Download: Dam-Funk “Hood Pass Intact”

(off Toeachizown Vol. 4: Hood out now on Stones Throw)

Dam-Funk grew up on “Scooby Doo” and sessioned for Westside Connection but his life’s work was and will be the stewardship of the true spirit of funk. He’s remixed Baron Zen and Animal Collective and he’s just about to release the 5XLP monster Toeachizown on Stones Throw. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

What happened when you saw your first UFO?
Dam-Funk: It was an orb—a light. It wasn’t just me who saw it. It had an orange glow and it flew across the sky—and nobody talked about it! I still don’t know what it was. But it struck my interest. I always knew better things were out there. I made a song about it—‘Brookside Park’ on Vol. 4—the one called Hood. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll get the visual and how the music sounded to me that day. It changed my life. I started listening to Art Bell’s ‘Coast To Coast.’
How does an experience like that affect what you do with music?
Dam-Funk: That’s part of my inspiration. The reason there are so many distractions on earth—like ‘social networking’ and shit—is that they want you not to concentrate on what else is going on. Because they already know! We get to muddle in Kanye and Taylor Swift but there are other things going on! Sometimes you get stories here and there—‘They found other planets!’ But there’s got to be something beyond what we’re muddling through with this bullshit. I wanna create something now and later on when we get our heads together, maybe my music will be the soundtrack—when we have clear minds and concentrate on other things. Not the petty gossip airhead experience. People are excited about the upper surface, but that’s just the busted pie crust. I wanna be the inside of the pie, not the outside crust!
What’s inside the pie?
Dam-Funk: I wanna deal with mass people thinking along the same lines. If we need change, we’ve all got to get together and make it happen. I got this thing called N.O.N.C.A.T.—it’s funny to some people but I try to practice it everyday. It stands for ‘Not One Negative Comment Action or Thought.’ Let’s at least contribute to getting rid of all this stupid shit going on here! You don’t have to be happy-go-lucky howling in peoples’ faces, but be positive—contribute to a higher level of thinking and the world will start changing. It doesn’t have to be all mystical. But this world can be better—let’s try and do something!
What’s the connection between funk and science-fiction?
Dam-Funk: Funk is the real music of the urban city. Not R&B and not soul—those are great genres of black expression. Trust me. But funk is the one that even expands it more. It was always the people who were a little bit different—people who went out and found new shit. Unfortunately, a lot of drugs in the late ’70s knocked us out of the box. Who woulda known? ‘Crack—it’s the cool new shit!’ Everybody fell for it. A lot of people never recovered. But it was definitely deeper than soul and R&B. Soul and R&B were more about hits. Funk had more real shit inside. It was more a backroom type of expression—the smell of sex! Even sadness. ‘He’s in a funk!’
Dawn Silva told us true funk is hard to control—do you agree?
Dam-Funk: I think she has a point. But one day I would hope people open up. But in a way, I don’t give a fuck if they don’t catch on. Like I talk about Gary Wilson—he doesn’t need to be on the radio. He’s cool—he has his own crowd. Funk will always have its own crowd.
You were funk’s lone defender in L.A.—what’s it like to be the guy who won’t give up?
Dam-Funk: There’s always the truth out there. It happened to Caron Wheeler. Erykah Badu came with the same concept—the headwraps, the look straight from Africa, the incense-burning. And Caron Wheeler was the first. Sometimes it’s timing and sometimes people aren’t ready … and sometimes people do your shit and do it better! But I always wondered—who was the OTHER James Brown? Maybe before him—in a city where they didn’t ever quite get it? Or the other Prince down in San Diego somewhere, but Prince happened to get signed? You can’t complain but it just happens. I thank God Peanut Butter Wolf allowed me to get my side of the story out. I know a lot of people do the ’80s-influenced thing. I guarantee when you listen to Toeachizown, it’s not even ’80s—it’s modern funk. I’m not trying to recreate. I wanna give somebody something new. It’s still the original inspiration, but I try to continue where it got broken off!
Where was it broken off?
Dam-Funk: After P-Funk was interrupted at Warner and they went to regulate on Clinton. ‘Man, you’re a little too up there.’ The concept was getting crazy and getting peoples’ minds open and they had business problems, too. They did revitalize with ‘Atomic Dog.’ But those albums were like pre-Public Enemy—The Electric Spanking of War Babies in 1981 and no one knows it because they didn’t promote it! It was right after Trombipulation—the Parliament album with the elephant nose—and they just regulated on George. ‘Hold on!’ After that, RUN-DMC dropped on Profile and that changed the game, so all the majors were like, ‘Fuck funk—too many big-ass bands! Too many horns!’ It was still made on independent labels—slicked up and geared to dance and that was boogie! Boogie took over—Prelude, Salsoul, West End—and it wasn’t called disco because they’d burn disco records.
Why do you think people felt like they had to physically destroy those records?
Dam-Funk: It could be as simple as people saying, ‘We couldn’t enjoy it.’ Or more deep—‘This is some shit that gays and people of color and whites can all come together—this is dangerous! We can’t have that happen!’ I don’t wanna say conspiracy but you wonder! Radio went nuts on disco—too much disco! Then real labels like Philadelphia International and Salsoul got lumped in with all the major labels and fake groups—fake disco! But Teddy Pendergrass and the O’Jays, they didn’t call it disco. It was black dance music! A 4/4 beat and people could dance—uptempo R&B and it was great! But it was thrown under the rug—bringing too many people together.
How do you know when it’s fake?
Dam-Funk: You can always tell. I’m gonna always be changing. I’ll always be funk-based, but I like too much other stuff to be the same cat. The next album probably won’t be the same sound. You can tell when they’re a copycat. Now everybody is into an 808/Lil Wayne sound and a blippy beat sound and trippy club music—you know, people wanna get in and get money. I can’t be mad—it’s a capitalist country—but don’t you have integrity, you fuck?
Is this why you’ll shout out the names of the musicians when you’re doing a DJ set?
Dam-Funk: I feel the people who did the work didn’t get enough props. And it’s not for the artists alone—it’s for the listening public. If I’m at a club and I play a certain song, they might be timid to come up and ask. People deserve to know who the artists are.
Is Toeachizown your life’s work?
Dam-Funk: I feel funk has never been given an opportunity to be released like this. That’s why I give it up to Stones Throw—funk was always on a major or a real small label, and this time it’s on a small label but in a new era where a small label can do something like this. The verdict is out, but I hope when the judge’s hammer slams down, people will look back and say, ‘This dude stuck to his guns and he did a funk record from beginning to end. And it wasn’t just funk—he even did new wave rock! The funk had all the influences!’ Prince—‘Let’s Pretend We’re Married’—that’s new wave! Funkadelic did rock songs—‘Cosmic Slop!’ That was killing a lot of early metal! I’m being positive but it’s definitely not gonna be a Mayer Hawthorne out-of-the-box hit. But I’d rather have the slow burn. Ten years from now—‘Man, that dude did what he believed in!’
You sessioned for Ice Cube—what did you learn from him?
Dam-Funk: That was some real shit! I learned what people respect—it’s the passion. The fact that you mean serious business about your writing. I even look at ‘Dateline NBC’ sometimes—the host is so fucking into his shit! Me and my lady will be rollin’—‘That’s what I’m talking about! Look how he pronounces his words!’ We’d laugh at first but that dude’s killing it. ‘Dateline’—that’s that shit! With the realest cats—game recognizes game! They respect you if you’re true to your shit. Once you try and fake it, that’s when your ass gets whipped. They knew I could play keys and they saw my talent. I wasn’t scared because I grew up on that shit. I’d see the guns and be like, ‘OK, cool—no big deal.’ When they see you ain’t tripping, you’re invited to the party. ‘I don’t give a fuck how you look—that motherfucker is cool!’ When I do my own thing, those cats are like, ‘Cool—I knew you were gonna do that funk stuff!’
What do the guys in Animal Collective most have in common with Ice Cube?
Dam-Funk: They stick to their guns. Cube—I definitely respected that cat. He was born the same day as me! You could tell he was serious about his business. A lot of people thought those guys were buffoons. This was the same guy who went to Priority and took a bat—he was really serious about getting his money—and busted the window! But sometimes you gotta do that. I hate to say it and I don’t wanna do it, but I’ve been in situations where you have to handle shit. You have to keep respect and integrity on your side. If people see you respect your life and work, they’ll respect you as well. ‘You can’t do that to me—I care!’ Animal Collective started on the porch and then got into drum machines and atmosphere and electronics—now look!
Where do you and Todd Rundgren overlap as musicians?
Dam-Funk: He has heart! It wasn’t about hits, even though he could make hits if he chose to. That’s the aesthetic I like to align myself with. I’m the same person as back in the day when I was riding my bike to the record store in Pasadena. Hits are hits, and they’re great! But the music I gravitate to—maybe because I’m a weirdo?—it’s not on the radio. At a certain point, you grow out of the radio. ‘I love music so much that I’m gonna look for this rare 12” that only did 500 copies!’ That independent release—that’s some of the most magical music out there. No matter how much money or accolades I might get, I always wanna do music for that person who was me. That kid who ventures off looking for music that touches their soul.
What was the first concert you ever went to where you felt that way?
Dam-Funk: Kiss and Mötley Crüe at the Universal Amphitheatre. I couldn’t believe the way Paul Stanley was cussing! ‘This is not like the records!’—I finally got it. They couldn’t put those lyrics on the record—this was before N.W.A. busted the door open. But at the concert, it was like, ‘We’re gonna party tonight, motherfuckers! Make some fucking noise!’ It was incredible, man. I thought, ‘You can really be YOU in concert!’
How do you feel when you’re on stage?
Dam-Funk: I’m on for the people. They paid their money and they’re seeing art. It’s like in an art gallery—I’m the painting they’re looking at, so I have to give them the visual and audio satisfaction to experience their night.
What do you think of L.A.’s music now? Bands like HEALTH and clubs like Low End Theory that are connecting all different kinds of music together?
Dam-Funk: I think L.A.’s got a pretty healthy scene right now. People wanna work together and cross-pollinate. The Internet has diversified things. In the ‘70s and ‘80s, it wasn’t as close-knit. Now black-white-Filipino-Asians-Middle Easterners whatever—we all hang out in the same places. We all communicate. So why not have the music come together and feed this grand experiment? I coulda took my shit straight to a major, but Stones Throw opened the door for a more experimental thing. It’s not just me—it’s about everybody! I do shows in Portland or San Francisco and there’s all colors in there. And it wasn’t lopsided—not like R&B shows where it’s only one side or ultra-rock shows where it’s only one side. It’s everybody! That’s what I hope the future is. I don’t wanna be too contrived—like, ‘Oh, God, this is kind of corny!’ But that’s the natural direction—so far, so good!
Who in L.A. would you most want to work with now?
Dam-Funk: SFV Acid. I like him a lot. I’m just trying to play my part and contribute what I can do. I’m watching everybody and working with different people. The closest thing I have solidified is me and Nite Jewel are gonna do something on Stones Throw together. She’s my buddy! And Cole who was also in Ariel Pink’s band—Ariel and Cole are chill with me. When we were in O.C., we were laughing together about Phantasm—horror movies! We’re all connected more than people think. When the time comes, everything happens naturally and people see that connection, you know what I mean?
You’re a Gemini—what’s your hidden side?
Dam-Funk: That’s one thing my lady laughs about. One side is positive and I treat people great. When I walk with my lady, I walk on the curb side! I respect my elders, even when I’m announcing songs and telling people the groups! But there’s another darker side. If somebody crosses the line, I definitely wanna whup ass, but I gotta check that! I haven’t run into any negativity. The only thing I’ve been hearing is that I better be prepared for critique. Where I’m from, if someone calls me out on my name and gets too crazy, you go looking for ‘em! Now I’m a recording artist—I can’t be out chasing every blogger.
Maybe it would be a better world if you did.
Dam-Funk: Yeah, I know! But I can’t waste my time on that. You know what cures me? I just look at Obama. I’m not saying he’s the Savior, but you know how many hate mails and threats he gets each day? And he walks those stairs looking like nothing is bothering him. This dude is taking the brunt of all types of shit and still looks as cool as possible. You gotta brush it off. I’m trying. I’m not perfect. It’s definitely more the light I try and share.
Is that why you bring Sprite and candy every time you visit Stones Throw?
Dam-Funk: You heard about that? I do it because I know they’re working hard! When I was at jobs, I woulda loved that. ‘Why doesn’t anybody do anything special for us? We’re working hard for these fools—can somebody do something?’ So that’s why I do it—thanks a lot, guys!

DAM-FUNK ON SUN., NOV. 1, AT AMOEBA RECORDS, 6400 SUNSET BLVD., HOLLYWOOD. 4 PM / FREE / ALL AGES. AMOEBARECORDS.COM. DAM-FUNK’S TOEACHIZOWN 5XLP RELEASES TUE., OCT 27, ON STONES THROW. VISIT DAM-FUNK AT STONESTHROW.COM/DAMFUNK OR MYSPACE.COM/DAMFUNK.

Low expectations both shield you from disappointment and make way for pleasant surprises, the first one being openers and beloved B52 worshippers WEAVE! A friend of mine once incorrectly observed that our generation—through fashion, music and art—is reliving the ’70s. Not true, we’re reliving the pre-Reagan ’80s, if anything, and WEAVE! are a fine band to help us plod our way through Carter’s malaise.

Next up was James Pants, who also surprised because A) he’s from Spokane (my family’s desolate eastern Washington hometown) and B) he was totally content channeling Gary Wilson’s spirit as he performed songs designed to—as he said—make you feel alternately good and creepy about yourself.
By far the night’s biggest surprise, though, was seeing James Pants and co transform into the backing band for Gary Wilson himself! Gary didn’t seem to mind—he was decked in red and green capes, packing tape, baby powder and blow-up dolls as usual—but the magic wasn’t there. Even Mary—frequent collaborator and friend of Gary—seemed incapable of making the night shine no matter how many times she recited spoken word and sprinkled baby powder over Gary. Something was missing. Perhaps it was the real Blind Dates from Endicott who are normally a fixture for Gary but tonight were nowhere to be seen—or even Gary himself. Maybe he saw through our air-conditioned bodies and into our souls and realized that we’d just paid $12 to get into a venue nowhere near as purifying as the roof where his last Los Angeles show took place. Maybe we betrayed ourselves, and Gary was in no mood to forgive us. We’re animals, after all.

—Kevin Ferguson

The Silent Movie Theatre-hosted Don’t Knock the Rock ’08 music film series hit awesome territory with its second feature: You Think You Really Know Me: The Gary Wilson Story. The 2005 documentary starts off chronicling (now-defunct) Motel Records’ successful attempt to track down Gary Wilson, the reclusive, eccentric mastermind behind 1977′s ground-breaking opus You Think You Really Know Me (an album Wilson originally self-released after recording it in his parents’ basement.) After the reunion, the film delves into Gary Wilson’s past (we have the privilege of seeing footage from the comically bizarre short films Gary and his friends made as teenagers) and his current life (he lives with his girlfriend and dog in San Diego, where he works night shifts at an adult bookstore.)

The film is somewhat sloppily made but has a good sense of humor and is a real treat nonetheless, especially for the avid Gary fan who’s been wondering what he’s been up to all these years. The real highlight of the night, though, was the live performance.

Wilson’s live performances are always inspired, musically slick,and very avant-garde, and after the frenzied parade of mannequins, duct tape, and flour captured in the documentary’s live concert footage, the bar was set.

Gary waddled out in furry red regalia with a blow-up doll strapped to his back and proceeded to meet the high expectations that had been set for his performance. The first song was a crowd-pleaser (“I Wanna Lose Control”) and as Gary sang about wanting “to lose control for about fifteen minutes,” we believed him.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to let quite as loose as he usually does. It could have been the unusual format (two songs at the front of a brightly lit movie theatre), and not being able to play with his old friends The Blind Dates may have played a part as well. That night, Wilson was backed by a pick-up band of sorts, including lo-fi disciple Ariel Pink on bass and a former Motel Records exec from the film on drums. The band played extremely well; it’s just not an easy task to replicate twenty years’ worth of chemistry. Several moviegoers later commented that the times they had seen Gary perform with the original Blind Dates, he had seemed more comfortable and the show was a lot better.

Even with that said, though, Gary delivered an outstanding performance that night.

Gary and company ended the evening with the classic “6.4 = Make Out.” After being doused with baby powder (or was it flour?) by Shauna Guidici, Gary slithered to the floor and writhed around down there, largely out of view of anyone beyond the front row, for the rest of the song.

Despite such flamboyant antics, Gary Wilson never came off as showy or ostentatious, rather just a strange, brilliant man oozing with creativity and raw energy. It’s qualities like these, and the ability to unselfconsciously channel his feelings and impulses into a compelling, innovative musical performance, that made Wilson’s performance at the Theatre one of the best local performances of the year.

— Regina Cherene

The Gary Wilson Story: You Think You Really Know Me? Dude, I don’t know who the fuck you are. But thanks to Allison and Tiffany Anders, I do now. When I first saw the preview and heard about this film, I thought it was just going to be about some obscure and eccentric musician, some character that passed by under the radar like lots of the talented crazies I’m fascinated with (i.e. Jesse White, Hasil Adkins, Syd Barrett [okay he isn’t obscure], Peter Green, Roky Erickson [not obscure either], Ross Johnson, Jack Star or The Legendary Stardust Cowboy). But what I got was a lot more! Gary disappeared in the late ’70s after some cool CBGB shows. Detectives were hired, the whole nine yards.

Finally he turns up in San Diego working at a “spank tank” (read: porn store). And it turns out that he’s just a normal Catholic guy, fueled by the great horror films of the ’60s like Carnival of Souls and The Mask, which follows an archaeologist who believes he is cursed by a mask that causes him to have “Welsh Rarebit”-like nightmares. It’s an interesting 3-D movie, but what makes it striking is the sound scheme. It’s truly ahead of its time. I can’t think of another film that makes such mesmerizing, hypnotic use of echo delineation. I’d be curious to know how they did it; sounds are slowed down to a throbbing groan, echoes reverberate in and out and a sonic thumping pounds every time someone gets ready to put on the mask–it definitely left a mark on the young Gary Wilson.

Also we’re treated to tons of old home movies and films of Gary in the ’70s and hilarious interviews with his Dad. And to put the icing on the cake, his music is immense! All kinds of styles from Captain Beefheart, Brian Eno and The Red Crayola to art bands of the mid-’70s like the Electric Eels or Alex Chilton’s rare Bach’s Bottom, a play on The Box Tops. I keep watching these docs wishing that these guys had gotten their rightful fame during their prime. Maybe that’s why I push so hard for my Ross Johnson article and interview to be printed. In truth that’s all I wanted in taking this gig…. All the dude ever wanted was his rug back.

– Malibu Mike Murphy

King Khan and the Shrines @ The Echo
Tilly and the Wall @ The Echoplex
Gary Wilson Documentary @ Cinefamily – (INTERVIEW)

Gary’s organ player was dead-on when he compared the vibe that night to New York ‘s ‘70s salad days. It was! Gathering on a crowded rooftop is a totally novel experience—the background was the downtown skyline and an I LOST ME TO METH billboard that made the night a little more awkward (but a lot more magical) as cigarette and pot smoke (and flying beers!) floated through the air. Ariel Pink started around 11 to a packed roof. Set was like an hour? They were super together—it was like seeing U2, but in a good way! How do you go from doing four-tracked ‘90s-radio pop in your bedroom to fronting a viciously tight four piece? Who cares! Good work! Then Gary ascended from the staircase to the stage to an angelic introduction played by the fez-topped Blind Dates (excepting the drummer who was neck-deep into a Vince McMahon vibe). Gary made it his agenda not to engage the audience directly (as he did in San Diego last time I saw him) but lie prostrate on the ground throwing baby powder into the sky: a possible ozone-depleting stage antic but worth the price our grandkids will pay. Did he play new songs? I didn’t notice because I was too afraid the roof was gonna cave in. But don’t blame that on Gary. He could have played “I Wanna Lose Control” over and over for two hours that night and I would have been on cloud nine in the “other room.”

— Kevin Ferguson

Gary Wilson “6.4 = Makeout”

Gary Wilson’s life is a dream come true: a kid records a genius noise collage/bedroom soul record in his parent’s basement, college radio picks up the single, he tours on it but doesn’t break through and 20 years later, Beck namedrops Gary in “Where It’s At” and his record gets re-released. Gary, now in his 50′s, speaks with Kevin Ferguson about finally finding an audience and recording a new record for Human Ear Music (tentatively titled “Lisa Wants to Talk to You”). Dreams are weird.

Where do you get your mannequins?
Well, due to some circumstances I’ve been using some of those blow-up dolls because they’re a little softer. Some of the original shows, the record company many times would rent the mannequins. Matter of fact, our first show after the resurrection I wrecked them, and it was an expensive process. They were like—I don’t know—Jesus, six or seven hundred bucks apiece! And they’re hard so it sometimes hurts to fall on them. I finally figured I can just get a couple of these dolls—you can fall on them and they won’t get hurt. I prefer mannequins—they look more natural, I guess.
I read that back in the day you needed police escorts out of some shows.
Especially in my hometown—Endicott, New York, which was kind of a small town. At that time there weren’t a lot of venues and we would kind of feed off that a little bit—there would be times that I would book us into the American Legion or something. You’d have all these guys expecting maybe a polka band and then we’d come in there with highly experimental staff—really avant-garde stuff there. We’d play teen centers where they wanted a normal rock band and we’d come in and they’d get all mad at us and as usual things would start in an uproar and people would start yelling. Next thing I know they’re surrounding the stage, threatening to kill us—it always turned into disasters like this. But not so much in New York City—I have to give them that. When I would play CBGB’s I usually got a pretty good response, even in the ‘70s. But in the smaller towns, when you’d play to like these places you weren’t suitable for I’d enjoy it because I’d be placing myself in an awkward situation. I was talking to one of the guys just a little while ago about when we played in Binghamton. I did the whole show with my head against the wall standing upside down. The club owner was screaming: “What the hell is this?!” He pulled the plug on us. I remember John Cage saying if it doesn’t irritate people, you aren’t doing your job! I guess we’ve continued with that sort of process. That’s what was kind of marvelous about the newer stuff—as I call it, the “resurrection”—because all of the sudden things changed, which is nice. You have people that like you, whereas before ninety percent of the time you had people who were mad at you. I like the change.
Is there any ethical line that you draw in live performances?
Here’s a funny thing. We did the Mercury Lounge not too long ago in New York and somebody snapped some pictures from it and I put it on a Myspace page and they deleted it. I guess because of the blow-up doll? They couldn’t tell what the hell was going on, they thought it was violent. I guess somebody complained. I mean, sure, you don’t want to go too far, depending on the situation. Somebody needs to draw boundaries as to how far you want to go with something. You have to keep things within your own creativity. Sometimes when we were younger we’d get ourselves hurt up there. We always got to be careful of that these days—we don’t want to hurt anybody now. Those days we’d use to raid the trash cans and find debris—whatever we could bring—and throw it up on the stage. Then next thing we know somebody’s falling over a garbage can! There are times where people had to get stitches because they hurt themselves. So you have to keep that in mind a little bit.
How often have you toured?
Personally, I don’t like to travel a lot. I don’t like flying, so it kind of makes things a little awkward.
Me neither.
Oh you don’t either? It’s a sick trip actually. I play here and there when there’s something that looks like it might be interesting. Matter of fact I was just speaking with Human Ear Music—Ariel Pink and those guys—so I guess we’re going to be doing a show up there April 24th and 29th. They’re gonna release my new album. It could be a good combination. I’ll probably end up playing more. Matter of fact, I was just discussing with Mary in the other room about somebody at the University of Oregon who wants us to play. And then the Knitting Factory in New York—I gotta go up there. But those plane rides bum me out. I took a train up there last time.
You live in San Diego now? I lived there for a little while and I kind of got the vibe that it’s not the friendliest place for musicians.
For so many years, I never really was accepted there. It seems more so “out of town” than in town. But I play on the side in restaurants on weekends. It’s pretty good work for lounge bands around here, but the original music scene leaves a little to be desired. Unless you’re in with a certain clique around here—the certain cool guys around town who get the coverage and press. But that’s the way it goes.
Didn’t you work at the F Street sex shop?
Actually it was the Jolar Cinema—have you heard of it? It’s one of those places where you have girls in booths. You put money in and the thing goes up and they wiggle around a little bit in the box there. But anyway I never got into that whole thing—I’m not into pornography. I found it because I worked for the UA theater down there, and somebody said that this place was looking for somebody. They’re kind of fans of mine. The thing with those places is—you know, it kind of has a rock and roll attitude. It’s loose, which I appreciate. But it isn’t like I’m into pornography or anything—it was just kind of a situation I fell into. As a matter of fact, I still work a day or two at this place. Just to keep legitimate, I guess.
You have a lounge band, too?
I play right now with Donnie—I’ve played with him since 1985. We do Nat King Cole, Lou Rawls, Wayne Newton, Johnny Mathis—a lot of the American songbook things. My father was always a lounge player—he played at one hotel for like 25 years. Like four nights a week. He played stand-up bass at night and worked for IBM during the day. Soon as I got out of high school I fell right into it. My uncle was on the board of the union of the town, and I started playing with the vice president of the union. But I always kept my original music semi-secret. I’ve tried to do that here, too, for a while, but then I got a lot of press coverage.
Do your fans spill over into the lounge shows?
Surprisingly there’s not as many as you would think. I think it’s because not a lot of people know where I’m playing and I’m not going under “Gary Wilson.” I kinda like that separation between the two. It’s a good thing because you got the lounge guys who are working the trenches and then you got the original guys who look down at the lounge guys because they call them sell outs. I can probably write the definitive article about that—keeping the two of those things together. I remember one time we did a show—gosh, it was back east, a real avant-garde show. I can’t remember what the hell was going on—a lot of stuff flying, a lot of trombones and chocolate milk, pouring it all over the drums, real messy and flour and everything. And then I had to go play at this plush steak house in like four hours. I remember rushing over there and putting on a tuxedo. It’s kind of a good balance. It’s worked out well.
You worked with John Cage, too?
I spent a few days in John Cage’s house, as far as that goes. We went over my scores. He corrected what I had done or tried to tell me certain things, like that string players might not interpret this as what you think it is. He’s my hero since I was a kid. David Tudor, too. He used to be the most avant-garde piano player—the most extreme piano music. He would play with Cage a lot. Matter of fact, one of my favorite albums was this thing called Cartridge Music he did with Cage. As a teenager, I remember picturing these two grown men making the most horrendous noise—using contact mics on piano strings, and putting it through the cartridge of a turntable somehow so everything was so distorted. It was very thrilling. The other album that really opened my mind to John Cage was a selection called Concert for a Piano and Orchestra with David Tudor on the piano. You might want to check that one out.
When you’re talking about ex-girlfriends, how do you handle it?
Pretty delicately—you don’t want to get too graphic. Funny, too, because Linda goes back to when I was in Endicott—she was one of my first girlfriends. All of the sudden—maybe about a year or two ago—she contacted me. We kind of talked about the old days. But a lot of the girls don’t even know I write about them.
Do you change their names?
Well, no. Not really. I try to use the people that I have known through my life. That’s kind of what I try to do with the mannequins—I kind of turn them into those characters. When I bring something out, it could be Mary, it could be Linda, it could be Karen. I try to keep that sort of a thing going. My new girlfriend—the one I have right now—it’s hard for me to sit in front of her and sing to her. Some guys can just pick up a guitar and sing to her. It’s kind of hard for me.
If the mannequins are girlfriends, what is the flour?
Snow. The snow in Endicott. Plus, you know, the flour and water keep you alive, so to speak. Sometimes I like to think of it like snow—that it’s snowing up there. I got in trouble with that at the Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco. I got docked. The lady there got mad at me. She stepped on stage with a broom, mad as hell at us, dusting the flour off of everything. She docked me 200 bucks or something. Later on she said to me, “I liked your show a lot—come back again! Just don’t bring the flour.” There’s been times when it’s been insane with that stuff. We did this thing at Little Pedro’s—it’s called Bordello now—and a massive amount of flour was on the stage and everywhere.
Did you ever play with the same Frank Roma you sang about?
Yeah, he’s still in Endicott. Whenever I’m in New York, I always bring the boys from Endicott up to play with me. There was a good moment when we were playing the Mercury Lounge. I had Mary the blow-up doll and we were doing “Gary Saw Linda Kissing Frank Roma.” During the dissonant part, Frank was doing an extended solo and I said to him, “You want Mary? Here she is!” So I wrapped it around his head with duct tape and he was yelling “She loves me!” It was a magical moment—it’s what keeps me in the game, so to speak.
Did you ever meet Beck?
I never did. Hopefully we will at some point. He’s one of the things that brought it all about, you know. That was probably around ‘97, right? Back then I was kind of at a low point in my life. I was doing the graveyard shift at Jolar Cinema. I’m getting ready to go to work and I just had the MTV Music Awards on, and he comes out and he starts quoting “6.4” and “I Wanna Lose Control.” That was the beginning of the resurrection. Also back in the ’70s I was getting fan mail from The Residents. One time when I went up to San Francisco, I went over to their place—the drummer and I taped our pictures all over their door. That was like in ‘80 or something. We corresponded a lot through mail but I never met them.
Did you see that ?uestlove plugged you in GQ?
Yeah, that was a funny one, huh? He’s a big supporter of mine, actually. It kind of surprised me. I’d like to get him on drums sometime—do a show with me or something.
What was the documentary like for you?
That was one of the highlights of my life, actually, because we had the premier in New York at the Lincoln Center. So I got a chance to go there and watch my life on the big screen on a state-of-the-art-system. The place was packed—they had a party for me.
Have you noticed a sort of trend with documentaries like that?
Yeah, I was talking with somebody about that today. They always put the three of us together: Daniel Johnston, Jandek and Gary Wilson. It’s been pretty good for them. Daniel Johnston was on Showtime and all that. As a matter of fact, we played for the release party in Los Angeles about a year or two ago. The director invited me up there to do an interpretation of a Daniel Johnston tune, so we went up there and rolled around a little bit. They always rope the three of us together.
How do you feel about that?
Eh, fine. I always thought it would be an interesting tour with the three of us together. I don’t know if that’ll ever materialize.
Which Daniel Johnston song did you cover?
Well, the director gave me a thing of songs—whichever one I wanted to do. I don’t remember which one I picked. Mary—my girlfriend—came up and recited the lyrics to one of the songs and Ross Harris—he was in Airplane—was playing keyboards. I was probably rolling on the floor screaming girls’ names out.

VISIT GARY WILSON AT SIXPOINTFOUR.COM.