that front. Look, I think the Dream Syndicate has the same very flattering legacy that a lot of bands like the Velvets have where people started bands because they were influenced by us and I think that’s great. That means a lot to me. I didn’t plan out everything to the letter, the way it all worked out, and I don’t think I ever would have imagined I’d be where I am right now doing things the way I am right now, but it is interesting that the career we had kind of mirrored the bands I was in to. I wasn’t looking to be the next Beatles. I was looking to make those records that really were challenging and difficult and would mean a lot to the people who liked them. The thing I used to say at the beginning of the Dream Syndicate, and I think we all felt, was that it’s most important to make a record that could be at least one person’s favorite record of all time. It’s better to do that than to make a record that a lot of people will say, ‘yeah, that’s ok. I’m fine with that. That’s good background music.’ If one person in the world could say that’s the best thing that I’ve ever heard in my life and it changed my life, then you’ve done something right.
How often do you think to yourself, ‘I must have been crazy because I did this or didn’t do that’?
All the time, man. Like anybody, all the time. I try not to get bogged down in it too much because it’s much better to just do something new, do a new record or a new tour. But again, and I think a lot of people in that situation would say the same thing, is that I wish I would have enjoyed it a little more.
That’s youth.
Yeah, why is youth wasted on the young? Blah blah blah. But being twenty-three and opening for R.E.M. and U2 and making a record with that much money at your disposal, I think that the forty-nine year old Steve would think, oh, I can have fun with this. And I did have fun. On the R.E.M. tour I made friends with Peter and Mike especially, who are still great friends to this day. And I have great stories to tell of the debauchery.
Can you give me a few tales of R.E.M. debauchery for the readers?
Absolutely, absolutely not.
Is there still a room in L.A. that you know you could walk into that you know hasn’t changed a bit since you were last here?
You know, that’s a good question. A lot of my favorite clubs and bars I used to love are gone. There were so many great ones. I miss Raji’s. I miss Al’s Bar. I miss what the Whisky was. I miss Moby’s Dock, a great bar at the end of the Santa Monica pier. I miss the Tap ‘n’ Cap on Sawtelle. I miss the Firefly on Vine. And there are a whole new generation of those things that are probably amazing that I don’t go to that often. I love Chez Jay. It’s a great bar by the beach that will probably never change. That’s my favorite haunt. It’s been there since before I was born and it’s still the same as it was back then. That’s a great hangout. It’s the first thing I could think of as far as an L.A. constant.
You never ended up at a bar with Warren Zevon, did you?
No, and I really wish I would have known him. I met him once backstage at McCabe’s and I’m a huge fan. I know people who have hung out with him and have a couple stories about him, but no. I wish I would have known him either when we were both at our worst or when we’d recovered from that. Both would have been interesting. Kind of on that level, I remember I used to DJ at the Cathay de Grande. That’s another place I miss a lot. I was a Monday night kind of blues/soul/garage DJ there and they used to pay me in alcohol. I didn’t get any money but I used to drink as much as I could stand and I remember DJing and drinking my screwdrivers up in the booth and watching a very drunken Tom Waits come stumbling in with Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs and that was kind of a very L.A. thing.
How do you feel reminiscing about this stuff? Do you recognize yourself as the same person in the songs or is it like coming back to a country you haven’t been to in awhile?
That’s interesting. We toured a couple years ago and did The Days of Wine and Roses, the same as we’re doing with this record. It was very easy to fall into that mode for some reason, the sort of wise-ass, cocky confrontational guy that made that record and did those tours and I was actually having fun method acting it. I don’t think I can go to where I was during Medicine Show. I can play those songs and it’s going to be a really good tribute and update at the same time, but man, I don’t know if I could be that person or want to be that person. We’ve been rehearsing the record a lot this week for the New York show and we’ll be getting into shape for the L.A. show and it’s going to be great, but I said really if I wanted to do it the right way I would just spend the next two weeks drinking whiskey nonstop and that would put me in the right mode but I don’t think I’m going to do that.

STEVE WYNN AND THE MIRACLE THREE PERFORM MEDICINE SHOW PLUS THE URINALS THUR., JULY 9, AT THE ECHO, 1822 SUNSET BLVD., ECHO PARK. 8:30 PM / $10 / 18+. VISIT STEVE WYNN AT STEVEWYNN.NET.