[ed. note — apologies to all of planet Earth for delay in posting this!]

As I pulled fifteen bucks from my now-empty wallet, I wondered what Sky Saxon would have done if he’d brought a hot date with him to a show on Saturday night and been told he had “no plus one.” The young lady with the clipboard at the VIP entrance even spent five minutes ID’ing Rodney Bingenheimer. Good God, gal, do you not see Sunset Boulevard up yonder? Is he not the Mayor of Sunset Strip!?! Now that Sky’s gone, Rodney’s the biggest flower punk left!

“Sky Saxon is the father of garage rock! He’s one of the very first people I met when I came to Hollywood. I’ve been a really close friend with him. I even put one of his songs on one of my Rodney on the Rock albums. He used to call me from Hawaii, and I’d put him on the air.” —Rodney Bingenheimer (KROQ DJ)

Thank God—or should I say YaHoWha?—that the show started with a cathartic bang in the form of Ya Ho Wa 13’s Djin Aquarian. A thin spry Santa Claus in a white robe, Djin Aquarian (along with violinist Ysanne Spevack) gave perhaps the most amazing performance of the night right out of the gate: a song done half live and half with Sky Saxon’s recorded voice itself, a la the Beatles’ “Real Love.” This was not to be a wake. For musicians, death means nothing, not even your last live show.

“He’s the ultimate teenager. He’s going to live forever. He didn’t really die!” – Kari French (performance artist, Luxuria Music DJ, go-go girl)

Djin followed the tunes with some hippy calisthenics—something called the “Star Exercise” that required us to stand with hands outstretched, breathe in and out 120 times in rapid succession, and visualize a white star in our heads that we could then shoot through the chakras in our body. This was supposed to shake loose any negative vibes we might have carried about Sky Saxon when he was alive. And the room did seem to brighten. Folks even stuck around for Djin’s short lecture on “The Name of God.” (Surprise: it’s “YaHoWha.”) Djin explained how the Hebrew letters for God look like a gender-neutral person standing upright and got into the last day of the Mayan Calendar and Sirius the Dog Star and goddamn it—if that’s not the perfect benediction for Sky Saxon, then Jason Voorhees wears a catcher’s mask.

“When I joined the Source family in 1972, at that point I met Arelick Aquarian. Arelick Aquarian had a long brown beard, and long dark brown hair, and he was Sky Saxon. We lived by the same teachings that Father Yod, YaHoWha taught, so our relationship is an eternal, spiritual blood relationship. I’ve shared my blood with him when he was leaving the body in ‘77 because of a bleeding ulcer. He wouldn’t take anyone else’s blood. He’d rather die than have a non-vegetarian, non-Aquarian person’s blood.” — Djin Aquarian (musician, spiritualist, carpenter)

Next up, the young tykes in the audience swooned as a the super group Spirits in the Sky assembled on stage, headed by that most Smashing of Pumpkins, Billy Corgan. You could almost hear the audience rumble like tectonic plates as a wedge of grungy adulation nearly forced itself across the trenches of hip disdain. I didn’t know what I’d make of Corgan, that former Courtney Love boy-toy whose recorded history could best be described as “spotty.” He and his smooth bald head sauntered onto the stage covered in a military cap, baggy pants and a ratty red and black striped sweatshirt—it was like if John Malkovich from Empire of the Sun was simultaneously playing the role of Freddy Krueger.

“The last time I saw Sky was at Billy Corgan’s house. They were recording music together in his studio, and me and Don Bolles and his girlfriend and my dad James went to another part of the house, which happened to have Billy sitting there, eating his raw food. And Sky was stoned out of his mind, and Sky immediately just says out of nowhere, ‘Everybody stop looking at Billy! Stop watching him eat, man!’ And we were not even looking at him! It was so hilarious, but uncomfortable at the same time, making it seem like we were these super fans. So to get Sky out of his weird mood, I go, ‘Hey, Sky, what about that time you kicked Kim Fowley’s ass?’ And he goes, ‘Yeah, man, I fucking kicked Kim Fowley’s ass, man! I fucking kicked him in the back of the knees. I brought him down in Vegas!’” – Giddle Partridge (singer)

Corgan may have dressed down and dirty, but the band was a celestial mind fuck: Mark Tulin of the Electric Prunes on bass, Mark Weitz from the Strawberry Alarm Clock on keys (looking exactly like my dad if you threw a Nehru jacket on him), members of Ancient Chinese Secret and even the first live appearance of Smashing Pumpkins’ new 19-year old drummer, Mike Byrne. Sounding neither like an oldies revival nor like some watered-down Pumpkin Seeds, their cover of the obscure Saxon classic “900 Million People Daily” was an almost tropical psychedelic delight. Though Corgan looked nervous about playing for us fickle Echo Park patrons, his guitar-god licks and David Byrne awkwardness won over anyone paying attention. They even premiered a new Corgan ditty called “Freak” that made far more sense at a Sky Saxon tribute night than a grungy version of “Pushin’ Too Hard” ever could have.

“He was a magician. He’d appear and disappear. One day he’d be on your couch, and the next day, he’d be gone!” — Billy Corgan (musician)

“Sky Saxon took on life and music on his own terms. Unlike many of us who went through the ’60s Sky remained true to the peace and love mantra of those electric years. He was truly a free spirit unbound by societal norms. He was the shaman, the jester, the philosopher and the fool. He performed his music, his way, right up to his death. No musician can ask more than that.” — Mark Tulin (musician)

Up next were back-to-back sets by the Alarm Clock and the Prunes, both with far more original members than, say, that recent Zombies show you jerked off over a few weeks back. The Prunes seemed a little tired—far less magical than they’d been in the early 2000s when they’d toured with their old keyboardist’s son and gave the BJM/Warlocks crew a serious run for their money. Tired or not, though, they still rocked it on out, and their Strawberry Alarm Clock brethren proved to be even more balls-out now than they had been on album back in the day. It kind of floored me thinking that some of these guys had fucking appeared in Beyond the Valley of the Dolls and still could play guitar dressed in a Caligula throw-over and make kids one fourth their ages groove on a hot night that technically—technically!—was somebody’s funeral.

“I always tell people—Gram Parsons died one day before Jim Croce died. In those days, nobody cared about Gram Parsons, and all people could talk about was Jim Croce passing away. Sky Saxon died right when Michael Jackson died. But at the end of the day, Gram Parsons is a lot larger now in his legacy than Jim Croce is, and I think we’ll see the same thing with Sky Saxon in the future because the Jackson 5 only made about seven or eight good songs, and the Seeds had three really fucking amazing albums. You hear ‘Scarecrow’ by the Pink Floyd and you hear ‘Mr. Farmer’ by the Seeds about a year earlier and you go, “Oh, so that’s where that came from!’” – Dominic Priore (author of Riot on Sunset Strip)

So many friends, historians, and musical well-wishers! I was overwhelmed. The next act—Simon Stokes and friends—should have been killer. How often do you get to see a sixties garage punk turned Elektra recording artist show-off turned black-leather grandpa play on stage with the Knitting Factory’s Bruce Duff and a Fleshtone or two? But under the circumstances, I found things far too aggressive and serious, and headed out on the smoke pit’s bleachers. Here the Star Exercise from earlier had clearly made an impression on folks—the vibe was full of remembrances and good will towards Sky Saxon, even warmer than the summer air.

“He was always very positive. Jealous was something you couldn’t feel around that guy. Jealous is a mad, dark feeling… there’s no need to feel anything dark around Sky!” – Lee Joseph (Dionysus Records)

“When I first heard Sky’s vocals on ‘No Escape,’ I knew that this was something beyond anything I’d ever heard before. This would essentially become an obsession with raw 60′s garage rock that I can ultimately blame on Sky Saxon. I’m sure there’s plenty of other people that feel the same way about Sky, and this memorial proves it. I wonder if any of the dudes from Axe body spray are here?” – Rick Barzell (bassist, Thee Living Sickness)

“He’s going to be dancing with the dogs in heaven. He loves dogs more than people. His spirit will be mingling with the dogs.” – Kari French

A solo singer-songwriter chanteuse named “SofizeL” hit the stage next. A Frenchwoman who now hailed from England, I’d like to believe she was jetlagged or grieving. Her performance was a bit lethargic and more than a little nervous, like she knew she didn’t belong. Of course, she truly didn’t, having only barely ever known or performed with Sky as part of “The Europe Seeds” for some tiny portion of 2005. But hell, it wouldn’t be a true tribute to Sky if everything made sense and professionalism ran rampant. And hey, I doubt my death will cause singer-songwriters to spend a day on a plane each way to come to L.A. for a three-song set.

“I met him at this gig in London. I was the only one who brought a record to be signed that wasn’t a bootleg. He said, ‘Brother, I love you!’ He stayed about eight months at my house, partying and partying and partying, and bringing back young girls every other night. I would lend him money, and he used to buy knick-knacks all the time! Like lighters, or things from a 99 cent store, coming back and saying, ‘Michael, look at this, can you believe it? This is so cool! Isn’t it great?’ But on the other hand, he was a very bright character. Often he was just listening to music, getting high, but when he said something, it was really brilliant. He had visions all the time, not to make a million dollars, but to make a billion!” – Michael Wolf (designer)

This was one of those tributes where truly everybody from all walks of life is getting up on stage in support, and it was hard to keep up—for example, who was that random vintage-looking woman between 35 and 40 who was occasionally announcing bands? And who was Sunny Sun-downer? Did I miss the Woolly Bandits’ set entirely? And was that really the Fleshtones guy I saw earlier? And why was a strange girl go-go dancing on the side of the stage with the flimsy tube-top dress that she had to keep tugging upwards? How many people had Sky touched, and in what ways?

“When Spindrift first moved to L.A. in 2002, we were lucky enough to open for the Seeds at our first show at Spaceland. Shortly after that I got a call from Sky to join his band. I refused though, figuring I wasn’t up to speed with a psychedelic legend. He was—is—a big influence. I’m more a Saxon than a Jackson.” – Kirpatrick Thomas (singer, guitarist)

But there was no mistaking Sky’s ever-patient widow, Sabrina Sherry Smith Saxon. I’d recognized her from years ago, when a friend had banged his head against my van’s door after a Seeds show at the Bigfoot Lodge, and Sabrina had made Sky give him a healing benediction. This night, sadly, there was no healing that could lighten the mood, and her thank-yous to countless friends and relatives in attendance (Sky had how many grandchildren?) and obituaries from those who could not attend reminded us all that there was more to Sky than just music and colorful scarves.

“Every morning a screwdriver. Vodka and orange. I gave him the money, but most of the time he spent the money for the screwdriver on knick-knacks and lighters and lollipops and toys, and then I had to give him another five pounds to get a screwdriver. But that made him happy and that made me happy, too.” – Michael Wolf

Nels Cline, L.A. RECORD favorite and a man seemingly too somber for flower power, played maybe the most sorrowful Seeds cover of the night: “Flower Lady and her Assistant.” It’s my favorite Seeds song, and last time I had heard Nels play it, it was alongside Sky Saxon himself in the downstairs lounge at Zen Sushi a few years ago, when Nels’ beautiful cacophony of notes and effects pedals shimmied all around Sky as he huffed and puffed his way back and forth through the song for about five people. Now Nels played to a packed room, including some bona-fide flower ladies, but there was no Sky to assist.

“It’s really weird. I grew up listening to not just the Seeds, but also the Strawberry Alarm Clock and the Electric Prunes. Sky rocked out with the Seeds for two hours for like ten people two months ago. It’s like, how long are we here for? We don’t even know.” — Nels Cline

Too bad I drowned my sorrow in an extra Jameson or two, because suddenly a new super group emerged on stage, with Djin Aquarian and Billy Corgan on bass! This was “YaHoWha 33” and suddenly the calm, meditative breather from before must have recharged his chakras! Djin rocked and cooed and smiled from behind his beard like nothing I’ve seen since the Soggy Bottom Boys appeared on screen a few years back. No hippie love jam this, unless by “jams,” you meant things to Kick Out. There was rock and sweat and vitality, screaming dudes in robes, and man, I just could not believe Sky Saxon was dead, because I felt so alive!

“It calls for a change, and I just turned the knob up to 11! And then I can make my ascension at 11, and then I go to 12 which is bringing down the consciousness, and then I go up to 13, which is take the consciousness up beyond death, beyond the spectrum of the third dimensional density.” – Djin Aquarian

I didn’t have much mental density left when the Seeds took the stage. Of course, it’s hard to call them the Seeds without Sky out front, but this was definitely more authentic than a Misfits or Dead Kennedys reunion. Leighton Koizumi of the Morlocks and Don Bolles took turns screaming out the vocals, and my favorite Seeds/Love/Kind Hearts/Red Hearts alumnus, Justino Polimeni, was rat-tat-tatting out the drums of their greatest garage hits like he wanted Sky to hear him in heaven. Well played, sirs, especially Leighton’s turn on “Mr. Farmer,” which would make even his NA sponsor want to smoke weed.

“Sky was the kind of guy where you could drop him off in the street in any town, and in two hours, he’d come back with a new band and a new album that’s ‘going to be bigger than the Rolling Stones!’” – Justino Polimeni (drummer)

“I think the music says it all. The music’s going to live on forever. I can see from all these fans that are here, I’m thankful for everyone who came out. God bless Sky, and wherever you’re at, I know you’re having a great time, and your legacy lives on.” — dude from the Seeds

The whole thing ended with virtually everybody and their dad on stage, Alarm Clocks mingling with Pumpkins mingling with Germs and Prunes and Woolly Bandits and, yeah, by this time, I was happily working my way through some vegan slices at Two Boots Pizzeria, next to the Echo. We’d all had a great time celebrating Sky Saxon, but funerals make me hungry. In honor of Sky’s love for canines, I took my leftovers home in a doggy bag.

“His music is going to live forever. He’s definitely a legend.” — Rodney Bingenheimer

“On one side, he was the Father of Punk Rock. On the other side, he was the Father of Love!” — Lee Joseph

I’m very sad that he’s gone, but I believe he is here with us. He always said he was eternal.” — Giddle Partridge

“Have you been checking out the vibe, here? This is the legacy. The legacy is loooove, establishing a quality of psychedelic music that speaks wisdom and love and teaches the holy name, the sacred name of God, Ya Ho Wa, and stands up for the children and the dogs and wolves and human rights and medical marijuana, and just free marijuana!” — Djin Aquarian

“I think Sky Saxon’s legacy will ‘mushroom’ in ten years time.” — Dominic Priore

“He left us with the battle cry, ‘I choose love!’” — Isis Aquarian

—Dan Collins

I am truly saddened to learn of the death of Sky Saxon. As a boy growing up in Los Angeles, Sky Saxon was my first rock idol of sorts. The Seeds’ music was important to me, sure, but Sky’s amazing charisma—as he appeared rather ubiquitously on TV shows like “Boss City” and “The Groovy Show” around 1966—was galvanizing. I would stare in disbelief as he—clad in shiny satin Nehru shirts bedazzled with some gaudy brooch—would gyrate around lasciviously, holding the microphone in every cool way imaginable. He seemed from another planet. I thought he was amazing.

Years later, in the late ’70s, Sky became known as “Sunlight,” and manifested a few eccentric and quite acid-soaked (or so they sounded) recordings that led credence to the rampant stories of his decaying mind and artistry. He came into the record store I worked at for years and—with his face covered in a long mane of hair, massive beard, and shades—went silently through the stacks with wraith-like fingers. I was dismayed and a bit freaked out by this creature—the former beautiful god of rock ‘n’ roll otherness.

But only a few years ago as my friend and colleague Carla Bozulich and I were going into our local Trader Joe’s, we ran into a bass player friend of mine named Rick, who had in tow a gray-haired, aging hippie type of man with an unavoidably compelling face and style. Carla, not normally interested in old hippies, immediately whispered to me, “Who’s THAT?!” Of course, you know it was Sky Saxon. And Rick was playing in the new version of the Seeds, recording just down the street from Carla’s house! Long story short, I went and hung out a bit, ended up recording a song about a corrupt judge on the then-upcoming Seeds record. (Sorry that the titles escape me today.) Sky was really quite deferential to me. Plus he seemed to be in quite good shape. He gave me a record, recently issued, of some of his pre-Seeds 1950s doo-wop-ish rock songs. How old IS this guy? I wondered.

We ended up doing a duo gig of almost totally improvised music one night at Zen Sushi. I was ecstatic. I suggested we call ourselves the Flower Lady & Her Assistant, but Sky immediately countered with the Flower God Men and Their Assistants. I had gear problems on the gig, and Sky had a bit too much sake before we played, but it was amazing to me. There were barely 30 people there anyway! I started plotting ways to do some more improvising with him. He was going off in a very Beat-style manner. I thought of collaborations with my trio, The Singers, but then Sky went off to more European touring, headed back to Shasta. Rick moved to New York…

I won’t ever be able to do those things with Sky. I feel lucky to have ever even seen him on TV, yet alone to have played some wild, extemporaneous psychedelia with him. They say Mick Jagger copped tons of his moves and style, and I believe it. But there was so much more to this man that remains to be revealed.

- Nels Cline
Glendale, CA
6/25/09

UPDATE: Nels Cline sends us this obituary for Sky Saxon, his “first rock idol.”

UPDATE: Members of the Source Family remember Sky Sunlight Saxon, also known as Arelich.

L.A. RECORD is deeply saddened to learn that Sky Saxon—mentioned only days ago in our interview with Isis Aquarian, historian of the Source Family—has passed from an as-yet-unspecified condition this morning in Austin, Texas. Saxon’s wife Sabrina reported that Sky was in critical condition yesterday and after a tense and troubled update she posted today that “Sky has passed over and YaHoWha is waiting for him at the gate. He will soon be home with his Father. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep him here with us. More later. I’m sorry.” Our writer Jed Maheu spoke to Sky in 2007 and found him optimistic, energetic and determined:

It is time for the independent to rise to the top. I feel I helped give birth to this which now must be ever so. Green energy—which is money—will sometimes be hard to get but if the true artist is selling his own music, he’ll find it liberating and fun and won’t have to wait for some ignorant person at a record company to tell him his music is no good or the truth is most people are out of touch. Everybody knows anything new comes first from the underground. These people wait like vultures for someone to bring them something. When that happens it upsets the balance because if they were really that great, in time they would have made it on their own and on their own terms. So for music—the main goal is to bring enjoyment and soothe the savage beast of man. That is what I have always wanted to do with my music. And I want to keep it as pure as possible. That is why up to date I have not bothered with major labels for I feel they really cannot afford me. So don’t ever sell yourself out. If it is at all possible, be as independent as you can.

We offer our condolences to Sabrina and Sky’s other family and friends. Sky’s music and sheer presence will always be a part of Los Angeles music history. More information from other reports here and here.

Download: The Flatlanders “Homeland Refugee”

(from Hills and Valleys out now on New West)

The Flatlanders knew everything that was going to happen to them when they named their first album—available if at all in the U.S. only on 8-track—More A Legend Than A Band. Founders Joe Ely, Butch Hancock and Jimmie Dale Gilmore all won significant fame on their own—Ely would publish poetry and tour with the Clash besides releasing an impressive set of solo LPs—but they regroup on rare occasions just to see what happens. Their newest Hills and Valleys is out now on New West. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

Do you still have the guitar you bought off the street in Venice Beach?
Joe Ely (vocals/guitar): I’ve taken it out on the road for the first time in 20 years and I’ve been playing it for the first four or five songs. It sounds better than ever—it’s just aged really well. I’ve always played it in the studio because it sounds so sweet and I used to take it out on the road with me until the airlines punched a hole in it one time. But I got a nice case for it and I’ve been taking it out. What happened was I was playing down in Houston, alternating sets with ZZ Top when they were still called American Blues. We’d start at 6 PM and play until 6 AM. We’d play an hour, they’d play an hour—all night. And I had a falling out with the club owner and he pulled a gun on me so I hit the road—ran four blocks to the bus station and caught a bus to Fort Worth, and my friend in Fort Worth had just quit his job and he had enough money for two plane tickets to L.A. And my guitar had been stolen a few nights before at the club. I had stored in Fort Worth my Super Reverb amplifier and they actually let me strap it into the seat on the plane—like a baby! So we get to L.A. and I didn’t have any clothes or anything—just the amplifier. Well, there were a few shirts stuffed in the back of the amp. And we took turns carrying that thing from LAX to Venice Beach.
On foot?
Yeah. Well, we got a ride from a winged-out guy for a few blocks, but he was so crazy we said, ‘Let us out here.’ We get to Venice Beach and I was sleeping under the old pier that’s been torn down—I had my head on the Reverb to see if it moved. And then my friend knew someone out there so I put my amplifier at their house. I was out there about a week or two just doing whatever I could and I ran into some speed freak playing that old Gibson guitar at a bus stop right off of that main road—I guess it’s called Ocean or something. I can’t remember the streets in Venice anymore. He was sitting at a bus stop playing it and he had seashells glued all over it and I just came up and started talking to him and said, ‘That’s a real interesting guitar.’ And he looked at me all pissed-off and said, ‘Yeah? You wanna buy it?’ I said, ‘Well, what do you want for it?’ He said, ‘Ten dollars.’ And I thought, ‘God, a Gibson guitar for ten dollars!’ So I told him, ‘I don’t have one penny, but where are you going to be tomorrow?’ And he said ‘Oh, I’m always here—just get out of here if you don’t have any money!’ I spent 24 hours borrowing, begging, selling Coke bottles—whatever I could—and I came up with $5 and some change and I went back and told him, ‘Hey, man, I saw you yesterday and this is all I could scrape up.’ And he just looked at me like he was kinda needing a hit of speed or something and said, ‘All right, gimme the money—but I get to keep the seashells.’ So he starts ripping off the seashells and I was scared he was going to rip the top off because they were glued on with airplane glue. And he ripped all the shells off and I take the guitar and a couple months later I take it back to Texas with me and a guitar-and-violin maker in Lubbock, Texas, put a new bridge on it and new frets and sanded down the top. He just left the top all the same because he said if he refinished it, it would lose a lot of the sound. So it has the original finish and just a bunch of half circles where the seashells were ripped off. It’s an ugly guitar but boy, it sure sounds sweet. I think I’m going to bring it out to L.A. with me for these shows.
And that was your first week in L.A.?
That was basically my first week in L.A.
What was it like the first time you rode a freight train from L.A. back to Texas?
I’d run into some Texas buddies that had come out from Lubbock on a freight train and I asked them all kinds of questions about it. And I got called for the draft to go back to Lubbock and appear at the draft board in Amarillo, and I still didn’t have any money so I had somebody drop me at a San Bernardino freight yard. I asked which train went across to Albuquerque and they pointed it out and I made it all the way to Clovis, New Mexico—and hitch-hiked part of the way. But, boy, what an experience—flying across the desert in a boxcar with no weight in it so it’s just bumpy as shit. It literally knocks your brain out of your skull. Besides that, the girls that had given me a ride to the freight yards had given me a little package with some food in it—sandwiches and chips and brownies—so about dark I got hungry and I started eating their food and I ate the brownies and I’ll be damned if they hadn’t spiked the brownies with pot! I was riding 80 miles an hour in this boxcar and the brownies started coming on and I was bouncing towards the door—pushing myself back because I was scared shitless. And then I came out to Venice the next three summers. That was the winter of 1966 when I first went out there and then I went back to Texas for the draft, came back summer of ’67—the ‘Summer of Love,’ they called it. That was when Jim Morrison lived there and Venice was just a true bohemian spot—it wasn’t an upper-hunky place like it is now. It was a real bohemian village and I had a really great time working on music out there.
Didn’t the Seeds play there every day for a month?
At the Cheetah at Pacific Ocean Park—P.O.P. Some surfers showed me a way to climb on the outside of the pier and cut across through the middle and there was a hole and you could come up right underneath the stage. So we used to climb on the pier and sneak into shows at the Cheetah. The ocean was like six stories below. I didn’t have any good sense then—that was my problem!
I read when you were a kid, you liked to follow songs around—go where someone had sang about to see what it was really like. Why?
First it was Woody Guthrie, so I had to go everywhere that Woody Guthrie had gone. About the time I got that old guitar, I had to go to the towns that Woody talked about and then I heard ‘Go to San Francisco with flowers in your hair,’ so I went to San Francisco and made it up there in ’67 and ’68. I spent a whole lot of time in Berkeley. Mainly it was Berkeley, San Francisco and Venice. Being from Lubbock, Texas, where nothing ever happens to being right in the middle of the whole movement in 1966 and ’67—it was quite different than Lubbock and I found it totally fascinating.
The Flatlanders come back together every so often—is it because of something between the three of you or is there some outside force lets you know the world could use you for a bit?
There’s no outside force that gets us together. We don’t have much drive or ambition or anything like that. Between the three of us, you could put all of our ambition in a thimble! What it is is that we are truly dumbfounded and fascinated that we sit down and put a song together one word at a time—one note at a time—and we’re always fascinated at how it’s going to turn out. We never expected we would ever write a song together. That was just something that you didn’t do. Like this last record. Somewhere around the time Hurricane Katrina hit, we got together and started putting together some songs and it took us about five years to write these last songs. I think one song took two-and-a-half years to write. It’s almost like a game that we play—to see what happens. And even if we have songs, we don’t know if we have an album or not until we sit down and start recording it. So it’s quite a process. If we had someone looking over us saying, ‘You better get this record done!’ we would never do it. We just like to take time out from our own schedules every once in a while and just see what happens.
Butch told a reporter that you’ve ‘spent many hours in pancake houses across the country revealing the secrets of the universe to each other.’ What secrets can you share with us now?
We have come to the conclusion that sooner or later it’s now or never. And that’s about all we figured out. Anything that comes your way, just say to yourself, ‘Never mind.’ And everything will be all right—you won’t have any conflicts.
You’ve said before you cared much more about the live shows then the recording sessions when you were younger—what kind of things got lost because of that?
I’m sure I lost a whole lot of things—physically and mentally. One time I lost four years of songs I had written and stories in my journal. One time I lost an entire album—when I was coming back after we were touring with the Clash in London. I was over in Europe for a few months and had recorded an album on a little tape recorder and had it all pretty mapped out and was going to record it when I got back to Texas, but we got to New York City and the taxicab that took us from the airport to the Chelsea Hotel drove off and it had my bag in it with all four years of writings and a complete record album—all the notes on cassette tape—and it never came back. That night I kicked a table in my hotel room and broke my foot, so for the next three weeks I had to hobble along on tour from town to town with a cast on my foot and playing every night. It was miserable. The University of Texas just published a bunch of my journals that I kept on the road and those would have been four years of journals I probably would have included in this book and there’s a missing gap now. I’m amazed that this many things did survive because I’ve gone off and left whole record collections and whole houses full of stuff. I’ve gone off and left cars in airport parking lots and never gone back.
What’s it feel like to walk away from things like that?
Usually it’s not an impulse—it’s just a situation that I find myself in. It’s like, ‘Well, I’m here, but somebody called me and said to come up here and I know I won’t be back for six months so I’ll just call somebody and say, “Say, want a car? You can have it.”’ One time I had a collection of glass doorknobs that was my most prized possession. I don’t know why—I found these glass doorknobs in a house that had fallen down in Amarillo. I got a gig in New York playing with this theatre company which then went to Europe for six months and I knew I was going to lose my house and everything, and I called a friend and told him, ‘I’m going to donate to you my glass doorknobs.’ And he went, ‘What in the hell is a glass doorknob?’ And I said, ‘You know. Old houses in the ‘20s—everybody had glass and crystal doorknobs.’ That’s just kind of the way things are if you’re a rambler and that’s what I’ve always been.
But you’ve settled down in Austin for a bit, right?
I’ve had this house in Austin for 20 years now. There were a few places around there—one was one of the few settlements—at least in Texas—where the white settlers and the Indians lived side by side. The guy that built my house, his family settled Texas and came out with Steven F. Austin in the 1820s. He told me some stories and there’s been a couple of books written about one of the few places where the Indians had their teepees down by the river and the settlers were on the other side and they helped each other get food and pick pecans and all that stuff. I kind of feel like I was guided into that spot. I feel like I’ve found—after all that wandering—found that right spot.
Where do you feel the Flatlanders fit in your life now?
It’s a different kind of chemistry that happens when we sit down and work on something together. I cant put my finger on it—I don’t know what it is. All I can call it is kind of like mustard and mayonnaise—just a chemistry. We have tried to figure it out and we’ve never been able to. Probably something we’d be better off talking about at a pancake house! But if we figured it out, we probably wouldn’t have it anymore. It’s like the story of somebody asking the centipede about how he moves all his legs at one time and when the centipede thinks about it, he trips all over himself.
How did you happen to get bit by the world’s smallest horse?
When I came back from one of my trips from the East Coast, the Ringling Brothers circus was setting up in my hometown of Lubbock and I went out to watch them set up. And some guy walked over and handed me a jackhammer and said, ‘Go over and help those guys set up that tent.’ I was hired on the spot. And my first job after the tent was when we moved from the auditorium where we played back to the train yards which was several miles away—I was put in charge of two llamas and the world’s smallest horse. If you can imagine, his head was exactly knee-level to me. And he was a mean sonofabitch so every five seconds he would turn over and try to take a bite out of my knee. Napoleon complex. And when I would kick the horse off me, the llamas would rear up and look at me and spit at me. That was the worst job I ever had—leading the llamas and the world’s smallest horse. Within three weeks of being in the circus in what they call ringstock—which is taking care of the animals—I had the most seniority which goes to show you how long circus employees last. It’s usually guys running from the law who get a job so they can make it to the next town. So if you’re ever running from the law, just go join the circus.
You had a lyric on the new record that says, ‘the average person’s afraid of talking about death but not afraid of driving a car.’ What does that mean?
This world we live in is one big paradox. Everybody worries about the latest thing to worry about. Today it’s swine flu, but yet there’s a volcano underneath Yellowstone National Park that is 60,000 years overdue and if it goes off, it’ll cover the entire United States with fifty feet of ash. So I don’t worry about the latest things to worry about. I just think it’s better to make the best of what you got. My old BBQ friend Stubbs, I asked him once—‘What’s the secret to what you do, all the sauce and BBQing?’ And Stubbs said, ‘The secret of it all is to make do with what you got.’ So I figured that’s a good thing to live by.

THE FLATLANDERS FEATURING JIMMIE DALE GILMORE, JOE ELY AND BUTCH HANCOCK ON SAT., MAY 30, AT THE TROUBADOUR, 9081 SANTA MONICA BLVD., WEST HOLLYWOOD. 8PM / $18-$20 / ALL AGES. WWW.TROUBADOUR.COM. THE FLATLANDERS’ HILLS AND VALLEYS IS OUT NOW ON NEW WEST. VISIT THE FLATLANDERS AT THEFLATLANDERS.COM OR MYSPACE.COM/THEFLATLANDERSTX.

Download: Kurt Vile “Freeway”

(from Constant Hitmaker on Gulcher)

Philadelphia guitarist/songwriter Kurt Vile put out a record called Constant Hitmaker (on the Gizmos’ Gulcher label, one of the oldest DIY/independents in America) that was one of the best releases of last year. Sometimes he sounds like Leonard Cohen and Psychic TV and sometimes like Animal Collective and Tom Petty. He will play his first-ever Los Angeles show at Echo Curio tonight. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

You’ve got a lot of experience operating a forklift.
I actually do. It’s funny that I do. When I was in Boston—20 or 21—I’d moved with my girlfriend because she was going to grad school there, so I had to get a real job. And she had a friend whose husband worked for this company. So it was basically my reality check. I worked an insanely busy kind of shitty job but I learned how to drive a forklift. And now at my other job, I’m a master. It’s easy. It’s like a treat.
You’ve mastered the art of forklifting?
I guess so.
Did you ever make any rookie forklifting mistakes?
I definitely ruined some freight. I never got hurt.
Have you ever operated heavy machinery under the influence of medicine specifically forbidding the operation of heavy machinery?
Isn’t that a lot of medicine? I work at a brewery now and they let you drink beer within reason. I’ve definitely driven a forklift on our own beer.
What does it mean in the song ‘Space Forklift’ to be a ‘human tractor trailer’? What are the most admirable traits of a tractor trailer?
It’s all open to interpretation. I thought it sounded good. Maybe like—wandering?
Where did you see the ‘foreign girls colonizing college benches’ with their Russian boyfriends?
I wrote that song when I went to college for one semester. Philadelphia Community. That’s why I never went to college—I cannot pay attention. I’m into whatever I’m into. I couldn’t imagine being a full-time student. Like it’s your job. But I took an English class there and I really liked the professor, and because I was writing papers, I started to write more. And I wrote that in the courtyard. I was inspired or something.
You’ve you tend to go through periods of intense obsession—what’s been your most difficult obsession to satisfy?
Right now I’m actually at Amoeba. I’m obsessed with trying to find Neil Young’s Time Fades Away. It came out right after Harvest. A live album. It’s so hard to find. They didn’t like how the album came out, but now it’s a total cult classic. Sometimes my friends say they saw it, but they should know—and they do know!—it’s the only record I’m looking for! Well, two records I want now—one is that and one is the Seeds’ Web Of Sound.
What was your most rewarding obsession?
There’s so many. I fell in love with John Fahey. I just got Mission of Burma’s Signals, Calls and Marches. I’m super into that. And I love the Fall. He makes me laugh so hard.
How do you feel about never having lived in a world without the Fall?
He was doing it before I was born. I’d never wanna meet him, though! I think he’s really cool but—well, maybe I wouldn’t care. ‘He was such an asshole to me! Yes!’
You said your dad played you records that blew your mind at age two—like what? What can you remember from being that young?
I remember in particular—I liked John Denver, and he used to play that Rusty and Doug Kershaw record Louisiana Man. Those are the two I think of. Certain John Denver—nit that my music comes off John Denver-y at all! I recently tried to find one song because of a nostalgic thing—I only like the chorus. The rest is real sappy. ‘Calypso.’ It’s about some marine biologist TV show guy. The chorus is real powerful—all these people singing.
Was there ever a Vile family band? Like the Stoneman family?
I’ve played with most of my brothers at one point—all the ones that play music. My youngest brother doesn’t play anything—others play guitar, etcetera. My one brother plays the banjo, the guitar and mandolin—but he’s not a hick. He’s like a weird muscular bricklayer. And kind of a player.
What’s your favorite biography of a musician?
Not definitely but probably—Shakey. And I read this bio on Hank Williams which was super-great. Lost Highway. All these books on Dylan. Bob Dylan was the first guy whose bio I read in like 2003 and I read tons of bios of Bob Dylan after that. I couldn’t get enough!
What’s your favorite part of the biographic arc? The struggle, the stardom or the come-down?
Once it starts getting traction and they’re into their prime—you just can’t put it down! And then you get slightly depressed when they start sucking. But I find that stuff interesting, too. Like the weird albums—like Dylan’s Street Legal, right before his Christian phase. I know it’s pretty bad. But it’s a different kind of intriguing. Some people are kind of record snobs. They’ll just like the stuff that’s generally good or that would cause a stir. Like Neil Young Trans. I’ve talked about that before. I really love that album. And Bob Dylan.
You saved up to record ‘Freeway’ specially—why?
I recorded it with Brian McTear. We were doing ‘Freeway’ live—me and my buddy Adam at the time—and the live show was going good, and on that version we’d play along to the drum machine and blast guitars. I had other weirder songs at the time that didn’t work out. So we ended up recording kind of poppy tunes. One is on the ‘Freeway’ 7” and the other I’m probably not doing anything with. It’s real sweet.
Why aren’t you doing anything with it?
I was still trying to find my sound, you know? I’d done home recordings a lot and I was like, ‘I need to go in the studio.’ But it was kinda sweet—it wouldn’t really make sense. You find a lot of people have songs that don’t fit once you realize what kind of vibe you’re going for. People might like it, but it’s a little too wussy for me. I’ve been working on my music for so long—you just gotta be introspective about it. And then you gig it out. I’m always thinking and working. It just evolved—it’s like getting older, you know? You start to learn more about yourself.
Are these songs recorded alone in your bedroom late at night while cars hiss by outside?
It’s cool that people would think that! Sometimes it’s weird circumstances. ‘Don’t Get Cute’ I recorded when my wife was away. I was hanging with my friends and we stayed up all night to get it done, and then drove to see a show in New York the next night with no sleep. And ‘Slow Talkers’—I was definitely kind of out of my mind.
How out of your mind?
It was a holiday weekend. It’s different for me now. I hardly ever—I won’t even—I can’t even really smoke pot.
Is that why that one article called you an ‘ex-stoner’?
Probably because I told them—‘I used to party!’ I used to smoke a lot of weed. I think everybody did at one point.
Even the president.
And a lot of people keep smoking it. I did smoke it last night—this girl had really good stuff she just got in NorCal.
Welcome to the west coast.
Totally. We stopped at this rest-stop store—a little country store with whatever you need. Soda and cereal. And then tons of glass pipes and bongs.
So should people bring you weed and Seeds records tomorrow?
No, don’t bring me weed! If they brought me Neil Young Time Fades Away, I’d be very appreciative. Funny—I hardly ever smoke weed. We were excited to go to Amsterdam but we got in late and missed the gig—I left my bag on a train in Belgium and had to wait five hours. We stayed in a real hostel—a happy party there! The music cranking anf everyone happy. They were all real nice. And we had that bag story to tell. And we did eat a space cake. Half of one. But I have to wait til I have the right opportunity these days to smoke. Which is pretty much never.
What’s happening with the new Childish Prodigy record and what can we expect?
We basically have a record deal. I got the contract but I can’t say who it is. But if it goes the way it looks like it’s going—it’s the best possible record label we’re ever gonna get. I’m ready to start the next record.
How did you end up on Gulcher? That’s a historic American label.
I’m glad he did it—he really got the record out there. I didn’t know what labels to send stuff to. I’d meet bands I liked and give it to them. Like Ariel Pink. And bands would like it but I could never get someone to put it out. So my friend Richie who drums in ClockcleanER hooked me up.
Have you ever met him?
No—he only exists in cyberspace. He doesn’t even talk on the phone. I was paranoid about the recordings because I’d had them so long. I’d fixate on one detail. Like maybe a bad note—‘Oh, that’s too messy.’ But it’s gotten way more buzz than I could ever expect. It’s all a learning process. I always knew this was what I wanted to do. I’m happy it’s finally happening. You don’t have to blow off your friends, but you just gotta keep doing it. You gotta work so hard. There’s so many levels—meeting people and you gotta be constantly learning. Go to the record store and see what people are putting out. You gotta know the whole thing. Now I’m here—every step is kind of exciting. You just keep thinking forward all the time.
What do you think of being linked to these landmark figures in American songwriting? Like John Fogerty, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Lee Hazlewood—
I think that’s cool. I got obsessed with Springsteen. I love a lot of classic Tom Petty songs. I love Creedence. I love American music. Blues. The Anthology of American Folk Music.
And you have the best name since Dick Justice.
I’m lucky! That’s my real name! I’m definitely respecting all the real shit. I think it’s cool that lo-fi stuff is way more accessible. People are into that shit now. That’s cool—and convenient. I’m not like ‘I’m gonna be the next Bob Dylan!’ or something. But if you work hard, you can make a living. Somebody said I was the next Bob Pollard. I was like, ‘Who’s Bob Pollard?’ And now I know.
Why do people call you ‘Cougar’? Did you fight one?
That’s a joke with my friend Sharkey from ClockcleanER. When we were young, we saw a newsflash that said THE COUGAR IS LOOSE! And my sisters came home from school—‘We saw the cougar!’ ‘No you didn’t!’ So I asked Sharkey—‘Wasn’t the cougar ALWAYS loose?’ ‘The cougar was always loose.’ So they all started calling me ‘the cougar.’ But only maybe three or four of my friends.
Until now.
That’s fine.

KURT VILE WITH MEG BAIRD AND LUCKY DRAGONS ON MON., MAR. 16, AT ECHO CURIO, 1519 SUNSET BLVD., ECHO PARK. 9 PM / $5 / ALL AGES. ECHOCURIO.COM. KURT VILE’S CONSTANT HITMAKER IS OUT NOW ON GULCHER AND GOD IS SAYING THIS TO YOU IS OUT NOW ON MEXICAN SUMMER. VISIT KURT VILE AT KURTVILE.COM OR MYSPACE.COM/KURTVILEOFPHILLY.