L.A. RECORD VOL 5 NO 2 ISSUE 101 by L.A. RECORD

VOL. 5 NO. 2 • FALL 2010 • ISSUE 101

NITE JEWEL THE GASLAMP KILLER STEREOLAB’S LAETITIA SADIER EINZSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS NO AGE AND ABE VIGODA TEENAGE FANCLUB BLACK MOUNTAIN THE BLACK ANGELS GRINDERMAN GARY NUMAN NICK BLINKO JOHN CALE SCIENTIST BOMBÓN AND MORE

CHICANO BATMAN by FUNAKI

FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS Chris Ziegler

NITE JEWEL Daiana Feuer

BEAK> Kristina Benson

NO AGE ABE VIGODA Chris Ziegler

DIBIASE Kristina Benson

LAETITIA SADIER Kristina Benson

TOMMY SANTEE KLAWS Daiana Feuer

GRINDERMAN. Chris Ziegler

BOMBÓN Lainna Fader

PRINCE RAMA Daiana Feuer

THE GASLAMP KILLER Chris Ziegler

BLACK MOUNTAIN BLACK ANGELS Chris Ziegler

BATUSIS Kurt Midness

TEENAGE FANCLUB Chris Ziegler

NICK NICELY Ian Marshall

JOHN CALE Kevin Ferguson

SCIENTIST Tom Chasteen

GARY NUMAN Daiana Feuer

EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN Daiana Feuer

SCIENTIST by WARD ROBINSON

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FITZ the TANTRUMS AND

Interview by Chris Ziegler Photography by Grace Oh Fitz and the Tantrums make soul music that actually sounds like soul music and deploy the same kind of flamethrower personality on stage that Sharon Jones uses on the front row every night. Singers Fitz and Noelle Scaggs met us at KPCC, just one studio down from Carly Fiorina, to discuss sweat, blisters and the underpowered applause of Americaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s middle class.

Sharon Jones says that if you ever see her come off stage and she isn’t completely sweaty, you know that she didn’t feel it. Do Fitz and the Tantrums have a similar physical barometer? Michael Fitzpatrick (vocals): I wish there was a day that I didn’t leave the stage drenched but Noelle and I … we get down on stage. Noelle Scaggs (vocals): If I don’t leave with bruises or blisters from playing tambourine you definitely know I didn’t have a good time. You’re the first person I’ve ever heard of who hurt themselves playing tambourine. MF: You actually have to see this girl play tambourine because she might be one of the best tambourine players I’ve ever seen. It’s a real skill. She’s got crazy feel. NS: I have to start working out the left arm because my forearm’s getting big on one side. It’s interesting. INTERVIEW

When is the last time one of your bandmates did something so spectacular, you actually broke character and turned around to watch in awe? MF: We did a show at the Casbah in San Diego a month or so ago. The ends of songs are the solo sections where Jeremy [Ruzumna] might be doing a Farfisa solo or something and he was just on fire that night. John [Wicks] just laid into the drums even harder and we were already at 100 percent and then Jeremy just started shredding. The energy was so electric that I started to uncontrollably laugh and I looked around and everybody in the audience was equally having the same experience. I’m actually getting chills talking about it! We were all simultaneously losing our minds at what he was doing in that moment. And the reason is—the way that the stage is set up at the Casbah, somebody can stand just next to the keyboardist on the

side. I remember him telling me after—he was like, ‘We did “Rich Girls” and I’m playing the solo and I look over at this guy who just sort of looks back at me like, “Nahhhhh.”’ He was so angered by that moment that he was like, ‘I’m gonna show this guy!’ So the next song he just laid it all out. After the show, did that guy come tearfully apologize? MF: No. In fact, I thought we should hire him to always stand right next to Jeremy to intimidate him and make sure he brings his A game every time. What do you do to start an audience cold? And why is waking them up important to you? NS: We want them to dance and just have a good time because everyone who goes to a concert initially wants that. They want to be free and have a good time and scream and

not care what other people are thinking about them and be silly. It’s really important for our fans to know that they can do that at our shows and have a good time. MF: There’s not a lot of bands that give you that permission to go crazy or to have fun. We’re not trying to be the coolest band. We’re just trying to give you a great experience with great musicians—good songwriting but also a real show. I think that’s one of the reasons we’ve had a fair amount of success. People come to our concert and they leave having had a real experience from the songs to just getting down. We ask people to dance their asses off and I tell them pretty straight out that if they don’t I’m going to come find them after the show. Do you ever use reverse psychology? ‘You wouldn’t even be able to handle this. Just stand still, close your eyes …’ 7

MF: No, but you know what? That’s a good idea. We’ll try that the next couple shows and we’ll let you know how it works. Your parents are very musical. I know Noelle’s dad was a DJ, too. What one album do you think both your sets of parents would have loved? MF: I’m not sure because my dad’s an opera Nazi. He only listens to opera and classical music. His modern taste in music stopped at Simon and Garfunkel. I hated that stuff growing up but I’ve actually really, truly grown to love especially classical music. I find it to be one of the few genres of music I can use to calm me down and work and read to and stuff like that. Noelle’s dad has the best and most eclectic taste in music. NS: He likes to put on his vinyl records or have somebody do mix tapes for him and it’s really funny—normally with our family gatherings, it’s like all of the in-laws are there hanging out. It always has your standard Spinners cuts or your Temptations or some Barry White on there—all different kinds of soul stuff. Because I grew up with that stuff being played at the family gatherings, it’s just kind of like, ‘Is that the mix-tape from the ’90s?’ ‘No, it’s new! I just had it made for the barbecue!’ How does this family history in music show up in Fitz and the Tantrums? What’s the biggest opera influence on the new record? MF: I’m terrible with names. I couldn’t even tell you an opera. I’m more into the classical stuff of Ravel or Mozart. Obviously this band and these songs are rooted in a time period and a genre but it’s not a pastiche. We didn’t want to make something that was so authentically true to the form that we always had to adhere to certain rules. I think everybody nowadays is a very eclectic music listener. Everybody in the world or everybody in the band? MF: Especially in the band but yes—everybody now has been given the permission to be able to put two completely diametrically opposed songs on a mix tape together. We play music that’s definitely rooted in soul— Motown, Stax, ’67 AM radio—but my older brother was really into ’80s music so I have a lot of that in my subconscious. Noelle is a huge Thom Yorke and Radiohead fan. I loved that first MGMT record. Everybody in the band is really into Major Lazer right now. I think it’s not a conscious thing—it’s a thing that just comes through your subconscious. NS: I think it allows you to be who you are as well and not feel like you have to be the singer who you grew up with. You kind of create your own personality. That’s what music is about—just really being creative from the aspect of how you absorb the world. So absorb the world and reinterpret it based on your own personality? The artist as prism? NS: Yeah—it’s all through your eyes. Every single individual sees something differently. You connect on a lot of levels but I may take a situation in a way that he wouldn’t. I could be offended by something that he would never be offended by or vice versa. It’s just seeing the world through your eyes, and you just hope that people can connect with it some way. MF: One of the cool things about music is that you can sort of escape conscious thought in the creation moment. You’re not so preINTERVIEW

meditated. You’re feeling it and doing it and a lot of times those other influences are just coming through without being so aware that you’re in that moment of like, ‘Oh, well now I’m drawing from this.’ You also said, ‘What I like about all those old soul records is there tend to be a lot of songs sung by women that are demanding respect or saying, you know, “I don’t need you anymore!”’ But it’s not from a male point of view and so you wanted to give men their mantra. What made you want to do that and what is the mantra? MF: I was going through a long drawn-out breakup and I was kind of losing my mind. Music has always been that place of solace—a place to put all my energy into. Rather than fester in the pain, I’ve just put all my energy on a near obsessive level just to get over the breakup hump. The first EP was called Songs for a Break Up, Volume One.

How does the production on this record reflect your personality? MF: Dirty. Sloppy. Any poor mixer that has to deal with my tracks—there are no crossfades. I just really haven’t labeled a single track. It’s all done by Braille. NS: It’s a mess. It just drives me crazy with him. I get on his Pro Tools and I don’t even know where anything is. MF: But I know. It’s a secret control language. NS: It’s insane. It drives me crazy. Since the album has so many breakup songs, did you have a day when you woke up and felt great and happy and thought, ‘Well, that’s that. I’m better. There goes the record.’ MF: No, no. So a bottomless well of sorrow? MF: I’m a bit of a pessimist when it comes to that.

this day of super-processed music … we’re on the backside cycle of so much electronic music, which I love, too—don’t get me wrong. But we’ve had so much of it and so many subgenres of even that one category called ‘electronic music’ that I think people are really responding to the authenticity and the emotion and the musicianship. Like I was saying, when you come to one of our shows, it is the craft of music-making onstage with incredible musicians and there is a synergy and an electricity that happens when the six of us are together onstage. NS: I think the topic of every song is based upon love and relationships and I think that transcends anything. If you listen to a lot of the songs, they’re all love songs. But song number two—‘Dear Mr. President’… MF: It’s actually a love letter to the president. A tough-love letter?

“You have to have a light at the end of the tunnel. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Sort of a pessimistic title, isn’t it? MF: I just thought it was a pragmatic, realistic title for the course of me and relationships. I don’t know what the exact mantra is. I thought that having a male perspective was kind of a more interesting thing that you hadn’t maybe heard too much of—but also I wanted to really create this crazy juxtaposition between these songs that sound very happy and uptempo but when you actually listen to the lyrics … I don’t think there’s a single happy lyric in the entire EP or LP. It started off as healing from one breakup but it just became an amalgamation of all these different experiences. ‘MoneyGrabber’ is obviously about a money grabber and somebody who at the end of the day, I was just like, ‘Really? Is that what you’re really interested in?’ That was a real shock to me that that was the agenda for somebody. I was reading somebody’s post about it and they were like, ‘I woke up this morning and wanted to feel happy so I played this song six times before work.’ And I was like, ‘Really? That’s the song that makes you feel happy?’ But on a musical level, it’s fun. That bridge is one of my favorite moments, especially on a production level. When we started making this record we had no money, no deal, no nothing. The only way that we could get this done was by doing it in my living room. Once we actually finished doing South by Southwest and Dangerbird stepped up and offered us a deal, we said, ‘Why change anything? Let’s just keep doing what we’ve been doing.’ There’s no pressure. People can go sit in the living room and chill out, eat a sandwich, come back, laugh—and the room itself has really inserted itself as a real character in the sound of the record because we don’t have more than one or two inputs at a time and one old, old crappy mic. Something I learned from Motown was that perfection on a technical level doesn’t mean vibe or a great energy or personality. Part of the magic of those older records is that they were all tracking in the same room so there was bleed on every single mic. I think necessity dictated a certain course of action.

There’s a certain danger in writing breakup songs about people who may live within easy driving distance of where your band performs. MF: Well, my ex who kind of spawned the whole thing—in the end I think she loved it, you know? She loved the compliment—she was all too happy to have people know that some of those songs were written about her even if they weren’t always in the most complimentary light. ‘Look how hard I broke this guy’s heart! He wrote a whole album about me!’ MF: Exactly—exactly. Noelle, you said once that if you hadn’t gotten into music you might have been a lawyer. Fitz, how well would Noelle be suited for the courtroom experience? MF: Oh, don’t get me started. This girl’s fierce. When she believes in something, she’s going to fight for it and she’s going to let you know. She is not a shy girl. I think actually being a lawyer would have been a very good alternate career for her. NS: It was something that was always in the foreground for me. I always wanted to be involved in music somehow so whether it was entertainment law or something with contracting, that was always something of interest to me and it still is. What was the last argument in the band that you can confidently say you won? NS: The title was something I fought adamantly for. I thought Pickin’ Up the Pieces and ‘Breakin’ the Chains’ were very well-connected and you have to have a light at the end of the tunnel. Otherwise, what’s the point? One review said the music you play ‘will always have its place.’ What place is that? MF: Obviously, if you’ve been listening to music you know that there is a real resurgence of music that’s influenced by this era. Soul, I think, is back and back with a force. When Sharon Jones’ last record came out, it was like number 50 on the Billboard charts. It sold like 50,000 copies in no time flat, which I think really made people stand up. I think in

MF: Yes. Obviously we’ve all been experiencing this economic meltdown and the insanity of that and the neglect and irresponsibility of the institutions that we have in place. We all know what they are. We’ve all felt personally the real ramifications of what that economic downturn has been. It’s been incredibly stressful for everybody. I’ve watched my parents go through it, I’m going through it, everyone in the band is feeling it—everyone I know in varying degrees. I voted for Obama and I’m a huge fan of Obama. But I think he’s sometimes a little bit too much of a politician. To his credit, he gets some stuff done and I think we hear a lot about his middle-of-the-road decisions, but he’s also been able to right a lot of the wrongs of the past eight years. I just wanted to say, ‘Do better. Do more. Think about regular people and their needs and not just how to navigate lobbyists and legislation.’ I’m just trying to hold his feet to the fire. Even though the New York Times or the Huffington Post five days ago said the recession is over, it sure doesn’t feel over to me or anybody I know. Is this connected to ‘Rich Girls’? ‘Rich girls break your heart/poor girls take your money.’ Is that the erosion of the middle class? MF: Every time I talk about that onstage, I always ask—‘Are there rich girls in the house? Poor girls in the house?’ Who cheers louder? MF: It’s always, always the poor girls because the rich girls don’t want to let you know they’re a little bourgie. Noelle gets mad because I never give a shout out to the middle class girls—all three of them. FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS ON WED., NOV. 17, AT THE EL REY, 5515 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 9 PM/$17-$19/ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS’ PICKIN’ UP THE PIECES IS OUT NOW ON DANGERBIRD. VISIT FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS AT FITZANDTHETANTRUMS.COM. 9

NITE JEWEL Interview and photography by Daiana Feuer

The new Nite Jewel album is called Am I Real? It sounds very unreal or surreal, but perhaps it’s actually hyperreal, a new way of describing reality using knobs and dials and powerstrips in a way that’s dreamy and a little bit new age. This is how Ramona Gonzalez communes with technology. For her, it’s like being in nature, on a philosophical quest. What is the fondest memory of your grandma? Ramona Gonzalez: When she died, I was in charge of going through her papers. She was intensely politically active and she kept newspaper and magazine clippings on things she thought were important. I really like this obsessive behavior she had which was to record the weather every single day because she wanted to prove that global warming was in fact happening. She had symbols for the weather too—rain, lots of rain, and raining like cats and dogs was a certain amount of droplets. She did it everyday on tons of calendars. I thought it was really awesome—the dedication towards global warming. Was it right? Did it show? It’s hard to say. Over the course of a couple months, yeah—it seemed like, strange, that it was warm in December. But then there’s things that contradict that as well. That’s the thing about global warming. Weather is an erratic thing. Did you know the mid-Atlantic current has died in certain places? That’s too bad. What would your grandma say about that? My grandma happened to die right before September 11 which was really good. If she had been here for that, it would have hurt her a lot and made her very sad. But then she wasn’t here for the Obama election, which would have made her very happy. There’s things she would have appreciated and things that would have upset her. I’m glad she didn’t stay alive to see that. Do you ever think about what you might or might not live to see? 10

No, I don’t! That’s really interesting. The thing about artists is that they make the things they make because they like to fancy themselves immortal—in some way or another—by what they leave behind. I don’t think artists think about their mortality very often. Or they might think about it all the time and stab themselves in the heart or shoot themselves in the face. I think they go hand in hand. If you feel that you’re not successfully engaging with your audience or producing stuff that you think will be remembered, that’s when you feel like life isn’t worth living—because how will anybody know what you left? Artists who are very innovative suffer from that. What do you suffer from? That. Do you think about all this when you sit down to write a song? Sometimes. Certain songs I definitely consider bigger notions and then others are just petty and personal. My new album isn’t as petty and personal as the one before, and songs that are petty and personal have to do with someone else, not myself. It’s me observing other people’s personal lives rather than just exuding my own. That’s changing now again. You go through phases. Where did you write it? In my house here in L.A. Are you affected by your surroundings? I’m more affected by what I’m doing day to day. When I was finishing up this EP, I was in school and there was a lot I was reading at the time and new people I was meeting here. Los Angeles creates a breed that is fascinating to me and some songs are about those people that I’ve met.

Is L.A. more like a sponge or more like an amoeba? I’d say an amoeba. I don’t know that much about Los Angeles, but in my experience it’s totally confusing—the whole place. I have yet to figure out what this city is about and what the people are about. That’s why I continue writing about them. I can’t pin it down. A lot has been written about New York—biographies, autobiographies, histories—and I unearthed a lot of that and read about it. It makes it easier to discern what is happening and what people want from a city. Here it’s just less clear what people want. The EP touches on that idea. Do you know what you want? Not exactly but I find myself always doing things very decisively. Like moving here, finishing school, doing philosophy, moving to Topanga, taking this band in a certain direction. I feel like I make decisive decisions. Somehow they always pan out into being something that works with me. I have forethought in some respects, not all. Do you believe in fate or coincidence? Coincidence is interesting. That’s so hard because certain things have happened recently that really make me think there is this notion of fate. But then also the two have been considered interchangeable depending on the amount of faith you have in spirituality or science. A coincidence is based on the scientific notion of probability and then fate is something that is more a religious concept. Nowadays I’m wavering more in the direction of spirituality because I’ve never been very interested in science. It’s not very romantic. I like to consider fate as a viable idea.

Do you think philosophy is romantic? Yes! Do you think philosophers see themselves as romantic? Some see themselves as being very rational and lacking in romanticism and they use philosophy to stifle romantic notions. Then there are other people who don’t do that. That’s a major difference between American and European philosophy—the Americans being on the more rational end. Where did you study? I studied at Barnard College, at Columbia. I was very in my own head then. I didn’t hang out very much with anybody. I was also very dedicated to studying because I had a shoddy high school education so I had to work way harder. I took a year off and went back and I hated it so I went to Berkeley for a semester. That was worse than Barnard. Then I went to Occidental for two years and it was incredible. Did you get good grades? I did OK at Barnard and I was in the top 10 percent of Oxy’s class but I worked super hard. I really like school and I take it seriously. I don’t like to socialize very much and I saw a lack of discipline at Columbia. I was super-uninspired by the students. They’re like, ‘Yeah, I wrote that paper in a night on seven Adderall.’ And it’s like, ‘Fantastic—that makes me so happy to be in class with you, especially when you get an A. Here I am working my ass off and not taking Adderall as much because I don’t have a hook-up or whatever.’ At Occidental I got better grades because I was allowed to pursue whatever I wanted. At Barnard you had to pass a test or take intro to be in advanced courses. You couldn’t just write to the professor to get in. Unless the professor wanted to fuck you. INTERVIEW

“I have yet to figure out what this city is about and what the people are about. That’s why I continue writing about them. I can’t pin it down.” Who is your favorite philosopher? I like David Hume. A lot of the newer philosophy I read—and by ‘new’ I mean ‘turn of the century’—the stuff I get into draws a lot from him and his notions of pragmatism, naturalism and empiricism. I like Wittgenstein. He and Hume see philosophy as this disease or problem of people abstracting from common life. Another person who touches on that is Heidegger. Nietzsche touches on the notion of being engaged not necessarily with common life but with your visceral emotions. That matters to me a lot. The notion is that whatever you do day to day, that’s where you should draw your philosophical ideas from—not from some abstract logic or something that you can’t see in front of you or create by way of the things that you use. You mean like looking at the behavior of people as opposed to what you idealize? Behavior is one aspect. The way people talk to each other. Any phenomenological idea— like what happens when you have a good conversation? What does that mean to have a nice conversation with someone? What does it mean to be inspired by something or create an artwork you are proud of? You talk about the details and the process. Then you stop doing the analytical stuff of what makes an artwork good or what should a good artwork be. It’s rather, ‘What happens when you make something good?’ That to me is more important from an artist’s standpoint. You don’t make music like it’s just a folk song that came out of you on a porch and that was it and you left it at that. It’s much more involved. How do your principles fit into what you do? That’s a very good question! That question touches on the fact that in a lot of senses we’ve advanced as human beings. We’ve engaged with technology and we’ve decided to use certain things as our daily instruments, like cars and computers. Then there’s a part of us that thinks, well, the most basic elements of human experience are sitting on the porch with your acoustic guitar. That’s a natural reaction. I think that’s changed. That natural reaction means that we don’t know how to use these mechanical technological devices in a way that viscerally speaks to other people or to us because we’re not used to it. Technology is separate from us. You can’t hold a computer in your arms and play. I’m trying to understand how you can have that relationship with technology. I’m interested in how new age artists use synthesizers in spiritual experiences—how that’s possible when you’re doing things like twiddling knobs. There’s a part of me that relates to those people. I have this cerebral character and I’m able to speak to myself when I’m flipping faders and turning knobs. This really is a visceral, tangible and physical experience for me. Somehow it works for me. For others, it doesn’t. It’s not unnatural to turn knobs or push a fader. I think it’s becoming more natural. As history evolves, humans begin to relate to their surroundings differently. That has to do with oral history—how you teach your kids to do this or that. It relates to genetics. It relates to consistent notions ingrained in culture. It doesn’t have to be a negative thing. It can be positive. I want to figure out where that positive relationship lies. Otherwise it just seems futile, if it’s not positive. Emerson would talk about nature and returning to nature. Does nature need to be redefined in the technological age? Unfortunately I think it does. I wish it didn’t have to but the more that we think of nature in Emerson’s beautiful words, the more we become dogmatic about what nature should be like. What Emerson is talking about is a historical idea. I think Heidegger suffered from that because he was trying to create a dichotomy that didn’t exist anymore. The dam on the Rhine and how it ruins the Rhine—it’s stopping it up and turning it into this mechanical thing that we ‘use’ and it doesn’t have to be like that. It only has to be like that if you have the idea of the Rhine that isn’t the Rhine with the dam in it. If you have another idea of what it was like in the past. … The only way that we can continue or start living happily is by having a different idea of what nature is. I know that sounds shitty but it might be necessary. We’ll just need more electrical outlets installed in the parks and the woods. If you think about it, what good is it going to do to be dogmatic about nature being this thing of the past? It’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to make it any easier to communicate nature in technology, so the only thing you can do is try to think of a progressive idea. It’s not anything that I desire. I mean, I’m moving to Topanga, man—like, I want to go back to that! I’m very idealistic in that sense. But I’m very realistic otherwise. NITE JEWEL’S AM I REAL? EP IS OUT NOW ON GLORIETTE. VISIT NITE JEWEL AT NITEJEWEL.COM. 12

INTERVIEW

BEAK> Interview by Kristina Benson Illustration by Darryl Blood

BEAK> is a Dogme 95 band made up of Bristol musicians Billy Fuller, Matt Williams and Portishead’s Geoff Barrow. They took time before their last stateside show and first L.A. show to lament the disappearance of British independent music stores and express their disdain for rock ‘n’ roll shows. How was Amoeba? Billy Fuller (bass): Good fun. What a big record store. Great. That was our icebreaker. Let’s move on. I read in an interview that you are all equal participants in this project. BF: Yes. We are all equal. We’re all men. But you—Geoff—you seem to do all the interviews. All the ones I could find, anyway? Geoff Barrow (drums/vocals): That’s mostly the American stuff. All of you participate? BF: Yes. We all have a chat. Yes. I can see that you are all very verbose. Very garrulous, loquacious people. BF: Robust? Verbose. BF: Yes. You told the BBC you were a Dogme 95 band. Do you know what I’m talking about? You look like you have no idea what I’m talking about. GB: I do know what you’re talking about. We kind of adopted—see, the reason I talk is because [Matt] doesn’t fucking talk. Anyway— we adopted a kind of Dogme way of working. But it was more like a natural one than a forced one. It just happened to kind of be that way and we didn’t want to change it. We didn’t do any overdubs, we just did some edits, we played all at the same time, wrote our stuff within a couple of takes, and we just liked the way we worked and we continued that. But we were quite happy with it not changing. And I think that is basically like a Dogme, you know. We wanted to continue it so they were our rules. If we’d kind of done something else—I mean, I think there is one tiny little overdub on the record, and that was a discussion. BF: It was a bit of a discussion, yes. I also make music and sometimes when I try to pick up an instrument that isn’t my native instrument, it’s because I want to do something different. But sometimes it’s because I know I can hide behind something now. ‘Oh, well—I’m not a guitarist.’ GB: Like a sneaky kind of … Like you can’t be judged properly because it was only done as a demo? I can understand how people do use that, as a concept. When we put out the record—because I think we actually did put it 14

on the record that we only did it in one take. So we did actually make a point of saying that. But that’s because I think that it’s an interesting way of working. I didn’t mean to imply that you were hiding from anything. BF: Yes—don’t go around implying, now. You’re so suspicious! I read an interview with a British magazine wherein you expressed reservations about playing in a hall named after a slave owner. GB: That would have been an interview with me because I run Invada records. And [the fest] was called Invada Invasion. So I was the spokesperson for the whole event. And that’s when Mogwai played and those bands. BEAK> didn’t play—it wasn’t anything to do with BEAK>. We did a massive concert there and basically they rebuilt the hall. And I know for a fact that they are going to change the name of the hall, but it’s not public knowledge. … Edward Colston was a notorious slave owner. He was part of the death of six million people. And he would just be turning in his grave to like see all the people who were in the hall. So it was a way of saying, ‘Fuck you.’ In an other interview, Geoff, you said that trying to write new music is like eating your own barfed-up curry dinner. GB: I think that might have been a Portishead interview. Does it not apply to this band then? GB: No! BF: It’s a different thing, isn’t it? GB: Different people, different outlooks— everything is different. Different goals. Everything. BF: Different hairstyles. Different ages. One of your Dogme 95 rules is that you have to record in the same room. Is it the same room from beginning to end for that record, or the same room—always—for BEAK> to record? GB: It would be nice to be in the same room. Whether it has to be in the same room for the next record, I don’t really know. We haven’t really talked about it. BF: Looking through a pane of glass with headphones on always makes me— GB: Oh God, it’s horrible! BF: Terrible.

GB: Awful. BF: And you can spend eight hours trying to get a headphone mix right—it’s horrible. It’s so hard to play music like that. GB: It’s just—it’s boring. Rock ‘n’ roll shows are boring. It is. It is all boring. It’s all been done a million times. People clapping after tunes is boring. It’s boring, it’s all fucking boring. Dear God. Do you know what I mean?

the Machine—they call that truly original. BF: They’re cutting-edge. GB: They think they’re truly the original alternative cutting-edge music. And that’s where the U.K. is. And DIY exists, but it’s so tiny. Matt, you’re part of that, aren’t you? The DIY scene in Bristol? About how many people turn up to a show? Matt Williams (keyboards/guitar): Four.

“If I like the sound, I say, ‘Good, I’m happy.’ ” It’s just boring, it’s so incredibly boring. But we still do it. Everybody still does it. Ugh. Why do you still do it? GB: Because—you’re trying to go different paths. And you all go down a different path— everyone goes down a different path. Just to try and go somewhere else is difficult. It’s hard work. Well—sometimes it’s easy. Like BEAK>. BEAK> to me is easy. I just love it, and it’s easy. I mean, Portishead is fun too and all that— and that side of it is really great as well. [Billy] plays with other people, and so does Matt. But when we get together, it’s like … we just don’t actually care that much. Obviously you care a little bit, no? You’re on tour? You have PR …? GB: Well—that side is the business. I run a record company, so yeah—I put it out, and I try to sell as many copies as I can and put the money back into the label or whatever. That’s a love for me on the other side. Your roadie was telling me small record stores in the U.K. are evaporating. BF: Oh, yeah. Independent record stores in Bristol? There’s like … one. I thought there was a big Bristol scene? GB: No. It’s full of posh students. It’s like people everywhere who watch ‘The Hills’ and read about Paris Hilton. You gotta remember— America is a fucking ginormous place. So there still is a movement of freaks that still want to buy records and vinyl. There’s so many people that it adds up to be worth it. In England, it’s just not there anymore. You don’t hear decent stuff on the radio. They call like Florence and

That’s so odd to me. Here, cassettes are big. BF: We made a tape. For the tour. We’re down with the kids. But going back to the records— this is a time when people will get their external hard drive, go round to their friends house, and link the two up, and go, ‘Here’s 10,000 songs.’ In an hour. And then go, ‘Thanks-verymuch-goodbye!’ My first Portishead show—I saw it because someone copied the cassette for me. GB: Did you buy the record afterwards? The 180-gram Dummy, a 12” of a remixed track off Live at Roseland, and another 12” of remixes of ‘Sour Times.’ GB: So you didn’t kind of go back home and download it all off the internet because it was 1994. Now that’s what you would do maybe. Do you ever use Eno’s Oblique Strategies? GB: You don’t need them. You just kind of do that naturally. Matt is basically those cards. MW: I have no idea what you’re on about. BF: You have a deck of cards, and if you’re stuck on a song, you pick a card and it says like ‘Do What Your Friend Would Do’ or something. It’s strategies for artists. MW: I just make a sound and if I like the sound, I say, ‘Good, I’m happy’. BF: This is my oblique strategy. [Shows picture of baby son.] I only got two days left and then he’ll be shitting in my hand again. BEAK>’S “WULFSTAN” 12” IS OUT NOW ON INVADA. VISIT BEAK> AT MYSPACE.COM/BEAK2009 OR BEAK. BANDCAMP.COM. INTERVIEW

Grinderman

Grinderman is Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in a new and naked form, and you can see a great deal of that nakedness in their very potent new video ‘Heathen Child.’ We conducted two separate in- Interview by Chris Ziegler terviews with two of the Grinders. Here Illustration by Luke McGarry drummer Jim Sclavunos speaks about his plan to buy a tank and become the last musician in the U.S.A. “It was fantastic. If How many guns should every family own? Jim Sclavunos (drums): I just want to make sure I have more guns than anybody else. It’s sort of the same principle that inspired the Cold War arms race. And it worked out really well. No, in fact, I don’t own any firearms but if things continue the way they are in the U.S. with the fucking Tea Party, I plan on getting myself a tank. What did you think about the revelation that Moe Tucker is an enthusiastic Tea Party supporter? Oh, I hadn’t heard that. Well, I think that it’s great that she’s enthusiastic. Life leads us down many convoluted paths and until you’ve walked a mile in Moe Tucker’s shoes, who could say why she’s made the assessment that she has and made the decisions that she’s come to? But from my vantage point— which is admittedly somewhere in the middle of Slovenia at the moment—it seems rash and irrational. That’s no indictment of Moe Tucker as a person or of her legacy as a musician or of her political beliefs … but I’m still getting a tank. If I find out she’s in the neighborhood ... I don’t know. It could lead to all sorts of problems. So Tucker/Palin 2012? Yay or nay? Oh, fuck Palin. Just Tucker. The first thing she’d do is deport Lou Reed, I’ll bet. Get him declared a traitor to the country. If we gave you limitless diplomatic powers, what musicians would you expel from the country? I definitely wouldn’t bring in more musicians. We definitely have enough of them. Expel? Listen—I like to think everything can be worked out, but let me talk to them first in the true spirit of diplomacy. Then I’ll kick their asses out one by one. Ultimately, my plan is to be the only musician left in the United States. A very Teddy Roosevelt kind of attitude. Speak softly and deliver a big kick to the ass? What was it Dylan, I think, said? ‘Speak softly and carry a big lightbulb’? Something like that. A variation on the sentiment. It has come to my attention that you are the lucky guy in the video who bares all for the Grinderman fans. No, I think everyone else is lucky. I think everyone else is lucky that I am so generous with the display of my bodily parts. I reckon that the only fair thing to do would be to up the ante in the next video. I have to somehow come to terms with all the fucking dad-dancing that goes on in these stupid videos so my only way of coping with it psychologically is to expose myself. Does that impulse come up in your day-to-day life? I’m not required to dad-dance in daily life. And in fact, it takes an awful lot to get me out on the dance floor. Usually, a lot more drugs than anyone can afford these days. Have you ever danced at a wedding? Oh yeah. I’ve danced an Irish jig at a wedding. The exceptions are rare: videos and weddings. Now if anyone manages to uncover any footage of me and post it on YouTube, I’ll be made a damn fool of—but until such revelations come to light, I’m sticking to my guns, so to speak. Of which you will have many. Yes. When Blixa Bargeld split from the Bad Seeds, he famously said, ‘I didn’t get into rock ‘n’ roll to play rock ‘n’ roll.’ Why did you get into rock ‘n’ roll?

you like silver lame pants and bare-chested Australians ... Hey, wait a minute. That sounds like somebody I know.”

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INTERVIEW

And here is Grinderman’s Warren Ellis, who plays the most vicious violin on planet Earth and speaks now through both a beard and a cold. Whose naked ass is in that video? Warren Ellis (violin): That’s America’s finest—Big Jim Sclavunos. Is that where the nickname Big Jim comes from—the ass? He’s just a big bastard—a real tall fucker. But yeah—that’s his bum. Was that a punishment or reward to flash that? After years of playing in bands together, you just know that Jim just wears attire like that. That’s his kind of daily wear. When the moment was upon us to dress us as gladiators, that was of course what popped out underneath. It wasn’t staged—that guy’s got that under his trousers 24/7. I’m not joking. You said once that when you have kids, you have to dress up in crazy stuff all the time and being a naked gladiator doesn’t seem to bother you. What’s the best thing your kids ever dressed you up as? My kids don’t dress me up. You get arrested where I live for doing that! You’re in fucking jail if you do that—we have a hard line in my house. None of that! I do the Father Christmas though. I’ve got a beard and I stick a hat on, and I’ve been known to do a rather evil kind of Father Christmas. It just scares the kids at my children’s school—half think I look cool and the other half think I eat children. Is this with school approval or do you just show up? I just show up to pick my kids up! I’ll ask my kids—‘What do your friends make of me?’ ‘Half think you’re cool and the other half think you eat children.’ ‘What do you think of that?’ ‘Ah, it’s alright.’ I don’t eat children as a rule—I’m a vegetarian. Is it true your wife would prefer you to have a crack habit instead of a beard? She probably would if push comes to shove. She can’t stand it. But it’s the only vice I have these days. Wouldn’t a crack habit be more expensive for a family? It probably would. There’s no logic to my statement—it’s just the truth. Lou Reed said when they ask you a question and they want the truth or a lie, always give ’em the lie because no one wants to hear the truth. And Lou Reed’s right on—Lou Reed is more than right on! Have you heard Take No Prisoners—the double-live album? Listen to that if you wanna hear the truth, man. Some of the greatest dialogue ever committed live. Unbelievable. The L.A. mayor used ‘Street Hassle’ for a promo film about how nice the new subway will be. What an inspired decision! That’s one of my favorite albums of all time! I love that song! Particularly what that song’s about— ‘Hey, that cunt’s not breathing! I think she’s had too much/Of something or other/Hey, man, you know what I mean?’ That’s just the greatest song. It’ll be great if people are like fucking dropping dead down in the subways. ‘By morning, she’s just another hit-and-run.’ Oh, man. The greatest song. ‘Sha na na na, babe—come on, let’s slip away.’ I hope he agreed to that— hope he gets paid a lot for it! They shoulda used ‘I Wanna Be Black.’ And shoot ten feet of jizm on the L.A. subway? Exactly! What a great album! Fuck man! They don’t make records like that anymore. I can’t remember the last time I heard a record that said ‘jizm.’ People used to make an effort back then. It was considered kinda high art and people were aiming for something and making records was important and there was a value to it. All those things have changed. I’d like to think our new record—I know we certainly put a lot of goodwill into it and a lot of effort. I think we certainly try and make records like the records that blew our minds when we were younger. But I don’t know. I must be INTERVIEW

honest—I have a hard time keeping up with new stuff. I love that Gil Scott Heron record that came out with that incredible cover of a Smog song. It’s fantastic. That Smog song is fucking amazing—it just takes a whole new meaning. But again, that’s kind of older—I’m more likely to go pick up the Neil Young thing. I have less time these days to listen to music and when I do, I want it to be something where I kind of know where I’m gonna stand with it. I’m still listening to Howlin’ Wolf and John Coltrane and Miles Davis and AC/DC. The Stooges. I unfortunately don’t have too many contemporary records. What’s the difference between a freak from 1970 and a freak from 2010? Do they still make freaks like they used to? I’m not seeing them! It was a different time—people had less to care about. It seemed like things were more playful—look at the way people dressed. I’m not someone who could make an intelligent comment based on casual observation. You could speak on freaks. You’ve done field study. I reckon there’s still freaks out there. It used to be something really celebrated. A lot of things people haul up as freaks these days are kind of manicured. It’s very hard to shock these days. When I was a kid, it was a very different world. You could make a film of a schoolgirl giving you a cigarette—in ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top,’ Bon Scott’s in the back of a truck and a schoolgirl hands a cigarette to him. You’d be put in jail if you did that nowadays. It was just different. Drugs were very different back then, too— that’s what they say! They might legalize weed next month. California will be the American Pleasure State. There’s other drugs I’d legalize before I’d legalize pot. I think pot’s much more insidious—it has more potential to blow people’s minds than other things. What is your personal recommendation for a gateway drug? I would say the thing that agrees with you. If it doesn’t, it probably isn’t worth pursuing because it probably isn’t gonna get any better. I wouldn’t say everything is for everybody. I’m not a big expert, but I know what pushes my buttons. It takes a while to work that out. These days it’s just a beard, really. Not fuckin’ beer! I never drink beer. Although it is good on a hot day. I’ll give it that much. There’s a story about when Blixa Bargeld left the Bad Seeds, he said, ‘I didn’t get into rock ‘n’ roll to play rock ‘n’ roll!’ Yeah—he had a point! What did you get into rock ‘n’ roll for? By accident, really. I used to love listening to it, but I never played any particular rock ‘n’ roll instrument. That’s probably what got me into it. At the point when I was playing, everybody played the guitar and drums and bass. And I was playing electric violin through a messy amplifier and making one hell of a racket. And because what I was doing was so un-rock ‘n’ roll, I probably got into it. But Blixa was totally correct when he said that, as strange as it sounds. He’s always been about another pursuit. He’s totally correct—God bless him! Bless him! What he was saying—there was a certain tack being taken with the song they were trying to do and he’d never been about that thing so he stormed out. Joe Strummer said the horror of becoming the new Rolling Stones kept him honest. What horror keeps you honest? The thing that keeps me honest—hopefully I’ll know when I’m not honest. I’m in the Dirty Three and we were kinda amazed we even started playing shows. One day we were like, ‘How long do you think we’ll keep going?’ ‘Well, when we feel like what we’re saying isn’t true.’ I’ve always kind of had that with whatever I do. Hopefully I would know when it wasn’t the truth. You hope that you will have the sense to realize when it’s not meaning anything and get out. Jim says one of the best things about Grinderman is you get the freedom to be ridiculous. We sit down for like five days and bang on endlessly. Some of it’s really inspired and some of it’s the biggest pile of crap you’ve heard in your life.

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Jim Sclavunos

WARREN ELLIS

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 16

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of Grinderman I understand where Blixa’s coming from. I didn’t get into rock ‘n’ roll to play rock ‘n’ roll either. My earliest bands were kind of noise bands. You know, I’m ancient. And at that time in New York, there was a thriving art scene and we had all sorts of stuff like the early minimalist, structuralist avant-garde, we had Meredith Monk, we had the loft-jazz scene. We had just come off the back end of the whole free jazz explosion. There were lots of crazy art-rock bands in New York proliferating both as a part of the club scene but also drawn there by the spirit of the Factory, the whole kind of Max’s scene and stuff like that. I found that all very exciting. Those were the kinds of bands I was in. I played with art bands. Noisy, no-wave and art rock bands. So yes, I didn’t get into it to play rock ‘n’ roll, but I did discover rock ‘n’ roll belatedly—mainly courtesy of Alex Chilton. I got lured into his sort of Memphis nexus. My whole thing has been sort of reconciling those two branches of the rock ‘n’ roll experience, trying to integrate them. What was the record Alex used to get you into the rock ‘n’ roll side? There wasn’t a specific record. I had done a tour with him. A promoter who was booking the tour ... they needed a drummer so he said, ‘Oh, just get me a pick-up drummer in New York.’ And she suggested me because she knew me from various Lydia Lunch things and Sonic Youth and what-have-you. She said, ‘Oh, well, Jim’s a nice guy. He could probably put up with this crazy man.’ That’s how you get ahead in the world. Well, yeah—because I do have a reputation for putting up with crazy people. And being somewhat accused of that myself. So at the end of the tour he said, ‘You know, I’ve got this band called the Panther Burns down in Memphis and I think you’d really be good in it.’ So he lured me down to Memphis, which is, you know, a place and a culture diffused with roots music. I got down there and the day I got there he announced, ‘Hey, I decided to retire from music. I’m moving down to New Orleans to wash dishes. You’re welcome to join the band anyway. There’s a bunch of strangers you can play with.’ What has been your most chillingly accurate experience with a fortune-teller? I’ve never had anything like that. Sorry, that’s a very flat and disappointing answer. What has been your most rewarding experience with human rationality? That’s saying that I’ve had any rewarding experience. I don’t like the turn that this interview is taking. You’re actually asking me to evaluate aspects of my life and I find that highly objectionable. For my memoirs. And I’m not going to give anything away because of my potential to be a selling point for my memoirs so you’re barking up the wrong tree, buster. Joe Strummer said the thing that kept him honest was the horror of becoming the new Rolling Stones. What horror keeps you honest? 18

The horror of reading my quotes in the press. There’s no escaping that horror. And honesty and the search for truth is a never-ending quest. It’s a zen thing. You only strive for perfection—you never achieve it. It’s from Zen and the Art of Archery. You know, high school required reading. What internationally known criminal do you think would have made a genius musician? There’s a long, glorious history of criminals being artistes, dating back to Francois Villon, the poet, up to Charles Manson. There’s a long, glorious history of most people involved in the music business being crooks. But I reckon Bonnie and Clyde, if their movie is to be believed—their rockumentary is to be believed?—they were pretty rock ‘n’ roll. They were good dressers, they understood publicity, Clyde wrote some great works. They obviously had no problem touring. Yeah—he was a good tour manager. Kept them going, kept them one step ahead for the most part. It ended pretty badly but you know— even the best tour manager makes a mistake. So I reckon they probably would have been an excellent band. When I interviewed Lydia Lunch for the Teenage Jesus thing in L.A., I asked her: ‘Is there anything left that disgusts you?’ What’s left that disgusts you? There’s not enough battery life on this phone to answer that. Even if this phone were fully charged there wouldn’t be enough battery life on it for me to enumerate the many, many things that disgust me. How does it strengthen one’s character to be booed at Madison Square Garden? It doesn’t, really. What strengthens your character is that you can come up with a preposterous rationale, saying, ‘Oh, it strengthened my character.’ It all didn’t go down quite the way I imagined the first time I went to Madison Square Garden, you know? I saw the Bee Gee’s during their ‘Tragedy’ tour—the aptly named ‘Tragedy’ tour—and it was fantastic. It was fantastic. If you like silver lamé pants and bare-chested Australians ... Hey, wait a minute. That sounds like somebody I know. Better talk quieter. They had the fire pots and the explosives going off in the very first song. They didn’t even wait to build it up. Shirts were off in the second song of the set. It was incredible. And the next time I went there was for a bunch of other people with no shirts. I saw the first time the sumo wrestlers came to Madison Square Garden. So I always imagined my debut at Madison Square Garden was going to be something like that—me with my shirt off with everybody kind of oohing and ahhing and explosions going off. Your video was almost there—it’s got just about all of that. We’re getting older but we’re not dead yet. There’s still a chance. My dream could still come true.

of Grinderman Tell me more about the crap. Ah, probably about as low as you can imagine and even beyond that! After like two or three days, you’ve tried everything and you’re totally empty of ideas, and then it becomes this thing of just trying anything. Sometimes for hours and hours it can just go on—this mind-numbingly horrendous stuff! But what’s really interesting—we’ve all played together so we cannot feel intimidated or bothered by it, you know? I know I can do something and people might laugh or something, but it’s OK. It’s alright to do it. It allows you to take risks, and that’s the great thing about Grinderman—to take risks! New risks! The thing with this record—the most successful thing about it—is we’ve tried to go into areas that weren’t immediately apparent to us. Before, it’d be like, ‘Well, I don’t know really about going down there.’ And now we’ve gone, ‘OK—let’s light it. Let’s see what happens.’ What was it like getting booed at Madison Square Garden? There was a fair bit of that! And a lot of people looking in disbelief, too. It took people by surprise, you know? You should be proud. The Beatles never got to get booed at Madison Square Garden. Really? Wow. We’ll put that on our CV. So you’re establishing a tradition of animals committing genital acts on your album covers— What’s the wolf doing? Didn’t he piss all over that bathroom? That’s just a reaction to the bathroom. Or the pressure of show biz? I don’t know if it was his first shoot or not. Maybe he was making a comment on the proceedings. Certainly Mother Nature in all her glory was there. What animal performing what genital act most reflects the philosophy of Grinderman? I don’t really know! I’ve never really thought about it. I could get arrested! You shoulda asked me that question in the ’70s! People would have applauded it! What’s the most chillingly accurate experience you’ve had with a fortune-teller? When I was in my early twenties, I was in bed and I was listening to the radio. A bit of piano music was on—beautiful. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe or get up or get out of bed. It was like something was holding me down. I started panicking and I looked down at the end of my bed and there was a big shape of a person there. I could see the outline of his face. He was just looking at me. This was in the middle of the afternoon and I was straight. And when the music finished, the announcer said, ‘You’re listening to Burt Evans’ Piano Concerto of 1909’ or something like that, and I took that as a sign that it was time to get on with my life and I went out and started playing in bands. And that’s the truth. That would have scared me off music. It happened a few years before—the same form. Just sitting in the back of the room. I’d

just discovered Beethoven—I’d never been into classical music before; I always liked contemporary music—and I was playing it and there was this form at the end of my bed. The same form. I’ve never questioned it. I just took it for what it was and moved on. It scared the shit out of me! These kind of experiences tend to come in threes—ready for one more? I hope it’s not tonight. I have a cold! There was one—another time I was playing my flute and I did have a weird sensation. The cupboard started glowing and this force passed through me and I could feel it in the back of my head and come out my stomach, and then I stopped and I threw up. I was in the dark and I threw up. I don’t know what that was. Then I found out the girl I was living with, her grandmother died in that room. So I said, ‘Fuck, man—I guess she don’t like the flute!’ Maybe that’s the third one. I don’t know anyone who had to throw up because a ghost flew through them. Is that right? Well, I’m telling you the truth, man. Are these kinds of experiences just par for the Grinderman experience? No, I never talk about it—you asked me the question. No one would ever know that. No—we just go in to make music. What criminal would have made the best musician? Charlie Manson had a shot on the guitar, didn’t he? He was alright. He had some cranky stuff going on. What musician would have made the best criminal? Most of them are, aren’t they? What musician hasn’t been a criminal would be more the question! What’s the most perfect crime you ever committed? I used to do some very slick shoplifting. Stuff like toys and things. And food. I was a kid. A young offender. I was spending my money on other stuff! Did you ever shoplift hot food? No! I’m talking produce. Pineapples? No! Where you gonna stick a pineapple? Fuck man! You think the world’s just one big bloody Jane’s Addiction film clip, don’t you? You think you can just stick it all up a fake stomach or something, don’t you? Fuck man—a pineapple? Where would you put a pineapple? A top hat? Well—there you could! GRINDERMAN WITH ARMEN RA AND L.A. RECORD AFTERPARTY ON TUES., NOV. 30 AT THE MUSIC BOX AT THE HENRY FONDA THEATER, 6126 HOLLYWOOD BLVD. 8 PM / SOLD OUT / ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. GRINDERMAN’S GRINDERMAN 2 IS OUT NOW ON ANTI-. VISIT GRINDERMAN AT GRINDERMAN.COM. INTERVIEW

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SELECT MACYâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S / ALL RITMO LATINO STORES CHARGE: 800.745.3000 OR ONLINE AT TICKETMASTER.COM ADVANCE TICKETS FOR MOST SHOWS ARE AVAILABLE TO AMERICAN EXPRESS CARDMEMBERS VIA WWW.TICKETMASTER.COM

BOMBÓN Interview by Lainna Fader Illustration by Ramon Felix

Bombón plays ’60s surf-inspired garage punk, and recorded their debut LP, Las Chicas del Bombón, on 1/2-inch tape at Cali Mucho in San Pedro. They just returned from their first tour of the South with Pine Hill Haints and Rise Up Howling Werewolf. They speak now from the Liquid Kitty in homemade matching sailor dresses. They are patiently waiting for their phone call from Quentin Tarantino. What are we watching? Paloma Bañuelos (bass): Liquid Kitty let us do our own projections for the show, and we brought this ’60s go-go girl DVD but we hadn’t seen all of it and turns out it’s full of naked ladies! Yeah, I think your crowd might have been a little distracted—what would’ve been your second choice? Jerico Campbell (drums): Definitely horror films! I’m really excited—on Saturday I’m going to the Hollywood Forever cemetery to see Night of the Living Dead. I love horror movies. Angela Ramos (guitar): I wanted to see Rosemary’s Baby there. Why did you choose the South for your first tour? PB: We wanted to go to Alabama. Why? AR: That’s where our music family is! And it’s a big family. We stayed at this big house where all the bands that Kevin [Carle, Cali Mucho Studios] records hang out when they’re in town. Every time any of the bands tour they stay there, and we’ve all become close really fast. We have music families in other places though. We have one in Fullerton— the Burger Records family. PB: Burger put out our tape before we even were really a band. We had only been playing for like a month at that point. How’d you get a record label to take you seriously before you even really considered yourselves a band? PB: Angela’s from Orange County and she’s friends with them. AR: It’s funny because it was only once I moved to San Pedro that I started hanging out with those guys. We actually talked about taking a food truck on tour while we were on this tour. We’d see bands sponsored by like Dickies, and we thought, ‘Who needs Dickies? We should be sponsored by a food truck!’ Which food truck do you want to tour with? PB: I think we’d take the one down the street. PB: San Pedro has a lot of Mexican taco trucks, but we grew up with them. Everyone’s used to them because they’ve been here forever. They’re all popular in L.A. now. Maybe we should take one of them from home. INTERVIEW

Are you the tip of the surf iceberg? Are there a dozen more surf bands in San Pedro? PB: No! Not at all, actually. There’s like no surf bands. AR: There’s a lot of amazing bands in San Pedro but there’s no surf bands. I think there’s some in Lawndale. We’d probably be playing punk music if we weren’t playing surf music. PB: I like Black Flag, and of course the Minutemen. JC: We like whatever’s fast and got a good beat. You definitely got a few people dancing tonight. PB: Yeah! We get one random really old guy dancing at every show. It’s always the same character? AR: Or a tranny. PB: Yeah, an eccentric old man or a tranny.

PB: I don’t run very well. JC: We ride bikes sometimes. AR: The most athletic I get is riding a bike. I don’t like to run around at all. PB: Angela’s blind. Well she’s not blind, she just can’t see very well. So surfing’s kind of out of the question anyway. Is surf music nerd rock? Do you get geeks coming up and asking you to play obscure Fender Four songs or album cuts off Surfaris albums and getting pissed if you don’t know what they’re talking about? PB: Oh my god, definitely! Lots of nerds. AR: All of the surf bands, all of them are nerds. One of the guys in Man or Astroman? is actually a scientist, and I’m a chemist, so I think that’s awesome. I think guitar in surf music gets pretty technical and mathematical so that leads to a lot of surf music being

PB: We’re all big Holly Golightly fans. All three of us. I really like Billy Childish. AR: We have very different taste for the most part, though. JC: I like Rilo Kiley, Weezer, the Soft Pack. Angela’s the one who showed me surf music. PB: Yeah—Angela had the idea of doing a surf band. Me and Jerico knew the Ventures and the Trashwomen but that’s pretty much it. I had a couple surf comps but I’m much more into ’60s psychedelic. Angela inspired us to get into surf music. What do you bring to the table that the Trashwomen haven’t already done in the ’90s? PB: We play our own songs! JC: We’re 100 percent original. What’s next for Bombón? PB: We want Quentin to call us back!

“An eccentric old man or a tranny. It’s always one or the other.” It’s always one or the other. AR: Our best show was when everyone danced. We had a couple of those where I guess everyone was just in the mood, and it made us play better. I wish people knew that—bands play better when people dance. PB: At Awesomefest everyone was dancing. AR: I think it really makes a difference. When I was singing ‘La Playa,’ I couldn’t hear myself singing because the entire crowd was singing over me, and everyone was dancing. How do you decide whether to sing or not in a song? AR: There’s only three songs with lyrics, and they were written to have lyrics. People always tell us to sing on our songs, but we play surf music—it’s the other way around. PB: I think we just concentrate on playing good, on the music quality and making something crazy—not so much vocals. Some of the best surf bands, like the Astronauts and Trashmen, played their best music without the actual experience of going surfing first. Does surfing spoil the inspiration to create surf music? AR: It’s irrelevant. I’ve always been athletically challenged. JC: I think we’re all athletically challenged.

nerdy. Do you have to be good at math then to be good at making surf music? PB: I’m the worst at math! JC: I think surf music’s more about the rhythm so I think we’re OK. In our last issue, we interviewed Roky Erickson and he said ‘exploding stars’ is his favorite sound. What’s your favorite? PB: That’s a good one—I love Roky! That’s a hard question. JC: This is going to sound corny, but I work with kids, and I love the sound of kids laughing. That’s the most awesome noise in the world. I work in a kindergarten. PB: I love the sound of Pop Rocks. How would you even describe the sound of Pop Rocks? PB: (Laughs) You hear it in your head! AR: I haven’t really ever thought about that. PB: Wait. I have a question for Roky. Has he ever heard a star explode? Really? How would he know what an exploding star sounds like? I think Roky’s a little crazy now. Doesn’t he have to listen to five radios and ten TV shows all at once to fall asleep at night? Besides Roky, who’s making music that you’re inspired by?

AR: We want Quentin Tarantino to call us back! I was going to stalk him, but I’m too lazy. I think he’d be kind of easy to stalk. He’s around. PB: Great! I hope he listens to our record. AR: I think he’d really like our record. I like Pulp Fiction a lot. PB: We always thought our songs would be so good for his movies. We just found out today that Angela sent him a copy of our record last week. PB: People always tell us we’re like a combination of the 5.6.7.8.’s and the Ventures, so we’d be great! AR: I think our goal for next year is to just make more songs. I don’t know if we’re ever going to be in a Tarantino movie, but we can hope. PB: But I really hope Quentin calls us back! JC: Yeah, even if it’s just to say, ‘Hey, I like your record!’ That would make us so happy. Call us back, Quentin! BOMBÓN’S LAS CHICAS DEL BOMBÓN LP IS OUT NOW ON 45 RPM. VISIT BOMBÓN AT MYSPACE.COM/BOMBONHOORAH. 21

PRINCE RAMA Interview by Daiana Feuer Illustration by champoyhate

Prince Rama’s repertoire includes ancient Indian chants they learned growing up Hare Krishna deep in the swamps of Florida, but the adaptation is anything but traditional. In Brooklyn’s Outer Space—where they live—sisters Taraka and Nimai Larson and bandmate Michael Collins practice secret arts with machines they tame with pious incantation and plenty of reverb, too. This blending of ritual and extraterrestrial makes their album Shadow Temple a very cosmic treat, brought to you by Paw Tracks and partially recorded in a famous writer’s log cabin. What life events influenced the intensity of your album Shadow Temple? Taraka Larson (keyboards/guitar): We just had an amazing time on tour, and then at the end of it all our stuff got stolen. After tour came a rough time—dealing with family members getting cancer, couples breaking up, being homeless and broke. A lot of that has worked itself out. Now there’s always challenges but we grew a lot closer with each other after those experiences. Most of Shadow Temple was written in that period when we didn’t really have a home, so all of the struggles from the road or with relationships or with God were coming up. It’s such a big transformation process going out of college into the real world. What’s the freakiest thing about the real world? Maybe thinking that it’s the only thing you really have. What’s the best thing about it? Knowing that it’s not the only thing you have. If things have smoothed out in your life, does the music you’re writing lately have a different vibe? The new stuff is definitely more structured. On the last one we sorta just jammed a lot out to figure out where we were. We actually have enough new music to record another album. All our new songs are dance-y. Maybe the last stuff is dancey—I don’t know. Whenever I write new stuff lately, it comes from a place … but not a darker place. It’s been a wonderful summer. It’s a lot more about being in love. Are you in love? I think so. How do you know? It’s a lot of things really. Falling in love for me is a spiritual practice. If someone asked me my religion, it would be falling in love everyday. It’s a lot about that—not just falling in love with one person, though I have fallen in love with one person. The way you see that person is how you see the world. Everything is more INTERVIEW

magical. Things pop out with enchanted qualities. You can fall in love with one person or you can fall in love with the universe or spiritual love. Were you named after a demon? My parents were trying to name me after a Gopi of Krishna, but in Vedic literature, demons are named after celestial avatars all the time. I was like, ‘Mom, what were you thinking naming me after a demon?’ But you might have a hero named Will Smith and a devil named Will Smith. Actually the Taraka demon is in The Ramayana. The Taraka demon tried to kill Prince Rama. I had already named my band Prince Rama and then I found this out! Was that fate? Maybe. Who knows? Did your band come together as musicians or friends? Me and Nima are sisters so we met a while back. I met Michael but we didn’t play music until after a little while. We started dating. We were all in high school and we heard about this battle of the bands and wanted to give the Sublime cover band a run for their money. Did you win? We got last place! But the next year we did. What’s your favorite depiction of utopia? Have you heard the Amon Düül record Utopia? It’s pretty good. I don’t know if it’s my favorite necessarily. It would have to be from an album. Something from music? Not literature? Sound is the perfect example of no place—the literal translation of utopia. It doesn’t take up any space at all. Sound is something that moves molecules in the air that no one can figure out. It’s the perfect realization of utopia. Is that why people listen to music? That’s like falling in love. Really good music can put you there. Your whole sort of reality becomes enchanted in some way. Everywhere you are. I’m in love with everywhere. This landscape is enchanted. It makes it for you, you know.

Is music a language? Yeah—totally. It’s almost like pre-language. People use it to translate language. People write lyrics to music. Music gives those lyrics the potency they wouldn’t have if you were just saying them to someone. It gives extra meaning to something. It carries the abstract part of language that is not apparent in language. Is utopia something you can carry within you rather than create around you? Totally. I think that’s exactly it. I think it’s something definitely more within. Are you inspired by Florida? For me it was always about getting the hell out of Florida. I know Michael is a big fan of Florida and really inspired by the landscape. For me, Florida was a dark place. You’re from West Palm Beach—that’s near the ocean. We were living north of Gainesville. The middle of nowhere. Swamps, three-legged dogs wandering the streets, alligators everywhere— which, I guess, is kind of sweet. But I couldn’t make too many friends there. It was a weird life. Kind of uninspiring. I always wanted to move to the Northeast. Though whenever I pass through Oakland, I have second thoughts. What’s a stereotype about the Hare Krishnas that is true? That there’s a lot of free food. And there is. They’re very into cooking and feeding people. What’s the best food? I’m a fan of gulab jamuns. It’s basically cake batter, deep-fried and soaked in rose water. It says in your liner notes that ‘Thunderdrums’ is an homage to Scott Fitzgerald. What did he do? He’s this new age musician. He did 25 volumes of music—all pan flutes and thunder and synth drum. He also did one-off soundtracks. He did Babe. You also mention recording at ‘the good house.’ Is that a nickname? The good house is the old church that our friend Josh Dibb lives in. It’s a neat place.

Animal Collective pays rent and records there. Josh and David Portner recorded us there and Mike Kelley went with us to record at Vonnegut’s cabin. I’m assuming the church has a studio, but what kind of studio did you set up to record in Kurt Vonnegut’s cabin? ‘Studio’ is a loose term these days. We set up mics and ran everything through the computer. Why did you record in special places? Doesn’t everyone want to record in special places? We were desperate, actually—and the guy my sister was dating at the time’s roommate was Kurt Vonnegut’s grandson and he was like, ‘Yeah, you can come here.’ So you tracked him down and planted your sister in a relationship just to record in that cabin? Yep—that was the real reason she was dating him. Is it subversive to take spiritual music and put it in a concert setting—in some basement or on a stage? I’m just singing syllables—the same syllables we use for other words. They have a potency because people have endowed them with this energy. Whatever context you put them in, it can transform the environment. Wherever you say them becomes sacred because you have that awareness of their power. Things all have that inherent spiritual quality—it’s just how much people like the context for it. Any words can have a sacred quality. If people started chanting ‘mango, mango, mango, this is sacred,’ over thousands of years, who knows how powerful that would be? We’d all wear more orange, probably. Monks wear it. Maybe they know something we don’t about mangos. PRINCE RAMA’S SHADOW TEMPLE IS OUT NOW ON PAW TRACKS. VISIT PRINCE RAMA AT MYSPACE.COM/ PRINCERAMAOFAYODHYA. 23

BLACK MOUNTAIN Interview by Chris Ziegler Illustration by shea M. gauer Black Mountain’s Jeremy Schmidt gets interviewed every year by L.A. RECORD which is probably the best way to determine how much (or if too much) time is passing in your life. His new album has a shark exploding from an office building and he speaks now from a chilly place where sharks rarely go. I read that Amber got stung by a jellyfish in San Diego. What is the most vicious animal attack you’ve ever experienced and does that in any way inform the cover of the new record? Jeremy Schmidt (keyboards): I can’t recall a time when I’ve been attacked by a wild animal. How about a domestic animal? Just Steve [McBean] occasionally. He turns into a prehistoric bird every now and caws at me, swooping much too close for comfort. We just talked to a someone who said he loves birds because birds are a way out of the matrix. What do you think about that? They exist outside of the matrix or they’re the ticket out? Shit, I don’t know. It sounds plausible to a certain extent. It’s nothing I’ve given much thought to but I guess it’s plausible. I can confirm that that jellyfish story is true. As far as animal attacks informing the album cover, I can’t say that’s true in any way. Have you ever been attacked by a shark coming out of a building in Vancouver? I feel it’s probably unlikely. If it happened I’d probably be in such awe that it wouldn’t be harrowing. It’d be amazing. If you’ve got to go, because we’ve all got to go at some point, what would be the most spectacular satisfying way to pass from this stage of human life? How about flying too close to the sun and bursting into flames? That seems like it would be at least dramatic in some way. You couldn’t complain about that being a dull way to go. Everybody would get to see it too. It’d be a shared experience. That’s the whole Icarus comparison would probably get a bit tedious, but then again, I wouldn’t be alive to have to deal with it. That’d really be the only downside. Does this have any application in music at all? Is it truly better to burn out than to fade away? I guess it depends who you ask. I don’t think any band would admit to fading away but there’s plenty that do. I know you guys recorded at Sunset Sound—any ghost stories? No, we didn’t hear any good ghost stories. One of the somewhat spooky aspects is they have the same reverb chamber that they’ve had forever. When you’re hearing your voice or instruments coming back to you through the reverb chamber you’re hearing it come through the same chamber that so many people in the past have passed through which is kind of allusory to a ghost. Also I remember going up in the attic to hear what the sound is like and it was pretty cool. They have a lot of weird old boxes of tape lying around because I think they used to use that studio for old Walt Disney soundtracks before it became a proper music studio. It was kind of an annex to the Walt Disney sound recording. That was kind of interesting bit of history.

CONTINUED ON PAGE 26

THE BLACK ANGELS Interview by Chris Ziegler Illustration by shea M. gauer The Black Angels connect with the high baptismal flow that powers all Texas psychedelia and use their annual Psych Fest to resurrect the historic combination of reverb and open sky each spring in Austin. Their new album Phosphene Dream makes them labelmates with Otis Rush and Fleetwood Mac. I went and checked and the property you used to live at, 1300 McKinley in Austin, was recently assessed at being worth $300,000. Do you think that’s an accurate amount to include supernatural activity that went down there? Christian Bland (guitar/vocals): Ha! No. I don’t think it’s worth that. Lower. My advice is to get an exorcist to come in there. All I know is that in our practice room and in the laundry room in the back corner of the house there was some entity—it was just creepy if you were there by yourself. When I was by myself, I’d have to get out of there because I’d get chills down my neck. What’s the worst effect the ghost at 1300 had on any band member’s love lives? No. No negative effects on love lives. We were all upstairs except for Stephanie who was downstairs right next to the laundry room. She probably had the most experiences. Is she the toughest one? That’s why you put her down there? She’s actually the most afraid of ghosts. It was a test for her. How well do you guys think you’d survive as a band if society started collapsing around you? Do you the Black Angels have what it takes to lead humanity back from the wasteland? Oh, of course. That’s our main goal. We just discuss it pretty much every day. If the shit goes down today, what will we do? Do you know how to make a loaf of bread from scratch? I don’t. Do you? No, I wanna learn. That’s what you gotta learn for the wasteland. Gotta make bread, tell directions by the stars, and clean and— —gotta figure out how to get water. Were you ever in Boy Scouts? Maybe we should have gone. No, I was never in Boy Scouts. What was the most wholesome thing you did as a kid? Well, my dad’s a preacher. Every Sunday I went to church and was in a youth group and went on mission trips. Alex and I actually went on mission trips down to Jamaica together. I was 16 and he was 14. We were singing all the time we were working. Zombies songs. ‘Time of the Season’. It was really cool. I guess most people—tourists—stick around the outside of Jamaica. But where we were working was in Mandeville, Jamaica, which is right in the very center of Jamaica. Man, the country is beautiful but the ghetto area is pretty nasty. One time we went to the wrong market. We thought we were kind of going to a tourist-y market but it was a group of like 20 kids and we went into one of the native markets and they were yelling at us and telling whitey to get out of there. I think that the Black Angels wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been raised the way that I was. Music has kind of become what church was for me growing up. Music becomes that for me. Communion with God through music.

CONTINUED ON PAGE 26

BLACK MOUNTAIN CONTINUED FROM PAGE 24 You could destroy thousands of childhood memories at once. [In Mickey Mouse voice] ‘I don’t have time for this shit!’ The Guardian said, ‘Suspension of reality is crucial to Black Mountain.’ What do you think of that? I don’t know what they mean by that. I wonder what reality we’re suspending when we’re playing live, or what neighboring dimension we’re occupying while reality continues on around us. I’d love to have that explained to me, but it sounds good, so sure, why not? We’re sort of in our own world, our own realm, our own trajectory to a certain degree. What’s the most communal suspension of reality you guys have all shared? Shit, man. You’ve got some cosmic questions. I don’t know. We interviewed Moris Tepper, and he was talking about how whenever he sees a bird up ahead he cringes and hides and he thinks it’s because 50,000 years ago humans would be attacked by predatory birds so he still has a caveman impulse. What is your most primitive caveman impulse? To sleep. You’re the guy in the back of the cave. I’m the guy who stays in the cave long enough til the sun comes up and misses the hunt. I love sleeping in.

Did that influence you in any way to play the synthesizers and keyboard? It’s sort of in the back of the cave, isn’t it? It must be some primordial impulse that drives me towards playing electric keyboard instruments, I’m sure. In your entire career in Black Mountain, what’s the nicest car or motorcycle you ever got to ride solely because of being in the band? I haven’t ever been on a motorcycle since I’ve been in the band. I was on one once in high school. I can’t think of an occasion when we’ve been in a nice fancy car. It’d be really cool to say I’ve been in a Delorean, or done a Delorean tour, where we each have a Delorean and we had a touring convoy of Deloreans. Brushed silver Deloreans cruising down. That’s a sexy thing to imagine. If you’re gonna do that, you all gotta be dressed in skin tight leather, or skin tight silver mylar—so which one do you wanna go with? I’m going to go with mylar to keep with the brushed steel. I’m gonna go with the shinyness. It sounds like a Daft Punk photoshoot for sure. What’s the best shot of alcohol to make a stranger into a friend for life? Good question. I’m worried about what

THE BLACK ANGELS CONTINUED FROM PAGE 25 I think that there’s a lot that’s unexplained in this world. I just got done reading this book called DMT: The Spirit Molecule. By Strassman. He’s saying that 95% of the entire universe is dark matter and 5% is normal matter. So 95% is unknown. And I feel that music is spiritual and it helps to tap into what you

me. I can tell if I’m gonna enjoy it. I always like to record whatever I’m doing when I’m playing guitar and listen back to it right after I play and I can listen back to it and groove out to it. What was on this mythical tape of Roky Erickson rarities you had when you were working on a record with Roky?

“If the shit goes down today, what will we do?” can’t see, touch and feel in the physical world. When I get inspired just listening to music constantly all day, something will pique my interest and I’ll wanna go play guitar—I’ll kind of turn my mind off and let the music flow through me and whatever comes out. Mayo Thompson says when you’re making music, the sound itself tells you if it’s right. Definitely. I think the bands that inspire me somehow work their way into my brain, and I know that to me it sounds good. When I’m playing and putting chord progressions together, I’m just doing whatever sounds pleasant to 26

The manager gave us 60 songs and we chose 10. Some were recorded at Rusk in the mental institute. Some were actually written while he was with the 13th Floor Elevators and they didn’t make it on the albums. Some of them were more ‘70s stuff and some were even ‘80s. There was one called ‘Thank God for Civilization.’ Another one was called ‘Never Say Goodbye.’ ‘Pushing and Pulling.’ ‘Join the Marching’— it’s just like [sings] ‘Join the marching, da da da’—he just said it over and over. ‘How Can I Ask for More.’ Really cool kinda lullaby on that one. ‘Bo Diddley was a Head Hunter.’

might unfold. That’s a really hard one to say. I wanna say a tequila shot. Not that I’m really crazy about tequila shots. But they seem like they’d be the one to bring people together late at night when you probably should’ve stopped drinking. I’m going to put a shout out for this Czech liquor I really like called Becherovka. It’s an herbal liquor that’s like Jagermeister but less syrupy. It’s much better. It’s sort of like a bitters or a tonic. It has a slight gingerbread nuance. Shots of that would probably go over well. You never see it around much though. You can buy it at gas stations in the Czech Republic. I like that stuff.

been in BC for most of its life. It was all covered in snow obviously. People have been talking about how ‘Radiant Hearts’ is kind of a nuclear vibe… Nuclear is a hard word to sing. It proves difficult for Steve to get his beak around. His bird mouth. But he did. What’s the easiest thing to get his beak around? I don’t know—whiskey, I guess. I interviewed Stephen and in a moment of admirable candor, he told me he gets really horny when he eats. Is this something that affects the operations of the band?

“It was one of those pipedream desires.” Before you got a Mellotron, how intense would you say your desire was to get a Mellotron? It was definitely a holy grail item, but I never imagined I would be able to find one within my means. It wasn’t something I pragmatically desired. It was one of those pipe dream desires. Somebody I know tracked someone down who was selling one. They ended up selling it to a collector for a lot of money. And then the guy said he knew someone who had one, and I bought it off this fellow who lived in the interior of BC of all places. It used to belong to a Canadian band called Strange Advance, who you’ve likely not heard of if you’re not from Canada. They were a bit New Wave, a bit proggy element. It was his Mellotron. It’s

Yeah—at band banquets we have to be careful cause he might start taking all of his clothes off and rub almond butter all over himself. Speaking of which, I need to go eat something. I don’t know if it’ll make me horny.

What happened to the album you were going to make with Roky? We tested it out. We did ‘Bo Diddley is a Head Hunter’ with him and all ‘Bo Diddley is a Head Hunter’ is is [sings] ‘Hey, Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley’s a head-hunter’ the whole time! It took—I dunno, about three hours to get a good take of just that. So it would cost a lot of money to go into the studios to have him try to re-sing over all the songs. He didn’t remember a lot of the songs. Some of them I’m sure he just like recorded in one day and he might not have revisited them again. What’s the Reverberation Appreciation Society? We do the Psych Fest and we are a record label as well. We just put out our first record, which was my solo release—Christian Bland and the Revelators. so we just put that out. Basically the idea is just to preserve psychedelic music that was started in Austin. Whenever we’re home we meet like twice a week. Before every meeting we sing ‘Reverberation’ by the 13th Floor Elevators. You made this new album in L.A. and said L.A. crept into your psyche. I think just being in L.A. has made its way into how the record sounds. Some of the songs were—some of the songs on the new album we recorded in Austin, they definitely sound way different than they did than when we went to L.A. I’ve always been intrigued by L.A. just because of the creativity there and the bands that have influenced me that have

come out of there. I love the Byrds and the Doors, so to me I can feel that spirit there and it made it’s way onto that record. It was so cool to get to go into Studio 1 where the Doors recorded—they let us in to the secret reverb chamber, which is like a hidden room. It was an old refrigerator. And that was where Jim Morrison did all of his singing. I know you have a degree in advertising— how does that affect the band? I’ve definitely been able to apply it. I studied advertising and graphic design with art direction. I’ve been designing all the album artwork and posters. As far as the psychology of advertising … I think it plays a part in the message that we’re about. I couldn’t stay in the advertising world because I couldn’t advertise a product that I just didn’t even care about or use. It’s almost like I’m getting to advertise my own beliefs through Black Angels. What beliefs are you advertising? I think it’s just encouraging open-mindedness. I just think too many people are close minded. I think people should question more than accepting the way things are represented.

BLACK MOUNTAIN WITH THE BLACK ANGELS ON THE DROPOUT BOOGIE TOUR ON WED., NOV. 24, AT THE EL REY, 5515 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 9 PM / $21 / ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. BLACK MOUNTAIN’S WILDERNESS HEART IS OUT NOW ON JAGJAGUWAR. VISIT BLACK MOUNTAIN AT MYSPACE. COM/BLACKMOUNTAIN.

THE BLACK ANGELS WITH BLACK MOUNTAIN ON WED., NOV. 24, AT THE EL REY, 5515 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 9 PM / $21 / ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. THE BLACK ANGELS’ PHOSPHENE DREAM IS OUT NOW ON BLUE HORIZON. VISIT THE BLACK ANGELS AT THEBLACKANGELS.COM. INTERVIEW

TEENAGE FANCLUB Interview by Chris Ziegler Illustration by Dale Dreiling

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, revealing respectable familiarity with rock ghost genitals. 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 Colour, 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? NB: 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 now shaken hands by proxy with? NB: Little Richard toured with Buddy Holly, so maybe he shook Buddy’s hand. ‘Have a good night, Buddy Holly!’ Ellis Amburn’s bio claims Buddy Holly lost his virginity in a Texas gangbang. NB: 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 Cricketswalking-in-on-the-orgy story? Where the Crickets supposedly caught Little Richard and friends backstage and either joined in or just watched in shock? NB: Either way, they didn’t leave the room! 28

What’s the most famous Teenage Fanclub orgy story? NB: 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? RM: I’ve never had a job ever! I was a paperboy—the only job I ever had. NB: I was a chef for one morning. In a hotel. They told me it’d be split shifts—like 10 till 2 and 6 till 10. 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? RM: 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 album?

Kim Deal said she wanted to write songs about boys the way you write songs about girls. How do you write songs about girls? NB: I’m not sure! We should ask Kim! RM: Can you get her on conference? NB: 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? NB: 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. RM: 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.

“Did Little Richard not write a scandalous story? Saying Buddy Holly had a really big cock?” RM: That and a washing machine! They’d been leased to me and an elderly neighbor. So after that record, she had to go hungry and stay dirty? RM: No, she died. She left them to me and I sold them and paid to record the first album. NB: It was winter, so you could keep food on the window ledge in the kitchen! RM: It was a smart investment! Don’t sell your refrigerator in the summer! Sell it when you’re just getting to winter. Then we made our money back and got another. These Wall Street guys shoulda taken a clue from us and there wouldn’t be all these problems!

What’s your favorite band that a girl turned you on to? RM: We’re guys! It doesn’t work that way. Only kidding! NB: 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. RM: Yeah, Cat Stevens! As recently as a few months ago, my wife bought the entire Cat Stevens back catalog. 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 do that for Teenage Fanclub? NB: 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? NB: Just our girlfriends at the time. Now we’re married to other people. So we should quit talking about this. RM: Don’t get him started! NB: On my past muses! Do you ever run into your old muses? RM: Not yet! NB: 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? NB: Yeah—that’s true! RM: Is that not commercially released? NB: 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! RM: If you want to have a séance of your own and contact Joe Meek, he’ll tell you where on YouTube. NB: 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’S SHADOWS IS OUT NOW ON MERGE. VISIT TEENAGE FANCLUB AT TEENAGEFANCLUB.COM. INTERVIEW

JOHN CALE Interview by Kevin Ferguson Illustration by Dave Van Patten

John Cale beat Jason Voorhees to both hockey masks and striking terror into the heart of American suburbia. He recently performed his classic Paris 1919 at UCLA’s Royce Hall without the old headgear but with all the old energy. He speaks now from his manager’s office near the Blue Line downtown. You once said, ‘Doing evil is better than doing nothing.’ I didn’t say that—Lou did. Actually, wait a minute … It was all very tied into literature and risk. We were talking about people’s definition of risk. And there was very little literature that was just about that. Except he was pushing Last Exit to Brooklyn—the Hubert Selby book. It ends up in a lot of capital letters, so there’s a lot of screaming that goes on in the entire last chapter. It’s very good. The dialogue at high volume. Sam Beckett, too. Every line is somebody shouting at somebody. And we were discussing how useless doing nothing is. Dylan Thomas said, ‘He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.’ That’s a good work ethic. Good Labor Party ethic, too. My family were all coal miners. The idea that work was good for the soul was what they lived by. Even evil work? Yeah! I’m not doing much evil now. Most of my work is about creating things and has INTERVIEW

been for some time. Lou and I were trying to set our borders for what we believed in. And so it delineated the areas of activity that we were really passionate about. How do you connect with Dylan Thomas? He’s omnipresent when you’re a kid growing up in Wales. You never got anywhere without the education system teaching you about him. Some of those ideas were kind of spurious. The idea that Dylan Thomas was using language in the same way that the Welsh poets did with the Welsh language—it didn’t make sense because Welsh has specific rules. H is a vowel in Welsh! You can do a lot more with it. They were teaching us that alliteration and certain stuff in Thomas was related to the Welsh language. It didn’t strike me as accurate. But I did love his use of English language. I’m from L.A., but I don’t like Bukowski much. What do you see in Thomas? One of the things about this art piece I just did for the [Venice] Biennale is about what I carry around with me from my childhood

that makes me work in the certain way that I work. You couldn’t get away from him growing up as a kid! I learned English when I was 7 and I was ready because my father was English—and my Grandma banned English in the home! And my relationship with my grandmother is nasty enough—every time I think about it it makes my blood boil! And why is it that a Welshman who grew up in a Welsh-speaking home ended up in New York making English his poetic language? The answer is because Dylan Thomas opened the door. I can understand what you mean by Bukowski, but I see him as more of a New York poet than an L.A. poet. You said Los Angeles corrupted your life to its worst point—why did you stay as long as you did? L.A. didn’t corrupt my life to the worst point—I did. I mean, I enjoy the climate out here. I loved New York for years. I still do. L.A. was always a company town. It still is. I came out here to learn more about corporate architecture and influence, so I did. I learned

a lot about making alliances in corporations, but I didn’t really make the right number of alliances. And there was always this unrequited love of performing that I didn’t pursue while I was here. But when I left, it landed right in my lap in London. That was when I had a band and I could decide which direction the band was going to go in. Too much producing? It’s very difficult when you’re in the company. You have to do the work that you’re asked to do. But as far as I could, I did that. This opportunity of going to London and starting a solo career was very good. Where were you in your life when Paris 1919 was written? I had a lot of commitments at the time and I really had difficulty rationalizing them. It’s a very calm record—the one case where I wrote all the songs before I went into the studio. All the albums afterwards have sort of been improvised. Nowadays I just start off with a drum groove and it’s all improvised. That way you get further down the pike in 31

“I didn’t like having to be in a room where Lou didn’t mind blowing smoke in your face every five minutes just to get you out of there.” production. But anyway, it was all very much emotion recollected in tranquility—that’s what Paris was. I was feeling very nostalgic for what I loved about Europe, and it all ended up in the album. A lot of those songs are really a little opaque. Did that make the London move all the more welcome? Funny thing was—when I got to London I spent all my time listening to a turntable that was stacked with Beach Boys records! Did you ever meet Brian, by the way? I went to say hello to him at the Javits Center in New York—it was like eight years ago. I caught him at the door. He didn’t know me from Adam. But I was just happy to say, ‘Look after yourself, Brian.’ What did London do for your music? It was exciting for me. I got my teeth into having a band. I got a lot of help from Chris Spedding. It’s a little brutal, but he helped me figure out how to take what we did in the studio and make it work live. I had this penchant for making up new songs on stage. Chris was always there—he was like an eagle. He’d spot a change coming up. That’s where I got closer to the idea what the VU was—on stage. Sounds like the trip back to New York was hard. Yeah it was, actually. The punk scene in London was really solid. It had pretty good grounding. The Sex Pistols covered that ground pretty well. I wasn’t that much aware of that at the time until I got to New York. But in L.A. it seemed like the spiritual side of what punk was. It had much more energy than the one in New York. It reminded me a lot more of London than the ones in New York did. I don’t know why—whether it’s because the difference between the rich and the poor here is as graphic as it is in London or what? There was a lot of energy. Did you hear about the John Cale Revival—the John Cale tribute band from Prague ? No, but Prague makes kind of a sense. The Velvet Revolution was based on what we did in the Velvet Underground. People were passing around the lyrics in jail. Were you the first person to frighten people in a hockey mask? 32

No, robbers would wear them back then! The idea was on the outside I had a hockey mask and on the inside I had reflective ski glasses that were sort of yellowish, and then underneath that I had a reflective steel scarf, and then under that I wore green reflective shades. They came off during different stages in the performance. Sounds like a nightmare. Yeah—you can’t see very well. You get down to the nitty gritty real fast. But at least something’s going on during the show. There was always stuff like that going on anyway. In Denmark I’d have some giant Viking guy carry a stepladder onto the stage without telling the band and then the band would play ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ and I could hang upside down in the ladder while I was singing. You’d try to figure out different things in different clubs. You’d look at the place where you were playing that night and say, ‘OK, let’s turn all the lights off in here!’ And we’d start with ‘I Keep a Close Watch’ and from that we’d go into the hard rock stuff. But turning all the lights off—the club owner would say, ‘You can’t do that! You gotta have the exit signs on!’ And I’d say, ‘Yeah, but it’s only for like three minutes,’ and he’d say, ‘OK.’ There was always a plan to have some sort of theater going on. I had a ski outfit—I had a fencing outfit made by Betsey Johnson for me. You couldn’t just buy one off the rack? Well, I mean it’s much better to have one fitted—all the others are sort of generic. There’s a way of making them look zippier than the rest. When was the last time you played piano with your elbows? About ten years ago, I guess. I ended ‘Fear’ with elbows, it was a solo performance. Back in the day, there was a piece by La Monte Young—‘X for Henry Flynt’—that was about that. About human fallibility. When I played that song, the audience came up and dragged the piano away from me. I was on my knees so that the keyboard was at the right level, and somebody jumped up on stage and pulled the piano away from me! I had to go running after it. And Cornelius Cardew—my collaborator—came up and was really pissed off.

Did your avant-garde friends accept you as a pop musician? They weren’t too impressed with it at first. But when they saw that we hooked up with Andy, they started paying attention! But I never inquired as to what they thought. I did take the Marble Index album to Aaron Copland. And he thought [Nico] had a very gravely voice. And that was about it. I never went and discussed it with them. They were watching Andy and what Andy was doing more than anything. The idea of a rock ‘n’ roll band that Andy got together was really the buzz. Was Andy really that crucial? Sure! I mean—having a co-conspirator was really important. But I think it was really a case … what happened was we got so much publicity so fast, and we were pretty rabid anyway—really interested in our work. And one of the things that really worked in those days was we went up to the Factory and would see how all they worked. We did all those rehearsals for the first album there, and that work ethic was important for Andy as well. It wasn’t just messing around. If you wanted to do a silk screen, you had to get down and do the silk screen. It takes time and effort. Didn’t Lou write a song about that? Exactly! Those were the topics we covered on that album. I heard writing with Lou was a mixed bag back in the day. We were working very hard to get this sound and idea going. That’s the way ‘Venus’ worked, ‘Heroin,’ ‘Black Angel’s Death Song.’ We were trying to force a square peg in a round hole. It was collaboration at its greasiest. How greasy was Songs for Drella? I don’t smoke. I didn’t like having to be in a room where Lou didn’t mind blowing smoke in your face every five minutes just to get you out of there. It was tough. The songwriting process was fine, but by the end of the process it really got hairy! We just bore down—we had three weeks and we just sort of methodically charted where we wanted to go. In the end we were like, ‘There’s no song about us!’ So we wrote one.

Why did you start playing pop music? I decided not to do anything more with the avant-garde when I joined the VU, and after the VU I decided I could really be a producer. It just seemed to be at hand at the time. And I had these things with Terry [Riley]— he was an instrumentalist. I really wanted to take advantage of the fact that he could do boogie woogie in all sorts of time signatures. At the time, too, CBS corporate were really concerned with Vintage Violence—worried if the title had a political meaning. Really? Even the Monkees had protest songs by then. I think it was the Democratic Convention. They didn’t want to stir anything up. The album was harmless enough. How did the VU prepare you to go solo? It’s something I was shy about at first. But what became clear was there weren’t any rules for it. You just needed to focus your way through. The first song was ‘Winter Song’ for Nico on Chelsea Girls. Do you still own that Mustang Cobra? No, I don’t. I don’t know what I’d do with it if I had it anyway. The EPA is much tougher on Mustang Cobras than they were back then—except in Nevada. Drive it to Vegas. Yeah, I could leave it in Vegas! My dad’s first car was a 1968 GT California Special. I went to visit Jim Webb at one point who had an AC Cobra, and I just wanted to listen to it. ‘Just turn it on for me, Jim! Let me listen to it!’ Did you ever get back on speaking terms with Kevin Ayers? Why? What happened? Didn’t he sleep with your wife? Oh yeah! But I really took that as a personal gesture from my spouse. I really didn’t blame Kevin for that. I talked to him. That really didn’t influence my relationship with Kevin at all! What about ‘Guts’? ‘The bugger in the short sleeves fucked my wife’? Ahhhh—not really. I mean … slightly. VISIT JOHN CALE AT MYSPACE.COM/ JOHNCALEOFFICIALSITE. INTERVIEW

GARY NUMAN Interview by Daiana Feuer Illustration by Darren Ragle Before samplers and computer software, Gary Numan came out in eyeliner and white make-up (to cover his zits) and ran a synth through a guitar pedal. And although he wasn’t the first morose Brit to dance in front of a camera, he got noticed. His 1979 solo album, The Pleasure Principle, has been sampled by everyone from Wu-Tang to the Foo Fighters and Nine Inch Nails. Over the last five years, he’s made more noises than he knows what to do with, and he’s finally ready to write another song. Do you see yourself as a hip-hop pioneer? No. I don’t see myself as a pioneer at all of anything really. When I first started doing electronic music in 1978 and ’79, I thought— when I first stumbled across a synthesizer— that I was the only one doing it. But quickly I discovered there were plenty others doing it for two or three years. I get a lot of credit now as the pioneer. In truth, I was just the one that was lucky enough to have the first hit single— the first big electronic record. I’m proud to have been a part of the early electronic scene. I was there during the beginning. I wasn’t making the best music. There were people around doing interesting stuff with synths. Some of the credit is undeserved. It should be shared among a greater number of people. True, my music has been used in hip-hop and Nine Inch Nails—Pleasure Principle in particular has been important to them. But I don’t sit in my house thinking I’m a pioneer. Does the abundance of technology create dispensable music? When I made Pleasure Principle you had a synthesizer—maybe two—in the studio and only a certain amount of time to rent them. I didn’t own one until my fourth album. You twiddled a little and tried to make it sound good in a short time-scale. You didn’t have a lot of time to experiment really. That’s not the best way to work perhaps but it did have a certain excitement and immediacy. Now you can sit in a studio and try different snare drums for two weeks. There are so many ways to manipulate things—primarily software—these days. It’s amazing. You can have several years between albums because you spend forever trying this and that. Quite often you don’t even decide. Eventually you just have to commit. But you know there’s an even better sound lurking in the machine somewhere if you can find it. Using technology today requires discipline—X amount of hours—so you don’t spend the rest of your life in the studio not making songs. … If you’re not careful, which is what happened to me, you don’t realize that though you are working you are not finishing anything. You’ve got 1,001 noises and no one can listen to that! I have been in a five-year learning explosion—trying to get on top of INTERVIEW

technology. The more I try, the more stuff comes out. It’s like I’m stuck in a lab and it’s completely unnecessary. If you come up with one great sound, use it. Collect those sounds and put them into a song. I was brilliant at this the first twenty years. The last ten years I have become aimless really. It has taken this change in circumstances to pull me back in and now it’s good. I have all this stuff. It’s fun again and productive. There’s proper finished music—not just an endless amount of bleeps and drum grooves. I feel like I’m back in the groove again. What changed? I kept having conversations with people about when was the last time I wrote a song, mixed it and put it on a CD. It’s been about five years since I finished a song. I have hours of noises and ideas—loads of it but nothing I finished. If you’re aimless, you have to sort yourself out and make a decision. You suddenly real-

write songs as vehicles for their musicianship. They are a guitar player, they have a guitar solo. It will be very guitar-dominated. It’s an excuse to show how good they are as a guitarist or keyboard player if they write from a point-of-view demonstrating their gift. I don’t have those skills. I don’t think I’m a very good player or even sing very well. I’m not trying to show off any skill. I just like writing songs. Because of that, they tend to be simple melodybased things. Pleasure Principle is almost stark in some respects. I often thought my stuff was simple because I have no talent. Melody and structure are gifts as well. A bad song with a good singer stays bad, but a good song with a bad singer can be great. Maybe you’re right. My whole career I felt lucky. I never felt talented. I was lucky to have the first single—to stumble on to a synth— but I’ve always been trying to reach the level

I have an issue with something or somebody or life in general—if I write it out I get the same benefit as someone who might go to an analyst or shrink. They talk about their problems and get to the bottom of it. Songwriting has a certain function not all the time because sometimes you are at ease—but for me mostly it’s about trying to understand why and what you feel. It’s different from talking. The process of writing a song makes you think of what you want to say and how. Sculpting a song and putting it together has always been an important part of getting to know me. Oh, I don’t mean that—it sounds pretentious! But it’s a way to understand your feelings—what you feel and why—and fine-tune them and make them make sense and be honest with how you feel. When you’ve done that, those anxieties are gone until something comes to replace them. I am a silent person. Aside from this present conversation, I don’t really talk

“I don’t sit in my house thinking I’m a pioneer.” ize how long it’s been, and how much time you’ve wasted. Five years between albums is simply too long. It’s not enough to keep momentum from a career point of view. I’m a bit embarrassed about it. I feel very embarrassed. I want to get this Pleasure Principle celebration finished and get back and finish Splinter. You’ve known the album title for a few years now. Is that a conceptual choice? It seems you often go with these one-word titles. For me, one word—that’s like my approach to music. I am not a fan of blistering guitar solos. I am often happy to hit one note. One note can give you that feeling of menace or whatever you need. It can give you that turn. Oneword titles are like a lyrical version of what I do musically. I am simple. You don’t have to be a virtuoso to make my music. Do you think simplicity is the key to electronic music? I think that quite often. A very gifted musician who also writes songs in my opinion tends to

of the people that I admire. For me, every album is an attempt to do better than I did before. If what I do has talent, it’s not something I recognize. Lots of people can write tunes. I wish I was more gifted as a musician, but then perhaps I wouldn’t write the way I do. I get a lot of pleasure listening to great players but I never really wanted it enough I guess to spend the time to become one. Sometimes, when you have limitations as a player it allows you to focus on different areas when it comes to songwriting. That’s the driving force of my songwriting. I have to write a certain way because there are certain avenues I can’t go down. That nonetheless gives you a style or signature approach of your own. That’s not to be sneezed at, but I never felt particularly proud of it. There must be a reason you’ve dedicated half your life to making music. I guess so. The songwriting part of it—I don’t know. It’s a need. It’s difficult to explain. If

about things too much with other people. I keep things bottled in and closed up. I have a small circle of friends. Songwriting is how I get through life, which is why there is so much introspection—lots of ‘I’s and ‘me’s. It’s deeply personal. Isn’t it strange to share so much of yourself with thousands or millions of people? It isn’t actually. It doesn’t feel too strange. In the course of writing a song, it becomes more about a character. Not everything is about me. It kind of scatters around, but singing certain songs that are deeply felt—it isn’t strange. It feels like the right thing to be doing. GARY NUMAN WITH MOTOR ON WED., NOV. 3, AND WITH BATTLE CIRCUS ON THUR., NOV. 4, AT THE EL REY, 5515 WILSHIRE BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 8 PM /$35/ ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM. VISIT GARY NUMAN AT NUMAN.CO.UK. 35

NO AGE AND ABE VIGODA Interview by Chris Ziegler Photography by Ramon Felix

By the time you read this, Abe Vigoda and No Age will probably be eating horse steaks (or vegan borscht) together in a hot tub in Amsterdam as they’re van caravanning across Europe in search of beer and chocolate. For years, these two bands have shared an orbit—they now have new albums (with Abe’s released on Dean Spunt’s label, PPM) that have birthdays a week apart. They speak during free moments on another continent about liberty, fraternity and reality. Do you guys have different personalities when you go to Europe? Juan Velasquez (guitar/vocals): I fall into an English accent every once in a while on accident. I know Madonna did that for a while when she was living out here and everyone hated her for it, but I totally get it. It’s so real. It’s so close to how we talk, but like a little more fun. Also it’s easy to do when you are drunk because everyone here is DRUNK! For what illicit reason do you like going to Amsterdam? Dean Spunt (drums/vocals/samplers): You know, not even for what you’d think. It’s just really beautiful here. It’s really pretty. You go to Amsterdam for the articles? DS: Exactly, bro. What’s the best vegetarian restaurant in a former Iron Curtain country? DS: Oh man. You know, when we were in St. Petersburg, we ate at this great Hare Krishna restaurant. The food is really unique and interesting over there. I had a great vegan borscht, but a lot of it isn’t vegetarian. There was a lot of weird stuff. Weird jelly, bowls of weird stringy things, odd flavors. Kinda was like Star Wars food. Or like Princess Mononoke food. JV: We want to find the best horse steak. We had a bite in Switzerland and are now ravenous! Do you think one of the best effects No Age has had on your life is you now know every good vegetarian restaurant on another continent? INTERVIEW

DS: Yeah! I’m very proud of that. When I have kids, I’m going to say, ‘Whenever you’re in Copenhagen, make sure you visit … blah blah blah!’ Have you ever had a dad flash-forward moment like that? When there’s a little Dean running around? DS: I wish, man. I wish I had a kid. Yeah, I have had that, but I wish I had a child with me right now. That’s the most adorable statement in the entire issue. DS: So if any of you ladies … When you leave on this six-month odyssey, what’s one thing you know you have to bring and one thing you have to leave at home, no matter how much you want to bring it? JV: Mike brought swim trunks—he’s like, ‘Do I need them?’ But I think that it’s preparing for like hot tubs, which is something we are really interested in. I brought my body wash—YES TO CARROTS!—but they took it away at security. I am pretty mad—I smell like ass now! What changes when the band becomes your life? DS: It’s been like that for a while—for a few years. Even when I was working it was the only thing I could think about—making music outside of work, or being upset at work and wanting to go make music. When you did the Bob Mould thing for us, he said, ‘The difference between the Replacements and the Huskers is the Replace-

ments never started a label to help out the other bands.’ How does that connect to the stuff you do? DS: I’ve thought about that a lot. I feel very proud that I have a label that can represent bands in a way they want to be represented and that people trust me to put out their shit even though I’m in a band and don’t have enough time to fully dedicate to it. It feels good to have a label to express myself creatively. Not that I put out a lot of music that I make anymore anyway. If I want to put something out, we’ll discuss it, and I like to have a say every step of the way. I like to be involved. I feel very fortunate that I get to be involved in someone’s art. I genuinely love the bands and everything I put out. What is the effect when a band is running a label instead of some dude running business? JV: We never have to worry about Dean second-guessing our choices—aesthetically or otherwise. He is actually more excited about certain things about us than we are! He is our number one supporter and really gives us confidence to not give a shit about what anyone thinks. He really believes in us and it’s flattering and really special. I can’t speak for everyone but I always have felt like he is a big brother in certain ways. And it’s cool that he actually wants to hang out with us—and put out our records! How did you learn not to give a shit? Can you remember that first glorious heartfelt ‘fuck it!’?

JV: It was when I realized I covered a full year’s worth of rent not working a normal job. Abe Vigoda totally is our job now. Even though it’s not ‘cuttin’ it,’ I think that if you push yourself to make it your income you will find ways for it to work for you. I think that making this our number one priority is the most important shift [that has taken place] in our band. Even though we are struggling, we are having a good time and don’t have shitty jobs that pay about the same and don’t let us do our thing and be creative and travel and get dick deep into some fun. In all honesty, though—I think making our music our priority is the best thing we have done. It’s sorta scary and a big risk but we feel it’s worth it. What’s scariest about it? JV: What is scary about it is that you are relying on your creativity to pay the bills! It’s almost unheard of in this day and age and it’s a very unstable way to live your life—but pretty worth it. What do you admire about No Age’s record? JV: What I like about the new No Age record is that although it has poppy moments in it, it’s a very emotional and dark record. I think what I am most interested in is the tone of Dean’s lyrics and the overall mood of the music. I think it’s very similar to what we wanted to emote in our album—honest lyrics about often times dark things. People seem to expect No Age to be super positive, and I think that the new record in some ways defies that, which is really exciting to me. 37

“I make music because I have to. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.” I found an old quote from Randy where he said, ‘One punk can smell another one— it’s the stench of doing it yourself.’ Is this still true in 2010? JV: It’s pretty true, but I don’t know if punk is the right word. Whenever I see someone going for it and being totally honest and real, that is punk to me. It is really what comes naturally—it’s not so much a genre thing as it is a total experiment with your life and style. Fuck everything—do what makes you happy. Or sad. Whatever you feel. Are kids ten years from now going to have anything in common? DS: I think they’re going to have everything in common. Everyone’s going to be into everything, and that’s part of the problem. People are going to be like, ‘Oh I know everything about Brit punk from 1979-1982,’ but you don’t really know—you just read some shit. You don’t really know. When I was a kid in the 6th grade I borrowed I Against I and the first Ramones tape. That’s all I had for a long time. I’d listen-listen-listen and I’d imagine what these bands were just from one picture on a cassette. That’s all I had. Bad Brains freaked me out. The cover with the guy with dreadlocks. The Ramones tape freaked me out. It sounded like Napalm Death to me, although I got that in seventh grade. Now there’s so much information. You download something and you listen to it. It’s hard to play the shit out of something now. Since we’re used to it, I can play something a lot longer, but kids’ attention spans—are you really going to listen to something over and over? You’re going to go to the Wikipedia page and read everything and all the history and that’s all you need to know and then you move on. But I’m not hating on it. Do you actually see any evidence of this change in real life? DS: I don’t know if there’s evidence of this. I just feel it. I feel it with blog music culture. Blogs are trying to make up scenes 38

and communities that don’t really exist. A band that’s made a song on MySpace that’s been around for a week—that’s not real. It is real in that that’s what happened, but you can’t say that’s a scene or community. You know—you grew up in scene, you work hard and everyone gets together and put a lot of work into making something special. As much as blogs try to find the next thing, or the next scene, when you’re fabricating it, it’s not real. People say, ‘I’m into this and this and this,’ and I think, ‘Your favorite band is a band that started a week ago?’ I don’t want to sound like a dick or like I don’t understand youth, but people need to call people on that bullshit. JV: I think that there are some blog bands that actually deserve that buzz and last. It’s hard to tell how these bands will pan out in a year or two’s time. But there is that pattern of some bands that get a lot of attention right away and then no one hears about them again. I think that the internet has some strange effect on people. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword that way. What in your life do you most want to thank the internet for giving you? JV: Free gay porn and hook-up websites. Met some nice people on it! DS: On a real level, it’s making art and music worse. I don’t want to pander or talk to the lowest common denominator to sell a product. That’s the reason why we still set up shows on our own and play secret house shows and weird shit. Obviously there’s a divide now between things we have to do for our career— that’s fine, I stand by our music—but there’s so much bullshit now. I don’t know if it’s now more than there ever was, or maybe we’re just at a certain point where now we have to deal with this world. I don’t know. What’s the cure? Like they say the cure for bad speech is more speech? DS: I think about this too. I can just speak for myself. For us to hold ground. We flirt with

that world, but that’s not our world, and I don’t want people to think that that’s our world. That’s why we still do the things that we do, and I think that’s what people respond to. What is ‘your ground’? JV: I wouldn’t want to change our excitement about what we are doing—I don’t want to be jaded about music. We dont want to lose our drive to experiment and try different things. Our band has always been about testing ourselves musically. DS: It’s DIY. Keeping it on that level and doing it yourself. If things get stale for us, we just change it. We don’t have anyone to answer to. It’s just me and Randy. We can make decisions very easily. Like Unavoidable Prostration. DS: Exactly! We made a decision and no one could tell us not to. There were no lawyers or contracts. That’s the important thing for us. A lot of bands get it and a lot of bands don’t. That’s the line. We’re a real fucking band. L.A. WEEKLY had that piece with ‘Randy Randall buying an amp off Craigslist’— like, ‘Check out this shocking revelation!’ DS: That’s what motherfuckers do. That’s what we do. Some people come up to us: ‘You hang out with Bradford Cox?’ I just try to tell kids on a real level, ‘I’m just like you, I’m human. You guys are way cooler.’ I have no interest in being an asshole. I just want to communicate with people and make things and art and collaborate with people and have human connections and live life. I think that’s where we need to stand our ground. We flirt with that world, and we’ve always wanted to be one foot in and one foot out. Randy and I got turned on to things through MTV and popular culture where we heard something that was different and it changed our lives. Staying underground is one thing, but we’re on a mission to communicate and we have to do things. It’s not that we compromise. It’s not that I hate rock clubs. I want to play rock

clubs. I want the guy in the cubicle who heard our record to come down and I want to fuck with his mind. Although we’re in a rock club, we’re going to try to transform it so next time we come through you’ll know what’s going down and we’ll play a dirt hole in the ground and you’ll consider, ‘Maybe this job isn’t for me—maybe I don’t have to subscribe to this. Maybe I need to experience more.’ I feel like there’s resistance to that idea but I think it happens to a lot of people. DS: It totally happens. It’s not like me and Randy are enlightened. We just made a decision to live life the way we want to and do things the way we want to and it’s been positive. I said something on stage the other night—I asked people who are in bands to raise their hand. I told them, if you’re going to be in a band, don’t rip anyone off, do your own shit. I think we’re on a mission to make something we both wanted to hear, and that just happened to be weird ambient music over whatever. It’s a harsh world for kids. They’re all bombarded, and they all think they can be famous if they make a lo-fi song, and they all want to be famous which is weird to me. It’s fucked-up. I want to go live on a farm now! I wanna live in a commune. We went to Dial House last time we were in London—like the commune of Crass. It was incredible. We hung out with Gee Vaucher and it was mindblowing and surreal—so amazing. They’re just like, ‘This is what we do, this is who we are, come back when you’re in town.’ They were asking us how we felt about it after, and me and Randy just really talked. This is so inspirational and real. It’s about being happy and fucking things up. NO AGE’S EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN IS OUT NOW ON SUB POP. ABE VIGODA’S CRUSH IS OUT NOW ON PPM. VISIT NO AGE AT MYSPACE.COM/ NONOAGE AND VISIT ABE VIGODA AT MYSPACE.COM/ABEVIGODA. INTERVIEW

DIBIASE Interview by Kristina Benson Photography by Theo Jemison Dibiase made 8-bit beats back when you had to mine every pixel by hand and he has just released his full-length, Machines Hate Me, on Alpha Pup. He remembers now how relieved he was to take a break from rapping and how people used to look at him funny when he sampled ‘90s R&B back in the ‘90s. You must be insanely good at video games. I used to be. I’m not a gamer any more. I have a PlayStation still but I don’t have the controllers because I know I’ll get caught up playing it—so I won’t buy another controller. A lot of times when I was sampling from the video games I would actually be playing the games—like on the Joystick Project back in the day? I had to play Mario Brothers—running it through the 303, and go through each of the levels. When I made that, the music for the Nintendo games weren’t on YouTube so I had to use my emulator and laptop and play it real quick and go back and chop it up. Sometimes I’d play for like an hour or two hours. ‘Damn, I could have been finishing this beat!’ But you had to play, and play well enough to not die. Yeah, but when I died I took all them little sound effects, too. Why do you think that the video game thing got so popular? I really don’t know! I think it’s because people from that era can relate to it? It takes them back to when they was younger? I remember that when I was making beats when I was young, I was always hearing certain beats on video games like, ‘Damn, that sounds crazy!’ And it just sticks in your head for years. When you hear somebody flip that, well—it just triggers something. I get flak for that but it’s a part of me. Who gives you flak? What are they missing about your work? Well, reviewers. And they’re comparing it to certain people—like my friend Lotus. And they compare Machines Hate Me to 1983. I was making beats like this for the longest time. I don’t make the albums for the critics, so I’m going to keep making the music regardless. They say that 8-bit sound is kind of played out because so many people are doing it now. I guess they think I’m just starting to do it—brand-new, just starting to hop on the bandwagon? But I was actually doing it—before there was computer programs, I was messing with the 8-bit sounds. Lots of artists, like Michelangelo, did stuff that was a part of his life, but he doesn’t get flak for it. ‘He’s good but he relied too heavily on Biblical subject matter.’ INTERVIEW

Ha! Video games were part of me. I grew up playing it for days because I was stuck in the house, so it’s kind of embedded in some ways. So I used to bug out on some beats like it was rap songs—before I was listening to hip-hop. Then when I started listening to hip-hop, well—my mom listened to a lot of ’80s soul and ’90s R&B, and patterns started getting crazier. Everything goes through cycles and you gotta put your twist on it when it comes back around. You said when you started making beats, you had only eight seconds to grab a sample from KLON—you’d be juggling an eightsecond sampler and a transistor radio. I was using crazy low-budget stuff—like a Sony Walkman with a Radio Shack receiver tape deck. The Sony Walkman—that was going into the eight-second sampler, so I’d have something, record that for two minutes, and let that play inside the Walkman into the tape deck and keep layering stuff on top, and play that on top of drums. Then let that play for a few minutes, find another sound, record that through the Walkman, and just repeat the process. Every time it would get dirtier and dirtier. I did that for the first three years, and then eventually I got some four-tracks and drum machines from pawn shops. I got the MPC in ’97, and started taking it more serious. ... I appreciate the technology now. I’m not going to churn butter now! But the beatmaking process was fun to me. Do you feel like your music would be different if you’d had that kind of convenience when you started? I think so. It was a lot of trial-and-error back in the day. Right now, a lot of people like that lo-fi sound. When I started out, I was doing that lo-fi sound by default—on accident— because I was just trying to get the thing right so I could hear some beats. I wasn’t worried about EQing or anything. They’d call me Mad Scientist back then! It was all muddy and rough. But yeah, it helped out—when that lo-fi thing got popular, I definitely understood it a lot easier. What about the so-called traditional path of going through a major label didn’t appeal to you? For years I was doing the rap thing. I was in Missing Page. We opened up for a lot of people—MF Doom, Wu-Tang, the GZA. It

seemed cool but some of the people in the group were like, ‘Man, we trying to make money off this.’ They changed they whole style up and wanted to go a different route. They went more for that commercial thing, and they kind of disappeared. Other people went the job route, and I was still stuck with the music and was doing the work. Near ’05, I was trying to multi-task—rhyme, make beats, all that—and then I started seeing the growth in the beat scene. I even got in a few rap battles, but then they started having beat battles and beat showcases. It wasn’t as big then, but I was like, ‘If this gets big, I don’t have to rhyme and be sweating on stage trying to memorize raps!’ So near ’05, I started focusing on beats. Five years later, the scene is worldwide. What’s the difference between a standard beat and a progressive beat? When I used to rhyme, the beats I’d make would be a lot of loops because you didn’t want to get too distracted or lost in the pattern. You just want to have that structured beat so you can focus on the rap. The progressive beat is like a rollercoaster. The drums— like two minutes in, they could turn into something. The progressive beat could be like fifteen minutes long. A lot of rappers don’t want to rap on that cuz it’s too much of a challenge to write exactly to that. Me and P.U.D.G.E., we were doing beats every week, live on the spot, and some of the rappers were like, ‘Damn, you all think you don’t need rappers?’ And I’m like, ‘It ain’t even that, man. You say you’re all super good? It’s a challenge!’ A lot of those guys, they say they the craziest rappers on the world—well, if you’re so crazy, push your limits! You and P.U.D.G.E. kicked off that 10” series for All City. We tried to set the tone for it—we put a lot into constructing it, and we tried to construct it as an EP instead of just giving them any random tracks. Plus it’s like some of our first releases so we tried to make an impression as well! That record label is based out of Temple Bar in Dublin, but they picked up on Sketchbook and Low End Theory guys quickly. What resonated so deeply with them? The L.A. scene is known worldwide. We all used to hang out at Sketchbook at the Little Temple in L.A. I’d have a boombox with me all the time. Everybody would play

whatever they’d made that week, and I’d pass the boombox in the circle like a roundtable. Ras G—at that time, he didn’t have a CD player so he was recording his beats on tape. Lotus, Ta’Raach, Georgia, she would come too. Exile sometimes. Kutmah was there all the time. This was before Low End Theory started and we was doing this every Thursday. Then they started having it twice a month because it wasn’t super-crowded. I think it was ahead of its time. Everybody finally started going to Low End Theory, and that started that craze. A lot of the Sketchbook graduates have managed to survive and even do really well as independent musicians. I was making beat tapes with cassettes back in the day. Making my own covers at Kinko’s and cutting pictures out of magazines, or getting a picture of me—cut some letters like with that serial-killer type of style, and Xerox that and make a cover real quick. Then I made CDs when CD players came out—I was listening to Living Legends and hearing about them doing the independent thing. Like that they were packing shows out in Japan. I was like, ‘Man, if they can do it, maybe some day we can do it.’ But I was rhyming back in the day and trying to do all that on top of making beats. So once that beat thing started crackin’, I was like, ‘I don’t have to rap no more? Alright!’ You said at one time that you had a thousand tunes in a back catalog. Do you ever find anything really good that you forgot that you had? It’s probably more than that if you include the stuff on the tapes. But a lot of stuff on old computers I’ve actually probably lost. You don’t back up your data? Back up your data! I know—I have this one laptop that’s trippin’. It won’t turn on. I have to get the hard drive backed up. But my other laptop works so I’m cool for now. I’m also not too heartbroken when stuff is lost—I just take it like, ‘Well, that’s what’s meant to be. That might be lost, but in time I might make something even crazier than that!’ DIBIASE’S MACHINES HATE ME IS OUT NOW ON ALPHA PUP. VISIT DIBIASE AT MYSPACE.COM/DIABOLIC1. 41

LAETITIA SADIER of STEREOLAB Interview by Kristina Benson Illustration by Alice Rutherford

Laetitia Sadier’s voice will always be associated with Stereolab, but that’s not really such a bad thing. Still, Sadier is eager to discover a new space of her own. She has recently scored a Marxist film, made three albums with her band Monade, and now presents her first completely solo endeavor, The Trip. You said in a past interview that ‘you can’t appoint yourself an artist; you just become one.’ How do you know when you become one? Ah yes—that’s a tricky question. I don’t know. The country where I come from, France— you have to be touched by the hand of God to be an artist. So you don’t even become one, OK? You’re either graced, or you’re not. Of course, I was born like the black sheep in the family, and I didn’t know my grace when I was 14, 15. I had no idea, and it’s only much much later—when I came to England, I was like ‘OK, punk’s been around,’ and it was basically demolishing any set ideas or preconceived ideas of what it’s like to be an artist. ‘You want to express yourself? Be an artist? Go ahead! Do it! It’s healthy. Get your shit together and do it! Don’t go to school for it, don’t ask permission, don’t get a degree— just do it.’ Which was really liberating and really empowering. And I feel that was my school—more what I would follow in a way, to say ‘fuck you!’ to the big academic world of artists in France. So it’s true that for years we grew from that. Stereolab is not a punk band, but it really derived from the punk energy. It was second generation, but certainly still that punk blood was flowing through our veins and our motto, our philosophy, our principles, was not like, ‘Hey, we are artists. We are ahhh-tists.’ There was none of that. Just: ‘Let’s do. Let’s make. Let’s make music. We love music. Music is our aim—our priority.’ And that was that. Knowing very well we were artists and are artists, but it was set aside from that preconceived notion of Artist With a Big A. And now things have changed a hell of a lot. Now everyone’s an artist. How do you feel about this thing where anyone can be an artist nowadays? I mean, in your own band, you said you wanted people who couldn’t play their instruments too well— Certainly when I started Monade, I didn’t want people who could play too well because they would be bored in the band. INTERVIEW

They couldn’t be guys from Tortoise because it would be fun for maybe five minutes but they would be bored. I needed an environment where I could grow and where I could grow with others at the same pace. And then as it stood, we didn’t grow at the same pace. I was ready to grow faster and faster, and some weren’t because they had other interests. But the idea was to grow together because alone it could get a bit boring. I know for me that it’s excruciating when I have to practice alone in my living room. When you’re a band, it’s much more motivating together. The thing is, I think we’ve been misled all along regarding our creativity—that it was only the business of a certain handful of privileged people who are talented, and who somehow could put themselves in a position where they could go to school and learn or they would have the strength and somehow they could do it. Which to some degree is true, but now we’re finding there’s much more artists and much much more people making music. And much more people who are expressing themselves because they can, because they can be exposed. I can record myself on my computer. I can record an album on my computer next weekend if I want to, and release it, and so all this technology has made it possible so that people can not only express and record and manifest themselves, but also project it into the world. So it seems like there’s more artists. I do believe we all have a huge limitless endless creative potential that is there—we can tap into it, it’s just there. And people who don’t, for several reasons—it’s still there. The potential is there and limitless and there’s no crisis there. It’s interesting how you mention the French Academie as a place for privileged people. Because in the States, France is painted as this socialist haven for artists. It’s much more socialist than the U.S., and as far as I know, you have to pay a bit to study, but you don’t have to put yourself through massive debt if you or your parents don’t have the money for you to study. You still

have to pay something to study, but it’s not crazy. I think America is probably the most expensive place to study. It’s disgustingly expensive, yes. And I think China is one of the cheapest. But in France you have to pay something, and I think a little contribution is good. I don’t think it should be completely free because then you probably lose the value of what you’re doing. But there’s still a lot of drop-outs. I was a drop-out after three months—I dropped out of the university that my mother decided I would do, which wasn’t art. France is socialist in the sense that when you work, you have to put some money aside for this, and that, and the other, and you can have—as artists, it’s a complicated system but really, nothing in life is free. So maybe some people know how to work the system better than others. It works, although it’s changing. Because there are forces out there that seek to demolish the social system, you know. Capitalism is growing stronger and stronger—has a stronger grip. And there is more and more gap between the rich and the poor. It’s moving up again, leaving the ones below. So there are millions of people in France who don’t eat every day what they should eat. It’s not just in America. I know there is a lot of poverty in America, and I’ve seen people work three jobs and still not really make ends meet. You’ve spoken about ownership of music before—how when you lived with Tim [Gane], he’d bring home all these records and he saw the objects themselves as both the means and the ends, but you looked at them as simply a means to deliver music. But this was before the internet. It’s tricky. Yes, it’s good that technology evolves. OK—my CD? I’ll probably sell 10,000 copies worldwide. I’ll be lucky. I may not even get to that—I dunno. But fifteen years ago? I probably would have sold 50, 60, 70,000? And Stereolab would have sold maybe 150,000. And Stereolab, the last album did very poorly, yes—because people

download it for free on the internet. Unless you have a real consciousness, a real awareness, which most people don’t really have— given the chance you’re tempted to download. I have personally never downloaded but for instance, my boyfriend will buy a CD and I will put it on my iTunes. So it’s a kind of stealing as well—of using it for two, because he bought it and I didn’t pay for it. But that can’t be helped, and I don’t know the solution to that, globally. But what I do see is the devaluation of people’s work, and that we are threatened—deliberately—and told, you know, ‘You better cling to your work, even with your shit pay, because look at the queue of unemployed people who would love to have your shit job for shit pay.’ And that I find really a disastrous tendency— more so than people nicking my music. But it is awfully problematic, you know? That is a real human problem that we’re facing that doesn’t have necessarily to do with technology, but has more to do with the outlook on humans—that humans are shit, and just there to be exploited, and we’re just here to exploit another. And we’re all at the mercy of that. Of not stepping outside of our hearts. And even when I sell my CDs, sometimes, after a show, I feel super awkward, because ugh! It’s not still very clear in my mind. I know it’s a very good thing, to sell my CDs, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s like, ‘Oh! I don’t want this mercantile thing, I don’t want to have to do it.’ You’ve said that when you wrote a song, you felt it was this miracle that it had happened. And then you decided to put what you referred to as your ‘tiny little songs’ down. I was really struck by the humility in that—is this humility part of a strategy of not putting pressure on yourself? Yes, I don’t know any other way. I’ve done stuff. I can take orders, people can place orders, you know like, some friends—like Phil Collins, who makes arthouse films. They’re called Marxism Today. I scored his art films so I know I can work. I know it’s not a miracle 43

“I don’t take shit. At some point, people could give me shit, but now they won’t give me shit so much because they know I won’t take it.” any more, and I’ve moved on from this phase of thinking it’s a miracle. And I master things, to some extent. I’m not insecure about that. But I never went to school, I can’t read music, I can’t play very well, I can only play my own songs, I don’t know any other people’s songs. I can only move in my own restricted way. I’m self-taught, I’m left-handed. I play right-handed, left-handed, you know, so I’m restricted in what I can do. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. It’s still a lot for me. I’m sorry, can we back up—you said you scored a film? It’s two art films, and they are both prologues to a longer film that is going to be made at some stage, and they came out in movie art houses. So I was just this Sunday in Manchester at a place called Corner House, which is an arts film house. I don’t think it gets any commercial release. They are 20-, 25-minute movies. But I have no idea who will be able to see them apart from the happy few who would have gone to the right galleries at the right time. You said with Stereolab that Tim comes in with the music and you write the lyrics. So I think about that from the perspective of a vocalist, and the idea of scoring music sounds so intimidating. How did you realize you could do that? I just did! It was a little bit like a pregnant woman who doesn’t know that she slept with anyone and then something happens and she’s in denial that she’s even pregnant and then a kid comes out of her. And she’s like, ‘Oh! What’s this?’ You’ve been making music for over twenty years—now that you’ve done all this, what still frightens you? Everything is a challenge. When they said, ‘OK, we’ve started the film out, can you have the music ready by tomorrow night?’ And I don’t have my recording equipment. I have a ProTools that kind of doesn’t work, I don’t have a setup. I asked my friend Marie and she came over with her computer and we really knocked something all night. And we sent it, and it came back, ‘OK, a bit of this, a bit of 44

that,’ so we were making adjustments. I don’t know—it’s really fun! But at the same time it’s really nail-biting—you’re really working against the clock. I still get nervous before going on stage. I hate the three, two hours before going on stage. I get really nervous. When I have to perform on stage, I spend the two or three hours before frantically trying on different outfits. Ha! That’s a good way! I don’t have many clothes so I don’t do that but I’m going to try that! In a different interview, you said that you felt like a French girl had to be petite and pretty, and you didn’t feel like you fit that. Since I started, things have changed quite a lot. Somehow, women have really moved into this industry, including women promoters. Fifteen years ago, it was only guys, and now I’ve seen a lot more women take matters into their own hands. I feel that women have risen up to kind of honoring their creativity. Not everyone can end up on stage, singing their songs. I think it requires something that not everyone has got. Everyone has got something, though. I find that I meet more women now than I did, really. Also I have aged, and I don’t take shit. At some point, people could give me shit, but now they won’t give me shit so much because they know I won’t take it. But I find that generally, it’s—you had such retards, you know, doing your monitors. Now, less I find that. More just like, people getting on. Less stupid egos. More humility all around. Stereolab’s very first EP, the 10” with Nurse With Wound’s— No, no. The very first was a 10” that we released ourselves on Duophonic. It had four tracks. Was it Super-Electric? I don’t remember. God, I’m going to have to pull it out now. I don’t know how you keep track. I don’t generally. And the other thing is, I never listen to our music, or very exceptionally, so I’m not—OK, this is a very rare object that I’m pulling out. It’s called Stereolab Super 45. That’s what it’s called. And it has on it ‘The Light That Will Cease to Fail,’ ‘Au

Grand Jour’ on side one, and on side two, ‘Brittle’ and ‘Au Grand Jour Prima.’ Oh I have to play that! Wow! We only printed 1,000 and I think it’s one of the records in the top 50 record collectors. You know the record collector magazines? Tim used to buy it all the time. Religiously. And that was in the top 50 of most sought-after records! How did you feel when you saw that? You don’t feel anything, really. It doesn’t change your life. I know I’ve had people been quite amazed. There are guys who really follow this kind of thing. It has a deep meaning to them. But it’s like, we were number 50 of the top 50, you know? Sorry, I just find it quite funny. It seems like Tim collected library music, which is rare and hard to come by these days. So what was the first library music album you really connected with? In terms of library music? Or just any records? I mean, music excites me on an emotional level and those records emotionally are completely empty so they’d resonate at zero with me. They are just kind of sound testings, you know? They are only made with the purpose of trying your stereo, aren’t they? Though reviewers often compare your work in Stereolab to that kind of music. Yes, now I can see, because they are kind of detached, in a way—like music that you do this and that to. But there is still a lot of thought going on, and a real richness, and not all like splurging with emotion but somehow, it’s not empty music. It resonates. It has a resonance. On several levels, you know, intellectual and kind of—but gentle. It’s not in your face. When you’ve spoken about Tim and his influence on you, you talk about him as a dedicated record collector, and how he makes all the decisions in Stereolab. It must have been scary to have the final say in everything, then, in your solo projects. I had never been in a band so I didn’t know any better. I joined [McCarthy] for the last five minutes of it. Ar some stage, I needed also to express my musical ideas. At some

stage, I found it very frustrating, you know, that it was always Tim. It was not building my confidence, you know, that he was such a great songwriter and all this. Do you know what I mean? Absolutely. Also, the fact that he had this incredible collection of records. I think guys are more apt to really kind of accumulating this kind of knowledge. My new boyfriend is like that too. He can tell you what date a record came out, what number it was on the charts—and I don’t give a fuck who was number one or number five on the charts in the States in 1973. It’s like, to me, this knowledge is completely unnecessary. Somehow, for him, it’s easy to remember this. And when his daughter was born, he is like, ‘When was that?’ Or the date of our wedding anniversary. I found a story about a fan who stole a setlist off the stage after a Stereolab show, and it was just a list of the bands that had inspired each of the songs. Not song titles. Is that story true? Yes, it’s true. A lot of our songs were called Neu! Or Faust. And what all did we have that was related? We had Howie B, a song called ‘Howie B,’ or ‘H.B.’ from Howie B. They were working titles, basically. What would the setlist for your solo work look like? It would be different in the sense that on the last album, the working titles were names of women. Names of my female friends. Violá. So that’s how different it would have been. But then I tried to—do you know Bertrand Burgalat? He’s a really good French composer, and he’s the same family, I’d say, as Stereolab, High Llamas. Actually David Axelrod— sometimes he sounds like David Axelrod. He’s the same generation as Tim, and I wrote a song for him. He had to write a song for me, and I had to write a song for him. And then later on it became—he had to put lyrics and a melody to it, which he didn’t. So I later on put my own. But basically, I called it ‘B.B.’ for Bertrand Burgalat. But then it became ‘Lost Language.’ INTERVIEW

But the working titles were female friends? Who had inspired the songs? Yes. I really wanted to honor women. I wanted to honor the yin energy and do it through the friends that I honor—my good girlfriends that I honor. So I called each song the name of a girl that I love. Does anyone in your family make music at all? My sister—one of my sisters can play the piano. But for me, music was something to save me from my family—save me from my condition. It was a matter of life and death. Or death. Music was everything. And no, there is no one else like that in the family. My mother wanted to be an opera singer. But of course in her generation—in our generation, you say, ‘Mommy, I want to be a pop star!’ And chances are your mum will say, ‘Oh, yes my darling—we’ll get you on X Factor! and you’re allowed to dream it at least. But for her mother, she was like, ‘Are you crazy? No, you’re going to be a secretary. And shut up with you wanting to be an opera singer!’ Because it was terribly hard and the expectation was very low of ever succeeding. People are willing to take a chance more, aren’t they? When you started Monade, you said you wanted to prove yourself. To who? To you? To Tim? Maybe there was Tim—a bit of an ego fight, a power struggle. I suspect there was something like that. Not consciously, but unconscious forces. But no—I was responding to dreams I had of music. I dreamt of music. And also the fact that I did write these songs and they were happening—they were manifesting. And I’m so lazy—I can’t even begin to tell you how lazy I am. I doubt you’re lazy. You’ve done four solo albums, you have a child— But I feel lazy! Like I do nothing! Maybe you’re not lazy so much as tired. Yes, I’m tired. But I feel like I could be doing more—but no, I couldn’t be doing much more than I am now. I’m going crazy with activity, which is great. I’m not complaining, but somehow in terms of really deepening what I INTERVIEW

want to do, on this new album, The Trip—I wanted it different, you know? And the songs that came out, I was disappointed that they didn’t sound more different than in the past. I was like, ‘I feel so different. And this is different.’ And yet the music sounded a lot like the Monade stuff, and to some degree, Stereolab. In this kind of template that I’m still at the mercy of—this template that I’ve learned and still haven’t really broken away from it. I wanted to be somewhere but I have to walk the way—walk the distance to arrive where I want to be. There’s no avoiding walking that distance. And I see that in the collective mind, whatever you do doesn’t really belong to you. My songs don’t belong to me. My kid doesn’t belong to me. My house doesn’t belong to me. Nothing belongs to me—nothing belongs to anybody on this earth. And I’m associated with Stereolab now, but with this solo album, it’s the beginning of dissociation. And I have a lot of people who tell me they start listening and they think ‘Stereolab Stereolab Stereolab.’ But by the end, they’re like ‘Laetitia Sadier.’ So there’s a departure from that point, which kind of musters—rallies, gathers us? You know? That point is Stereolab. And I need to move away with everybody! Whoever will follow. But it’s a journey we have to take together as well. I can’t take it alone. With this album, I thought it would sound much more different than it did. But I realize I’m not alone in this. I need to take people with me for it to be complete somehow. But the vocal production is different. The composition is different. The cadence— so many Stereolab songs are in three; The Trip isn’t swimming in waltz tempos. You have educated ears. Well the techniques, the instruments— whatever you did to your vocals? It sounds like you are in the room, but in Stereolab is sounds like I’m listening to a recording of your voice, you know? I take that as a compliment. I could swear I saw you play guitar the last time I saw Stereolab. Yes, I think just on one song I got the honor

of playing a guitar. On the one song. Never very much, and never as much as I wanted to in order to get good at it. Because I play on my own—I sing and play the guitar, so anything going wrong is really pretty amplified so I’m having to work hard on my guitar playing, and it’s getting better. It’s true. Practice makes perfect. Do you have a favorite Stereolab record? I like Music For the Amorphous Body Study Center. Does it ever change? Or is that always your favorite? I never play them back. I had soft spot for Dots and Loops. That’s the one where I listened back and I was like, ‘Yes! That’s a good record.’ For the first time, I had this unconditional ‘Yes!’ You always have doubts, as you know probably from doing your own stuff. But I must say that I love Not Music. Is there anybody that you’d want to collaborate with, even though the music sounds far from yours? Damien Jurado. If you come across, you will understand—I feel like he’s some kind of brother, and I feel like—well, maybe it won’t be a dream, maybe it will happen. I’m trying to think of ways to come to the States next year. Could I just jump on someone’s tour bus? Richard Swift produced half of my record and he also produced Damien Jurado. I saw him and I was like, ‘Oh, that’s how it’s done.’ Is Stereolab going to tour the U.S. too? No—you saw the tour schedule? I was hoping you had inside info that the band was coming to tour the States. No, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you such things, because I mean—it’s not up to me. If Tim decides he wants to do a tour, I’m sure he can convince. But to be honest, I wouldn’t want to go out again with the band as it is. Just yet. Talking of egos and tensions and shit, I’ve had my fill. I wouldn’t mind doing it trying something different. I felt it was so stiff, that I would be really happy—because this music, Stereolab—it’s very rich and it could be done in different ways. It can be approached

in more minimal, less bombastic ways, live. And that would give just another—more air in it. Tim doesn’t think like that. He wants layers and layers. And lots of people, and I think maybe he hides himself a bit, in a way, whereas I’m ready to be naked. As the vocalist you’re already out there, and he’s in the back. You’re used to it, maybe. Also, I’m used to being crushed. I’m going to sound like I’m complaining now—but people can just crank up their amps, and I can’t scream. Maybe if I’m playing alone it’s because I’d like to hear my vocals when I sing and let it come to the fore. Because I’ve had years of being absolutely swamped. And at some point you’re like, ‘What the fuck? What. The fuck.’ That happens to a lot of female vocalists in bands. And at the end they’re just disgusted. They go and go and go, and at some point they’re like, you know, I’ve had enough of this. I can also imagine that touring with your ex-husband is trying. For the music’s sake I’m prepared to go a long way, but not with the people that we were with at that time. Different people who are much more respectful of my singing— please!—and are not just ready to put earplugs in and then crank it up. That? Nope. No. That’s it. Stereolab’s vocals—when you and Mary would sing together, are just like … whenever someone crushed those harmonies, a star went out. We still managed to have quite a long career, to put things into perspective. And what has carried us is the love of the music. That was the priority. I think that’s really what gave it its longevity. But at the moment? Rest. Yes. Rest for everybody. LAETITIA SADIER’S THE TRIP IS OUT NOW ON DRAG CITY AND STEREOLAB’S NOT MUSIC IS OUT NOV. 16 ON DRAG CITY. VISIT LAETITIA SADIER AT MYSPACE.COM/LAETITIASADIER AND VISIT STEREOLAB AT STEREOLAB.CO.UK. 45

TOMMY SANTEE KLAWS Why do you hate sand? Tommy Santee Klaws (guitar/voice): It’s harder to walk through and it feels dirty. It’s gross— gets between the toes. I’m kinda anal about that stuff. Why did you start writing songs? TSK: I was 20 years old and feeling feelings so I wanted to put them down in music form. My mom passed in 2001. That was when I wrote my first album, and that was all for her. That was a big impetus to start doing my own stuff. I’ve made eight albums, a 7” and an EP. I’ve released them myself up until this new one. Does your music come from a darker place? TSK: Maybe not darker but I have always loved sad songs. It does come from ‘a place.’ I’m a jovial guy in general but I can get out that stuff through music. My mom’s death was hard for me and my brother and sister. Coping with it, a lot of it still comes up. That’s where the darkness maybe comes from. Is it hard to perform some of your songs live? TSK: It’s therapeutic and I enjoy playing them. There’s some I don’t. What song is too rough to play? TSK: It’s called ‘He Sharp.’ It’s on Healing Power Of Sunshine. My wife Donna thinks it’s the best song. That’s the roughest for me to play. I sing it really high and, lyrically, it’s a sad song. Why do people like sad songs? TSK: You don’t have to know what it’s about to relate. Even just playing a sad chord can send you to whatever place. What’s the saddest chord? TSK: A minor. How much do you use it? TSK: It’s in there a lot. We don’t think of ourselves as sad music. I think it’s hopeful and kind of like anthems of life. Having Donna doing bird sounds and things like that with toys takes it to another level so it’s not so serious. It’s a familial thing. It feels good and you can join in. Sometimes you and Donna and her toys appear as Freaky Mountain. What’s that band? TSK: Evan Roberts and I wrote some songs together. It’s a way to have a happier contrast. The brighter side of songs. The lyrics may not be but the music is. Why do you dress in white? TSK: I don’t know actually—because we get so dirty. INTERVIEW

The first time seeing Tommy Santee Klaws perform should be by the sea at night, or on a shipwreck, or in a cabin filled with taxidermy, rusty contraptions and old books. Luckily, L.A. art galleries afford these opportunities. Machine Project and Echo Country Outpost have hosted Tommy’s music lately because it’s simultaneously epic and playful, just like the surroundings they create. The band’s backyard gospel—accompanied by toys and kids’ party favors—recently got them a distribution deal with Imaginary Music, the label owned by Lol Tolhurst, a founding member of the Cure. Like the Cure, Tommy Santee Klaws finds the darkness inspiring in prophetic, romantic ways. Interview by Daiana Feuer Illustration by Lauren Everett

What’s with the animatronic cat? TSK: That’s Snowball. Snowball is an official member of the band. Why do you make music? TSK: It’s my favorite thing to do. I have fun. It feels good. I love playing with my family and friends. Those are the most important things to me. What were you listening to in high school? TSK: Joy Division, Depeche Mode, lots of 1980s stuff—the Cure. I think those bands were influential in terms of what I liked listening to and song structure and things like that. What is behind the song ‘Smoke Spells?’ The chorus is dark. ‘You look better when you’re dead...’ TSK: It’s an older one but it came up on Gloria. I wrote it during that time period after my mom had passed. It’s cool how you say ‘fuck’ in it. TSK: We’re really deep. We use words like ‘fuck’ and ‘shit.’ Have you had your heart broken much? TSK: I don’t think if I’ve ever had my heart broken. Where did you come from? TSK: I’ve lived here a while. I was born in San Gabriel. My folks were missionaries in Thailand so I lived there when I was younger. Then they moved to Missouri where my dad did seminary. We traveled a lot and ended up in southern Orange County. Are you religious? TSK: It definitely shaped the person I am and how I think about things and do things. I grew up in it so it was a big part of my life. What did your parents teach you? TSK: Be nice to people. Some people have bad days. Just be nice. How often do you have bad days? TSK: I don’t think that often but Donna might disagree. What’s wonderful about being married? TSK: Just sharing everything. I love her. She’s the most talented person I’ve ever met and one of the nicest and most considerate people. She’s my best friend. Do you try to be the good guy? TSK: I suppose so, yes. I think it’s important to be good and nice. I’m a pretty go with the flow type of guy. Define ‘hope.’

TSK: It’s just having a positive outlook on things as opposed to being negative all the time—getting along with other people and doing things together. What’s your favorite childhood story? TSK: My sister, who is a couple years older, was jealous when I was born. She was always messing with me. My mom walked out once and she put a pillow over my head. That’s your favorite childhood story? TSK: It’s the first one that came to mind. What was the outcome? Obviously, you’re alive. TSK: Oh, we love each other very much. Donna wants to talk to you. Donna Jo (toys/voice): It’s tough for Tommy to talk about what he does. That’s why his music is so awesome. He can’t articulate it but he puts together this thing that is moving and expressive in and of itself. That’s how he can speak. That’s why he has me. Do you believe in opposites? DJ: I think there’s something to it. It’s good to balance yourself out. Must that be with another person? DJ: No, it’s better if you sort everything in yourself. But it’s useful to have a mirror held up in front of you. When you look in yourself you’re not necessarily seeing all the flaws. Another person adds a dimension that lets you get there quicker. Are mirrors just for seeing flaws? DJ: Oh no—they’re good to underline the positive qualities as well. Define ‘truth.’ DJ: I believe there is no objective truth. Everyone has white lies. It’s putting forth the most real picture of yourself. And that of reality. Is reality real? DJ: I sometimes think I know and believe it’s real. The more I know the less I know. There’s a lot of mysteries out there. How do you approach a mystery? DJ: It happens to me on a frequent basis. Even if it’s beyond my truth and reality, I try to be open to the possibility that there’s more than meets the eye. Do you believe in ghosts? DJ: I haven’t yet. So many people have told me their experience and they believe so deeply. I kinda wish I would see one already, so that it could become my truth. I would have fun with

it. I want to yell at them and ask them questions and see their experiences and ask why they’re stuck. I don’t think ghosts would look like people. They would be an energy force. They would turn on classical music and turn the fan on and make things surface that we couldn’t understand. It would be a bump in the night, not an old decrepit lady in disintegrated clothes. Why do you play with toys? DJ: Tommy’s music seems so moody and broody and dark. There’s also something childlike about his music, even though it’s profound. The perky element of toys contrasts his dark yet childlike side. It’s fun too, figuring out something that fills the space like an accessory. For me it feels more natural to make sound effects. Do you go to toy stores and look for noises? DJ: Toy stores, garage sales, thrift stores. I want something that whirrs. And a billowing noise. I need to find these sounds. I might make my own toys because I haven’t found certain sounds. Can I say something about Tommy without a question? I was a fan before a wife. He’s tapped into something of the beyond. It’s good to lose yourself in the puzzle of what he’s trying to convey. We’ve both had major losses in our lives. When you experience that as a young person, you stop tolerating the baloney that’s around. You go to a deeper level. Your perspective changes. It goes from ‘everything’s fast and fleeting’ to ‘everything is meaningful so let’s sink into it on a deeper level.’ How do you maintain that everyday? DJ: It’s not like we’re always trying to have deep meaningful days but we coexist in what we’ve been through so we are a united force against hardship. Helping other people gives meaning. The best thing you can do for yourself is help others. I try to figure out how to do it. Can music give meaning? DJ: People have to make their own meaning. We’re all meaning makers. If someone is on the same plane as you it can be transcendent. If you hear music that is soulful and hits that chord, you feel like you’re not alone. TOMMY SANTEE KLAWS’ RAKES IS RELEASING THIS FALL ON IMAGINARY MUSIC. VISIT TOMMY SANTEE KLAWS AT MYSPACE.COM/TOMMYSANTEEKLAWS. 47

THE GASLAMP KILLER Interview by Chris Ziegler Photography by Theo Jemison

The Gaslamp Killer is the beast of Brainfeeder—a producer and DJ who should be accompanied at all times by lightning, thunder and the shrieks of uncomprehending peasantry. He is a founding member and resident at Low End Theory and he makes some of the best t-shirts in town, too. He has just released Death Gate, his second 10” EP, and he speaks now after a fruitless search for Hitachino. Both your parents were stand-up comedians—how did that affect your personality? I have a very similar sense of humor to my mother for sure. She was doing stand-up for ten years, but it was very very Jewish standup. All of us Jews have kind of a sick sense of humor, and I think my mom made me comfortable to express mine and not hide behind anything. She never wanted me to be rude, but she always expressed herself thoroughly— she exudes funny. There’s no time she doesn’t! It naturally rubbed off on me, and made me feel comfortable to be goofy and kind of cynical and twisted. Do you feel that stand-up demands the most bravery of all the creative arts? You have nothing to hide behind up there. Completely—you have to have the biggest balls on Earth to do stand-up. Does your mother have the biggest balls on Earth? Yes! What’s the most reaction you’ve got from a crowd with a single profanity? Oh, shit— Like that one? Maybe the Filipinos in Manila. One thousand. Or at SONAR—I was cursing. Every other word was ‘motherfucker’ and they were eating it up. Just the power of the word. What was the second weirdest gig you ever played? I played at this gig in the middle of some ragged up hippie town in Colorado and every single person there was smoking DMT. I could smell DMT—at this party in this little town that shall remain nameless because it was part of this special little festival that they do. I had to stay in a cabin about a mile from the festival and it had no signal of any kind for INTERVIEW

any device. It was completely disconnected from the world. It was crazy. Is that so you could take DMT and go into another world without any distractions? Yeah. But the problem was I was having a romantic river walk with my girlfriend—I wasn’t trying to smoke any fucking DMT! You’ve got two 10”s out now. Why the 10”? It’s the most difficult format. It doesn’t fit anywhere, and it’s hard for the record plants to make. It’s a bold choice in vinyl pressing. Nowdays the business isn’t about selling actual records. People are buying shit off iTunes or downloading it. However they’re getting it, they’re getting it. The only people who buy vinyl buy vinyl because it’s collectible anyway. I make 10”s because 10”s are the dopest fucking size of all time! They’re so rare and so limited. There’s very few of them out in the world, and they just look cool! The art’s cooler on that little thing. I like it better. I have 10,000 records, and about 50 10”s. So .005%? That’s pretty damn good. What is the theory of the Death Gate? What is the death gate and what lies beyond? The Death Gate refers to near-death experiences, like a bad injury or an accident—where death flashes before your eyes. It could also be overdosing on drugs by accident. You see like everything—your whole life flash before your eyes. But instead of calling it the Near Death Experience EP, I called it the Death Gate EP. It’s the same idea. I’m knocking on death’s door, but I’m not actually dead—I actually survived. Have you actually survived something like that? Where everything just whites out? I wouldn’t say whited out. But I definitely

have had an experience that I thought I might never come back from. But I did—I came back. I came back a badass motherfucker! Man, I should floor it into the back of this car, right? To prove the point? ‘I’m a badass motherfucker! CRASH!’ It’s just one of those experiences that I had that didn’t change shit except for the moment, and I came back and everything’s all right. That’s just what it’s about—overdosing or having a fucking crazy experience where you’re just gone. It’s just one fifteen-minute record that I backed the concept behind it. ‘Shattering Inner Journeys’ is the only song that has to do with psychedelic overdose. That’s the real song that has to do with that. I was gonna name the whole EP that but everyone told me it was too long. ‘And nobody knows how to spell ‘journey.’ I don’t give a fuck, but that’s how the business goes. Next best thing is ‘The Death Gate.’ The Elias’ artwork looked like a psychedelic stargate—some sort of vortex. And I just got the vibe from it. I googled ‘Death Gate’ and it’s a fucking World of Warcraft game so I’m even more excited. Why? Do you play World of Warcraft? I never did, but I think it will get me some customers by accident. Kids will google ‘Death Gate’ and find my album and say ‘Whoa, man—we can play this while we D&D!’ The Killer of Gaslamp Craft? Any market I can get into, man. I wanna go for the ICP crowd. The Insane Clown Posse crowd. Just kidding. Like I really want those people at my shows? They’ll kill everyone. They’ll throw bottles at Tila Tequila. Kurt Vonnegut said, ‘You can make someone involuntarily shit with sound.’ In your professional opinion, is that true?

Yeah! I have heard Aphex Twin live, and he was making some sounds that were so deep and disgusting that they literally made me anxious. He gave me an anxiety attack to the point where I had to leave. I wasn’t high on drugs—it was just too much noise. I used to go to noise shows where kids would be on laptops with pedals trying to make the brown sound. I’ve never seen anyone do it, but I believe it’s possible. Some of the dubstep I play is borderline shit music. Borderline bowel movement-inducing music. Does the ability to use sound to affect other human beings interest you? It doesn’t because I’m not a violent or sadistic person deep down towards other humans. Just towards my girlfriend. You said you play music that makes you want to have a fit because that’s what it’s all about. Why? It’s like—you’re playing some brand new shit on repeat that you can’t get out of your head. I want every fucking song in my set to be like that. It’s all songs that I love so much at that very moment. I have to blend some classics in there. I try to use classics. Some parts of my set are more energetic than others. But I try to have a fifteen or twenty minute part of the set to just play brand-new beats. What I really think it comes from is growing up dancing— You used to be a b-boy, right? Yeah, and instead of dancing with girls, I danced in circles. Freestyle hip-hop shit. It comes from that. When I used to dance, I’d wait for the DJ to play something super-fucking-amazing before I got in the circle because I knew that magic would be happening in there if I got open on the dancefloor—that’s when it would happen because I would get open to the best shit. I think that’s where it comes from. 49

“‘I’ll take a half-eighth of Purple and a half-eighth of … Romulan! Just put it on my tab, Jack!’” I still want to play the songs that are going to get me open. They might not get the crowd open, but they’ll get me open, and then I’ll be able to get the crowd open. What happens when music gets people open? When your hair stands on end. Neck hair, arm hair, every fucking hair on your body. You feel that tingling from art, from creative energy, from music—even from a girl. You can feel it in so many ways. It’s that moment when you take a breath and say, ‘Now this is that shit!’ You feel so good. That’s what getting open is. When I hear a song, and it gives me goosebumps, I thank God! I thank Mother Earth. The universe! Whatever—that ultimate energy. I realize I can feel music deeper than the average human being, and that’s such a blessing. I’m so grateful for that. ‘Thank you, God, that I have that range of emotions—that I’m not some doldrums motherfucker!’ Is there a curse side to that ability? Does the negative side have as much power as the positive side? Yes—when you can feel emotions so intensely, it’s gonna go both ways, so you gotta be careful. I think that the art of life is balance, and as hard as I go, I’m going to have to force myself to stop. As long as you have good friends and family to keep you grounded—to tell you, ‘You need to fucking stop.’ People always say, ‘You’re living the dream’ but actually I don’t know if this is the fucking dream. It’s a nightmare—it’s so much fucking work. I put too much responsibility on myself. Too many people are counting on me to give a good show every night and I’m too tired—I have no energy to do what they see on YouTube every night! That was three minutes of one night and it can’t happen every night. These things build up and I start to lose the fun of it. And then I realize—‘OK, it is a job, but it needs to stay fun, so I’m going to have to take a break and get some new shit together and make it fun again.’ I think that’s what Flying Lotus does. He goes back into the lab and gets a bunch of new material before he comes out again. I think that’s why his shows are so fun because he’s really excited every time he plays some music. What was the most shocking YouTube footage of yourself you’ve seen? One recently at Low End Theory that Daddy Kev filmed—I looked and said, ‘Wow, what the fuck? I must’ve had the Holy Ghost that night!’ You work all the time by yourself—how do you keep that in balance with actually making music?

It’s crazy as fuck but I don’t let anyone work closely with me—except for a few people— and there are only certain things I ask for help on. I don’t relinquish any responsibility. I find that this is a really sensitive time in my business and I need to make it good. It’s crucial. In a few years I might be able to have someone else do it and it won’t need that personal touch. The more I learn about the business the better off I’ll be in the future. I won’t be some DJ fucking crying about there being no gigs. I’ll be helping Daddy Kev with his business or something. He’s gonna last forever, that guy. Last issue Flying Lotus said you’re a seeker—what is it you seek? Oh, I know what he means—what it’s all about! What the fuck this crazy life is all about, really. Besides being happy! Because all I wanna do is be happy, but there’s so much involved with that. What does it all mean? Is it really all about the journey? Or is some of the destination part of it? What have you learned about being happy? I learned that keeping good people around you—eating good food—smoking good weed—and seeing awesome countries—little things, you know? What bad habit are you most proud to have gotten rid of? I haven’t gotten rid of any. I added more. What’s the one you’re most proud of? That’s so bizarre—to try to get excited about something you hate? Telling it like it is at the wrong time. ‘When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong: The Gaslamp Killer Edition.’ I’ve had bottles thrown at me. What is the power of filth? I think the dirt has always appealed to me. I’ve always had really critical friends that were super into hard shit. What drew us closer to that music is the dirt. The way it sounded like some fuzzy old soul or some hard funk. It interests me more than something like Zero 7—versus Portishead. Come on. It’s in you. Or Bone Thugs versus Freestyle Fellowship. It’s similar, but which shit are you really feeling? Any human being that connects with their soul when they hear some deep-ass bass—some hard shit!—they just feel it and respond to it. It’s the human being in everyone that responds to it. Does that mean that what humanity’s really about is that dirt? That imperfection? I think that’s where human beings connect with their inner spirit, you know? Gonjasufi said he makes his music because he wants people to listen and be inspired to find themselves? What do you feel your music is for?

I just sit with the same music over and over again so I hope they’re entertained for a little while and it takes them away from their life and their stress for just a little while and just vibe, you know? But I also want them to know though that there’s the whole world out there—a lot of music out there. I’m always trying to teach people. I’m not just trying to entertain them. I’m trying to educate them as well. But it’s not that serious, you know? What makes you do that? You’ve talked about that before. It’s the DJ in me. You play other people’s shit and mix other people’s shit. I believe it’s important. I think it makes people more intelligent. People who listen to good music are going to be more sensitive and more aware and more intelligent—dare I say it? Good music brings assholes into the light. The therapeutic effect of the Death Gate? Yeah! I needed Chris Z to break it down this whole time! How effective is hell as a marketing tool? None of these were my ideas. A lot of them have a lot to do with me and Brandy Flower and our interaction artist-to-artist. He hears my music and comes up with crazy fuckedup shit, and it’s just him. It’s perfect, he’s the shit. I never have to ask him to tone it down. except for the ‘Choose Death’ logo, I had to get rid of that one. It’s because of Kutmah. He said, ‘Nobody wants to see the word DEATH on their body all huge, man. It’s not a picture of a skull, it’s the word ‘DEATH’!’ Then I made my album ‘Death Gate’ and he was like, ‘What’s wrong with you?!’ What’s your perception of hell? What would it be like to take a vacation in hell? The funny thing is, I don’t really believe in hell, so it doesn’t take on any imagery for me. It’s more of my way of provoking sheep. I think that I’m a killer and that’s the persona. Hell to me is Hollywood clubs. This is hell. We’re in it! What’s your favorite inanimate object to curse at? My girlfriend, once again. Just kidding. Oh my God, I know. The statue of Jesus Christ. Any statue of Jesus Christ. Nah, that’s a joke too. When was last time you appeared on TV or in a movie? This pilot done by Danny Lee—an L.A. filmmaker. He did one episode of this show The Clinic. It’s on Hulu right now. He’s still shopping it to networks. It was two years ago. I played a stoner who had like a long tab with the cannabis club.

Like Cheers at a weed club? Exactly—The Office at a weed dispensary. I did literally a 30 second cameo, but I had some lines. It was intense! Scary! ‘I’ll take a half-eighth of Purple and a half-eighth of … Romulan! Just put it on my tab, Jack!’ And the girl says to me, ‘Are you ever gonna PAY this tab?’ ‘Yeahhhhh, of course! You know I’m good for it!’ And they made me dress like a fuckin’ hipster. Like TIGHT clothes. Cowboy shirt and tight jeans? No way! What’s the best lie you’ve ever been told? I actually know this one! This kid I grew up with, I don’t even remember his name now, his dad was a hella rich Persian. Really nice family. This kid though was a pathological fucking liar. He lied to me about so many things when we were growing up. He told me so much bullshit but I was just along for the ride. I don’t give a fuck. The only lie he told me that I ever repeated was the one that in the sidewalk—when you’re walking, there’s like water and city seals in the ground? They’d have numbers or code or some shit. This one had initials on it. He said, ‘Do you know whose initials these are? They’re my dad’s. He planned this whole city. He wrote the plans and did the sidewalks.’ I didn’t know what the initials stood for. Water and power? Whatever the fuck they were, there were these two initials. It was just a city stamp on every single city block. He convinced me that his dad made them. So one time I told someone, ‘My friend’s dad made these! He designed this whole sidewalk. How cool is that?’ But my friend knew immediately, and said, ‘That stands for water and power, you fucking idiot.’ You hurt your foot when you dropped your beard trimmer on it. Is that the most having all that hair has ever hurt you? Yes. Don’t ever shave your fucking face in your bare feet. Kurt Vonnegut also said Beethoven died shaking his fist at God because of all the music still pouring out of him. Do you think you’ll go out the same way? Shaking your fist? I don’t think I’ll be shaking my hand at God or anyone when I’m going out. I’m probably gonna go out without knowing it. I don’t see myself being like a super-old man going, ‘Ohhhh, God, why!?’ You’d be an amazing old man, though. Alright—I’ll try my best. THE GASLAMP KILLER’S DEATH GATE EP IS OUT NOW ON BRAINFEEDER. VISIT THE GASLAMP KILLER AT THEGASLAMPKILLER.COM.

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BATUSIS Interview by Kurt Midness Illustration by Joe McGarry Batusis is the band that was formed when Cheetah Chrome of the Dead Boys and Rocket From the Tombs gets together with Sylvain Sylvain of New York Dolls. The rhythm section of Enzo Penizzotto and Thommy Price join in while on loan from Joan Jett’s Blackhearts. The results of this collaboration tap the very source of America’s finest rock ‘n’ roll and have been known to cause spontaneous outbreaks of the obscure go-go dance birthed by the old-school Batman. I know you and Sylvain Sylvain are old friends—what happened that made you guys start the Batusis? Cheetah Chrome (guitar/vocals): We would bump into each other usually when he was in Nashville or when I was in Atlanta. You see, we are both expatriate New Yorkers living in the South. We’d get together and jam. It got set up by Syl’s manager and Frank Mauceri from my label, Smog Veil. They were talking and it was like, ‘Syl’s got time off from New York Dolls! and ‘Cheetah’s got time off from Rocket From the Tombs!’ and we were like, ‘Hell yeah, let’s start a band!’ I knew it was gonna be good, but this has been even better than I thought it would be. You recorded the EP in Nashville, right? How did you end up living in Nashville? Back in ’96 I wanted to do some demos. This bass player I’d been playing with in Connecticut had moved out to Nashville and I was looking for a place to get some decent studio time. I came down here for two weeks. At the time, I didn’t have anything going on in New York. I was living in a hotel. In those two weeks I met my wife here. I didn’t have anything to do in New York except hang out in a hotel, so I decided to stay here. I’ve been here fourteen years. Was this before or after news of your death had been reported? Before. I guess there have been rumors of me being dead several times. When I was living in New York, sometimes I’d go to Connecticut to work on stuff and just lay low and people would start with, ‘Where’s Cheetah? I heard he died.’ When it was reported that I was dead, I hadn’t been in New York for a couple years and I had been clean for a long time so somebody was way off on that one. What do you do for fun in Nashville? I have a 5-year-old son so I have fun provided for me daily from 8 in the morning 56

on. I hang out with my family. I got a little studio that I play around in. I play a lot of Call of Duty. Sometimes go to a concert, go to a movie, go out to eat … regular stuff. Nashville is a great place to live—right up there with New York or Los Angeles. Do you like country music? Last time I said I didn’t like country in an interview, I got in a lot of trouble around here. It’s not my favorite. I don’t like nu-country. I like it when the Stones play country and I

What do the members of Batusis listen to when you’re all in the van together on tour? Syl’s wife sends him these great mix tapes that we love. Sylvain supplies all the music and it’s great—stuff you never heard before. Funny stuff. You never know what’s next, but everything is great. Weren’t you determined to be one of the ‘100 Greatest Guitar Players’ by Musician magazine? Do you know who was listed

You got him a Les Paul and Marshall? Yup. He has a Harmony acoustic guitar too. What for you is the very best thing about kicking out the jams with the Batusis? Everybody is a pro. That’s nice because the show changes nightly. We play the same songs, but everybody is able to adapt on the fly. There’s a lot of freedom to experiment and we all get along just great. Batusis have released a four-song EP— what else is in the live set?

“ I guess there have been rumors of me being dead several times.” like classic stuff like Hank Williams and Ray Charles—but Keith Urban? Please. Lady Antebellum? Please. I said I hated it in an interview and that makes the news around here: ‘Cheetah Chrome says he doesn’t like country!’ Next thing you know I was afraid to go the supermarket because people were talking about me. Do you like to listen to any new stuff? Everybody is always asking me that. I listen to college radio and I hear a lot of stuff that I like, but I don’t ever know what it is. As far as mainstream radio goes, some Nickelback I like. Green Day. Hold up—Nickelback? Yeah—I wouldn’t go buy it. There’s a few good songs that make me not want to change the station. Then there are some where I change the station right away. I like a band from L.A. called Operator—they’re kind of in the vein of Guns N’ Roses. The stuff I like best is the college radio stuff. My son loves the Beatles, so we listen to a lot of that. I’ve been listening to the new Raw Power deluxe edition—the outtakes are amazing. It’s a classic and it’s neat to revisit.

before and after you? That was in 1991 or something. Me and Johnny Ramone made the list if you can believe that—based on the influence we had. There wasn’t like numbers and rankings. It was 100 names with like a paragraph about each guitar player. If you got to choose, what would you rather have—accolades, critical praise and devoted fans, or a shit ton of cash? Lemme see—that’s a tough one. Kind of a loaded question for me now that I have a kid! I’m good with the accolades. It’s nice and fine for me as long as I have enough to pay the bills. That’s how I’ve felt for years. But with a kid now, I’ll take the shit ton of cash so that maybe I’ll have something to leave him. Would you like to see your son play ‘Sonic Reducer’ on one of those Guitar Hero video games? That’d be fine. He has a little Epiphone Les Paul and a little Marshall. He told his mother that he wants to take lessons at school so he can surprise me with a few chords and then I could give him lessons. So that’s pretty cool.

Right now we’re doing the four songs and we’re doing the Velvet Underground’s ‘Femme Fatale’ because we just love that song. A couple Dead Boys songs, a couple Dolls songs—a couple surprises. Things might change before the L.A. show because we have two rehearsal days before that show. We’re going in and doing a fulllength in November—so maybe some of the new stuff and some surprises. BATUSIS WITH THE STITCHES AND THE NEIGHBORHOOD BULLYS ON SAT., OCT. 16, AT ALEX’S BAR, 2913 E. ANAHEIM ST., LONG BEACH. 9 PM / $10 / 21+. ALEXSBAR.COM. AND WITH THE ROYAL HIGHNESS AND JJ AND THE REAL JERKS ON SUN., OCT. 24, AT THE VIPER ROOM, 8852 W. SUNSET BLVD., WEST HOLLYWOOD. 8:30 PM / $12-$15 / 21+. VIPERROOM.COM. BATUSIS’ SELFTITLED EP IS OUT NOW ON SMOG VEIL. VISIT BATUSIS AT MYSPACE. COM/BATUSIS. INTERVIEW

NICK NICELY Interview by Ian Marshall Illustration by themegoman In 2003, Tenth Planet issued a collection called Psychotropia, introducing Nick Nicely to anyone who didn’t already know him: the tortured, British, psychedelic beach bunny who bum-rushed the early ’80s with his first two singles—“D.C.T. Dreams” and “Hilly Fields (1892)”—then dropped out of sight. To celebrate Psychotropia’s rere-reissue on Grapefruit Records (with additional tracks and beefed-up liner notes), Nick Nicely speaks via Skype from Germany about analog synths, H.G. Wells, and his secret success on the dance charts. Who were the local heroes in your neighborhood when you were coming up? Well, I was right in the middle of Deptford. We used to go out and see that band that did Brothers in Arms—Dire Straits. Have you heard of a-ha—the Norwegian hit band? They were from Norway, but they were starting out there. They were in the same studio that I worked at in Forest Hill. Even on the grubbiest of days that a-ha lead singer had his full make-up on and his hair all orange or whatever he was doing. He was always perfectly turned out that guy, it must have taken hours. Oh, and we had Squeeze as well. And Alternative TV—Tyrone, who lived below me, was the bass player I think. But there was quite a big scene, the Fabulous Poodles, maybe you’ve heard of them? Of course! And now you’re in Germany? Well, I’m in England and Germany. I’m just working today on bits of sound to go between the tracks. The tracks are all done for a new album called Space of a Second. I’ve just been looking at it and experimenting with different connectors between the tracks. Just stuff that was recorded off a mini disc, gone out and walked around and sounds like that. A lot of people say Psychotropia sounds like a concept album but it was recorded over a huge span of time. Is this a more unified work? Yeah. That’s right. All made in the last three years or so. I think that it will sound a little bit more similar than all the various studios that Pyschotropia was made in. Some people call Psychotropia a compilation album. I see it as one [piece], but I mean I take a long view maybe. Do you still obsess over tracks the way you did in ’80/’81, or are you more able to ‘get on with it’? No, I’m not able to get on with it. I obsess over tracks and take them in many different directions. … Sometimes it’s frustrating. Sometimes on tracks—there’s one or two I can think of where I was just determined not to give up and that somewhat can be a mistake. So yes, a lot of time is spent going down in the wrong direction. As bad as certainly back in the old days, yeah. I’m making dense music. When you look at the tracks on Psychotropia, there’s a gap between ’86 and ’98. Did you walk away from music for a time around then? Well, in the ’80s, yeah, things went very much downhill. ‘D.C.T. Dreams’ made some money and did well on the radio across Europe INTERVIEW

and the income from that unfortunately never arrived. … I sold my home studio to make ‘Hilly Fields’ and I was never able to get the money to buy this equipment back, so I was having to go into studios pretty much cold with an acoustic guitar idea of what I wanted to do and then learn the new keyboards that we had hired in and, I don’t know, it never worked. It was a bad time at EMI and the like. … I’ve always been doing music. I work off feelings so I’m not stuck. If you just work off of feelings you can go off-road because you have a vision, an idea—so it can cross genres and it can cross structural changes and I can still operate effectively because I’m just operating on instinct, if you like. So for melody and lyric and ideas and concepts, it can be in different styles. That’s a lot of what was going on in that period but also, in the late ’80s I did stop. I went right off the edge in the middle of the ’80s. It’s just too terrible—everything was terrible and I dropped out. But it got better again, of course. Can I rewind to the days of the Nick Nicely Band? There’s a photo in the recent issue of Psychotropia on Grapefruit—a couple of mustachioed fellows and you have quite long hair and you guys are in non-safetypinned, rather ‘rockist’ leather jackets and it just seems interesting that it’s 1977 and you don’t seem to be that influenced by the punk thing. What was this Nick Nicely Band all about? That’s pre-Nick Nicely. There was drums but mainly it was acoustic and I was writing stuff for that, some of it a bit weird but we started recording very early on tape recorders. It was fun, really, more than anything else. It sort of changed later and after I got involved with the publishing company and then my brain got warped. That’s when Nick Nicely arrived— sort of from a songwriting environment, if you like. I managed to persuade them to allow me to engineer in the studio overnight, so once I got them to do that I was able to do ‘Dreams’ with my keyboard friend. And from then on it went really well. Do you still play analog synths or have you updated to more computery things? Uh, yeah I am computery. But my sound, if I’m doing keyboards, is analog. I got a modern version of analog. It’s not a real old one but they do very good copies of them. But my stuff is a very cheap setup and that’s restrictive in some ways but in other ways it leads you into this sonic arena that I’m in. Some

of the songs on this album, if they were made perfect—under perfect conditions, like in a top studio—they would sound too sweet. It’s a balancing act to get your song to taste right, and I work through a slightly rougher, smudgier style that comes with this equipment that I have and it’s part of the sound really. Do you have a particular favorite? Yeah, the Prophet 5. They used to have all kinds of problems with the tuning and stuff, you had to battle with it, but it was the Prophet 5 that I remember with a lot of affection. ‘D.C.T. Dreams’ and ‘Hilly Fields,’ there was a string machine—a Roland string machine, one of their early ones, just played strings. Sort of rough strings. Tinny little keyboards, I love them. What was your record collection like in 1980? That was before New Order, of course. I went mad on New Order. But 1980, I suppose it would still have been some Pink Floyd, and Talking Heads had made an impression, ’78/’79 weren’t they? I like them a lot. … I’m always coming up with new ideas of what seems to be influencing me. I try not to think about it while I’m doing it, but yeah. Another one I’ve noticed is Joe Meek. I’m reaching for that kind of ‘Johnny Remember Me’ spookiness. I’m getting that from my new stuff, but ‘Hilly Fields’ too. Spooky otherworld sound, coming from down the wires, from planet fog. A voice that’s dislocated, somehow comes from a parallel world or something. Disconnected from the track in a way. Back in the early-mid 1980s you had an offer to work with Trevor Horn [ABC, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, etc.]. You’ve been on the record saying you turned him down due to him wanting creative control … and also maybe because his production sound was too clean for you. Who would you have given that creative control to? Well firstly, I knew that he would have creative control. Maybe not in the [interview] you read but in another one I went a bit further than that and said also I was intimidated about going into Trevor Horn’s studio and doing the singing and working with a guy who was having that sort of success. But I just made ‘Hilly Fields’ and I really liked the sound of ‘Hilly Fields’ and I suppose I didn’t think I needed the help. But having said that, we had a lot of conversations and he said to me, ‘I think you want to control it and you want to do your stuff.’ So then they pulled out.

A big deal is made of XTC as pioneers in the ’80s psychedelic revival, and it’s often cited how Dukes of the Stratosphear came about due to your influence. But when I hear Dukes records, it seems they didn’t absorb psychedelia in the same way you did. I have to be careful what I say. I’m sure they’re lovely people and you have mentioned something that I’ve said in interviews and friends have taken out. … but all I can say about XTC is, they’re very excellent in a cerebral way but there’s no acid there. … You know, I do feel that psychedelia—the meaning of the word in 1967 is different than in 2010. It seems to be now a set of sounds. Some people reproduce exactly stuff from ’67 without taking cognizance of all the developments we’ve all been through between then and now, and it’s quite conservative. There are certain magazines where Psychotropia took an almighty kicking for having occasional synth on there. It’s like how country used to be. You know, like you’re only really supposed to use the same instruments that they used at that time. I think psychedelia’s spirit is to forget conventions and explore new things. Why do you think psychedelia became fashionable again around 1981/82? What I think happened then was some journalists in the powerful rock magazines in the U.K. at the time, I think they wanted it. I got the feeling that they were really pushing an agenda. But it was the first time that people had looked back to the ’67 period in fashion and brought that fashion back and that’s like 13, 14, 15 years on so I suppose that might have been part of it. It was a great time in music—’80/’81. There was a freshness; there was a post-punk vibe. The punks had had a big effect on the cultural landscape. They brought in DIY. ‘D.C.T. Dreams,’ for instance, was DIY. It first off came out on my own label. The punks would shorten tracks but they also got DIY about making music. The people on the synths were just plunking their fingers down, it wasn’t so technical. They were so fresh. I quite like some of the music of that time. It changed obviously during the ’80s, like in England, the big nail in the coffin of art pop would be Wham in 1984—soon as they came on with their dance routines. They started ‘The X Factor’ current of pop, and it never really changed that much. It went show biz whereas in the early ’80s it had a nice, arty vibe to it with all the synths and stuff. But I don’t see the psychedelic revival at that time 59

as significant. I didn’t feel part of anything. It was totally an accident that I was involved in psychedelia at the same time as these people. I was just living out my obsessions for the freedom of the late ’60s when I got into ‘Hilly Fields’ and stuff like that. You didn’t tour to promote your two singles at all. That was kind of an interesting tack. It didn’t really occur to me to play live. People didn’t hassle me to play live. … Well, I was asked to be on Dutch television and they said, ‘Have you got a band?’ and I said, ‘No, but I’ll come over and do it myself.’ And he just thought that was a shit idea, so there was no TV appearance in Holland. There was no TV appearance anywhere. So no live stuff, but I’ve been doing live stuff lately.

Yeah, ‘Oh fuck, I’m so pleased I’ve done that!’ It could well have been Sun Ra. Let me ask about ‘On the Coast,’ which appears on the first issue of Pyschotropia. I’m mystified as to why that one didn’t make it to a proper release initially. Well there’s no need to be mystified; that’s my fault. EMI did say to me, ‘What do you want to do with this?’ And looking back on it, I think probably what went wrong was that the drums were not dancey enough. But I said to EMI, ‘No, don’t bring it out.’ And I stopped it. We even did a photo shoot with Gered Mankowitz with deck chairs and stuff like that. … Is it just that you felt you weren’t able to outdo the majesty of ‘Hilly Fields’?

what I think they did good in the ’60s. Like, for instance, the classic moment in ‘See Emily Play’ where they just cut in the backward bit and then bam they’re back in again. You don’t need to go into abstract for long, you can keep more people with you if you keep it short. And it’s always trying to test how long a piece of abstract carries on working within a conventional form that I find very stimulating and I follow that closely to see how long it lasts. Maybe, indeed, it’s short—period. But that’s what they had in the ’60s singles— the more successful ones—they’d have bits of abstract but they’d have lovely tunes as well. … I use the example of H.G. Wells. If you read Time Machine—the first twelve pages— they’re a scientific discussion of the dullest

“The big nail in the coffin of art pop would be Wham in 1984—soon as they came on with their dance routines. They started the ‘X Factor’ current of pop, and it never really changed.” Why do you perform veiled now? Well, I suppose I’d say that I’ve never seen anyone play in a veil. It’s really simple to do and it doesn’t look like an effort. Also, it’s an influence of Magritte—I find a resonance in those Magritte pictures. And also, I just think it looks fucking great. I can pull any face I want in there and all the pictures of the band with the veil just look great. And you must remember that my name is Nick Nicely, and if I’m there all fluffy and wearing rock star clothes, it would be too sweet. We have to get a balance. It’s an inappropriate name, and I like to balance it and the veil fits in with that agenda too. I can’t speak highly enough of it, really. I would plan to use that for any live appearance, any face interview or anything because it just feels right. If I can find originality in any area, I will tend to go for it. There is a story about your apartment being set ablaze by a lightning strike and you lost everything except for a stack of ‘D.C.T. Dreams’ singles. That’s not quite right. It was a shared flat; I’ve always been in shared places. My flatmates had stayed up all night in the other room and I woke up reasonably early and I thought, ‘Oh fuck it, I’ll go through and catch up what they’re listening to.’ Lots of Sun Ra they used to listen to, I remember. Anyway, I got through to their room and then there was a huge crash and the lightning had struck and the chimney-stack had come through the roof into my bedroom, bricks on the bed and everything like that and there was a pile of ‘D.C.T. Dreams’ sleeves safely sitting right in the middle. The bricks and stuff missed it, and it missed me thankfully. But I didn’t have all that many possessions to lose at the time in any case. Did you take that to have any supernatural significance? Maybe Sun Ra trying to save you from across the galaxy? INTERVIEW

I felt that it was attempting to be commercial. And also, I suppose the people around me weren’t particularly enthusiastic. I was sharing a manager with the Eurythmics, Metro Communications. There was a problem with their being involved in some kind of shenanigans with EMI and so EMI wouldn’t speak to them, so it was all a bit fucked up. But it was me in the end that stopped that record from coming out and that might have been a mistake. The 20-something hipsters of Los Angeles have rediscovered another EMI-er, Kate Bush, and you’re getting rediscovered. Some resurgence of elfin/fantasy music with synthesizers ... (Laughs) Well she’s a very talented girl but, her early stuff was great but for me she’s just a little bit too inaccessible. I just liked the successful ones, the ones that everyone knows. I was always tied to Kate with this rumor that she was on ‘Hilly Fields.’ Have you not heard this rumor? Well it’s a bit late, but there was Kate Jackson did vocals on ‘D.C.T. Dreams’—I didn’t know that was her surname, I wasn’t sure. So on ‘Hilly Fields’ I used the same bit of tape of her singing and I just put ‘Kate’ because I didn’t know her name. She’s in the credits. And the rumor just got out of hand and I’ve always denied it but it still carries on a little bit because [Bush] did live around the corner and she was on EMI. You always seem to be on center with the pop thing, but you’ve never become fully enveloped by ambience. No temptation to totally go off into creating soundscapes? I am tempted. I am currently putting soundscapes between my tracks, I find that adds resonance to the overall but, no, I love pop songs and melody and I’m fascinated by the emotions we get off them. It may well go more soundscapey, but there’s always going to be some conventional patterns. I like to be conventional and then just go a bit crazy. That’s

kind, but that makes when he gets into his time machine and disappears off that much more resonant and powerful and that’s what I think about having structure in a song. People mention the early use of scratching on record on ‘Hilly Fields,’ and it really is an early example of that. Around 1981 that Grandmaster Flash live party record came out that had scratching on it. And the following year, ‘Buffalo Gals’ by Malcolm McLaren. It doesn’t seem likely that you were in touch with the Queens hip-hop block-party scene in 1981. Absolutely right, I had no idea of them and the way I’m doing it, which I suppose is slightly similar to how they did their records, is I’m holding the two spools of the tape recorder and I’m just moving them backwards and forwards together. … There’s no discs involved. The next psychedelic wave after the early Paisley thing in the post-punk era was a considerably more far-reaching movement in England: rave and the like. Were you informed at all by that scene? You’ve done very well. I was a very successful dance act with a friend. Yes, and we went right through acid house, the parties, ’89, the whole scene—and it was a time that I enjoyed my greatest commercial success in the top of the dance charts. So it was definitely something that informs my work and yes, it was a fascinating period to be in the middle of that huge movement, when people really did think that the song had died and it was all going to be the emotions coming off the sound from mainly linear dance records, though a lot of them weren’t of course. But yeah, fascinating time. Are you out about that or is it an anonymous project? It’s publicized, but not in terms of Nick Nicely. Generally I don’t go near that, it’s just you happened to mention that you saw sections of influences from that.

Let’s talk about a song that gets overshadowed: ‘6B Obergine.’ Well that was the original B-side of ‘Hilly Fields’ and I worked on that and ‘Hilly Fields’ at the same time. You’ve got the same guy playing cello and the same drummer is playing on that as well, Ian Pearce. There’s so many versions of it, I forget which one actually came out, but one of the lyrics mentioned Spain, because Spain had just survived a coup just as we went in to record, but I decided it was too soft and that version is improved on the original 1981 version. I’ve taken off some vocals that’s off a cassette and I put it back on the thing and dug out some better vocals for it, so it was shittier than that when I turned it down to be a B-Side. So at the last minute, I was producing a little band and they had this beat and I thought it was a great beat and we went and did ‘49 Cigars,’ the quickest ever really, in two days that was just like instant, just before the cut. The first time EMI heard that track was in June and I remember he said to me, ‘Oh I don’t like that feedback.’ I said, ‘That’s what it’s meant to be doing, you idiot.’ But he was alright, the guy at EMI. How about one of your new songs, ‘Change in Charmaine’? It’s a bit hard to decipher. It’s a bit schizophrenic. Obviously, the narrator doesn’t like manipulation of people’s beliefs through the media and the like, and also within the world of work, psychological profiling, over-control of the new recruits. ‘Each thoughtwave will be pure,’ or something like that, I think the lyrics say. And then there’s the other side where an employee has gone off the rails in some respect. And then it gets very freaky and she falls asleep on the beach. The beach, the coast—is there a particular place you have in mind, like ‘Hilly Fields,’ that you are singing about? It’s a winter beach, an East Coast beach, probably near the village of Southwold. There is a nice wintry beach if you come on Southwold and you go onto the beach and go left. I had some weird experiences up there and that’s the place that’s in my mind, but of course the beach can be used as a metaphor and it’s really interesting to toy with it. There’s a lot of beaches on the new album. There’s another track, ‘A Long Way to the Beach.’ I don’t know—a beach just has resonance. There’s something enormously psychedelic about a beach and that is the sea and it’s all rippling and it’s changing colors and it’s moving about and it’s never the same, so you’ve always got a psychedelic wallpaper on a beach. … You have the absolutely flat horizon like a Dali painting, those weird empty horizons when it’s just flat as far as the eye can see. I’ve also spent a lot of time sailing people’s boats, so I’ve spent a lot time around the sea. So you’re not always locked in a room somewhere with your Porta-studio? Yeah, I am. I’m not on boats anymore. I am locked away obsessing over my work. But I like it and I get satisfaction from it. VISIT NICK NICELY AT MYSPACE. COM/NICKNICELY OR www.willem.to/nicknicely. NICK’S NEW SONG, “CHANGE IN CHARMAINE,” IS AVAILABLE FOR YOUR LISTENING PLEASURE AT SOUNDCLOUD.COM/ NICK-NICELY. 61

SCIENTIST Interview by Tom Chasteen Photography by Ward Robinson One of the originators of dub music, Scientist (born Hopeton Brown) mixed his first hit record when he was a mere thirteen years of age. In the decades that followed, he engineered at the Studio One studio, and had a pivotal role in Roots Radics. He will be re-creating the legendary Rids The World Of The Curse Of The Evil Vampires with the Roots Radics live in L.A. for the October 17 Dubquake festival, and joined Dub Club’s Tom Chasteen to discuss dub, thai food, and what it was like to grow up in Jamaica. Why bats? Why vampires? Here’s why. When you’re listening to that thing and you hear the tape rewinding, that is similar to bats flying. Are vampire movies popular in Jamaica? Barnabas Collins with Dark Shadows—a very popular movie in Jamaica. We used to watch it at night before we go to bed and get scared. There’s something creepy about black and white movies. Which was your first album that was themed? Scientist Vs Prince Jammy. Jammy never mixed one song on that album. Jammy’s was from one political wing and [Producer Henry] Junjo [Lawes] was from the other political wing so it was like mixing oil and water—then Jammy was trying to become a record producer and Junjo was a producer so there was a conflict of interest right there. All these other producers would believe that Jammy was not giving them the full arm and was holding back to make his album sound better. I wasn’t trying to become a producer at that time so other people wanted to work with me. Plus what I was doing back in those time——everybody think, ‘Oh, this is crazy! What kind of weird sound is that?’ and all that stuff that they were talking. If you read Roger Steffens’ Reggae International, everything that I spoke about with these moving theaters and these type of digital console—if you go back and read that book with Roger Steffens, I spoke about all that in 1970. Why did people think your sound was weird? Well, anything new—when the Wright Brothers first built the first aircraft it was weird and crazy. Nobody wanted to go inside of it. Anything new. The mix was different. Everybody was doing everything pretty much straightforward, but marijuana really opens up other parts of your brains. A lot people think Tubby was a tough guy but he was really more like a white-collar Christian. He and Jammy never smoked so they never got that vibe from the music like me. That’s a big part of it. Marijuana inspiration. That’s what made my thing a little bit different from the rest of them at that time. Again, Jamaicans weren’t really immersed in that type of stuff. It was most of the people in the U.K. Nobody plays dub in Jamaica. Even then when it was coming out? Nope. When you first started at Tubby’s, you were how old—13? Like 16. You were skipping school to go to Tubby’s and already mixing records—like hit records? When I was supposed to be in school? Yeah, the first record I mixed went number 1—with Barrington Levy. But all that was when I was supposed to be in school. Playing hooky in Jamaica. When did you start working with Roots Radics in the studio? The heart of the Radics is the rhythm but there was something about them that was hard—it seemed like it was a good fit with your mixing style. It had this really hard, tough quality to it. Style plays very hard. He bangs the dums really hard. But the bottom line is undoubtedly—he had hits after hits and a lot of classic reggae. The Radics played with almost all the Jamaican dub. Sister Nancy—you can keep picking them all night. That’s what’s good with the Radics, they became Channel One furniture—they were there everyday. I recorded a lot of songs with them. Three songs every day—they were always there at the studio. You’re doing Evil Vampires live at Dubquake—I don’t think that’s been done before. This particular album never been done. This is the first time I’m going to be seeing any of the Radics outside of Jamaica. I’ve never seen them. Never seen Flabba tour with Israel Vibration. I’m sorry—the only person I’ve seen—one time—is Style Scott. I mixed a dub album for him, and that was what? ‘80-something. But I haven’t seen whole Radics or anything since I left Jamaica in ‘85. Why do you think dub is so popular in California? Because of you. You and the Dub Club. Yeah, but it was already popular before we started the Dub Club so there’s got to be other reasons. California has a lot of people that smoke marijuana when they see these dubs play and they have all these lights go off in their head—but undoubtedly in Echo Park, the Dub Club. I get calls from Jamaica and everywhere and they credit the Dub Club as the number one Reggae spot in California.

“Nobody plays dub in Jamaica.” The album is a very well-known album around the world. And a lot of people want to see the Radics—like, damn, why didn’t this happen ten years ago? It’s a really special show because in the history of dub music, if you said there was ten all time classic dub albums, this album is one of the top ten or even top five classic dub albums, period, ever made. And dub is a big influential music all over the world and you’re redoing it with you—the original mixer and the original musicians playing on it live. Thanks to you and Dub Club. Thanks but I just typed up the flyer! No but seriously, thank you and Dub Club—I treasure the Dub Club. I tell you, when I come to the Dub Club, I hear you people play a lot of songs I totally forget about, don’t ever remember the artists. Well you mixed so many songs—how many songs would you mix in one day? At least five times … seven days a week … times four … times 365 … a lot of songs. I am becoming like Coxsone now. I remember I was in the studio with him and he was scratching his head—who was that again? Because there were so many songs. Why is it that Jamaica makes so much music? I never really thought of why but back in Jamaica right—well, here’s one of the reasons I think Jamaica makes so much music. Sometimes the producer booked three hours and this is what he wants. He wants you to mic the whole band, record and mix it—in three hours. So as a result, nowhere else in the world are people taking three hours to make one record. They might take three hours just to set up the drum set. So because of that fast turnover rate is one of the reasons why we put out so many records. Fast turnover rate with good quality. The same thing with like, Chinese food. It’s like Chinese food. So because there wasn’t enough money to spend too long on each thing. Yeah—most producers didn’t have too much money. The majority of the producers—they have a lot of up and coming producers. They 64

didn’t have somebody like Scientist on for like $50. I wanted to go in the studio and mix in one hour. Lots of songs like that so as a result you find me mixing up to ten songs a day. Was there a lot of cultural energy in the country from being independent from England? Did that lead to all this music? It lead to a bunch of things undoubtedly. But you must remember before it was reggae, it was rocksteady with Ken Boothe and that’s a huge catalogue between a lot of people. That’s an important catalogue there with Studio One and that’s a huge one, too. But dub is like the last chapter. It’s like different books of the Bible. Then you have dubstep which is the New Testament of dub. Dub and reggae influenced so much music around the world. What do you think about dubstep? I love it. I endorse it a lot. I am going to the U.K.—I did this new album, Scientist Launches Dubstep In Outer Space. Red Bull is one of the sponsors. I get a lot of good feedback. I like changing style. It is a compliment. It doesn’t take away from me one bit because if other people didn’t find what you do interesting they’re going to move on to something else. But the fact that you have a whole generation embrace it, it’s saying something in and of itself. It’s good. I love the dubstep. Even the guys last night, they were pretty good. Variety, Tom—variety. Like yesterday I was eating Indian food and now I come and have some Thai food. I love variety. I can’t just eat Jamaican food. America is a place where all nations live so you find a different variety of food—I love it. Reggae to me is Jamaican food and dubstep is Indian food—it’s just a different variety of music. It’s all music at the end of the day. They say there’s only two kinds of music— good music and bad music. Yeah. And what’s bad to you, might look good to somebody else. Because my grandfather, when he first heard the reggae—‘Why is all that bass going bwoh-bwoh bwoh-bwoh?’ Because before reggae and rocksteady, don’t forget quadrille—don’t forget that, too. Quadrille and then ska, then rocksteady, reggae, dub, dubstep, pop.

What kind of music did your parents like? Quadrille—that was their music in the ‘40s and ‘30s. So they would go out and there would be musicians playing. And dominoes and drinking and eating and dancing. And drinking their white rum. Those were the decent days in Jamaica before the politics infested it. After the independence then they had all these politicians. I think during British rule—I’m not sure, I think there was a two-party system. But after the independence and you have the different music, you find that politicians got aligned with the musicians somehow and then there were a lot of different changes. Make no mistake, the reggae and the dancehall is a big fuel to the politics. Because of the content of the lyrics, you have a lot of people who look up to DJs and if these DJs are talking like that then it’s cool to be like that because he’s the man and it’s popular and that’s why Jamaica has some of the violence. It’s the same thing in American music and what I’ve started to figure out is the association with the different crimes in American music. Like people who do drive by shootings, you ask them what kind of music they’re listening to. It’s not Michael Jackson and Smokey Robinson, right? We have a pretty good idea what they’re listening to. And if you go into Jamaican prisons and you ask all the guys who are in there for guns and shooting, we know they are listening to dance hall. And if you should get all the white collar guys who are in prison and ask them what they listen to, you find they listen to Frank Sinatra. So we should ban Frank Sinatra. It’s just a different association with the different people who do crimes and the music they listen to. Tom is calm and collected—he’s listening to roots music. I think it has an effect on the crowd—I can see that from DJing. You can change the mood of a crowd just from the songs you play. Not just the lyrics but the sound. The sound and if everybody’s drunk and if it was some kind of a thing—because that’s Tubby’s. And it was either you or I and people

were either too irie or drunk and the rude boys were there, you just blink at somebody and it ends up in a shooting. Tell me that story again about the Clarks. They had brought me into a shoe store in Jamaica that sells Clarks in the downtown area, so usually when police Trinity want to find a wanted man they go to a Tubby’s dance. And Tubby’s was playing nearby there and Trinity walks into the dance. Trinity is the police officer? Yeah. So he observed everybody wearing Clarks, so: ‘Everybody wearing Clarks is going to jail tonight!’ The next second everybody took off their Clarks. So: ‘Everybody barefooted is going to jail tonight!’ So this Thai place we’re in—you’ve taken a lot of the bands that come through here. That’s always hard for me because Jamaican musicians are the most picky people when it comes to food—it’s true, right? Yeah, but I personally can’t just eat Jamaican food—just eating Jamaican food every day. I like variety. I know how to make papaya salad now. I don’t quite do the same as here but I’m almost there. You should ask them for the recipe. They aren’t gonna give me that shit—its like asking to let me sleep with his wife! What’s a good Jamerican dish? There’s smoked tuna that Trader Joe’s sells and, it’s a bit of a Jamerican Indian dish—with Indian spices with the smoked tuna from Trader Joes with rice and beans. I should cook you a meal. I cook just as good as I mix—its’ a form of mixing but this is food mixing. Mixing ingredients the same as mixing sounds? Basically the same thing. SCIENTIST PERFORMS ‘RIDS THE WORLD OF THE CURSE OF THE EVIL VAMPIRES’ LIVE WITH THE ROOTS RADICS ON SAT., OCT. 16, AT DUBQUAKE AT THE ECHOPLEX, 1154 GLENDALE BLVD., ECHO PARK. $15$25 / 6 PM / ALL AGES. COMPLETE TWO-DAY LINE-UP AT ATTHEECHO. COM OR DUBQUAKE.COM. INTERVIEW

EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN Interview by Daiana Feuer Illustration by Luke McGarry Berlin’s indestructible Einstürzende Neubauten are in the midst of a 30th anniversary tour that expands the usual ceremony into two separate shows in each city—one as ‘normal’ a performance as Neubauten can be said to give and one a showcase of rarities and short films designed to set up a direct dialogue between the band and the audience. What’s the most romantic thing about Einstürzende Neubauten? Alex Hacke (bass/guitar/vocals): We inspired a few marriages. One girl from Texas got married to a boy from Norway because they met on our website and love our music. There have been a few marriages because of our band. I think that’s very romantic. Though I think we’ve inspired a few divorces as well. You’re doing this elaborate tour with a big production now, but what would be going on if this was 30 years ago? Things would be pretty freeform actually. Back then in the early days we never knew a complete set. We only knew how to start the show and how to finish it. In between was completely random and improvised. We lived our lives to the fullest. We would not waste a lot of time on sleeping and stuff like that. Did you run into a lot of power issues? A very funny thing was when we played in the very south of Italy, on the heel of the boot of Italy. We played an outdoor show near a village by the seaside. It took them days before to gather up enough electricity to run our PA for our show. Many transformers were there just to get the whole thing running, and there were so many delays and technical problems until finally it was ready to go. However, as we were ready to enter the stage, Andrew decides he is hungry and he picks up a toaster and wants to toast bread. He got a short circuit and the concert blacked out and just with the toasting of bread, he managed to black out the whole area. The town went black. Whole villages in the distance went black. Andrew managed to suck out the energy of all of the heel of Italy. What’s a good metaphor to describe your songwriting? I mean, our main goal is still to generate energy in some raw power between us and the audience. Let’s not say older, but as you get more mature and wiser you know how to handle your energies better. You know how to be more economic with them. I like to compare it to boxing. A young boxer is full of aggression. You’re wild and strong and that’s how you win the matches. But if you get more experience and older, you have to find a way to decide where and when to place those winning punches. That’s what we got good at. Also, after the years we created an even larger INTERVIEW

scale of dynamics in our music. It used to be everything up front in the music. Now we can be very deep and intimate and quiet which makes the breakouts so much stronger. How has the perception of dynamics and noise changed from the early days? When we started we were incorporating pure noise in our music and working with loops and sampling sounds before there were sampling devices. That’s what we did to entertain ourselves and create our art. Back then that stuff was revolutionary. The world has changed quite a bit since then. Now it’s hard to find pop production that doesn’t make use of loops and noise and dynamics. In R&B and hip-hop, to make a track happening, you have to incorporate these elements. As the world is changing around us, our research continues and we try to find other ways to entertain people and seduce them into liking us. We get better at what we do and we try never to repeat ourselves and to be totally unpredictable. What seduced you into making music? First of all, I was pretty lucky that I could maintain the dream. I quit school without any examination. I walked out of school when I was 14 or 15 and decided I was going to be a musician. I cleared my locker and went home. I was lucky that this worked out. Whatever amount of talent I had was sufficient to make a proper career out of it. It was good for me to know that was the thing I wanted to be doing. What did your parents say when you came home? They were happy that I knew what I wanted to do. They were deep in problems of their own with divorce and all these things that adults and parents go through. They were happy that I wasn’t too much traumatized by them on the surface. By now I can say I definitely was traumatized badly. No, but I think that I was taking my life into my own hands to make their lives easier. Mine would have said, ‘Yeah, right—go do your homework.’ Now it’s different. It’s very hard for young people to make up their mind about doing anything because there’s so much entertainment and distraction hammering on to their little heads from all sides. The first time I visited the States was in 1982. I was 17. People there told me, ‘No, Alex, where you come from you need drugs to enjoy television.

Here, television is a drug.’ And, yes, I experienced this when I came to the States. I was transfixed in front of the television just from the fact you had 30 or 40 channels. Where I came from there were three channels. They started at 8 in the morning and stopped at 12 o’clock at night, then entertainment was over. At night we had to invent our own reality and entertainment, which was a good thing. Now kids don’t have to do that. They can lean back, and they get disturbed when something doesn’t work, if the iPod doesn’t work or they can’t go online. In 2000, we released an album called Silence is Sexy. At that time it seemed the most disturbing thing that could happen to this generation is the event of silence. When the stream of music and information stops on the radio channel, that’s a traumatizing thing. What’s going to happen to us? If we talk about information, there’s so much out there and it’s hard to find qualified information. I think in general, using the tools and the internet and stuff, we will have to learn to get more specific about what we want and who you want to link up with. Right now greed is the main influence in these social networks. You want to be friends with as many people as possible. In the future, when a certain overkill has happened, it will be about specialized information. We will have to get more refined and into detail. Basically it’s all out there, you just have to know where to find it. You have to hook up with the people who are in the know. Do you mean some sort of reversal of mass entertainment? Like the thing we’re doing now, we are not going on tour in the old-fashioned pirate style where you enter a city and conquer it, throw your shit at the local audience and leave. We decided to stay two days in each city and really have the chance to invite people into our world by offering one type of show one day and a completely different type of evening the next day. Even for us it’s nicer that way, to stay in a town a little longer, and to continue conversations you started one day the next day! This is not possible on a typical rock ‘n’ roll tour. Despite the internet’s soul-sucking faults, your band has relied heavily on it in the past.

We managed to utilize it for our purposes, at least for a while. The music industry is complaining and going down, and of course they come up with their own strategies to protect what’s left or cover their loss. For us, it was just to have the one-on-one feedback from the people that love what we do instead of always conversing with middlemen, like A&R or promotion people who tell you how to go about things. We wanted to invent stuff and come up with ideas and get an immediate direct response from the actual people. The Supporter project was essentially about doing a constant live show through the internet. Everything we did was applauded or ignored, which for an entertainer is a great situation to be in. You don’t have to deal with the vacuum of projecting your stuff into nothingness. How can noise be peaceful? I don’t know if you can limit peace to certain styles or define it with certain styles of music. I just know in my life every event has been accompanied by music and influenced by the music that I chose to listen to. It is basically what music does. It reassures you of the fact that you’re not alone. It gives you strength. It helps you make decisions and makes you strong. That’s what music did for me and that’s what music does in the best case still for me. It reassures me that not all is lost. That could be any music. It’s now very hard to find anything with integrity. So much of what you listen to has been manufactured. Kids get hooked and link to things and in a lot of cases it’s wrong and scary and bad. Of course there is still great stuff out there. If I manage to do a little of what music has done for me, for other people, then I’m happy and proud and satisfied. I don’t want world domination. I don’t want to be particularly wealthy. I want to do what I want to do and support myself with doing the music that I do and continue doing that music. EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN ON WED., DEC. 1, AT THE HENRY FONDA THEATER, 6126 HOLLYWOOD BLVD., HOLLWOOD. 9 PM / $30 / ALL AGES. GOLDENVOICE.COM AND THUR., DEC. 2, AT THE ECHOPLEX, 1154 GLENDALE BLVD., ECHO PARK. 8:30 PM / $20-$25 / 18+. ATTHEECHO. COM. VISIT EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN AT NEUBAUTEN.ORG. 67

DAM-FUNK by AARON GIESEL

69 ALBUM

REVIEWS

Plus columns and guides from Mahssa Taghinia and Carlos Niño

84 COMICS 86 BOOKS

Sweaters, Nick Blinko and Justin Pearson

92 ART Center for Land Use Interpretation and Museum of Jurassic Technology

96 FILM Counter Culture, Counter Cinema’s MM Serra, “Everything”’s Jelinek + Whetzell and a guide from Tom Fitzgerald

JUSTIN PEARSON by WARD ROBINSON

THE INTERPRETER

MAHSSA TAGHINIA Intro by Kristina Benson Photography by Aaron Giesel

Mahssa slings records at Amoeba, curates comps for the British-based label B-Music/Finders Keepers, and is an internationally-known DJ. In spite of this mélee of activity, she found time to give us the lowdown on her top ten favorite femme-fronted ‘60s and ’ 70s absolute belters. Margo Guryan Take A Picture (Bell, 1968) “How cool are you when everyone wants to cover and record your tunes? Jackie DeShannon, Mama Cass, Julie London, Carmen McRae, and even Shirley Manson wanted a piece of Guryan’s talent and song—and deservingly so. The multi-instrumentalist John Hill accompanies her in production efforts, framing her wispy vocals and providing a funky hard-hitting record with demanding melodies and brimming with futuristic modulations and off-kilter time changes. I dig this sound—it’s what I love about United States of America, Susan Christie, Fifty Foot Hose and the brilliant Broadcast. I celebrate this record alongside my collection of other major label failures of the era become modern-day classics. Says Margo: ‘I saw my album in the 39-cent bin in the late ’60s, but the last copy I saw on eBay sold for $192.50! I still can’t figure that one out.’”

Marie LaforÊt “Marie Doceur, Marie COLÈRE” 45 (Festival, 1966)

“The discussion came up recently amongst my friends in regards to whether or not playing out cover songs is a floorkiller or floorfiller. I’d like to go as far as to say that sometimes the cover blows the original away, as little details—such as a heavier drum sound—can really put the record over the top and send the dancefloor into a frenzy. This musical cover of the Rolling Stones’ ‘Paint It Black’ can be found on one of those Femmes de Paris comps, but for y’all that care, the 45 ALWAYS sounds better.”

Marsha Hunt “(Oh No! Not) the Beast Day” 45

(Amiga, 1974)

“Top funk rocker from the Eastern Bloc. Killer total belter from actress gone progressive pop pinup Kati Kovacs. This version was originally recorded in Kati’s native Hungarian tongue but I absolutely love the German version. It’s got the ultimate crazed-raindance breakdown to get those 3 AM dance floor beat freaks cranked! Pitch this up and play as loud as possible. Beat der Sozialisten!”

Doris Did You Give The World Some Love Today, Baby? (EMI/Odeon, 1970) “This multi-faceted LP fronted by the big-voiced blue-eyed soul-popvocalist Doris Svensson is pretty far-out compared to the Dusty Springfields and Petula Clarks that would fall under the same description. This record is a true smorgasbord filled with infectiously funk-driven boss Northern sounds, unsettling jazz-driven psychedelia, swingin’ big beat and vaudeville bizarre. This record has found a home in many a beat-diggers bag—including Madlib!”

J.C. Heavy “Mr. Deal” 45 (Admiral, 1970) “I think some of the best jams of the ’70s happened to be one-hit wonders, and definitely some of the most magical and strangest recordings live in these once abandoned 45s … only to be excavated by archaeologists and vultures today. What stone has not been unturned? Well, many—but this Mancunian-turned-Teutonic outfit is definitely googleable—as my label mate Andy Votel likes to say—yet it’s still rare shit and all code words apply: ‘monster/heavy/mod/killer/freakbeat/ trippy/in demand/mega/rare/psych.’ Frontwoman Josephine Levine SHREDS.”

Kamuran Akkor “DILO DILO Yaylalar” 45 (Istanbul Plak 1974)

“Ultimate Turkish diva takes a song Selda popularized and flipped it into a total stomper. Something was in the water in Anatolia from the years ’68 till ’76 ... The elektronik sax and Moogs laden with the bass drums and handclaps on this version rules!”

(Vertigo, 1973)

“ … is the OG Brown Sugar. Hell, some people even say that Mick Jagger wrote the song about her. Marsha did provide one of the most iconic images of the 1960s, pictured in all her untameable Afro glory as she posed naked to promote the ground-breaking musical Hair. But even more interesting and relevant are her two most amazing Afro-funk-rock cuts—one that she recorded for fast-future-forward label Vertigo, and the other ‘Hot Rod Poppa’ produced by none other than lover/fellow rocker Marc Bolan.”

Selda self-titled LP (Turkuola, 1976) “This record embodies everything I love about Middle Eastern music, yet it amazingly defies categorization, too—which is exactly what my favorite music as a whole does. It’s space-age funky progprotest folk from Anatolia. It’s chock full of electrically-treated sax and proto-polyphonic synthesizers, and the fact that Selda was one of the few Middle Eastern voices to adopt these cutting edge production techniques put this LP in its own genre. I grew up with Middle Eastern records—namely Persian and Turkish—and it was the first music I had ever been exposed to and enjoyed. This record—lovingly re-released with its full story intact by Finders Keepers—has been and always will be a pleasure.” ALBUM REVIEWS

Kati Kovács “Wind, Komm, Bring den Regen Her” 45

Ennio Morricone Il Serpente (RCA Victor 1973)

“Many sides of the Morricone canon are represented well here, but it’s all about the thriller sounds—discordant strings and experimental clatter gelled with that classic Italian lounge-pop freakout sound and waka-waka-waka guitars. It’s especially all about the track ‘Nadine,’ laced with the wordless female vocals—found in much of Morricone’s work—by the wondrously sexy Edda Dell’Orso.”

Jacqueline TaÏeb “7 Heures du Matin” 45 (Fontana 1968)

“Tunisian-born French ye-ye belter recorded her first single by age 18. Her sound is something like Yardbirds, Hardy, Gainsbourg and a heady dose of vitamin Q … Pop references to the Who, Paul McCartney and Little Richard are all over the place—the song’s about a girl fantasizing about McCartney! Talkin’ bout my g-ggeneration ...” 71

ABE VIGODA CRUSH PPM

FORT KING NAKED SHADOWS self-released

BOMBÓN LAS CHICAS DEL BOMBÓN 45 RPM

FREE MORAL AGENTS CONTROL THIS Chocolate Industries

DAM-FUNK HOOD PAS INTACT 12” Stones Throw

THE GASLAMP KILLER DEATH GATE EP Brainfeeder

NO AGE EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN Sub Pop

THE DRAGTONES “YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST” 7” Wild Records

GIZZELLE “I’M A GOOD WOMAN” 7” Wild Records

PURO INSTINCT PURO INSTINCT EP Mexican Summer

FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS PICKIN’ UP THE PIECES Dangerbird

JAIL WEDDINGS LOVE IS LAWLESS White Noise

TIJUANA PANTHERS MAX BAKER Pussy Cow

FLYING LOTUS PATTERN + GRID WORLD Warp

NITE JEWEL AM I REAL? EP Gloriette

YUK. ADWA Leaving

ALBUM REVIEWS

AMBER HALFORD

ABE VIGODA Crush PPM Crush is a drastic change from the pleasurable noise Abe Vigoda has beaten into our heads for these past few years. Abe Vigoda now projects a very ’80s sound, like a goth New Order or a fast, highenergy Depeche Mode, a fabulous blend of vintage synths combined with bass drum/high-hat heavy dance beats as precise as a drum machine and as forcefully rhythmic as a brick wall. Bright, slapback delayed guitars and perfectly written bass lines fill in the rest, while vocalist Michael Vidal sings low-range melodies with a dark and energetic tone that reveals an impressive amount of vocal control. It’s by far Abe Vigoda’s most catchy release to date. Once you’ve broken a sweat while dancing to this incredibly powerful album, a few slow tempo tracks are in order, and it’s nice to just let your body sway as Vidal softly croons “you are my consequential girl” on the track 72

“Repeating Angel.” Sure, there are a few obviously classic Abe Vigoda moments throughout Crush that evoke Skeleton and the Reviver EP, but the evolution of their songwriting has given much more feeling to that nonstop island-punk jangle. The party-time “island” theme that Abe Vigoda built their music career on hasn’t left the band entirely, but definitely isn’t the prominent focus of their songs anymore. The band has given themselves a makeover and is taking on a new audience. If the old audience has an open mind, they’re invited to follow. —Stewart Towner

DAVE VAN PATTEN

AGENT RIBBONS Chateau Crone Antenna Farm Agent Ribbons’ Chateau Crone is thoroughly rooted in sounds from the past. The sticker on the promotional version appropriately compares the band to the Shaggs and the Zombies, as does most of the press

about the Austin-by-way-of-Sacramento trio. But “retro” seems like a misnomer. Just because others have already made these sounds, it doesn’t mean this record is a retread. Yes, the band prefers crunchy guitars and strings to the synthesizers and fluff of the modern age. Yes, the riff that runs through album opener “I’m Alright” has been on pretty much every album since the garage rock revival. Certainly, waltzes like “I’ll Let You Be My Baby” and album closer “Wood, Lead, Rubber” sound like Raincoatsinspired takes on Fiddler on the Roof. But Agent Ribbons is more than a throwback band, and Chateau Crone is more than an amalgamation of influences. Rather than simply approximating old sounds, the band has successfully taken well-used elements and reconstructed them into something of their own. The result is both cozily familiar and novel, with straightforwardly clever lyrics and a better-than-most attention to song construction. I love it, and anticipate keeping it in rotation for a while. —Geoff Geis

WALT GORECKI

AIAS A La Piscina Captured Tracks Bridging that gap between the fuzzy garage rock of the Vaselines or Vivian Girls and the shiny Euro pop of France Gall and Francoise Hardy, Aias employ distorted guitars and thudding drums as well as they do silky harmonies and moody melodies. A La Piscina starts strong: a buzzing amp, syrupy singin’ and a tried-n-true bass drum thump announce “Tu Manes” as an anthem for those who dream of running wild through city streets. Because Aias’ crystalline vocals are sung in Catalan, I don’t

ALBUM REVIEW SUBMISSIONS

L.A. RECORD invites all local musicians to send music for review —anything from unreleased MP3s and demos to finished full albums. Send digital to danc@ larecord.com and physical to:

P.O. Box 21729 Long Beach, CA 90801

know what they’re saying half the time, but these simple songs head right for the heart. While the title track is a bit too sweet even for me, it’s followed by one of my favorites, “La Truita,” which reprises the album’s ambient intro and hoists it onto the rock ‘n’ roll dance floor with power chords and sing-along harmonies. The big pop feel returns for the rest of the album with blissful vocals, double-tracked and delayed, harmonized and reverb’d propelled by crashing cymbals and insistent rhythm guitar, the trumpet punctuating the text like a footnote that clarifies everything. “Vine Amb Mi,” which might have been a meandering dirge, features the best trumpet line of the album, with a powerful, familiar melody. A La Piscina draws upon many oft-utilized conventions, but succeeds in creating a sound that allows for distinction as well as homage. —Drew Denny

DAVE VAN PATTEN

ALEJANDRO’S AWESOME SURF BAND

Alejandro’s Awesome Surf Band self-released ALBUM REVIEWS

There’s a theory that time isn’t linear, and we humans are each from different time periods. Alejandro’s Awesome Surf Band will make you a believer—their sound is so authentic that they validate their own name. When they play, they fall into a séance-like trance. Watching it is like watching the hypnotic rise and fall of the ocean. Surf music generally means an absence of vocals (except for the raucous audience claps and cheers at the end of some tracks), but Alejandro’s guitar wails all the necessary emotions that the absent vocalist would project. He rips so well, his fingertips have ceased to exist. The rest of his band has great chemistry and doesn’t miss a beat. From song one, “The Mad Arab,” their debut is a beautiful set of atmospheric songs. They do an outstanding cover of ’90s surf revival band Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet’s “Having an Average Weekend” with all the reverb you’ll ever need. “The Western,” arguably the best song on the record, spawns a vision of two cowboys preparing for their dance of death. The final track, “The Slow Song,” sends you on a long ride through an everlasting pipeline, fingers ripping through the curling wave. Alejandro’s Awesome Surf Band is an awesome surf band! —Edwina Aguayo

sibly dance to. Batwings Catwings’ ferocious punk rock energy is irresistible and undeniable, particularly on the frenetic opening track “Endless Summer.” Its relentless drumkit stomp and violent guitar stabs are enough to make any listener at least entertain the notion of moshing with whoever’s in closest proximity. Elsewhere, the psychedelia-tinged title track finds the band exploring the use of buzzing electronic textures and slower tempos without sacrificing any of the attack that defines their sound. “Misbehaving” may be the most direct amalgamation of their former bands’ styles, fusing dance-punk rhythms with Poblete’s sassy, Riot Grrrl-esque snarl. What starts off as a fuzz-bass driven slowdance quickly erupts into a cathartic, disco-flavored dance party, led by drummer Clay Johnson’s bouncy, cowbell-laden beat. Somewhere out there, a jealous Chris Cornell is shedding one solitary tear. —Amorn Bholsangngam

BOMBÓN Las Chicas del Bombón 45 RPM

BATWINGS CATWINGS Peacock Collection self-released If that last ten years of music have taught us anything, it’s that transplanting a singer from one beloved band to another usually produces disastrous results. Such experiments have yielded the shameful likes of Audioslave and Velvet Revolver, projects that only serve to exacerbate their fans’ lust for reunion tours. However, Batwings Catwings, fronted by former Puppy Dog vocalist Dana Poblete and featuring members of the now-defunct the Press Fire!, has reversed this unfortunate trend with their thrilling debut EP. Fueled by discordant guitar melodies and a propulsive rhythm section, Peacock Collection contains perhaps the most chaotic music you can posALBUM REVIEWS

DAVE VAN PATTEN

THE CHAPIN SISTERS Two Lake Bottom

SARA ESCAMILLA

NATHAN MORSE

charine “ooohs” and “ahhhs” of poppier tracks “La Playa” and “Oh Baby,” Bombón’s members manage to escape the cliché of the cute all-girl neo-doo-wop trios we’ve seen so much of lately by seriously knowing how to rip on their instruments without masking them in a bunch of fuzz. That’s not to say this record isn’t awesomely raw: after all, it was recorded to ½ inch analog tape in a punk house in a little port town called San Pedro. —Camella Lobo

Chances are you probably already know San Pedro is the proverbial underdog of the greater Los Angeles area when it comes to musical output. Yes, the Minutemen came out of San Pedro and yes, Mike Watt is still really involved in keeping its constantly burgeoning punk scene alive. But San Pedro rarely seems to represent itself beyond the south side of the 110 and the 405 these days. Bombón just may change that. The band’s debut LP, Las Chicas del Bombón, is 25 minutes of ’60s surf-inspired garage punk jams that ride the line between the charm of Beach Blanket Bingo and the soundtrack that might accompany Link Wray surfing on a coffin. The record’s opening track, “El Cowboy,” launches into a realm of swaggering rockabilly, which is quickly sideswiped by later tracks like “Fangbanger” and “Je Vous Veux” that showcase the band’s dark side with ghoulish organ, eerie soundscapes, and vocals that seem to float out of the ether of low tide. Despite the sac-

The Chapin Sisters have some of the strongest, tightest, most mournful harmonies ever to shove your soul down into your spleen. While Two is no masterpiece (they could use a librettist to give their songs’ vocals a depth to match their tone), this album showcases Lily and Abigail Chapin’s inhuman talents as they spiral ever onward towards increased complexity. Though “two” could stand for their togetherness, it also starkly reminds us of sister Jessica Craven’s departure since the first album. More sparse, and deeper, without Craven’s lynchpin harmonies and string plucking, Two is the loneliest number whether its protagonists love someone who won’t love back (“I Can Feel”), sing a prayer of eternity to a loved one seemingly not corporeal (“Sweet Light”), or perform a rain-dance that makes getting a husband sound like a Sisyphean chore (“Digging a Hole”). Two’s best song, “Paradise,” is also its creepiest, with spartan piano straight out of their sister’s dad’s horror films, and lyrics of devotion that sound so slavish, it’s quite possible the narrator is singing to heroin itself. It’s only near the album’s end, on a song called “Left All Alone,” that we hear hopeful tones, something like the Chapin Sisters of 2005, who used to cover Britney Spears and coo about boys. If only the Chapin lyrics can grow to match their darker mood, they’ll be the best folk band in Los Angeles—no doubt with an assist from the musicians they’ve driven to suicide. —Dan Collins

While our lengthy summer argues with what the calendar says is autumn’s start, the city of Los Angeles and its culture too are undergoing changes. Over the last year, we saw the closure of venues such as McWorld, Echo Pulco—a DIY venue/ space that was once the Cafe Mariposa—and L’keg (which is supposed to undergo new ownership and re-open soon), and Hyperion Tavern and Echo Curio are the latest victims of steppedup ABC enforcement. But the streets, in contrast, are offering open arms to a dying music scene. For many people, Downtown L.A.’s artwalk provides a reason to roam the streets and cull their tastes with art and liquor. But for others, the artwalk provides music fans a chance to discover and enjoy some of their favorite bands. At any given artwalk people can enjoy live music sets at the Five Star, the Hive, the Downtown Independent, the Smell and sometimes the sidewalks and streets themselves. Several bands such as the Mormons, the Ferocious Few, and Hello My Name is Red can be found moving from location to location, playing nourishing songs for the hungry masses. With galleries featuring less traditional art and throwing in instead with music fans, it seems that the monthly event in Downtown has turned into a broader creature encompassing painting, sculpture, performance art AND music as viable forms of art. It’s great to have this non-traditional space for live music to exist, but the real question is who in the city will realize the people’s need for music? And when will they cut us some slack on our scene so that we can have venues that make underground music more accessible? In other news, two long-awaited releases are finally hitting the shelves at local record stores. First is the new Nobunny album on Goner records. Featuring his unique brand of fuzz pop, Nobunny shares some of his live favorites such as “Motorhead With Me” and other gems from his repertoire. And finally, the Moonhearts s/t LP is now out on Tic Tac Totally. Recorded on a Tascam 388 8-track earlier this year, the record mixes surf punk, thrash and noise—with the help of Ty Segall—and kicks serious ass from side A to B. I recommend getting it on vinyl, as the A-side ends with “Darkstar part I” and the B-side begins with “Darkstar part II,” but as a slightly different track which wouldn’t flow as well on CD. While all the songs feature foot-in-the-face lyrics, fuzz riffs and heavy beats, my personal favorite is “Eat My Shorts.” With lyrics like “Can’t curb my anger/so I skate some more/I skate right down to the Quik-E store...” that are taken right out of a ‘Simpsons’ episode, and a blistering saxophone solo from the mysteriously named Lisa S., this track is pure punk. This record will properly blow any listener’s mind. I know for a fact the record is sold out at Amoeba in Hollywood—I had to get my copy in SF—and at some local stores, owners haven’t even heard of the band. (“Do you mean the Moonrats?”) This is one of those releases you can only hear with your ear to the ground. But if you can catch Nobunny and the Moonhearts at Spaceland November 10, you can probably pick up the new records there. ALSO RECOMMENDED: Black Apples November residency Mondays at the Echo and their LP out soon on Albino Crow Records; Dirt Dress’ November residency Mondays at Spaceland. (And new Cigarette Bums’ record out in November!) 73

BROCK POTUCEK

CLEANERS FROM VENUS/ DEVON WILLIAMS S/T Split EP Burger Burger Records has served up an interesting pairing: Devon Williams and Cleaners From Venus together on the same four-song EP. These songs do not sit comfortably within the confines of “pop.” Yes, the music is direct, brimming with major chords, rhyming couplets and positive vibrations. Yet something more is being offered here than light, youth-oriented fare. There’s a semblance of sophistication, particularly with the Devon Williams songs: “All My Living Goes

to You” breathes a John Lennon-esque whimsy and idealism over a stable skeleton of perfect sound. “Favor Tree” has a cultivated craft behind its simplicity. The most surprising thing is how much the Devon Williams songs sound like vintage Cleaners. The Cleaners From Venus side of the record is Martin Newell in fine form. “Wake Up and Dream” chimes brightly on guitars as a breeze troubles a barber-fresh cut and a young girl spills an ice cream cone on the sunny side of the street. “Wooded Hills” is a charming pastoral ode to adolescence, in the mold of Ray Davies or Pete Townshend. If there is anything to criticize, it may be that the production of the Cleaners side is a little too pristine— part of the charm of the Cleaners has always been their lo-fidelity, that sepia-toned fog that usually hangs over the proceedings. Yet, as the fickle wheel of nostalgia spins toward his favor, Martin Newell is at the cusp of a fullscale revival, which leaves hope for a Golden Age to yet arrive. —Eyad Karkoutly

lisastrouss

HALLOWEEN SWIM TEAM ANTENNAAA EPs

How To Be A Microwave Monophonic synthesizers have reclaimed electronic music! Magical and mystical sound fog has left predictable visibility low. This time around, you’ll have to use your ears to get an idea of what signal the three ANTENNAAA EPs 74

LISASTROUSS

DAM FUNK Hood Pass Intact 12” Stones Throw The sound is characterized, of course, by Dam’s trademark ’80s keyboard sounds, his fattened and processed 808 and 909 beats, and his catchy G-Funk influenced hooks; as usual, the songs are lushly layered baths of synth tones propelled by hip-hop and R&B beats. This latest batch of tracks has the added bonus of featuring an ensemble of heavyweights on the production and vocal end: the title track backs Compton’s Most Wanted MC Eiht, “4 My Homies” features Slave’s former drummer and vocalist Steve Arrington, “How It Be Between U & Me” is co-produced by Dallas DJ and producer JT Donaldson (more well-known as J Tilla), and “Come On Outside” is re-edited by devonwho. The 12” still emerges with a cohesive sound that’s clearly Dam through-and-through

but with contributions that energize, rather than compromise, the original songs. Most impressive, particularly on “Hood Pass Intact,” is the fact that the lyrics and vocals are successfully presented as though they were always supposed to be there in the first place. The 12” genre, at its worst, can offer a set of unnecessary reinterpretations on a perfectly good original that go together about as well as a Cake Wrecks layer cake; this 12” however, pulls together a cohesion of funk, nu-jazz, and rap artists whose past and present works contextualize Dam’s vibe: a mix of R&B, funk, G-funk, and hip-hop. —Kristina Benson

DAVE VAN PATTEN

DANTE vs. ZOMBIES “Yes, I’m Stalking You” 7” Albino Crow

are broadcasting. ANTENNAAA.i: Swift moving melodies and breakdowns using multiple synthesizers and programmed electric drums leave the listener in a slightly numb yet happier state. Cold keys develop into joy-stricken instruments, slowly revealing the humans behind the vintage circuitry. Man is making machinery his bitch. Yes, it’s danceable, but it’s not dance music. Narratives pull you into the soul of the songs, completing each transmission. For dessert, HST serves up live and remixed versions of previously released songs from their album The End of the Sky. ANTENNAAA.ii: Metallic drums and funky basslines create a lifeless, sciencefiction atmosphere. Chords from the future are modulated by good old-fashioned knob twiddling as they revolve around a dying star named Dissonance just before it erupts with live tom-tom drumming, bringing the opening track “time blankets” to a close. Then “they got computers.i” begins, an entire track of just a creepy high-pitched vocal with heavy effects writhing through it. Next is “science fiction,” an aptly-named piece with rhythm and bass that evokes a samba vibe. “There’s nothing to do here at the end of the world,” sings Dustin. “It’s everything and more than I expected. Wobble wobble.” It’s a slow jam, but don’t let

Forget everything else you read here: We know what you need. You need to be listening to the new Dante vs. Zombies single, “Yes, I Am Stalking You.” Comprised of Dante White Aliano & Jeff Ehrenberg (from the Starlite Desperation, a band sorely missed by multitudes), Gabe Hart (from the oft-adored Jail Weddings), and several other sure-to-be-funat-parties musicians—the Like’s Laena Geronio, Jail Wed’s Jada Wagensomer and Matt Polley from We Break Cameras—Dante vs. Zombies is a perfect cocktail at the end of a long day. “Yes I Am Stalking You” is a fuzz-rock poppy treat with a pulled-back, shockingly restrained rhythm that somehow still makes you want to bop. Yes, bop! And the Bside, “Branded by Nuns,” will be on heavy, heavy dance rotation in your life, guaranteed. The songs are beyond catchy and incredibly well put-together. They’re the girl you see walking down the street who’s dressed so cool, it blows your mind. This chick knows way more than you do! These songs are your new crack, but easier and less dangerous to score. Word on the streets (where I score my crack) has it that their live show is tons, simply tons of fun. Hear it now, buy this 7”, thank us later. —Chesney Higgins

that fool you as your own body begins to, well, wobble. Save some booty-shaking room for the track featuring Michael Nhat, because it’s goddamn delicious: think Legend of Zelda if spaceships were making pulsating noises while hovering above Link’s head throughout the game. Finally, the echoing percussion and reverby leads of “diamonds” strike a somber tone of obvious distaste for someone who is not who he/ she appears to be. ANTENNAAA.iii: Cue the ’80s Michael Jackson-esque wailing synth, and now dive into a drum roll: you’ve stowed away on “some kind of spaceship.” Synth leads, bass, and rhythm chords all combine to attack any solar system that would defy this electronic bliss. Get comfortable, because you are tangled up in instrument cables and floating in space. Keeping you on the edge of your suction cups, “modern times” is an instrumental track that orchestrates nonstop key fingering with some start/stop and noise madness, all on top of the Team’s most danceable beat yet on this EP trilogy. The sequel song “they got computers.ii” sounds like a robotic chipmunk describing his alien abduction—and then the whole series gets hijacked by Jonathan Tramp and Michael Nhat, each doing their own tracks with the most advance remix technology possible. —Stewart Towner ALBUM REVIEWS

all that really matters is the feel of the music, and it’s bands like Fitz and the Tantrums that remind you how a truly good album can make you feel good. —Zachary Jensen

One of the joys of living in Los Angeles is that you can attend outdoor shows in November without clothes stuffed with goosedown. LACMA keeps up their jazz series through to Thanksgiving: Harold Land Jr., piano-playing son of the West Coast saxophone legend, has been performing around Los Angeles for years. On October 29, he’ll bring his tasteful sense of swing and unchanging facial expression to the courtyard with some help from local vocalist Rita Edmond. A couple of weeks later the invaluable Littleton Brothers return to share a bill. Between Jeff—the bassist—and Don—the drummer— the Littleton boys have probably played with every major jazz musician to set foot in Los Angeles in the last twenty years. Here they finally get to call the tunes. With colleges back in session, respectable halls get dusted off. That cathedral out in Westwood is hosting some of the most regal jazz available. Avant sage Ornette Coleman returns to Royce Hall with his son Denardo. They recorded their first album together in 1966 when Denardo was only 10. Witness one of the most polarizing characters in jazz—for 62 years running. A few weeks later an all-star cast will converge to honor Alice Coltrane. A recently passed legend and a tremendous holy link to the Church of John, Coltrane was a Bud Powell devotee before carrying the torch into the 1970s as the widow of Impulse! Her meditative composure and glissanding harp are regrettably over-shadowed by her social status but the proof is in the wax. Led by TV on the Radio’s Kyp Malone and featuring Nels Cline and Pharaoh Sanders, the band will dig into what could be completely amazing or a total mess. Or a little of both. Meanwhile Chucho Valdes, the Cuban Art Tatum, hits up the Luckman Fine Arts Complex on October 16 alongside his Afro-Cuban messengers. One of the most astounding pianists touring the planet, Valdes can leap from spitfire montunos to Chopin-esque agility in seconds. A rare treat in the heart of East L.A. Merry evangelical prankster Reverend Billy, with his street-corner preaching and Wayne Cochran hair-do, returns to California on October 21 for a little west coast exorcising. The Life After Shopping Gospel Choir, his rag-tag bunch of robed disciples, channel his anti-commercialism message through song. In the past year he ran a legitimate campaign for mayor of New York as well as getting arrested for putting a hex on JPMorgan Chase. It’s a sincere put-on— part Jimmy Swaggart, part Andy Kaufman. December 20, however, through the garage and up the escalator at Disney Concert Hall, the Blind Boys of Alabama will lay down some real gospel. Formed in the early ‘40s the group has found its largest audience in the 21st century performing songs by the likes of Tom Waits and Curtis Mayfield. Think they’ll cover “Pasties & a G String”? 78

SARA ESCAMILLA

FLYING LOTUS Pattern + Grid World Warp Cosmogramma was the Big Bang of the beat scene, an explosion of celestial energy from which galaxies of emulative, primordial planets were born. It was the unveiling of Flying Lotus’ own universe, an expansion of sound and scope to levels so extraterrestrial that L.A. itself is still floating somewhere outside Earth’s orbit. Follow-up EP, Pattern+Grid World, isn’t a sequel or even an addendum but rather a collection of cast-offs unfit for Cosmogramma’s pure vision. Yet these aren’t songs simply recycled and repurposed from Flying Lotus’ immense beat heap—each is its own deserving star, a fleeting mass of plasma and bass held together by the gravity of wax. “Clay” sends Lotus back to Los Angeles, blips of jazz subsumed by the squelching crush of an entire city. “Kill Your Co-workers” is a pixilated fantasy played out like the soundtrack to a dreamy, 16-bit space racer. “Time Vampires” is crucial even in concept, a corollary to the Time Nazis feared by Mike Watt. Monster closer “Physics for Everyone!” mauls it all, a former live-set staple that pulses with paralyzing glee as it compresses your chest and splinters your ribs. —Miles Clements

DAVE VAN PATTEN

FORT KING

Naked Shadows self-released

Big disclaimer: Fort King bribed us by sending a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold along with a copy of their album, Naked Shadows, virtually assuring them a review in L.A. RECORD! It doesn’t hurt that this album of contemplative, spacious, wintry folk songs mellows on you like an 18-year-old bottle of anything. Ryan Fuller’s songwriting proves so inviting and delicate on Naked Shadows, but with its sparse guitar and string arrangements, near lack of drums, and Fuller’s sweet, almost childlike voice (think of Kermit’s nephew, Robin), it almost seems too easy the first time around. Resist the urge to lay your hat on obvious folk touch-points, like its lyrics about Indians and birds, because you might miss the shy oddness of these songs. Let them trickle over you and through you, absorb the lonely lyrics, and then bring that feeling with you when you see them live. When Fuller sings, “I know you don’t love me no more—that’s what that yoga retreat was for,” he seems less sarcastic and more resigned, like the lyrics people pretend Lou Reed writes. Naked Shadows is witty and fully-formed, a premeditated simplicity. When you play it in your car, you’ll think about Ryan up on the stage, confessing the world’s sins and his own like a wise child. And when you see Fort King live, you’ll think back to the wonderful songwriting on Naked Shadows and want to hear the album all over again. Like Johnny Walker Gold, it’s a good blend. —Dan Collins

shea M gauer

FREE MORAL AGENTS Control This Chocolate Industries The new album from Mars Volta’s Isaiah “Ikey” Owens’ music collective and brainchild, Free Moral Agents, was recorded four years ago. But it sounds like it could’ve been recorded fourteen years ago—it’s very reminiscent of the albums of the trip-hop artists of that era, so Massive Attack and Portishead come to mind. The tracks at first listen are stereotypically cinematic and down-tempo, but it does break free of the bored-cool set and gets jiggy with interludes of sounds as diverse as African-sounding horns in the opener “North is Red”

to Eno/Talking Heads-style video game sounds and off-kilter strings in the überly ambitious “Aravana.” For good measure, they even throw in a heavy hittin’ number for the rock ‘n’ rollers who may have tagged along for the ride—their track “Dragon Prow” definitely got my toes tappin’ Navin Johnson-style, and I think I even caught myself doing the duck-neck. Vocalist Mendee Ichikawa’s heartbeat never goes above 50 beats per minute on any of the tracks, but isn’t that the point? If you like trip-hop, you’ll enjoy this. If you don’t like trip-hop in particular (like me), you won’t be annoyed and will actually really dig a few of the tracks. This album will probably keep some couples together for a few extra months, giving them something they both like to listen to on the way to the Farmer’s Market or yoga. -Patrick Llewellyn

WALT GORECKI

G. GREEN

“I Will Not Withdraw this Statement” 7” Malt Duck There are only so many ways one can reinterpret the narrow definition of punk music. With all the “punk” releases that get spewed out year after year, it’s hard to find something truly original or that warrants more than a handful of plays. There are exceptions, however. The first time I heard Swell Maps, for instance. Or, more recently, the first time I heard “Frustration Rock” by Tyvek. Yes, those are punk bands, but they fucked it up to the point where punk is no longer punk. These guys throw out weird notes and weird riffs and weird vocals, yet these are still congruous songs. G.Green are like that, and this three-song 7” record is especially so. “I Will Not Withdraw this Statement” is a weird punk classic with a fucked-up yet tremendously catchy guitar lead carrying the song. Andrew lets his voice go beyond the point of breaking, and though it might make you squirm when it cracks, once the song is over, you will pick the needle up and start it over again. “Looks” reminds me a bit of “Anxiety Attack” off of Christmas Island’s debut LP, with the same frantic energy and choppy phrasing minus the “oohhhs.” “The Garden” is a 5 ALBUM REVIEWS

THE INTERPRETER

CARLOS NINO

Interview by Dan Collins Photography by Aaron Giesel

Carlos Nino speaks softly and carries a huge beard, as well as a shockingly ginormous collection of toprate records that most Earthlings can only dream about. He’s celebrating his tenth anniversary of hosting ‘Spaceways,’ his weekly show on KPFK, at the end of October. He invites us to KPFK on a different anniversary: John Coltrane’s birthday: “A lot of wonderful things have happened in this room...” John Coltrane A Love Supreme (Impulse!, 1965) “Love: from the title, to every single thing about it. You can just see it on his face. It is just a total expression of love and his vision. Very God-influenced. This is his opus. This is like a masterpiece for me. The production is also a masterpiece, and that goes to Rudy Van Gelder who recorded it, and Bob Thiele, who is one of my favorite producers of all time. The notes from John Coltrane say a lot as well. He was deeply influenced by Stravinsky, and he was deeply influenced by Ravi Shankar. My favorite part of the album is ‘Acknowledgment,’ which is the opening. That’s the most classic part of the album, where there’s the ‘Love Supreme’ chant at the end, and the classic bassline and melody. I know some people who will NOT listen to this album except for listening to it the entire way through—like it’s religious to them.”

V/A A Pacifica Sampler (Pacifica, 1961)

“This is sort of a novelty thing I chose because it’s about KPFK, part of the Pacifica Foundation, which started public radio in the United States in the late ’40s. Pacifica was the model for free speech radio after World War II, and KPFK is its second station, which started in 1959. This record from 1961 sort of gives you an idea about what the station and the network has always been about. There’s Chinese flute music on this. Poetry, Pete Seeger, Christmas carols, purgatory, the first amendment. I mean, there’s a Los Angeles nursery-school program that they excerpted and put on here? There’s prayers on it … ‘Lorca’s City of Gypsies,’ ‘Listener supported, non-commercial radio’ … that’s a big deal! And it has red vinyl, in 1961!”

Craig Kupka Clouds: New Music for Relaxation (Folkways, 1981) “I found this at my favorite record store, Freakbeat Records. Folkways Records is probably my favorite record label of all time, and not so much because I like every record on the label, but because I appreciate the label as a concept, as a library. The records that are good on Folkways are some of the best that there are. And this isn’t a fuddyduddy, hippy-dippy thing for me. ‘The light you are seeking is inside/ The light is life, is love, is you/Find it, nurture it, share it/To seek it is to take part in the infinite.’ These are the things that I’m into with my heart. This is for real, and the music speaks to me.”

Gail Laughton Harps of the Ancient Temples (Laurel, 1978) “This one’s amazing. I love the harp. I love harp records. ‘A 23,000 year trip back through man’s magnificent past, his temples, deities and rituals expressed through the sounds of his favorite and eternal instrument.’ I’m like a sucker for this music!”

Fred Frith Guitar Solos (Caroline, 1974)

“One of the coolest record merchants I’ve ever known is Cool Chris of Groove Merchant Records in San Francisco. I’ve known him for years, and every time I go into his shop there’s something there that I was not expecting. And the last time I went to San Francisco, I was so stoked to get this album! It’s on Caroline, which is associated with Virgin Records, and distributed a lot of records by my friends and me in the late ’90s and early 2000s. It’s the first solo album by Fred Frith, who was kind of like a 20th-century classical session guy—he was in Henry Cow. At times he sounds like a whole band, and it’s just guitar solos, no overdubs. I love the cover. I tend to be drawn to records that have no writing on the covers. I love typeset but, I tend to find that a record like this is a record I could frame.”

ALBUM REVIEWS

Sri Rangasami Parthasarathy Hymns from the Rig-Veda (Oriental, 1979) “This is an absolutely amazing Indian record on Oriental Records, which is a great record label. I recommend everything that’s on it. Rangasami Parthasarathy is the composer, and it’s a very famous singer named K.J. Yesudas. It’s a devotional record that has classical Indian and kind of more popular Indian sounds—it sounds almost Bollywood, but you know he’s singing something straight from a devotional text.”

Cold Sun Dark Shadows (original acetate, 1970/re-released on World in Sound 2007)

“I very very rarely ever buy reissues, but the quality is really nice. This is a really obscure psychedelic record from Texas. It’s one of the only bands that’s led by an autoharpist, Bill Miller, that plays through fuzz and delay guitar pedals. I think this was recorded in 1968 or ’69, but wasn’t ever issued until the late ’80s or early ’90s, and this is like the collectors limited-edition version that these guys released. These cats were in the same circle as the 13th Floor Elevators. This record is incredible.”

V/A I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore (Mississippi Records, 2007) “This is from Mississippi Records. They have a record store in Portland that I’ve gone to several times. They specialize in old blues recordings. This is a record that goes for a lot of money because Mississippi Records only press a few at a time. It’s an amazing collection of 78s from 1927 to 1948. For the level they’re doing it on, it’s not even ‘reissues.’ It’s like, that is the issue, unless you have a 78 player! The biggest surprise was how well it was selected. I was blown away by the variety of sounds! The only way I can encompass it is that it sounded like the essence of New Orleans—all the things you would hear—the mysticism, the dance, the coming together of cultures. I usually don’t buy new records of collected music, but they’re kind of making me change my mind.”

V/A Cumbias Cumbias Cumbias (Discos Fuentes, 1995)

“My father’s Columbian, and Discos Fuentes is the unofficial national label of Columbia. It’s a very popular label right now, because maybe in the last five to ten years, the interest in salsa and boogaloo and Puerto Rican and Cuban music has gone much more to cumbia. Cumbia is interesting because it’s sort of African and Polish and indigenous influenced. The main instrument is the accordion, but they’re not playing it like the polka cats were playing it—they’re playing it like it’s never been played before. I have doubles of this, and I would literally go back and forth, back and forth, if I was at a party and all of a sudden the vibe called for it.”

Beach House Teen Dream (Sub Pop, 2010)

“We’re ending with my favorite record of the year. I learned a new term—dream pop! I guess these guys are the thesis statement of dream pop, which is a mixture of ’50s love songs and late ’70s, Manchester-esque depression dance music, like Joy Division. This is like an over-ground Sub Pop band that would play at the Hollywood Bowl, but I love this record! My friend Matt Amato did a video for them. The singer’s father is Michel Legrand, one of the most famous film scorers of this century. And they’re from Baltimore! For some reason, I’ve connected to the whole Baltimore sound of the last ten years. I really dig what Panda Bear does and Animal Collective, and maybe some more obscure bands that I don’t stay up on, but some of you L.A. RECORD journalists might know!” 77

all that really matters is the feel of the music, and it’s bands like Fitz and the Tantrums that remind you how a truly good album can make you feel good. —Zachary Jensen

SARA ESCAMILLA

DAVE VAN PATTEN

FORT KING

Naked Shadows self-released

shea M gauer

WALT GORECKI

G. GREEN

nothing like coming home at 5 AM when the sun is coming up, and this is the song that was missing on those nights. There are only 300 copies of this record. Get it, because it truly is essential. —Daniel Clodfelter

CHRISTINE HALE

GIZZELLE

“I’m a Good Woman”/ “The Place” 7” Wild Records SARA ESCAMILLA

THE GASLAMP KILLER Death Gate Brainfeeder Last the Gaslamp Killer cracked open his troubled mind, his seventrack debut came oozing out, a crucial complement to his punishing mixes and chthonic live shows guided, it seems, by demonic possession. (Those who’ve ever been in his presence rightfully recognize GLK as the city’s best hypeman, able to command a crowd with a single profanity.) Seeping from that same neurotic brain now is Death Gate, a five-song EP loosely conceived around the revelatory power of near-death experiences. As Gaslamp has himself prophesied, L.A.’s beat scene is our generation’s jazz, which must make Brainfeeder our Impulse! Records, the nexus of all cosmic creativity. And so it’s with Death Gate that Gaslamp continues to be our Albert Ayler, the primary supplier of energy music for screaming freaks. “Fun Over 100” opens it, but Death Gate wakes up with “When I’m In Awe,” which again pairs GLK with Gonjasufi, a collaboration so perfect it only could have been ordained. The song wanders through the desert: Gonjasufi’s gravelly murmurs, Gaslamp’s Middle Eastern fuzz so thick it seems salvaged from the dunes. “Carpool Dummy” and closer “Monsterfromtheunderground” are ideal bookends for the centerpiece, “Shattering Inner Journeys.” It’s the entrance to the underworld, the opening seconds nothing but sputtering electronic squeals like those emanating from Coffin Joe’s psychedelic hell. A drum fill pans across your frontal lobe before the descent: a procession of ghastly synths and samples echoing into eternity as you pass through the abyss. —Miles Clements

ALBUM REVIEWS

Gizzelle’s sings late ’50s blues and early ’60s soul in the vein of Etta James and Big Maybelle, with a bit of Wild rock ‘n’ roll mixed in. Side A of her new 45 is a cover of Barbara Lynn’s soul classic “I’m A Good Woman,” with a cover of Big Mama Thornton’s lesserknown but equally fantastic “The Place” on Side B. Gizzelle eradicates all the weakness in both originals, starting with removing the irritating horns in “I’m A Good Woman” and speeding up the song. Gizzelle’s voice is much more aggressive and emotional, better suited to this feminist anthem. When Gizzelle says she’s a good woman, it’s hard not to doubt her; and if you did, she’d probably punch you in the face. “The Place” is a more lighthearted and catchy party tune—not distinctive or anywhere near as heavy as “I’m A Good Woman,” but still charming. Covering heavy hitters like Barbara Lynn and Big Mama is normally a dangerous game, but both songs are better off after the Gizzelle treatment. —Lainna Fader

SARA ESCAMILLA

JA PRAWN Everybody Vosotros

Ja Prawn’s Everybody charmed and surprised me. Against my own volition, I suddenly found myself returning to my specific fantasy world—a world of science fiction, computers that take up an entire office floor, cops and criminals driving modern sports cars and wearing digital watches. And in the case of Everybody, it’s a world of serene instrumental music that could accurately score countless films

from 1975 to 1985. They say getting there is half the fun, but Everybody exists primarily in the present, the first track’s quasi-African polyrhythm insinuating that hey, we’ve arrived at our destination, and it’s going to be a party! Hints of 1970s Italian electronic maestros such as Fabio Frizzi and Giorgio Moroder construct the landscape of keyboards. By track three, “Pyramidia,” we hit the dance floor and get the first taste of many New Romantic sensibilities. There is definitely kissing involved. “Zequencer” and “Porche Rap” are my favorites, and I believe make up the most concrete statements of aesthetic intent. Ja Prawn is about surfaces, flash and futurism, but all the better for it. At no time during Everybody did I feel like I was listening to live music, and it’s impossible to pick out the parts that add up to Everybody’s whole, but the end results are impressive and in keeping with all that I hold sacred and of value. 1979 forever! —Mike Dixon

SARA ESCAMILLA

JAIL WEDDINGS Love Is Lawless White Noise All the musical references that come to mind with this album are ones Jail Weddings are keenly aware of, such as the Shangri-Las, Scott Walker, Nick Cave and Phil Spector. For the most part, the album captures the spirit of an oldies playlist—the one caveat being that you really have to like frontman Gabriel Hart’s melodramatic warbling voice. Well, I do. And it’s all over every song, with the exception of the last track, “Blind Times,” where the chicks in the band come front and center. The song that sticks out to me as the clear winner is “When We’re Together (We Let Ourselves Go),” which actually sounds very Yardbirds-y and ties together the band’s strong points: solid rhythms, strong vocals in duet, a horn section, lovely backing vocals, and an appropriately chaotic ending. Some of the references are delightfully misleading: “What Did You Do With My Gun?” shares the same intro as “Yummy Yummy Yummy,” but quickly turns into a piano-laden exploration of a man’s aborted suicide attempt. (I think—I couldn’t understand most of the lyrics!) Overall, the album is tre-

mendously instrumentally busy, but there’s nothing not to like about that. There are places, such as on “Staring at the Stars,” where it all gets to be a bit “pandemonium” for me. But kids these days have crazy ears that need lots of stimuli, and without destroying your aural palette, Jail Weddings will appeal to the kids and the old folks who want their vintage sounds. —Anna Simpson

CHRISTINE HALE

LESLIE AND THE BADGERS “Los Angeles” 7” Trailer Fire

BROCK POTUCEK

L.A. LADIES CHOIR Sing Joyfully Teenage Teardrops “Across the River”—like an old coded slave song, the L.A. Ladies’ Choir begins its first album by speaking to the freedom to be found in music, in singing together, in abandoning the fetters of everyday life by embracing the voice within. It’s soon followed by the sweet “Beautiful World,” with an ease and childlike plainness that reminds me of a Yoko Ono song, perhaps because melodically, it touches on elements of “Beautiful Boy” and “Goodbye Sadness.” Conceptually, it opens up the album into this repetitious declaration of love, and love must be the Elysium sought after the journey across the river. The track “Ocean and Ground” showcases the best vocals on the record, which overall maintains the spottiness inherent in a choir that aims to include and accept a nice mix of amateur singers with professionals (a quick search on the internet will bring up the star-studded cast of local talent). The highs and lows of vocal technique on Sing Joyfully are a big part of its charm, as are the pared-down accompaniments of schoolhouse choir-style piano and unobtrusive guitar strums. The narrative arc of the album’s track listing is particularly thoughtful, and takes us from that initial slave world over the landlocked river, to the shores of “Ocean and Ground” to Yoko Ono’s (Ah! I see now) anthemic “Sisters, O Sisters,” and finally to the intimate and exposed “There Are Many of Us,” where freedom is finally found in the bosom of sisterhood. Sure, it’s flowery at times. But sometimes you have to enjoy the simple pleasure of some lovely ladies delivering something pretty and unassuming to you. —Anna Simpson

If you like folk, country and musical triumphs that knock you on your ass with raw talent and pathos, well, you probably already have the Leslie and the Badgers album Roomful of Smoke. But did you manage to pick up the single version of “Los Angeles” that came out this summer on Trailer Fire Records? It’s a shame that country fans don’t go apeshit over singles like the punkers do: the photo of Leslie Stevens on the cover is a washed-out classic, and hearing an isolated “Los Angeles” on 45 is a great way to appreciate the vocal delivery on Stevens’ indictment of our city, where “enchantment can be found, but not quite bliss.” It’s so good, it’ll stun you out of comparing it to any X songs: a definite heir to Joni Mitchell’s Laurel Canyon ballads of the hippie past. But it’s the otherwise unavailable Bside that makes this single worth the seven bucks. Engineered by James O’Connell, “Black Rose Window” has a full-band sound that fleshes out the bare space of the A-side, with electric guitars, violins, possibly a uke, and even an accordion, skirting the pop production of modern country but staying loyal to the Badgers’ classic vibe. It’s a big sound for a big talent, and ohhhhh, that voice! Plus, they only printed 500. —Dan Collins

NATHAN MORSE

MOONEY STARR Let’s Douche for World Peace self-released A classic lesson in not “judging a 79

book by its cover,” Mooney Starr’s new EP looks like something you’d buy off of a pushy homeless kid on Hollywood Boulevard. Aside from having a heinously ugly cover, the record’s packaging also reveals that it was released, dually, by labels respectively called Scrotum and kLAmedia—and the fucking thing is called Let’s Douche for World Peace. I expected drunken frat guys rapping badly about huffing paint and going to the supermarket, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that Let’s Douche is much better than its title, record labels and artwork led me to believe it would be. Mooney Starr reveals himself on “An Uptown Novelty” to be an extraordinary singer—a diva who describes his music as “post-Funk!” and is talented and self-confident enough to sing like Prince and André 3000 without sounding either embarrassing or jokey. As the record progresses, Starr takes listeners on a trip that drives by the Apocalypse (“Future Has Past: 2012”), the seedy underbelly of Koreatown (“Costa Rica”), the miserable aftershocks of millennial warmongering (“D.D.T.S.”), and his own version of “1999” (the dubiously titled title track). Despite his nuanced melodic sense, the songs get a bit too long towards the end. Occasionally, the lyrics are a bit too ridiculous (“If Nefertiti was not black, it means 9/11’s a foreign attack”—wait, what?). Nonetheless, this guy is exciting. He needs image management, but Mooney Starr has flavor to spare. If he can just harness that, it won’t be long before he’s a genuine star. —Geoff Geis

CHRISTINE HALE

MY PET SADDLE Laughing at Me self-released The six-piece ensemble My Pet Saddle are producing some great sounds over in Fullerton. This album sounds like a harmonious 1960s surf-rock-inspired California band. “Alaskan Sun” is a great intro to the album, getting you ready for what to expect, but not preparing you for how greatly those expectations will soon be exceeded. And they will be. “Il Fait Beau” is fuzzy and blues-inspired, 80

yet poppy enough that you’ll just have to dance (think Black Lips). Each element of the song “We Got Nothin’” comes together perfectly in unison to form quite an addictive tune. The wonderful harmonies and vocals in “Taking a Scene” are like that of Chicagobased band, the Chamber Strings. My favorite tune on this album, “Gimme My Soul,” has a darker feel that almost makes you feel sorry for yourself, but then you forget, because you realize the song you’re listening to is so damned euphonic. Get Laughing at Me, and catch My Pet Saddle when they hit a residency near you. —Annette Badalian

COLIN AMBULANCE

NARWHAL PARTY Cool Kids With Hot Ideas Youthless and the Eastern Pendulum This album is like good sex: dark, playful, and a little bit gross. Narwhal Party combines the noisy, physical qualities of Head Wound City and the Locust with the unhurried perma-sneer of Big Black’s Songs About Fucking. The Narwhal Party is obviously not afraid to whip out a little juvenile shock value, including songs called “Aid’s Greatest Hits” (not sure if that was a typo of “AIDS’” or if I just got a mislabeled copy) and “Rape, I Think I Like It.” Well, I wouldn’t compare this album to rape, but I definitely like it. “The Mammoth Has A HardOn” meshes a spiral of Winchester Mystery guitar with a Foxy Shazamesque slice of weird theatricality. “Jesus Guzzling Listerine” (image of the year nominee, for certain) slides into a decidedly No Age vibe, in the sense that they find their riff early, rinse and repeat. And repeat. Oh, and did I mention that this is the band of Kyle Souza (Axeman for the corrosively funky Stab City crew)? Well, now I did. So if you’re a Stab City fan who’s in it for the post-hardcore psyched out clusterbombing, you’re gonna feel right at home with Narwhal Party. No specialized helical tooth required. —Matt Dupree

SUZANNE WALSH

NEIL HAMBURGER Hot February Night Drag City America didn’t really embrace irony until the ’90s, when illicit pleasures of the past such as disco and publicaccess television were suddenly everywhere. Neil Hamburger, whose greasy comb-over, sickly phlegmclearing hack and insulting jokes combined Catskills timing with Geto Boys obscenity, was the perfect retro comedian of that era. Yet fifteen years on, it’s clear that Hamburger’s act is far funnier when played to the stupid, humorless audiences of modern times. Hot February Night was recorded live before a Tenacious D concert a few years ago for an audience that theoretically enjoys comedy that pokes fun at rock music. Yet Neil Hamburger’s obscene riddles about Courtney Love’s drug overdoses and Paul McCartney’s divorce elicit not laughs, not even groans, but chants of “GET OFF THE STAGE!” Hamburger relishes the hatred, repeatedly extending the wrap-up to his set and taunting the audience with insults about their “fecal breath” and how Tenacious D has been replaced on the bill by Kevin Federline. Is this performance art? Maybe. But on this album, it’s also hilarious, perhaps even more so than the Tony Clifton performances Hamburger is so often compared to. If you don’t chuckle constantly at Hot February Night, it’s probably because you fist homeless people. And you should stop doing it, because “some of them are poets.” —Dan Collins

The EP Am I Real? by Nite Jewel—aka Ramona Gonzalez—falls somewhere in between mainstream pop and the highly specialized category of electronic bands proficient in aural brain massage—bands like Air and Beach House. Nite Jewel dedicatedly uses synths, drum machines and zoomorphic teased-out vocals to varying degrees of success. “Falling Far” is the standout track: cable-access show theme music (in the best sense) with a warbling melody anchored by staccato (and cheerfully flatulent) beats as Gonzalez ice-skates figure eights over the whole thing. And “White Lies” isn’t bad either: with its staggered chorus, Purple Rain-era Prince synth yelps, noodling synth jazz flute and cheese-grater guitar, you’ll eagerly buy into Gonzalez’ assertion that the future will be made of white lies, and nod whenever she tells you what that means. The ’80s R&B continues on the title track, with slap bass injecting some funk into Gonzalez’ up-tempo existential questions: “What can I say for myself? Am I winning now? Am I real?” But many of these tracks suffer from pained, Nico-esque vocal breaks, and the lo-fi recording methods could benefit from a bit more control, especially in the mixing. That’s not to say that there aren’t any successes. “Falling Far” is a gem, and in spite of the misfires of songs like “We Want Our Things” and “White Lies,” there’s still a serious appeal there. Perhaps the Jewel just needs a bit more polish next time around. —Ayse Arf

PURO INSTINCT Puro Instinct EP Mexican Summer

PIZZA!

BROCK POTUCEK

Bogus Rimshots From the Fourth KILL/HURT

AL KAMALIZAD

NITE JEWEL Am I Real? EP Gloriette

honest comparison would be to the classic albums of the Mothers of Invention, not so much in style but in creativity, humor and album structure. Bogus Rimshots partitions loosely “normal” rock narratives such as “Griffith Park Fire” and “Bird Dreams,” sung in Geis’ coalmine preacher tenor, with looser songs composed of Castlevania synth hooks and hypnotic chants seemingly stripped from Smiley Smile or the first Red Hot Chili Peppers album. The resultant manboy devolution has a strangeness to it that constantly surprises you— like when the cheesy rap tune “(We Be @ She) Summer Spot” concludes with an oddly transcendent sax riff. The cassette format, which doesn’t let you plow past the oddities, is the perfect format for this album; in fact, I wish PIZZA! had taken advantage of this more, using the seamlessness of tape to connect their lo-fi recordings with nonstop sound collage craziness. Oy! If only PIZZA! had started recording in 1996 instead of 2006, it could have been them posing as Zappa in L.A. RECORD’s 100th issue instead of Ariel Pink. —Dan Collins

I’m in love with Geoff Geis’ vivid opinions and snapping blue eyes, so I sadistically wanted to rip this cassette a new asshole. You’d think that would be easy to do, since some of the material on Bogus Rimshots has been fermenting in PIZZA!’s live set for half a decade, and the rest has throwaway titles such as “Bloo Moob” and “Iron Fart.” But while I could smirk and call the album’s quirkiness “Boingo-esque,” a more

On their self-titled EP, Puro Instinct drop their old name, Pearl Harbor, and serve up a taste of their fresh-faced new band. Now fleshed out with more members, the dreamy reverb of old has been filled in and taken to a deeper stage of sleep. Lead singer, Piper, now reaches through a haze that has been moved from the forefront to a more comfortable place in the mix, living as one with the bass, drums, guitar and synth. Her younger sister, Skylar, who has always been an exceptional guitarist for her age, has matured into her own, allowing her guitar to weave in and out like a tide, powerful in its advances and smooth and thin while it recedes. “Slivers of You” evokes the Cure’s “Lovesong” in its simple yet lovely main riff, while elsewhere Skylar strums shimmering chords, sparse, but with enough gas to ALBUM REVIEWS

keep from stalling. The stand-out song on this 4 track EP is “California Shakedown,” which has a few more moods than the others, sulking quietly and raising up in the chorus. Again the guitar takes center stage on a melodic break before drawing to a manic, dissonant close. The last track, “I’ve Got Some Happiness,’ a Leland Yoshitsu cover, is a synth-filled tribute to the wonderful ’70s original and plays like a response to Leland’s, affirming finally at the EP’s finish that “I’ll never leave you alone.” —Steven Martinez

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REACTIONARIES 1979 Water Under the Bridge/45 RPM We come from Pedro / a speck on the map / we’re sick and tired of the same old crap / We’ve listened to you for 10 whole years / now it’s our turn! Water Under the Bridge, a joint venture run by Craig Ibarra, Vince Giobbe and Bob Archer, put out this record that delivers ten songs of a 1979 practice run by D., Mike and George with Martin Tamburovich also singing, when they were young and unfeathered, a month shy of playing their first gig—a modest one, featuring no-names Black Flag, the Descendents, the Alley Cats, the Plugz and the Last. (Get me a flux capacitor now.) On the B-side, there’s ten covers of the same songs performed by 38 San Pedro-related musicians, big and small, working in randomly-chosen combinations. The cover art is done by Saccharine Trust’s Joe Baiza, who also did the cover for buzz or howl under the influence of heat, and the insert contains the full lyrics, courtesy of Mike Watt who had to dig deep into his warped brain and retrieve them all from 30 years past. Make sure to check out Water Under the Bridge’s super-cool blog, which gives a little photo history of the B-side’s recording sessions, done in Kid Kevin’s (45 RPM Records) basement. The B-sides are more produced, but not yukkily so—just cleaner and clearer than the live recordings. Shredded on one side, frosted on the other. —Howe Strange ALBUM REVIEWS

LISASTROUSS

SLUMBER BEAST Grow EP No Kings “Pretty” is probably the first adjective that will come to mind when listening to Slumber Beast’s new EP. Reminiscent of other classically influenced indie bands like the Rachels, Slumber Beast slowly linger through songs like a rowboat over a calm lake in an E.M. Forster novel. This is the kind of thing you put on first thing in the morning on your day off, brewing fine loose-leaf teas, petting the cat, and checking that the plants are green and moist. It’s calming. Calming like an Aveda hand massage. A sound like this only comes along every so often in our worlds, and always pleasurably welcomed in my book. But “pretty” is different from “gorgeous”; it is different from “stunning,” “silencing,” “awe-inspiring.” For that, we reach for Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, the Chopin preludes, the Mozart concertos; or for modernity’s sake, Under Byen, the Yann Tiersen. “Pretty” will do to bring her home to your mother, but she won’t impress the alpha males of your chosen tribe or the females of love’s past that shunned you before. As with every artistic endeavor, the question comes down to intent. And if Slumber Beast’s full intent is to simply write and play relaxing, pleasant, pretty music, then they’ve achieved what they set out to do. Because it is very pretty. And it sure as hell won’t be your usual night at the Echo. —Chesney Higgins

This is either the most boisterous dream pop or the slowest surf rock band in Los Angeles, I can’t decide which. Superhumanoids is the kind of band that’ll probably get torn to shreds in a P*tchf*rk review simply for not being the xx (keeping with their Highlander-esque approach to aesthetics). This would be a complete shame though, since Urgency is so immediately enjoyable—not in the cheap, “oh, this sounds nice” sense of enjoyable, but in the noddingand-grinning-reflexively sense. The spaced-out synthy elements bring a bit of Krautrock into the mix, but I’m inclined to believe that this is going to be the accidental trend of the 2010s: weirded-out synths and guitar flanging over 4/4 drums inevitably sounding like Can. Sonically, Superhumanoids prefer to soar (no surprise to comic readers), but they’re not afraid to get down into the low-end and grind out a little industrial breakdown every now and again. The vocals provided by Cameron Parkins swing from puddleskipping baritone into Boy George androgyny, but backups from Sarah Chernoff keep the whole affair honeyed to the gills. Superhumanoids wield restraint with a surgeon’s aim, weaving tension and release with only the tiniest hiccup: a 15-second guitar solo to nowhere at the end of “Cranial Contest.” This reporter’s clear favorite was “Persona,” a whisper-and-thump toe-pounder that cascaded like an avalanche of hi-hats and vocal oohs. It could’ve been disastrous for an album called Urgency to not deliver on that particular quality, but merrily they’ve hit it right on the head. —Matt Dupree

CHRISTINE HALE

SWAHILI BLONDE Man Meat Manimal

DAVE VAN PATTEN

SUPERHUMANOIDS Urgency EP Hit City

Like most Manimal releases, I’m pretty stoked on this record. It’s like Can’s Tago Mago meets Kleenex/ LiLiPUT meets Maximum Joy. Unconventional rhythms and chord progressions abound on SB’s debut, which is chock full of energetic, experimental jams with funky afro-beat and noisy post-punk influences.

Tucson has gifted the world with a host of great rock ‘n’ roll through the decades, going all the way back to the hirsute ‘60s with such cult garage rock behemoths as Grodes and on up through recent memory with fine garage punk acts like the Fells, the Knockout Pills and the Okmoniks. Tucson’s fierce independence and desert ambiance have spawned a new act that deserves mention in print: Lenguas Largas, the best new band that you’ve probably never heard of. They’ve played a few low-profile shows in San Pedro, but their Southland visits have been poorly publicized. It’s a shame, because the band’s three 7” to date are some of the best slabs of wax of recent memory. Playing by no rules other than their own, Lenguas Largas have created a seductive sonic world that undulates with longing, desire and fury, melding psychedelic looseness with the precision attack of punk—a sound that some have labeled as desert psychedelic. Labels don’t really sit well with Lenguas Largas, though. Far from being the average garage punk four-piece, the band is a sprawling seven-piece behemoth that, as often as not, is unable to fit comfortably on the average stage. But singer Isaac Reyes, whose eerie falsetto sounds like it was beamed down from another dimension, is a mesmerizing frontman, and a helluva nice guy to boot. The band’s debut single for Tic Tac Totally features their finest cut so far, the slow-building “I Feel,” but subsequent releases from Spanish label iekk! sounds (which presents the rager “No Me Gusta La Pepsi”) and Dirt Cult Records (which features the gloomy, reverb drenched classic “Lonely Summertime”) are equally worth seeking out. I was lucky enough to catch Lenguas Largas live at this year’s sophomore Sundown Showdown in Phoenix, Arizona. The band is a favorite of Phoenix garage punk kingpin and Showdown organizer Ryan “Wong” Rousseau—the musical workaholic (and former Reatards drummer) who we have to thank for the Wongs, Destruction Unit and Tokyo Electron, among others. Which leads me to proselytize about yet another punk classic from the state to the east of us: Rousseau’s Destruction Unit, an angry, bitter synth-choked act that has endured a variety of lineups (including stints by Jay Reatard, Alicja Trout and Digital Leather’s Shawn Foree). The band has a brand new incarnation and a brand new album in the racks. Eclipse, co-released by Philadelphia’s FDH Records and Arizona’s Perfectly Round Records, enters exciting new territory with a sound that breaks from the band’s previous outings, moving away from the dirge like the Digital Leather /Lost Sounds vibe of yore towards more Kraut rock/psychedelic territory. There are only 500 copies of the first pressing, so snap one up soon before they’re gone. 81

Yes folks, this is fusion tuneage at its finest! Apparently, John Frusciante plays guitar on the record, though he is no longer involved with the band. Along with Nicole Turley (formerly of WEAVE!), Michael Quinn from Corridor, Laena Myers-Ionita from the Like and Dante vs. Zombies, Stella Mozgawa from Warpaint and John Taylor from Duran Duran, this is one impressive super-group with some serious musical chops and the quality and originality of this album simply proves it. Haunting, repetitive vocals punctuate the already strange universe that the band inhabits, putting the listener in a blissedout trance that’s slightly unsettling, but in the best way possible. As for what drugs would best complement this album, I can’t really say (maybe GHB?). All I know is I want a dose. Overall, a super strong debut—can’t wait to hear what sonic territory they’ll cover next. —Tessa Goldston

CHRISTINE HALE

SWEATERS

“Investigations”/ “Skymall” 7” Slow Death The debut single from Sweaters teeters between the highs of lo-fi and the lows of hi-fi, showing a band with its influences on its sleeve, reaching for something very near to their hip little wrists. While some of the piano overdubs provoke comparisons to Billy Joel or Don McLean, this 45 is a fine step in the development of a new band. Both tracks— “Investigations” (a wry break-up song that drummer Joel Black calls “Badfinger without the bad news”) and “Skymall” (“I Can’t Explain” meets “Squeeze Box”)—are full of infectious hooks, lush melodic harmonies, pummeling rhythms, and a combo of smoldering tones from lead guitar and a Wurlitzer organ, collectively delivered with a brashness that warrants this band some street cred. The fact that this record is on vinyl only makes the sound (vocals and organ especially!!) that much warmer and full. When I started to write this review, it was late, and I figured that it should only take me as long to write as it would to listen to it. But as my first draft was finished, I found myself coming 82

back to the record again and again. It was bright. It was bliss. The debut single from L.A. band Sweaters is a true pop artifact—never plastic, never dull, but rough around the edges, like gravel in the warm sun. —Steven Carrera

NATHAN MORSE

TED LUCAS Ted Lucas Yoga

AKA The Om Record, this reissue was originally released in 1975 to deafening obscurity among the very last gasps of late-’60s psych. There were jurisdictions where hippie music died hard, and one was the Detroit area, where Ted Lucas gigged as a sideline to his day job as a studio musician at Motown until mainman Berry Gordy moved operations out here in ’72. A guitarist versatile enough to play on records by the Temptations and Stevie Wonder, Lucas’ own stuff was determinedly folkie, sporting a touch of Jim Croce blue-collar hippie (but without the melodic sense) and a smidge of Burl Ives’ introspection (sans the big guy’s cracker-barrel charisma). What songwriter personality he did possess vanishes entirely in the two album-closing marathons of “Sonny Boy Blues” and “Love and Peace Raga.” The former is a long uninteresting blues jam, but the finale an even longer sitar-based psych meander that makes you wish the whole album had been just like it. Lucas’ 1992 passing puts him in a minor niche alongside Skip Spence and Bruce Palmer in the make-onealbum-and-die ’70s rock pantheon. —Ron Garmon

Surf/garage rock may never be out of vogue, but Tijuana Panthers’ more “surfy” inclinations give their sound a lasting flavor. Their debut record, Max Baker, is a slice of the Panthers’ own culture—looks (“New Boots,” “Crew Cut”), love (“Angie,” “Red Headed Girl”), and fun (“Summer Fun,” “Don’t Give a Damn”). Song content need not be heady, because the songs here move too fast to allow any time for contemplation. The Panthers play surf rock like the Hondells with the attitude of the Adolescents. Beginning with some wild guitar and drums, “Creature” vocally builds to the chorus with solid harmonies. The song declares “I’m a creature of the night,” sounding like equal parts late-night-shifters and the Misfits. Album highlight “Summer Fun” carries a melancholy feel that makes the plea of “I want to have summer fun!” sound an extra inch desperate and urgent. The sparse, mid-tempo “Angie” uses its bareness to its advantage. All the racing moments grind to a halt in this moment of introspection, not only showing that the band has some dimension, but also giving the listener time to breathe. More reckless songs like “Don’t Give a Damn” or “Girls Gone Wild” get the record moving again right up to the end for the reverb-splashed “Prayer Needs.” The raw drums fuse with the Dion-esque pleading, creating a mantra to the want of bigger things. Tijuana Panthers exercise strength in creating a sonic roar, but show an even greater strength in the restraint they use. —Chip Winger

TIJUANA PANTHERS Max Baker Pussy Cow

a fine balance between tenderness, smoldering tenacity and mysteriousness. Marcellino is capable of somehow sounding like a damsel in distress who’s in complete control, and who’s probably hiding some profoundly dark secret. “The Other One” finds the singer’s vengeful spirit on full display as she steadfastly denounces the notion that her lover would choose anyone else. It may be the most sensually obsessive song since Shirley Manson set the bar unreasonably high for female stalkers on the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack. Marcellino’s musical cohorts provide a steady, muscular instrumental backdrop, always matching their leader’s vocal dramatics with intensity. Ethereal keyboards, droning guitars, and overdriven bass coalesce to form a suitably nocturnal atmosphere. “Comme Il Faut,” with its galloping beat, delayed guitar arpeggios, incessant synth bass, and bitcrushed keyboards especially showcases the band’s penchant for crafting dreamy, vaguely gothic sounds that would surely wither and wilt in the daylight. With a thoroughly enjoyable four-song release that rouses (but doesn’t completely satisfy), we could only hope that Twilight Sleep will give us more music to soundtrack our late nights. —Amorn Bholsangngam

Picture Con Sequencia

WARPAINT The Fool Rough Trade NATHAN MORSE

TOMMY SANTEE KLAWS

DAVE VAN PATTEN

Rakes Imaginary Music

DAVE VAN PATTEN

he’s threatening, a well-reasoned exponent of dread. The next, he’s the spokesperson for failed animals (an elk who did not win a mate, or a caterpillar with parasitic wasp larvae eating its guts). The rest of the band provides reinforcement, a lawful commotion of agreement, punctuating the peaks and valleys like patches of forest. The upright bass makes doom-laden growls. Beneath everything, recordings of crickets, frogs, chirping birds, rain, environmental noises that act as framing devices, overtly relocating your brain. There are moments that bloom and flourish—suddenly—and your fingers mash at the increase volume button to make it even bigger, to somehow get it loud enough that it becomes tangible: vines growing up your chair, coyotes howling, flies struggling inside pitcher plants, a campfire. This cannot just be sound. Despite its seriousness, there is something very devious here, something a little romantic too. Occasionally the music has a smirk; the awesomeness of feeling wretched. “Late Bloomer” has a mischievous nautical jauntiness. The drums in “Ooh Ooh Ooh” cascade like rocks thrown off a cliff. Like some of the other L.A. new-folky type acts, they understand the trick of making nostalgia work both ways: into some bright future as well as into virtuous, murky past. They’re skinning the old to dress the new. —Gerard Olson

This record is ruthless and filled with weather. Sometimes it’s rainaddled, green and gasping; sometimes there’s barren, scorpion-infested desert fire; sometimes you see constellations. The band (really, more a militia) seamlessly oscillates between each microclimate, never at risk for jetlag. The man himself, Tommy Santee Klaws, has a brutal, quavering wail. At one moment

TWILIGHT SLEEP Elk EP self-released

Los Angeles dream-rock quintet Twilight Sleep’s EP is a mere three songs (and a bonus track), but contains just as many inspired moments as most of their contemporaries’ long-players. From the hazy atmospherics and stutter-stop drumbeats that open “Broken Record” to the New Order-ish dance-off that closes the record, the band manages to be consistently compelling throughout the rather abbreviated length of Elk. Much credit is due to the captivating voice of frontwoman Tracy Marcellino, whose sultry delivery strikes

It’s hard to talk about Warpaint without first mentioning the obvious—yes, Warpaint is a girl band, comprised of Emily Kokal, Theresa Wayman, Jenny Lee Lindberg, and Stella Mozgawa. However, any preconceptions that usually befall many bands with similarlysexed members should end right this moment with the release of The Fool. Warpaint is constructed of serious songs for jilted lovers, alternately frail and vindictive. This is an art-rock band with a particular desert psychedelia aesthetic that strikes you in songs such as “Undertow,” which peaks in a crescendo of whispery harmonies that are so beautiful you nearly forget the lyrics are mildly venomous. Another noteworthy track is “Shadows,” which starts with simple and twangy guitar ALBUM REVIEWS

that gives way to meandering piano and pulsing drums that build gradually to a sound that is both big and ethereal. Warpaint is particularly adept at crafting songs that at first sound minimal and potentially predictable, but you quickly realize the strength of their ability to surprise you constantly—throwing in unexpected elements that make these tracks highly re-listenable. A great example of this is “Set Your Arms Down,” a song that morphs into an all-out jam with bubbling guitar and those signature strained, breathy vocals. This is a gorgeously sprawling debut album that won’t disappoint listeners who fell into the hypnosis induced by Exquisite Corpse or liked their take on Bowie’s “Ashes to Ashes.” The very same traits we all found endearing in their 2008 EP are here and have bloomed in full form. —Lauren Arevalo

LISASTROUSS

yuk. ADWA Leaving yuk.’s new tape, A D W A, is an incredibly beautiful ambient electronic album that sends you straight to a THC-infused dreamland in the woods. “adwatxchr” begins the vision quest by inviting you to give yourself to the late-night lo-fi haziness of the wilderness. “emilia reflection” lures you into the ethereal soundscape while the earth melts away entirely. The exploration of gorgeous melodies and soft beats continues with “adept-ation for Dev,” while “greenflash (ritual)” introduces tribal rhythms and mysterious vocals. “ofwildermesstheme” hints at the spirituality revealed in the angelic harmonies of “iris dahlia” before floating into “reachinghigher.” Teebs makes an appearance on “onlywhenshesmiles,” which cuts through the fog with a wider range of beats piled on to make a heavier sound collage before slowing to a close with “shining.” yuk. clearly knows the recipe for gorgeous sounds, making this quite an impressive debut. —Lainna Fader

ALBUM REVIEWS

SUZANNE WALSH

VARIOUS

We Were So Turned On: A Tribute to David Bowie Manimal We are voyeurs or perverts wearing headphones with 42 David Bowie covers immersed in love, lust, pleasure, and his holiness of innovative pop. “Sound + Vision” is such a fantastic existential ditty, it’s on there twice—once in Spanish by Megapuss. For 2.8 hours, the experimental torch spreads itself across synth, beat and soft guitar, noise and whisper, hologram and blood. Band and song combine like sex or chemistry. We listen, ear to the wall. Succumb to Chairlift’s immaculate singing the end guitar solo of “Always Crashing in the Same Car.” Sister Crayon lures “Bewlay Brothers” to its lair underwater. “John, I’m Only Dancing” twists so sweet, coated with enough sugar the devil would pardon Vivian Girls any indiscretion. On the mellow side, Papercranes and Carla Bruni strip “Blue Jean” and “Absolute Beginners,” respectively, lonely morning wisdom on the porch. But if you’ve ever thought a beat sounded beautiful, peep the thumps and snares all over this compilation, people using technology like shades of paint. That’s what Manimal Vinyl appreciates, plus a quirky edge. Aska & Bobby Evans relish details on “African Night Flight.” Duran Duran’s “Boys Keep Swinging” must have literally sampled a heart jumping on a trampoline. Always seductive, Jessica 6 chases “I’m Deranged” through a nightclub with no exit. There, Corridor beckons, “Be My Wife,” positioned on the dance floor behind a cello. Tearist swirls on “Repetition,” the way the ceiling might, around you like a blanket. Amanda Jo Williams plays cowboys and indians across “The Man Who Sold the World.” We Are the World distills “Afraid of Americans” to a concrete, alien sensation. With all this Bowie wonderment, don’t forget Labyrinth, which gave many little girls and boys of the 1980s their first strange attraction to a man wearing heavy makeup and crotch-accentuating shiny pants; “World Falls Down” gets doowop bopped tastefully by Lights. —Daiana Feuer

RolliNG STONES Exile on Main Street (Rolling Stones/Universal Music) Mick Jagger always swore this monstrosity needed mastering, but this remarkable job probably won’t end the decades-long struggle by the World’ Greatest Rock ‘N’ Roll Band to outrun the renown of this greatest of 28 studio albums. This 1972 double LP set a durable template since followed by every rock act with blues pretensions and much is still made of the champagne-and-heroin ambience in which it was conceived and the band’s then-exhausted frame of mind. Backstage accounts make the recording sessions sound like Bad Lieutenant: Côte d’Azur, but there’s enough sin and redemption in the grooves for several Martin Scorsese films; even one or two good ones. The remix dilutes the brackish mud of the original only slightly, bumping everyone’s vocals up and making the whole sound less claustrophobic and more like, well, the best Rolling Stones album ever. You’ll never understand rock ‘n’ roll music until you’ve lived some version of the excesses themed on this record for yourself. From then on, the record picks up deeper meanings and louder resonance for as long as you manage to avoid sinking like the bellbottom blues.

Terry Knight & the Pack Terry Knight and the Pack/Reflections Collector’s Choice Most talk these days of old-school Michigan rock contains too few namechecks of Grand Funk Railroad and still fewer for Terry Knight, their producer and a major mover on the pre-MC5/Bob Seger scene. With the Pack (which included future Railroaders Mark Farner and Don Brewer), Knight recorded these two LPs for Flint-based Lucky Eleven Records. Though far from the 1960’s worst rock vocalist, Knight’s thin quaver isn’t up to the rigors of covering “Mister, You’re a Better Man Than I” or “Lady Jane.” The LP wound up at #127 on Billboard; the sophomore release failed to chart at all, despite being plain superior. Out in early ’67, Reflections is a stiff dose of medium psych. Moments of the future GFR’s mellifluous hustle ratchet it above the typical regional psych-rock LP of that Sandoz-drenched era. “Love Goddess of the Sunset Strip” is a lost Nugget worthy of the Seeds or the Third Bardo.

B.B. Blunder Workers’ Playtime Sunbeam The short, loud life of B.B. Blunder came out of the half-noticed demise of Blossom Toes, one of the more audaciously talented of the vast horde of mid-1960s U.K. psych bands churned up in the wake of Revolver and Roger the Engineer. Over two superb LPs (also available on Sunbeam), the Toes display a tuneful knack for quirkifying already hyper-refined elements of Swinging London psychedelia before shedding their lead guitarist, reacquiring the original drummer and reforming as B.B. Blunder in 1970. Their sole album (released the following year just before the group began to disintegrate) is an orphaned minor masterpiece of blunderbuss rock and a fitting immolation point for the Toes’ whackadoo aesthetic. The band’s baroque songwriting serves as pretty kindling for layered guitars and lumbering proggy pyrotechnics, with guests Brian Auger and Mick Taylor adding to a perfect riot of tunefulness. Of a recognizable piece with period Britrock like Tanx or A Salty Dog, this album is closer in feel to one of those ornate doorways into deep innerspace let open by Left Coast wunderkinder like Spirit or Jefferson Airplane, with ghostly overtones of nascent Krautrock. 83

COMICS

RYAN QUINCY

BARDO MARTINEZ

EROS SINCLAIR 84

DAVE VAN PATTEN

RYAN QUINCY COMICS

shea M. gauer champoyhate

LISA MOUSE

COMICS

SWEATERS Interview by Lainna Fader Photography by Charles Mallison Sweaters attempts to teach us how to live better in Can’t Stop Winning (Echo Park Books), a manifesto that reads something like The Secret as interpreted by Sparks. From the Hop Louie in Chinatown, the band talks about Can’t Stop Winning Theory, earthquake-detecting bees, and their formative years at the Brass King. Why did you decide to write a book before even putting out a full-length record? Jordan Benik (vocals/keyboard): We just wanted to create something, and it ended up being a book before a record. Our friend Andrew Pogany asked us to write a book and I said, ‘Fuck yeah, I want to write a book!’ So we just did it. Someone asked you to write Can’t Stop Winning and offered to publish it? That’s kind of rare, especially if you haven’t written a book before … JB: Yeah, actually. I created the basis of Can’t Stop Winning Theory and I would always go around to bars and yell, ‘I can’t stop winning!’ And all these good things were always happening for me. Word traveled. Can’t Stop Winning Theory picked up some momentum, and eventually I was asked to write it out. CSW Theory is about relying on instinct to make natural choices so that we may explore our own limitless consciousness. When we become free of worry and wonder, we will find ourselves breaking free from the gravity of fear that hopes to keep us grounded to who we are. In this way, we will get where we wish to go, and become who we truly wish to be. Is this a one-time effort or are you going to write another book? JB: Well, we just want to communicate with people, and people seem to be interested in our ideas. Joel Isaac Black (drums): I think we regularly develop fantastic conceits—alternate worlds that are really funny—and we just make each other giggle about it. We dressed it up and presented it in such a dead serious fashion to legitimize this funny idea we had. How did you get a cat to eat a sandwich? That was an inspiring part of the book. JB: That was my wife Hope’s sandwich! Our cat Billie wanted it, but when Hope broke off a piece for her she didn’t want it anymore. She wanted the shared experience of eating the sandwich with Hope. To Billie, eating the sandwich was not an act of consumption but an act of friendship. And that’s what real friendship and love is. When sharing isn’t only polite, isn’t only something we should do, but when we desire a shared experience over an experience all our own. That’s pretty sweet. JB: Yeah, but there’s also a lot of vicious inside jokes and posturing. JIB: Other books waiting to happen. Describe Sweaters without mentioning any bands or sounds. INTERVIEW

JB: Sweaters is about being good, believing in one another’s abilities, and not judging. It’s the idea that any of us can make it without the rest. We’re doing this as a choice, and we’re empowered by that, and we’re not living in fear that without these other gentlemen we can’t go on. That choice to be one unit is more meaningful because it’s not desperation-driven. We’re just friends. JIB: It’s a lusty thing for us. It’s hubris. It’s not arrogance, because that has a bad connotation. We’re just really proud of how funny we are and how good we are at what we do. I think the genesis of the band was when I met Jordan and Ladyface on the same night. We hung out, and I was so drunk and screaming, ‘I’m the best fucking drummer in town!’ JB: He was pretty funny that night. He jumped on the bed and yelled, ‘You have to listen to the Byrds with me! You must listen to the Byrds with me!’ Jordan “Ladyface” Harkins (guitar/vocals):

JB: We’ve all put each other through hell, too. I mean I REALLY put these guys through hell. You have no idea of the depths of insanity in this band. I think it peaked in 2008, and we’ve since recovered. We’re all really close friends, and we’ve been through pretty much every situation—except maybe a D-Day situation—as friends. We’ve all been each other’s roommates over the years. We always overstay our welcome in whatever situation we’re in. When Joel first got the Brass King, it was magical. It’s in the middle of Silver Lake, but it’s up on a hill on a dirt road. You feel like you’re in a revival town. It was a hootenanny every single night. What is the Brass King? JB: It had a washboard nailed to the door. It looked like a cabin and had a Brass King brand washboard nailed to it. JIB: That was an important phase for Sweaters. We could be as noisy as we wanted. Now we rehearse in a real rehearsal space. JB: Yeah, now everything is set up for us,

“We’ve all put each other through hell.” (Laughs) When I met him I was like, ‘Who is this fucking cunt? What a mouth on him! Why won’t he stop talking?’ JIB: Then we hung out for a long time before we ever played a note together. JB: We didn’t play a show for eight months, but we were constantly asking people, ‘Have you heard of Sweaters?’ So when we finally played our first show, eight months after we formed the band, we got a decent amount of people. Getting a fan base before you’ve ever played a song and a book deal before you ever wrote anything is pretty good. JB: We talk a good game. JIB: I’ve played in a million bands, but I tell people that this is THE band, this is the one. I’m much more emotionally attached. I’m an ambassador for Sweaters whenever I go out. Part of the job of being ‘the great pioneers of consciousness’? JB: And who says we’re not? Whose opinion has any more weight than mine? When you make a declaration so grand, who’s to say otherwise? It’s not like God’s gonna come down a mountain and say, ‘Sorry!’ JIB: And God doesn’t know Andrew Pogany!

and it’s great. In the Brass King, people were always shuffling in and out and we had to tell people to please put their pants back on before they leave. People were passing out naked all the time. JIB: It got to be a very frenzied place, and then a very lonely weird place. It was a hard place for people to live. JB: The entire house was a dance floor and there was no privacy. Everyone would just go into Joel’s room and do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. It totally turned into this classic lost dark L.A. flophouse. JIB: I wouldn’t say that! It wasn’t a flophouse because there were never enough people there! It did have a couple legendary events, but it was kind of like living in a nightclub, and in the end I didn’t want to live in a nightclub. It’s only great at 3 AM when you’re dancing. JB: Then it got dark real fast. There were unwanted cats and spiderwebs. JH: And bees. JB: Joel wouldn’t let anyone kill the bees. Why not? JIB: They were earthquake-detecting bees! JH: Joel, in all his genius, came upstairs and said, ‘We cannot kill them! We just can’t!

I’ve read this. They’re prophesizing an earthquake. There’s going to be an earthquake.’ JB: Then the place was overrun with spiders, and all Joel had to say was, ‘Yes, that is their habitat. There’s no use in clearing them out.’ So you let nature reclaim the house? JB: Everyone got kicked out in the end because it was foreclosed. The owners weren’t paying their bills, but we destroyed the house. Where are you at now? JB: We got all these bills, and I would let the bills run up because they weren’t in my name, and when I needed money I would harass them. ‘Hey you never paid these bills!’ But now I pay bills. So now you’re at the point in your life where you pay bills. JB: Yeah. I just paid a gas bill from like a year and a half ago. They found me with my social security number. Started at $4 and went up to $300. JH: I had an old internet bill in my name, but I think it expired after a while. I don’t think bills expire. JB: My favorite lyric in history used to be Iggy Pop’s ‘Show me a bill that they can make me pay, ha!’ JH: They can’t make you pay them, they really can’t. I think what happened is they never charged us anything, we never prepaid anything, so six months later they shut it off because we never paid a bill. But we never paid anything in the first place. Rules of engagement. Which one of you is most likely to die as a result of being in this band? JB: For a while it was me. Now I think we all have equal chances of living. JH: I think Joel. He’s the heaviest hitter right now. He’s got the highest likelihood of being in a car accident. JB: Is Sweaters going to be like Queen where we have like 30 albums and we’ve played for decades and one of us dies? I don’t think that’ll be the case. JH: Sweaters is like a good haircut that you get by accident but you hang on to it for so long and you can never repeat it. Eventually you find out it was the haircut for you at that time, and you just hang on to it. SWEATERS’ CAN’T STOP WINNING IS OUT NOW ON ECHO PARK BOOKS. SWEATERS’ “SKYMALL” 7” IS OUT NOW ON SLOW DEATH. VISIT SWEATERS AT MYSPACE.COM/SWEATERSMUSIC. 87

Images and texts (C) Nick Blinko 2010; from a forthcoming book of drawings. For more information on the artwork of Nick Blinko please VISIT www.outsiderart.co.uk/blinko.htm

JUSTIN PEARSON Interview by various e-incarnations of L.A. RECORD Photography by Ward Robinson Justin Pearson (All Leather, the Locust, etc.-etc.-etc.!) has been chased by rockthrowing French children, stabbed in the back with a pen and assaulted by Jerry Springer’s security, and he lived with a baby cockroach in his ear for almost as long as he lived with his ex-wife. He kindly recounts these merry tales in From the Graveyard of the Arousal Industry, out now on Soft Skull Press. How did you start writing a book? Originally, I wrote a tour journal for an online site. I sent the link to some friends, one being John Waters, who suggested that I write a book. I sort of laughed it off, being that I was not a writer. But for shits and giggles, on my downtime during long drives on tour, I started to write a short story about my childhood. Then I did another story, and then another, and so on. After I realized it, there was this pretty big chunk of text, which was a good amount of short stories that would eventually become what’s known as my book. Since you’ve just contributed to Touchable Sound, a book about record packaging, did you have any cool packaging ideas for the book that never materialized? I wanted to have the cover look like duct tape, and sort of look crummy. I also wanted the title of the book to be spot-glossed to look more like marker on duct tape and I didn’t want my name on the cover … I think it’s too obvious with ‘book title’ and then ‘author.’ To me, in my mind, I would have loved to see it on a bookshelf at a store looking like this sort of DIY duct tape thing—zine, or whatever you want to call it. I’m a fan of the obscure approach, sort of like the Head Wound City EP that I released [on Three.One.G, Pearson’s label]. Most people have no idea what that album cover says, let alone who is in the band. The lyrics to that album are spot-glossed inside and I bet 80 percent of the people who own it have no idea that the lyrics are even there. Yeah, it hurt sales, but it’s a piece of art. Art loses something interesting when it’s all spelled out for the consumer (literally). You seem to get the shit beat out of you in every chapter. What does it feel like to be punched in the face? Well, it’s a strange thing. All points leading up to the actual punch or punches is the worst part. It’s the anticipation that sucks so bad. But I remember getting in fights as a kid, processing how it sucked as it was going 90

on, but realizing that it was not that bad. I just had to get my punches in and bail. I’m way too street smart for most situations, and I realized that early on. I’m not a fan of violence at all, but there is a time for it and if you are in a situation that is unavoidable, you have to figure out the best method of survival as you can. I mean, I had times where I was beat up and realized that I was not going to win or get away, so I’d do crazy stuff like try to get my pants off and pee. Nobody wants to touch a dude taking a piss in the middle of a fight. Well, unless it’s in jail or something. I even pretended to go into a seizure to get people to leave me alone. All that strange shit sure beats paying medical bills and stuff at the end of the day. Chuck Klosterman once wrote that culture is becoming coarser because modern Americans have lost their fear of getting punched in the face—we’ve lost our relationship to primordial reality. That is interesting. I wonder if part of that has to do with the internet. Over the years I have run into some people with the biggest balls, threatening me to the extent of death, and I’m certain that they are bluffing. I’ve even said to people, online, that if they really want to fight me or whatever the extent of their beef with me is, that I’d put them on the guest list for a show in their town or city and they never turned up. It’s mind-blowing how people will act behind the computer. If I’m going to talk some shit, I’ll say it to the person’s face or I won’t say it at all. It’s like keying someone’s car or crank-calling them. People tend to be chickenshits and if they are not chickenshits and act on something, it’s usually some petty crap that fits into the mindset of a person without a worldly vision. What’s the most cleverly written death threat you’ve ever received? To be honest, I think a written death threat is not clever. If you seriously want someone dead, I’m certain that the reason is not clever in any way. Like when my dad was killed, my mom contemplated hiring a hit man to kill

the guys. But you know, those dudes were fuckheads and, well, my dad sort of was too. But both parties chose a path that was not clever at all, in any way. It was the most typical situation and the lamest outcome: my dad died, and two young kids got off with no jail time. Even on a large scale, like with war, it’s not clever in any way if people die. There are very few people who I would wish death upon. I think there are way more creative and progressive ways of making a point, or getting revenge, or whatever the motivation might be. With all that being said, the cleverness comes from the person avoiding the threat and the potential outcome. Do you remember what you were thinking when the baby cockroach flew into your ear—some advice to our readers on how to avoid roach-attracting thoughts? Yeah, that was lame! The cockroach and my ex-wife …Well, as it says in the book, I had no idea what happened for almost twenty minutes. Up till I got to the hospital, I was not certain that there was an insect stuck to my eardrum. It was throwing my equilibrium off so bad I could not walk. What would be your funny headline for a cockroach flying into a member of the Locust’s ear? ‘Housing Crisis: Bug Flies in Locust’s Ear, Evicted and Dies, Leaving Ear in Foreclosure.’ If only I could get a job coming up with creative headlines. I feel for those people. Beats trying to make creative music. Sometimes I think the more you suck, the more popular you can be. Does that inspire you to test the boundaries of sucking—just to see what will happen? I could list two collaborations I have been part of that were a ‘test,’ but that would just be done in bad taste. Let’s just say I have found the boundaries, yes. But I’m not willing to cross that line for more than a second. I just end up feeling cheap—like I just took a crap and looked in the toilet to make sure it was as bad as it seemed.

Of the celebrities you’ve hung out with, whose autobiography would you most like to read: Urkel, Jerry Springer or Extreme Elvis? I’ll pass on Springer for sure. That guy is a legit douche. But Extreme Elvis, now that is a man who I can appreciate. Very witty, pushes the boundaries and comfort levels. I read a review of a show where the audience was chanting for him to take a shit. ‘Take-a-shit, take-a-shit’—as it was becoming expected of him to do so. He then took the mic, said that there was a war in Iraq going on—this was a few years back obviously—explained that people were dying, that the war was a lie, and he then took a pair of clippers, shaved his hair off and said that people paid to see a fat dude take a shit and that was sad. ‘Extreme Elvis is dead,’ and he walked off stage. Now that is a true artist. Do you believe in doppelgängers? When I was in the fifth grade I moved to a new house in a different part of town. Everyone kept calling me Steve Pierce, which was so strange. My dad’s name was Steve Pearson, but apparently this kid named Steve Pierce looked just like me. Him and I didn’t think so. He was this sort of preppy and well, I was just some poor punk. He thought I was weird, but we got along for the most part. We would switch classes and stuff. But I’m just not sure he was evil. I mean, he was not cool in my eyes by any means. Can you tell us one thing that will prove that the baby roach that flew in your ear didn’t lay eggs in your mind, and they hatched, and the eggs wrote this book to get people to approach closely enough so you can vomit pregnant roaches into their ears and propagate the species? I can’t prove anything. JUSTIN PEARSON’S FROM THE GRAVEYARD OF THE AROUSAL INDUSTRY IS OUT NOW ON SOFT SKULL PRESS. WWW.SOFTSKULL.COM. VISIT JUSTIN PEARSON AT MYSPACE.COM/MRJUSTINPEARSON. BOOKS

We drove back up to L.A. listening to Guns N Roses’ Appetite for Destruction over and over to get us in the mood. We arrived in some beat-to-hell van, probably looking pretty sketchy to the security on location. After some arguing, lots of confusion, a little lying, and some attitude adjustments, we were in. We parked and moseyed into the backyard area where the filming was taking place. First thing I saw were two naked ladies being filmed while having sex in the pool. Then I spotted Toxie, Scott, a slew of bloody sluts, some hangers-on, and a bunch of pink flamingos, monkeys, and peacocks. We were immediately thrown into a scene that seemed totally lame. We were told to act “retarded” and, well, I guess we did. After that scene ended, we hung out for a while, watching boobs, blood, and bullshit, and then snooped around the area in awe of the ridiculousness. We got to check out a little bit of the Playboy Mansion, but then all of a sudden were rushed to do some scene as a band—the reason we were there. Because there were no sound permits, we had to lip sync to a song on our CD. We were set up among Toxie and a grip of bloody and trashy girls, and, again, acted “retarded.” This was going to be super lame; there was no doubt in our minds about that. I remember Lloyd Kaufman of Troma Films said Gabe was too short, and instructed him to stand on a crate just behind the drums. Dave and Gabe both had their shirts off and were covered with blood. The rest of us took a more modest approach because we knew that this scene sucked. Everyone danced and yelled to a beat that was barely audible through the speakers of a little boom box, which was cranked and “blasting” our song. Thankfully, the scene was cut from the film. However, you can still see us here and there along with Scott in the final cut. The best part of the filming was the last scene of the day. It was shot in the mansion’s infamous grotto. We all stripped down to our underwear and got in there with fake champagne and plenty of softcore porn antics and “partied” until Toxie came in and killed everyone. The film eventually came out straight to DVD and we were mentioned on the promotional poster even though we were edited out. FROM JUSTIN PEARSON’S FROM THE GRAVEYARD OF THE AROUSAL INDUSTRY, OUT NOW ON SOFT SKULL PRESS. WWW.SOFTSKULL.COM.

THE CENTER FOR LAND USE INTERPRETATION Interview by Drew Denny The Center For Land Use Interpretation, founded and directed by Matthew Coolidge, wants to keep you on your toes! It is clothing optional, and there are no security guards outside CLUI’s exhibits, nor are there locks. A simple code will get you in ( because CLUI trusts you. They will not, however, make anything too easy for you to find. Heightened awareness, inspired by this search connects a human to her surroundings—a good thing if you ask Matt Coolidge, who spends his days documenting and interpreting humanity’s constructed landscape, scribing stories and drawing bits of meaning but making no conclusions, mind you, because doomsday has come and gone and the Garden of Eden was only a previous version of whatever nature means to you. What is the mission of CLUI? And how did you start? Matthew Coolidge (founder and director): I was one of the founders of the organization in 1994 when we filed our papers with the government and became an official organization. We’ve been doing what we set out to do initially all along—with increasing efficacy as we get better at it. The first thing that we did was to collect information and images of places across America. That was our kind of bedrock—this land-use database which we still operate and maintain and add to and a portion of which is available online. But really the foundation of this organization is this collection of places that already exist that we’ve just put into kind of a collection that we then draw from to do exhibits and tours and other programs. We started to make extractions to put together exhibits and other projects that are related thematically or regionally. We do these programs several times a year, but they all relate to looking at the built landscape. All of our projects and our database are about the built landscape—meaning the ones constructed by humans. Which is, you know, pretty much everywhere—anyhow, certainly in the United States. So we look at these places—these sites—within the constructed landscape as intentional or incidental constructions that are reflections of our culture. These sites are artifacts, like an archaeological specimen in a sense. They can be studied to tell stories—to extract meaning about the individuals or groups that made them. It can range in scale from a small thing like a curb stone or fire hydrant to a large thing like a bombing range. The scale can go up and down. From something that an individual might make—like a piece of land art—to something that the government makes like a reservoir. These are all artifacts and we’ve constructed narratives based on the selection and order and contextualization of these pre-existing artifacts in the landscape.

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THE MUSEUM OF JURASSIC TECHNOLOGY Interview by Drew Denny In the preface to The Order of Things, Foucault recalls Borges’ description of a ‘certain Chinese encylopedia’s’ taxonomy of fauna (a. belonging to the emperor, b. embalmed ... ) as a magically humorous interpretation of reality. Such is the interpretation offered by the Museum of Jurassic Technology. Founded and directed by David Wilson since its nomadic inception in ‘84, the Museum of Jurassic Technology needs not distinguish history from fantasy. Wilson’s collection investigates the whimsical with as much ardor as the technical, the old wive’s tale with as much nuance as the astrophysicist’s process. A walk through his Museum leads one from micro-miniature to 3-D, stereoscopic to X-ray, model to map to taxiderm— instilling within visitors a sense of wonder that endures far beyond the Museum’s doors, turning Culver City into another Borgesian Labyrinth.

ALICE RUTHERFORD

David Wilson (founder/director): The museum has been around since about 1984 but for five years it was quite interim, which is to say it traveled from place to place—pretty much any place that would have us. We’d take exhibits in the back of U-Haul trucks and cart them around to various kinds of civic centers or museums. At the very end of 1988, it was getting harder and harder to move all that around, because we kept adding more and more exhibits. We finally decided to bring the people to the museum rather than continue to take the museum to the people. We were only given about a one-year lease at that time because they were going to tear the buildings down. But we thought there was no possible way we were going last one year, so we thought a one-year lease would be fine. But it turned out that at the end of one year, they didn’t tear down the buildings, and then they said we could stay another year and then another year until after we were there about five years. In about 1993, we just kept adding more and more exhibits and we had a bursting at the seams and then discovered a door in the wall that we didn’t even know was there. We asked this wonderful person named Philip Lomeyer who managed the buildings what was behind that door, and he said, ‘Funny you should ask—it’s another 1600 square feet. Would you guys be interested?’ Those people were actually a forensic laboratory, and they had just shipped their billing department off shore. Until that time, I was supporting the museum almost entirely myself through working in the film industry doing model and miniature quality control kind of work, but that started to all change very rapidly. In the exact same month that Phil offered us a new space, I essentially quit my job—or my job

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THE CENTER FOR LAND USE INTERPRETATION CONTINUED FROM PAGE 92 And you have exhibits that are open to the public with a code and people just call in and get the code from you? Yeah, we do. They’re open periodically, but all the time at a few locations. For example, in Wendover, Utah, we have three separate exhibit facilities there that are accessible that way. There are others that require prior arrangement. The location in Los Angeles has regular scheduled hours to visit—there’s no push button code there. It’s on Venice Boulevard. At the Wendover location, we’ve got six or eight buildings with different functions, including the exhibit building. Then in Houston, Texas, where I am right now, we’ve got a field office on kind of an industrialized part of town overlooking a giant scrap yard on the Buffalo Bayou—the primary drainage corridor in Houston. And then in Troy, New York, we’ve got a field office. We’re opening up for the summer there starting in mid-June. There’s an exhibit in that space about the Hudson River. In New Mexico, we have a small facility, but it’s there and it’s open—it’s in a kind of an odd corner of the edge of town, south of Albuquerque. It focuses on issues about the region there—a lot of hightech research and development and atomic history. That’s open periodically. Sometimes with a code or sometimes we have an attendant there, letting people in on very scheduled hours. These things are announced or described on our website when they are available for visitation by the public. When you give out a code, you just trust people, then? It is a trust thing. We’ve opened up exhibits that don’t even have doors! They’re just a trailer out in the landscape or you just walk in and look at stuff. Sometimes things get vandalized and destroyed. But our facility in Utah has never had any issues and it’s had a push button system to look at exhibits there for fifteen years almost—since 1996. There’s a guest book, so there’s a sense of people going through and visiting. Often there’s a new pen for the guestbook. Or a swept place—we leave a broom in the corner because it’s pretty dusty out there, and sometimes people sweep it out. I think something happens when you trust people. They give back in a sense. We’ve expanded it to other places. You know—it’s just one layer to keep kids out who just wanted to vandalize things because they’re bored. Frankly, I think most vandalism is bored kids and when they come up on a lock—even though it says you can call a number for getting inside—they’re not interested in doing that. It keeps just the people who are interested to get through that little filter and it works. It only works in places that have the right conditions of the environment around it, too. We have set up things that have failed in other places— that’s in terms of access. But that’s part of the research we do—to try and find where the edges are and what kinds of parameters and perimeters can be established in public space in order to provide our services to the public. And to provide an experience, too. Some things, too, are really hard to find. There aren’t 94

signs everywhere. There’s a kind of a process of discovery that we try and have in place, as well. So people are sort of searching for it—entering into a searching mode. Which is a very productive state to be in—when you begin to search for something, you’re very engaged with where you are and looking for clues and ideas and hints as you travel and it’s a very positive mindset to be in, too. It’s part of what we try to engender often with our remote exhibits and things like that. Sometimes it’s work to find new places—sometimes the different things are harder to find than others but the reward is greater, potentially, with the more you work to find something. There are things that we leave out there that we don’t warn people about, so that there are surprises. When you actually go through to the trouble to find something, it grounds you there… Wherever you travel, you want people to feel like they’re connected and engaged with the place they’re at. Active viewing, I call it. And that’s what we try to promote and approach. That’s quite refreshing in this age of museums full of security cameras. I just watched a friend of mine get attacked by 7 security guards and quite aggressively removed from MoMA in New York just for getting naked! Just a few stories below an exhibition that featured nude performers, the institution punished and removed a nude audience member because she was deemed a threat by MoMA security. So it’s nice to hear of people sweeping out your exhibit after searching for it in the desert. Yeah—and they can do it in the nude if they like! I saw the oil fields project, the L.A. Basin, the helipads downtown—now you have a project about the Grapevine in your L.A. space. The Grapevine is a place almost everybody in Southern California has some direct experience with and has thought about. It’s the main road connecting Southern California and Northern California. We began looking at it as this place of passage between here and there and what is it like as a place. People pass through it and it’s supposed to be surmounted and not really contemplated. We wanted to stop and look at it and provide that view to focus on a place which is usually about getting through. We encountered some other people who had written about it and talked about it—including a fantastic book about the Old Bridge Route that a person wrote. He’s quoted in our exhibit, I think. He did some fantastic research into the original road that went along the tops of the mountains through the path. We started looking at that as one layer and then the subsequent highway as another layer and the new highway as the third layer and the pipelines and the electric lines and the things that are about transit—about passage. And looking at those things themselves rather than using those things as they are intended—which is to move you through without stopping! The intersection of those things got really interesting when

we actually have an old piece of a loop road from the original ridge route of the early 1900s cut off by the next layer of road that sliced right through it and those kind of intersections of conveyance—those collisions. They never really collided—there was more like an incision through and cutting away—but they look in a way like collisions. Different road services meet and break apart but they’re surmounted as some contemporary version of conveyance. That got to be kind of a thematic—implicit or explicit—component of the exhibit: to look at the intersection of these through-lines. It’s about passage, but it’s about looking at the intersections and the combinations of things within passage. It reminded me of all those diagrams we saw in elementary earth science—of a river making then breaking through its own curves. That’s exactly what it is. It’s humans forcing— through economics and government work projects and road building and being this kind of river of change forcing its way through the existing landscape. They’re kind of like braided streams. They’re kind of superimposed over one another, finding increasingly permissive paths of least resistance for the great flow of the economy and people. With so much of the work that you do and the places that you document, it seems that one could draw a very negative conclusion about our culture. Yet you draw one that allows you to trust total strangers with your work. With all this research, what kind of theses are you drawing about our culture? Well, all kinds. We don’t end up with a particular kind of conclusion, though. Other than the fact that we’re remarkably creative organisms and full of conflict, and often our nature is different than our artifacts. We’re always trying collectively to find the best course for our collective lives. I’m not sure that conclusions really can be drawn because it’s so complex. But it’s just get a sense of the scale—the magnitude and the character of what we are doing interacting with this planetary surface that we live on. Just getting a better understanding of ourselves and it and our relationship … I think that’s productive and it helps us make better decisions individually and collectively down the road. We just know the effects of our actions better and understand the connections between things rather than feel alienated by what we encounter in our space in our daily life. Hopefully rather than have a conclusion I hope that we have an introduction. When you have conclusions then it’s over—literally. I don’t think that we’re quite ready to call it ‘game over’ yet. I think in a way it’s really just beginning, and we need to begin from a different point of beginning and look at things anew as if for the first time in order to initiate a reformed dialogue with the way we live. I don’t think anybody is debating that there are a lot of things are out of whack in terms of our interaction with each other and the environment. We’re trying to provide a

new point of origin—a new first look, almost. Like a day of creation just happened in 1978 or whatever and then we back engineer in order to understand what we’ve done. We’ve just been on this rollercoaster of creation as a species in the past 200 years, but especially in the past 50 years. World War II—things took off in such a big way and in such an unusual unprecedented direction where we invented new forms of life and energy. This is the modern era that we’re trying to sort of figure out and help pilot ourselves through it in a way that makes sense and is reasonable. And there are many ways of doing that—of getting a sense of this place and country, and ours is just one sort of channel for looking at it. But I think we did sort of create a programming channel for looking at our culture and our problem. I find that really exciting because so much environmental discourse is doomsday rhetoric. ‘We’ve ruined it—it’s over!’ It’s exciting to hear someone say, ‘Well, this could be a beginning—this doesn’t have to be the end.’ In school I studied Environmental Science as well as Art History and a bunch of creative things. And we learned basically all the reasons why the world was doomed. By that time it was all gonna end by 1998 or something. The limits of growth would be reached! Or the world would blow itself up in a nuclear catastrophe. Part of you ends up distancing you from your future if you believe that. When it didn’t happen—when the world didn’t collapse since the millennium or whenever you thought it might—you start thinking, ‘Wow, really, this is not predestined—we created these landscapes and we can manipulate them back into different ways.’ Sure, the genie’s out of the bottle. ‘Nature’ is gone in a sense, and we have now this kind of human nature—or whatever you wanna call it. Things can be ‘restored’ to some version of what they used to be. But you have to understand, that that’s always just a version of things. There is no ‘forwards’ and ‘backwards’—there’s just kind of a merging around a slow evolution. And it’s probably better to think of it as directionless rather than forwards and backwards. It’s a collective, integrated evolution that we are little digits in—collectively as nations, institutions and cities, clubs and classes or whatever these things are forced within this transformation. We’re environmentalists in the sense that the environment is everything that surrounds us and understanding that and the use of connectedness of all things is an ecological concept. Ecology literally means the inner connectiveness of things and the inner dependency. We’re just … ‘Whole Earth Ecologists’ or something. But in a Google Earth sense of the whole earth. There’s an information space as well as the physical space. THE CENTER FOR LAND USE INTERPRETATION AT 9331 VENICE BLVD., CULVER CITY. OPEN 12-5 PM FRI.-SUN. CLUI.ORG. ART

THE MUSEUM OF JURASSIC TECHNOLOGY CONTINUED FROM PAGE 93

quit me—and all of a sudden I was gainfully unemployed. We asked him how much it was and it was another thousand dollars a month and we were barely making the thousand dollars that we had already, so we said, ‘Sure! We would love to take it!’ So we took it and went into this crazy economic tailspin that’s lasted pretty much until right now. What changed? About ten years ago—more maybe—Phil came to us and said, ‘You gotta leave now because they’re gonna sell the buildings.’ ‘We can’t leave. It’s not like we set up some pedestals—we’re totally built into the space.’ And he said, ‘Well, what if it cost you a million a dollars?’ Which to us was just like saying it cost a billion dollars! But we just started down the path and we raised enough money so that we and the Bank of the West own the building. Nobody can kick us out now! Did getting a MacArthur Fellowship help? The MacArthur was great. That came in 2001—it was actually a really dark period. I remember I was sitting with Kelly Coyne, the administrative director at the time, and we were trying to figure out how we were gonna get through the month. I got this call on my phone, and I was not always the best about taking calls, but I was like, ‘You know, what the heck! I’ll take it.’ It was this guy named Dan Socolow. He said, ‘Are you alone?’ ‘What do you mean ‘am I alone’?’ ‘Are you sitting down?’ He played it out and went through this whole thing. It was great because we were really just scraping by. That wasn’t the answer to everything, but it sure helped and it allowed us to gain traction. There were five years where we had for the first time ever enough money to do what we should be doing, and we did quite a bit of building during that period. We did the whole upstairs of the museum—the theatre and the tea room. How exactly did you build into the space? And who keeps the videos and the sounds and the holograms all running? It’s just us. There’s nobody here but us chickens. The exhibits are done almost completely these days by a woman named Eva Hausam and myself and the larger scale construction … we all do some of each, but the other player in that is a wonder person named Oswaldo Gonzales who has been with us for fifteen years—who actually also essentially built the Center for Land Use Interpretation and built the Velaslavasay Panorama. What’s the relationship between the museum and CLUI? Cordial cooperation. Matt came down in the really early days of the museum. Somebody that was working for the museum got a grant to work here for a non-profit, but essentially was already working for us. He couldn’t work for us so he contacted Matt, who co-founded CLUI, and said, ‘I would like to work for you for a year, they’re giving me money to do it.’ I said, ‘Well then, I’ll just come down there.’ We gave them this office space and then they turned it into an exhibition space, and then ART

after a while it became apparent that it was working pretty well. We feel their mission is substantially different then ours, but they’re so sympathetic—and wonderful people. When we bought the building, we made sure that they bought a one-eighth share of the buildings so that they can’t leave—which is what we wanted. What’s the relationship between the museum and Noah’s ark? I don’t know what kind of relationship we have with Noah’s Ark—with Noah. In the really early stage of the museum it occurred to us that Noah’s Ark was the first and most complete museum of natural history ever compiled. It had to have two of everything in existence and everything that was to continue to exist—except fishes, I guess. They were fine in the flood. That is a model for us of a real encyclopedic kind of museum. In a lot of ways we are just a smaller version of a lot of other wonderful museums in this country. But the thing that sets us apart is that we hark back to that idea of an encyclopedic museum. We don’t want to just limit ourselves to ethnography, we don’t want limit ourselves to the history of art—we want to be able to delve

everything we do. We have a motto, which you never see actually which is ‘Ut Translatio Natura’ which essentially means ‘nature as metaphor.’ For us, almost everything in the museum can be considered nature, if you consider human kind and all of our doings ‘natural’—because if that’s not natural what is? But the common thread through all the exhibits is that we are drawn to phenomena or historical occurrences that can be read on multiple levels—that can be read metaphorically or at least hint at overtones or suggest other things. What exhibits in the museum are still most exciting to you? You always are drawn to what you are working on now. Although you can’t say anything without its opposite being true as well, so I love some of the older exhibits. We’re currently working on an exhibition based on a fellow named Konstantin Eduardovich Tsiolkovsky who was a very early envisioner of human space travel. It’s turning out very nicely and we’re very excited about it. That’s kind of my current affair. My roots were in motion picture, and we started this project of making movies for the theatre about a decade ago now. We’re just now working on our fourth film which is called A Book of Wisdom And Lies, and it was all shot in the Republic of Georgia last fall. We shot it in 3-D. We used a lot of stereoscopic in the exhibits over the years, but we’ve never really shot a film stereoscopically. This one we did. What’s your relationship to that part of that world? You have the tea room and the Soviet space dogs and now this film. I know how it happened, I don’t why it happened. The interest in Eastern Europe came originally from our exhibition of the work of Hagop Sandaljian, the micro-miniaturist. He was from Armenia. He immigrated to

three films that ended up having their roots in the Soviet space program, in Soviet astronomy and Russian yearnings for the heavens, in a way. It is wonderfully interesting material and we’re not done with it yet. We’re still working in those areas. For me when I went to both Ukraine and Russia, I just couldn’t believe it—it just felt so wonderful to me to be in those places. It is such a kind of parallel world. I grew up in the 1950s and ‘60s when those were the most forbidden places on the planet. You are drawn to those places that are most forbidden to you. And then you get to do the space dog exhibit. We actually took those dogs last fall back to Russia to do an exhibition. That was an amazing experience. It was harrowing and we almost didn’t get them into the country. We had terrible customs issues. We’d have to take these beautiful paintings back to L.A., where the dogs come from—it was really complicated technically in terms of paperwork. But once we got them into the country it was just beautiful. There’s this space museum in St. Petersburg that’s not a huge fancy museum. It’s quite humble, but charming—in the middle of the city in this place called Peter Paul Fortress, which was the place all the czars are buried. It was for many many centuries the center of Russia. Right there in that complex is this little space museum and the dogs were displayed so prominently there—people loved them! The astronauts of the past—the cosmonauts—came to see the paintings. Whose dog is that in the tea room? If it has long hair and is enormously graceful and prancing around it’s Tula. Tula belongs to Nana Tchitchoua, the woman who sits in the corner and offers you tea. I went to the museum on Friday and when I

“You are drawn to those places that are most forbidden to you.” into interlace all kinds of interests. Whatever strikes our fancy, we can follow up and research and put into the vault. When and where is the Lower Jurassic? The Lower Jurassic is a geologic time period that was some 200 million years ago. All geologic time periods are actually—well, I don’t know about all, but many—including the Jurassic—are name after a location. The Jurassic was named after the Jura mountains. Now evidence of that era can be found anywhere. Do we still name time periods after location and space? I think we’re done naming time periods. What do you find particularly compelling about the Jurassic? That’s a complicated question. Why is that name this somewhat embarrassing title of the museum? But the actual real reason is that in the earliest days of the museum a friend gave us a large donation of artifacts that came through her family to her. In that were many fossils from the Jurassic period. When we came to name the museum, we wanted to acknowledge that first contribution. Without that we would have never really reached the critical mass that it took to make us an institution. I always interpreted the name as a metaphor. There are overtones. We like to—in our hubris—imagine that there are overtones to most

this country. While doing the major exhibition of him in the mid ‘90s, we wrote a catalogue. A fellow named Ralph Rugoff—he was a writer in Los Angeles for a long time and a really wonderful guy—wrote the catalogue essay. He did great research for it and discovered another living micro-miniaturist because Hagop had just died before we did our first exhibition of his work. Ralph said that there was a living micro-miniaturist living in Kiev in the Ukraine. And so he and I in a very unprepared and unprofessional way got on a plane and went to Kiev and somehow managed to get into the country and managed to get an interview with this guy who was really remarkable. Later we made a film that kind centers on an interview with him—that fellow’s name is Nikolai Syadristy. And since we were so close, we thought that we would go to St. Petersburg because we had always heard a great deal about it. That was in the 1990s and things there then were very different from how they are there now. It was an amazing place. We had the name of one person in the city: a woman named Olesya Turkina, who was a curator at the Russian state museum. We looked her up and she became kind of an almost instantaneous very good friend. In order to amplify that friendship, we undertook this series of motion pictures. A trilogy of

got up to the tea room the dog was lying on one of the cushions. A couple of kids came up and I heard one of the kids ask, ‘Is it real?’ By the time you get upstairs you can’t tell what’s real. More than one person thought he was stuffed until he moved. I just thought that was a good way to sum up what happens inside of your museum— suddenly the line between fiction and reality becomes very blurry. Do you aim to muddy the distinction between myth and history and fact and fantasy in the Museum of Jurassic Technology? Do you even believe in those distinctions? That is a big question. It’s actually in a funny way not something we think about so much. Werner Herzog speaks sometimes about ecstatic truth. I don’t know how ecstatic we ever get, but I think that that is a lot of what we are drawn to. There is a kind of truth that is maybe truer than fact. That’s what we keep our sights on. That’s what we’re interested in maintaining and focusing on. The truer than true. THE MUSEUM OF JURASSIC TECHNOLOGY AT 9341 VENICE BLVD., CULVER CITY. OPEN THUR. 2-8 PM AND FRI.-SUN 12-6 PM. SUGGESTED DONATION $5. MJT.ORG 95

MM SERRA Interview by Lainna Fader Illustration by Al Kamalizad MM Serra is the Executive Director of the Film-Makers Cooperative. Her latest work, Chop Off, is a literal exploration of amputation as art. She co-curated the Counter Culture, Counter Cinema Avant-Garde Film Festival at the Pacific Design Center with films featuring headless naked bodies, silent bloody births and psychedelic be-ins. The concept of identity is clearly central to a festival about counterculture. How does the structure of film—and more specifically avant-garde film—affect the exploration of identity? How is film a particularly useful medium for women to explore these issues? The concept of identity is key to an exploration of the counterculture—one of the traits that characterizes these films as avant-garde is their creation of new forms of personal vision. The term avant-garde originates from a French military term for the advanced guard that ventures first into unexplored territory. Avant-garde artists, like these soldiers, are the ones on the forefront of cultural and aesthetic innovation, often putting themselves in the line of fire, both on the screen and off, in order to explore the boundaries of transgression and break cultural taboos with the unorthodox, daring and radical. This position on the forefront is often a singular one, influencing the artist to impart on a journey of individual exploration and a study of identity. For example—Jack Waters’ film The Male Gayze questions issues of race, white privilege, homosexuality, and the commodity fetishism of the black male within media representation. It does not address just one issue of identity, but presents a multiple layering of race, class, gender and creating politics within the avant-garde tradition. By turning the camera on himself, by being both subject and object of the spectacle, operating the camera, and being the voice of the narrator, Jack Waters creates a unique reminiscence of himself as a 23-year-old African-American dancer in Europe. After a photo of Waters’ partially undressed body—with the head removed—was circulated around Europe as a commercial postcard without his permission, Waters felt his body was appropriated and objectified in similar fashion to the commodification of female sexuality. The fetishization of the body as spectacle is prevalent in mainstream cinema, television and advertising, so an avant-garde artist is able to engage in the process of critiquing and taking back control of the gaze. Is this a case of form following function or function following form? Does avant-garde film exist because radical concepts demand such a medium? Or does the medium draw avant-garde ideas into expression? One of the reasons that radical concepts and transgressive ideas can be explored in avantgarde cinema is because it is not a commodity like the commercial mainstream cinema that are dependent on attendance, marketing, press and the rating system. Also, avant-garde 96

form isn’t tied to a feature-length product, so the message can dictate the length of the film. Film is one of the many forms where avantgarde concepts can be explored, but film is unique in that it can raise questions or explore its subjects through language, graphics and sound. For example, Stan Brakhage’s 1959 film Window Water Baby Moving — showing his wife Jane giving birth — is lyrical, romantic and graphic, but still disturbs viewers of both genders today. It is a silent film so Jane’s birth agonies are not heard, but the visuals carry the weight of the bloody and agonizing—but beautiful—process that is common to us all. The film and its subject were censored by the hospital refusing to let Stan in with a camera to film the birth of their first child and the subject was considered inappropriate for a theatrical audience in the late 1950s. I read an interview with Jose RodriguezSoltero about the remastering of Lupe by Anthology, and he said that removing all the scratches and blemishes—its ‘ugliness’—took away some of its character and muddled its message. Do these experimental films have to be ugly in order to capture the experience of being a part of underground or counterculture? In my opinion the film is very avant-garde and different than a mainstream Hollywood film in many aspects of its aesthetics that supersede the question of whether it’s clean or dirty. The strength of Lupe is in its tactile, visceral and sensuous quality, particularly in regards to its expressiveness created with a vivid color palette saturated with warm tones such as reds. The aesthetics of the avant-garde are not about beauty or ugliness, but about exploring possibilities through textural, rhythmic and even tonal ranges that expand on our traditional sense of reality. What is the ‘traditional sense of reality’ and through what traditions is it reinforced? The traditional sense of ‘reality’ found in commercial film and television is the illusion that allows you become so engaged in the story as to create a seamless, unchallenged spectatorship. The camera, actors and narrative all become part of an invisible artifice, so that you—the spectator—become fully engaged and the overall cinematic apparatus totally dissolves. Avant-garde cinema challenges and disrupts the spectator by foregrounding screen surface, layering of visual imagery, speaking directly to the spectator, distorting spatial perspective, and through its transgressive subjects—for example the explicit graphic body which is repressed in mainstream enter-

tainment. Creating a more visceral palette creates a more engaged spectatorship where one is more aware of the cinematic apparatus, the surface of the screen. Avant-garde music and film have a lot of the same rhythms, which is something you clearly picked up on with selections like Jerry Abrams’ Be-In, set to music by Blue Cheer. How important is the interaction between sound and image to the impact and durability of experimental film? How do you feel about the trend of doing new live scores over pre-existing films? Sound in Jerry Abrams’ Be-In is important in capturing the immediate feeling of being in the summer of love. The music works with the psychedelic visuals to create the dynamic mood of the culture at that time in San Francisco. The importance of the sound/image interaction depends on the filmmaker—for example Stan Brakhage felt that a soundtrack destroys the visual rhythm and mood of the film, while other filmmakers liked to work with avant-garde musicians and were interested in experimenting with sound and music for their films. Jack Smith would play records and create live sounds to accompany his films, so I think it’s okay in the cases where the filmmakers’ are open to experimentation or in cases where original soundtracks may have existed but have been lost. Do you feel that today’s technology is deployed in a way that can expand identity and perspective? Is it used in a way consistent with the aims and ideologies of filmmakers like Jerry Abrams? I wouldn’t say one technology is better than the other, but that they are different tools that create different visual and audio experiences. An example of an innovative use of new technology is Ken Jacobs’ work Capitalism: Child Labor (2006), which shows a two-dimensional stereograph of a factory child at work and uses his three-dimensional patented technology to show the dehumanization of the child by visually merging the child with the machinery and as part of the industrial system. Jacobs describes his new technology as ‘Eternalism, a method for creating an appearance of sustained three-dimensional motion-direction of unlimited duration, using a finite number of pictures.’ This is an example of the avantgarde exploring new frontiers of technology. I read that Sonata For Pen, Brush & Ruler was made for three dollars worth of clear movie film and five bottles of ink, for a total production cost of nine dollars, but took seven months of the director’s life to

produce ten minutes of film. Do you think knowing the difficulties of a film’s production impacts one’s enjoyment of the film, or the value placed on it? I think knowing the technique affects the viewing experience and that the process is part of the journey. Jasmine Hirst’s Trailers contains Super 8 footage shot of Aileen Wuornos, the female serial killer executed in Florida whose life was appropriated for the film Monster. Hirst writes, ‘I met and filmed Aileen Wuornos on death row in Florida in 1997. We had been corresponding for 5 years and Aileen had asked me to film her talking about the truth of her life and crimes as part of her preparation to die.’ Hirst’s conversations with Wuornos in the short film reveals stories of Wuornos’ horribly abusive childhood that challenges and disturbs the entertainment factor of her story. Knowing the filmmaker’s ten-year correspondence with Wuornos in addition to and in contrast to dehumanizing and trivialized coverage of Wuornos in popular culture, creates a deeper understanding of the subject of the film. Who in L.A. is making the most significant cultural contributions, and what form do these contributions come in? Is it possible for arts organizations in L.A. to thrive financially and avoid corporate cultural investment? I would say Charles S. Cohen and Jeffrey Deitch are performing a heroic cultural act in L.A. by recognizing the importance of these films and filmmakers and bringing to L.A. this groundbreaking program of Counter Culture, Counter Cinema with 60 titles and seven programs. Culture is not cannibalized by corporate America as long as pockets exist where individual expression and personal vision are allowed to thrive. Counterculture cinema is spread across the wider culture of this generation of artists, activists, and members of the counter culture. Though communities of artists continue to exist in specific pockets, with mass digital/media access for all individuals, the movement becomes more global and less restricted by physical space. COUNTER CULTURE, COUNTER CINEMA FROM THUR., OCT. 14 TO SAT., OCT. 16., AT THE SILVERSCREEN THEATER AT THE PACIFIC DESIGN CENTER, 8687 MELROSE AVE., WEST HOLLYWOOD. VISIT MOCA.ORG FOR COMPLETE PROGRAM AND SCHEDULE. $10-$45. MOCA.ORG. FILM

THE INTERPRETER

TOM FITZGERALD Interview by Lainna Fader Photography by Ryan Lopez

Tom Fitzgerald is a film programmer and a video artist who has spent twenty years digging for the next big thrill. He deals in found footage, creating feature-length video mashups like Bollyweird: The Movie for Cinefamily while mixing psychedelic visual freakouts for Edan, Cut Chemist and B-Music. He swears all these films exist, even though he couldn’t find cover art for all of them and even though some of them are in genres he’s just coined himself. ‘HURT FILMS’: RIVALS (KRISHNA SHAH, 1972)

STUDENT FILMS: DIDN’T YOU HEAR?

“Rivals is a crude and cheaply made film about an extremely precocious 10-year-old kid who gets jealous when his mother starts to date and tries to sabotage her new relationship. He makes strange little Super 8 films that are like ‘Sesame Street’ but everyone’s wearing weird Nixon masks and running around the playground. Rivals will always stay with me because it’s an imperfect little film in a genre I call ‘Hurt Films.’ People are always looking for The Godfather and aren’t forgiving, and they should be. It’s like when you find a record you think is going to be really cool, but only the second song turns out to be worthwhile. You don’t throw out the whole record, do you? No! You keep it for that second song! If you’re a real film lover, you put in the work and let the film have its problems. Rivals is worth it.”

“This is an example of how a student film can rise to be almost a theatrical feature. It’s a moody, naïve art film that could’ve only been made in the ’70s about the inside of the mind of a college freshman trying to figure out how the adult world works. This kid is having a terrible day, so he rests his head back and suddenly he’s in an alternate universe where he and all his friends are pirates who travel to different islands that represent different aspects of modern adult society. The musical equivalent would be Joni Mitchell, so it borders on cheesy, and it’s totally dated. On those terms, it’s very nice and well-done. It’s got its own unique surreal mythology—based on nothing but people smoking pot and taking acid in 1970.”

ANIMATION: KANASHIMI NO BERADONA / BELLADONNA OF SADNESS (EIICHI YAMAMOTO, 1973) “I picked this up in 2001. I don’t like anime, but this is an exception. Actually, I could see someone who likes anime not liking this film. I love the way the film integrates with music, and the visual pastiches and templates that constantly change to adhere to the emotional tone of each scene. It gets soft and pastoral, then psych and surreal. And the music is amazing. It’s the film you could only dream exists. Very ’70s, but not tacky disco ’70s. It’s warm and vibrant. There’s a fluidity to the animation that’s almost as if the animators were listening to the music as they animated the film; amazing synergy with the audio and visual.”

BOLLYWOOD: PYASA SHAITAN (JOGINDER SHELLY, 1984)

TV MOVIES: BAD RONALD ((BUZZ KULIK, 1974) “I found this when I was a kid in the ’70s. Ronald pushes a little girl who was making fun of him and she hits her head and dies. His mother hides him in the downstairs bathroom in their house, but soon she dies, and another family moves in to the house. He becomes an internal voyeur, and makes peep holes all over the place to watch them. He’s filthy and starving and he’s losing his mind. Ronald’s got this fantasy world called Atranta, where he’s a prince, and the princess looks exactly like the girl he killed. Eventually he’s discovered, and he bursts through the wall, and it’s like the id or the mind of the house is being unleashed. I bet someone’s going to remake this some day.”

ITALIAN GENRE FILMS: ARCANA (GIULIO QUESTI, 1972)

“I got into Bollywood when I was researching Mondo Macabro. Purely aesthetically speaking, Bollywood is the most creatively alive cinema out there. You can tell that the filmmakers love film and want to have fun with the set, the dancing, the editing. I’m most interested in Bollywood horror because it shows a love of film and excess with innovation born of having absolutely no money. Pyasa Shaitan is a Dracula film with insane clusters of sound and yelling and lightning with rapid cuts of crazed found footage. It’s very outlaw, third-world Mondo Macabro. This is the wildest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Arcana is definitely an odd duck from the same director as Death Laid an Egg. It’s about a young guy whose mother is a possibly real, possibly fake fortune-teller. He creates his own personal witchcraft and takes Polaroids of all his mother’s visitors and does strange things with them. The film disintegrates into highly symbolic, purely visual set pieces that at reflect ancient voodoo-like witchcraft. Explicitly and implicitly, Questi understands southern Italy’s weird, backward superstitions and he’s playing with them in modern Rome in an amazing chafing of modernity and the old ways.”

PATCHWORK FILMS: THE PASSING

DOCUMENTARY: MISS NUDE AMERICA

(MOROZ, 1990)

“I found this 16mm oddity one night on the B-Movie channel, which only plays weird public domain films. This is a patchwork film that combines different films from various stages of the director’s career, and it’s really obvious. It’s the kind of film that takes years to make and never truly comes together, and that’s part of the charm. He started with an eerie ’70s sci-fi geek film and moved on to a semi-documentary short about two adorable old men, real platonic male love, and then threw them together with creepy soul-transferals and reincarnation experiments. It shows that old people are just like us, except they’re old. John Huckert really should have been a documentarian.”

HOMEMADE HORROR: TALES FROM THE QUADEAD ZONE (CHESTER TURNER, 1987) “This is an ambitious $100-budget film from the director of Black Devil Doll From Hell. It looks like a film made by someone who’s never seen a film, though he obviously has. He creates his own rules because he doesn’t know any film rules. It’s a film about families, with three creepy stories told by a woman to her dead son Bobby. No one knows anything about Chester Turner so this film is a big mystery. In my mind, he’s a bus driver who got a camcorder for Christmas. I give myself to the romantic notions and mysteries of these films.” FILM

(SKIP SHERWOOD, 1970)

(JAMES P. BLAKE, 1976)

“It’s a boob movie that isn’t a boob movie. A nudist colony in Middle America put on a Miss Nude America Contest in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Someone hired a couple documentary filmmakers and said, ‘Go film some naked babes,’ but they were much more into making a humaninterest film. They decided to focus on the director of the pageant, and suddenly the film became fascinating. He’s a megalomaniacal quadriplegic guy whose parents ran the nude resort, a sex-obsessed douchebag who wants to be the next Hugh Hefner. He’s fighting the reality of his life and compensating like crazy. This is the best of vérité documentary filmmaking.”

BLAXPLOITATION: SWEET SWEETBACK’S BAADASSSSS SONG (MELVIN VAN PEEBLES, 1971) “There’s Blaxploitation, and then there’s Sweetback. Most films are based on the novel or play model, but this a film based on a soul/funk record. This badass guy beats up some cops and is on the run. Incredible music from Earth Wind & Fire is playing compulsively. Melvin was obviously losing his mind when he made this. It’s a manifesto against bourgeois, white art. It’s very pissed off, an affront to all film structure. It’s truly an outlaw film, and the beauty is it was a huge hit and made millions and started Blaxploitation.” 99

EVERYTHING Interview by Roxanne Benjamin Photography by Imps of Marge and Flesh Back in the ’90s, when the Cartoon Network dealt solely in non-ironic kid’s cartoons and cable stations flipped over to paid advertising after midnight, shows like MTV’s ‘Liquid Television’ and ‘Buzz’ were the places to see animated and experimental shorts by the likes of Mike Judge, William S. Burroughs, David Byrne and Bill Plimpton. Filmmakers Danny Jelinek and Jason Whetzell have fashioned their monthly web series, “Everything,” after that same anything-goes era of early ’90s late-night programming. Created for the competitive local film festival Channel 101, Jelinek and Whetzell produce two of the five segments for every five-minute episode themselves, handpicking the filmmakers for the other three segments. The result is a bizarre mix of stop-motion, live action, and visual effects-laden gems often put to songs by the likes of Animal Collective, Grizzly Bear and Flamingos.

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How did you start working together? Danny Jelinek: I made a show called Arrow that was sort of my baby. It had a little cult following in the Channel 101 community. I didn’t know Jason too well, we always talked at screenings, and he was a fan of the show. He had this idea—this early version of ‘Everything.’ I wasn’t deep into animating yet, which I definitely learned a lot about with the show through necessity. We realized pretty quickly that we had different sensibilities sometimes, but we were very like-minded when it came to the creative process. Ever since making the show, we collaborate on a lot of projects. … We’re almost always on each other’s sets. Jason had the idea to do this show where we’d all make shorts and then all these little pieces started to fall into place. Like Sophie [Kipner, host of the show] is the greatest—it really wouldn’t work without her. After we shot her footage I went to work designing a look and feel for her segments. We didn’t have too much of a plan other than that she would have a robotic British voice and the title of the show.

slow motion so you could really see how awful I felt in the moment. This had no story obviously and was purely visual. I think for whatever reason people liked to see me in pain. DJ: I think Jason has a real nice way with endings. He really knows how to give the audience that little kernel at the end—that little laugh or moment of horror, or whatever he’s going for. I definitely spend more energy trying to think of things like that these days. The person who most influenced my work is a Czech surrealist stop-animation director named Jan Svankmajer. I admire all his work but especially his short format work. I actually ventured to the Czech Republic and sought him out at his art gallery in Prague. I was able to talk to him with a translator. I told him how much his work had affected mine. He seemed very appreciative and surprised. I don’t think that had happened to him a lot. His work proved to me that you don’t need a huge budget to make something incredible. I feel like Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry are setting the bar for everyone making short form still to this day. As far as wanting to get to a level of qual-

delic about the humor of ‘Get a Life.’ Chris Elliott dies in a bunch of episodes. It can and frequently does go anywhere. The premises were wild: ‘Chris Invents a Time Travel Drink,’ ‘Chris Finds an Alien,’ ‘Chris Builds a Submarine in His Bathroom.’ I don’t know what effect this has on a mass audience, but I know me and my nerdy friends taped all those episodes and would walk around quoting them to teachers, parents and whoever else we wanted to confuse. It was like a weird secret reference point we all had. To this day I’ll say something like, ‘The sun is by far the hottiest planet!’ and have to remind myself that probably makes no sense to anyone else. I think anything that weird probably has a hardcore audience, and I’m sure part of that hardcore audience goes on to make things that are influenced by it, so there’s an impact somewhere along the line. Is there anyone you would consider a mentor? DJ: Rob Schrab. I don’t know if he would know that! Working on ‘The Sarah Silverman Program,’ I got a lot of insight to his process. I like the way Rob approaches things, how pushing creativity always comes first. I want

“Rejection’s a good thing for an artist—anyone who disagrees should go read the first chapter of On Writing by Stephen King. ” What kind of freedom does this format give you? What do you miss about having a story to fall back on? Jason Whetzel: It’s very hard to tell something personal in a short amount of time. I have been looking at a lot of short poetry and I’m very impressed at how private and personal something can be in one page or less. I should be able to do that with my 45-second films, but I’m not quite there yet. I like telling stories and I think I manage to in 45 seconds— sort of like a little one-act play. But it would be nice to tell a longer story that I can really put details into and not rush. I like getting in and out of a show in 45 seconds. Danny had made one of my favorite shows in Channel 101 history—a show called ‘Arrow’ . It was incredible. It told an amazing story in a very visual and colorful world and made the whole audience feel like a kid again. I believe that’s why it got voted back. It’s still today one of my favorite short films. I decided to ask him to be my partner on the show. I would have never gotten past the first episode without him. What ideas have you been able to resurrect on ‘Everything’? Things that couldn’t work as a story but are great as short works? JW: One of my ideas fell through and I had to do something that would be a quick shoot and quick edit. I decided to have Danny just dump a bunch of stuff on my head. He dropped dog food, milk, pickles, flour, vases, fish bowls—all onto my head. We shot it in FILM

ity, those are the guys I look at. I think that those guys are making things that are both artistic and highly approachable. They don’t seem to make many sacrifices either—nothing is ever dumbed down. They seem to get to make things that are probably highly fulfilling for themselves but a lot of people also enjoy. It’s kind of the dream to make something you love and find an audience. But anything can influence me. I just saw Hausu and my eyes were popping out of my head. I feel like that will influence me definitely. Is Hausu one of the greatest films ever made? DJ: It’s one of those films that while you’re watching it, you have a huge smile on your face and then you sit there watching the credits in awe—like, ‘What was it?’ You walk out of the theater and all you want to talk about for three days is Hausu. I’d love to make something that mixes all those different tones so effectively. There’s been a bunch of films in the history of cinema that try and fail miserably. When you see a film actually pull it off, it’s kind of a miracle. ... It’s not about copying those things, but sort of filtering them through your own sensibilities. I watch a lot of things from the ’60s—psychedelic films like The Trip and the Monkees movie, Head. That’s the thing I’ve always been into—psychedelic visuals and really weird comedy like the show ‘Get a Life’ with Chris Elliott. I think watching that stuff definitely has an influence on what I do. What’s psychedelic about ‘Get a Life’? DJ: There’s almost nothing that isn’t psyche-

to put being creative first, and hopefully success follows. I feel like that’s what Rob does. Before I ever met him or Dan [Harmon] I was a big fan of ‘Heat Vision and Jack.’ JW: Dan Harmon. I don’t have a lot of interaction with him, but when I do it has a profound impact. Though mainly we talk when I’ve upset someone he’s friends with in some way. What’s it like watching your work with a live audience? Like at Rob and Dan’s Channel 101 Festivals? DJ: As great as a platform as YouTube is to show your work, the worst that can happen is that you don’t get a lot of hits or some random person that you can write off says something mean about your video and gives it one star. It’s a lot different when you’re in the room with the audience. When you make something and it’s up on screen and no one is laughing or reacting—that has to happen to you if you want to get good at what you do. JW: It hurts but you know what works and what doesn’t by the end of the day. You have to have thick skin in this business. You have to understand you’re not making a masterpiece but a rough draft, and you can keep improving if you don’t become too bitter by this process. DJ: That’s one of Channel 101’s most important aspects. People are amazing filmmakers because they were said no to so many times. It’s been better than film school for me. I learned a lot in film school, and then I learned how to really make movies and entertain audiences at Channel 101. I think there are few

things more disheartening than a rejection email from the Channel 101 panel. It’s weird because when you don’t get a job or something like that, it’s easy to be like, ‘Well, they don’t know,’ or ‘Wasn’t the right fit.’ But with 101, it’s people whose tastes you trust—people who have gone through the same thing you’re going through. But 99 times out of 100, I think the panel gets it right. I think the cocktail is to dust yourself off and write a new idea. Rejection’s a good thing for an artist—anyone who disagrees should go read the first chapter of On Writing by Stephen King. What is your dream project? JW: That’s tough because I’m doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do right now— just minus the money! I’d love to make a live-action film mixed with stop-motion effects—a non-patronizing children’s movie like they used to make when I was a kid. I always looked at Time Bandits as a kid’s movie, though people think I’m weird for saying that. I’m definitely going to show it to my kids. I don’t know if that says something weird about me as a parent. DJ: In a way, I’m getting to work on a dream project. I’m a huge fan of the radio personality Tom Scharpling based in New Jersey. I listen to all his shows. I’m doing some stuff for this DVD project that he’s putting together. He’s a hero of mine and it’s really cool to work with someone you really respect. Also I really love the band Islands. I’d love to do a video with those guys—if you interview them let them know? I usually work backwards from music. I’m a big fan of ’60s music and anything influenced by it. Right now Islands, Destroyer, Animal Collective, Beach Boys and the Nuggets L.A. compilation are in heavy rotation. All of disc three is pretty unstoppable, but there’s an incredible gem by some band called the Full Treatment called ‘Just Can’t Wait.’ It’s probably one of the greatest Beach Boys knockoffs I’ve ever heard. Most of those bands kind of get the main strokes right, but they don’t usually create that sense of euphoria that the Beach Boys did. What artist on there do you wish had been a filmmaker? DJ: Peter Fonda is on it with an amazing entry! But of the non-filmmakers on there, probably Harry Nilsson. His songs are incredibly visual and some of them are story-driven as well. He really knew how to paint a picture for the listener and his music is very emotional. Also, he was extremely funny. All that would probably translate really well to film. ‘EVERYTHING’ AS PART OF THE CHANNEL 101 SCREENING ON SAT., OCT. 30, AT THE DOWNTOWN INDEPENDENT, 251 S. MAIN ST., DOWNTOWN. 8 PM. DOWNTOWNINDEPENDENT.COM AND CHANNEL101.COM. TO SEE ‘EVERYTHING’ AND OTHER WORKS BY JELINEK AND WHETZELL, VISIT CHANNEL101.COM, OR FUNNYORDIE.COM/DANNYJELINEK. 101

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