ABOUT MY WRITING

Personal Essay: "Easter '93"

Easter Day, 1993. There it was, finally, in pink wrapping paper and surrounded by jelly beans and Pez in my Easter basket, a copy of Kris Kross's debut album, Totally Krossed Out. The record had been out for a year and I'd been asking my parents to buy it for 11 months. At last, there it was - all the hits, in my reach. "Jump," "I Missed the Bus," "It's a Shame" and, most importantly, "Warm It Up." For exactly 10 minutes I floated on air, hovering above the couch, ready for church, holding the squarish plastic case, looking at the liner notes, anxious to get home from Easter mass so I could watch my Sunday morning barrage of Nickeloeon originals before popping my new treasure into the still-new portable CD player I'd just received for Christmas. I'd wanted the disc more than anything else for Christmas, but didn't get it and was upset. My parents, clearly, took note. For kids back then, in the 90s, it was easy. We didn't need much. Maybe a little McDonalds here and a late night spent watching movies and eating candy there. But a new CD to call my own?! Totally Krossed Out was, in those days, the pinnacle. My parents didn't know about this kind of happiness, but I did.

Before I could listen to my CD on Easter day 1993 my life stopped, started again, steadied, then took a nose dive.

Dad came downstairs, acting cold as ever. "Get in the car," he barked, stinking of Old Spice. "Mom's not feeling well, she's going to miss Easter mass this year." Something was wrong. People have told me all through my life that I have intuition, and that was one of the moments where I felt it most. All through mass I sat still, not thinking about "Rocco's Modern Life," "Clarissa Explains It All," my new Jermaine Dupri-produced treasure or the Flying Spaghetti Monster in the sky. Rather, I was stumped, wondering what could be wrong at home. Mom wasn't sick; I'd just seen her the prior night and she was fine. My stomach turned and turned as I stole glances of my dad's face while he sang along to the usual hymns. Those ridiculious fucking hymns that I'll never forget.

Dad had been a different person for a year or so, and it had changed mom, too. But not for the better. Mom had been staying up late at night, long after dad went to bed, to talk to my older sister. She'd vent about this and that - all the bad things dad was doing - with anger while Laura sat listening and eating at her fingers. They'd heat up frozen pizzas and watch TV and talk until 1 a.m. I'd sit and listen, not understanding a bit of their speculative girl talk. All I knew for sure was that dad was as happy as ever, mom was as sad as ever and Laura was staying up really late into the night. Weeks earlier, on Christmas afternoon when I was supposed to be in my room playing with my new CD player, I caught my parents doing something strange. They were laying together on the recliner, wrapped in a blanket. I'd never seen them so much as hug before now, yet here they were, tangled together, red-faced - either fighting, crying or fucking. My guess was crying, but only because I still wasn't quite sure what this whole "fucking" thing was yet. The closest I'd gotten was a few mysterious crotch pains after looking at Kathy Ireland in the Kmart ad on the weekends.

When we returned from church mom was nowhere to be found. I wandered into the house and looked around, then sat and held my CD, pretending to stare at the liner notes as my mind raced. Dad went upstairs for what felt like forever and Laura went to her room, slamming the door. Eventually the phone rang and dad picked up. All he said was "okay," but he did so in a voice I'd not ever heard him use. Not once. Dad looked out the window for a while before going into the bathroom with the phone. He whispered to someone - was it mom or was it the woman mom had been talking about at night? - for a few minutes then came out and headed back upstairs as I continued sitting in silence, wondering where mom and my little sister might be. Just as I was about to give up on my bad feelings and forget about whatever was mysteriously going on behind the scenes I heard crying. Loud crying. It went on and on, for minutes and minutes. It was Laura, in her room, and she was really, really crying. In a way I'd not heard her cry before. She was only 15 at the time, but was already a smoker who dated boys who claimed to be in gangs. But none of that gangster shit mattered now, because when Laura cried like this, well ... she may as well had been six years old.

I cracked Laura's bedroom door and looked in to see my sister and dad hugging, both crying. "Your mom left with Dani," Dad finally said. "Come here."

I joined the hug/cry, still frozen and most definitely clueless. What did dad mean? Did Laura know something? What made her cry so loudly and was I supposed to be crying loudly? Would I ever listen to Kris Kross again or had my sub-culture exploration been spoiled? Would I ever watch my Sunday morning Nickelodeon line-up again? Had Easter been called off?

"Mom's going to call back in a bit and we'll know more," Dad finally said. "But she's okay, and so is Dani ... why don't you go watch TV and relax, buddy."

Oh, sure. Easy, buddy. But I did as told. I always did as I was told. Eventually dad, seemingly oddly happy all of the sudden, turned off the TV and knelt in front of me. "Mom is coming back with Dani in an hour," he said. "But she wants me to leave. So I'm going to go stay with my friend Jack for a while. You look out for your mom, okay?"

The time inbetween when mom came back and dad left was terrifying. Why would dad leave and where had mom been? Would someone explain to me what was going on! Or did they maybe just assume I understood. In those days I understood Kris Kross, Major League Baseball, the NBA, a number of sitcoms, and was starting to understand the NFL. Little else. Eventually, after a few more phone calls from mom, dad suggested that I leave for a while. "Why don't you go over to Teddy's house and play basketball," he said. "I just talked to his dad and they're expecting you."

This was odd. Dad had never once called Teddy's dad or took any interest in my budding basketball obsession (dad liked baseball, swimming and rollerblading). "Mom will be here when you get back," he added. "I love you ... are you okay? ... don't worry ... did you like your new CD? ... is it the right one? ... did you enjoy mass this morning? ... go have fun with Teddy ... we'll talk tomorrow ... I'll come by and we'll go look at some new Rollerblades for you ... it'll be fine ... I'll call you tonight ... hurry, if you go now, quickly, you'll beat the rain." I just stood there, looking at my dad's dirty green eyes, clueless. There were brown flecks in the green that made him seem distant. "You have to go now, they're waiting for you."

And so I jumped (Jump! Jump!) on my bike, absolutely dazed, and peddled to Teddy's house, which was about two miles directly east of my house. When I got there Teddy and his dad were already shooting baskets. Teddy's dad, Ted, smiled big at me and just said "hey dude." The three of us shot and shot and shot, not talking, until the rain came. Then we went inside and ate leftovers from the previous day's dinner and, eventually, played video games, listened to Totally Crossed Out and shot more baskets. All day the rain and sun traded places until the grey evening began to set in. Ted and Teddy just kept on hanging out until finally the phone rang and Ted told me my mom wanted me to come home.

I rode home, frightened. What was waiting for me beyond the greyness I rode slowly through? Dad? Not dad. Mom? Yes mom. After putting my bike in the garage I walked outside and looked at the sky, wondering where all the rain really came from. Wondering if dad had maybe done some of the bad things mom had been talking about - or worse. Not yet anywhere close to the knowledge that Easter would become not just my least favorite holiday, but my least favorite day of every year for the rest of my life.

I don't remember what happened after I walked into the house, but people kept coming in and out of our house all night long. Friends and family. My mom's sister came down from Indianapolis. Three or four of my mom's friends stopped by and talked to my mom late into the night. Even Jack, my dad's friend, stopped by for a while, "just to check up and get some things for Victor," he said. Why couldn't my dad get his own things? He slept here last night. He woke up here this morning. Flecks of his shaven facial hair were on the sink and his grass-cutting shoes were in the garage. Before I knew it the moon was up and it was nearly midnight. Mom, also oblivoius to the time, finally came up to my room, where I was, for some reason, playing with Legos. I hand not played with my Legos in years and years. Half my life at the time, probably. "Do you want to come down and watch TV with Laura and I? I can make us some dinner." I had no reply. "You can miss school tomorrow if you want. Just this once."

I took my Totally Krossed Out CD downstairs with me, feeling better, as well as some of my Easter candy. I was excited to stay up late and sleep in the next day and eat dinner and see that my mom was still alive. I didn't yet know the pain of real human growth, but I was beginning to see that life was tricky. Sometimes you had to lie about being sick and sometimes you have to leave. And happiness, for most, doesn't boil down to something as simple as discs containing music or shooting hoops in the driveway, or kids wearing their clothes backwards, or staying up late watching the still-pretty-damn-great Thelma and Mah'Fuckin' Louise while eating prozen pizza and egg rolls. (After Thelma ended Laura went to bed while mom and I stayed up. The next movie on USA Up All Night was National Lampoon's Vacation, which meant that my mom and I were about to share a glimpse of Beverly D'Angelo's then-perfect boobs - a memory I'll probably never forget.)

I often ask myself these days if I've been since stuck in a state of suspended reality. Am I stranded at age 13 because of the emotional horror of Easter 1993? Do I love CDs the way I do because my parents decided once and for all, on the same day I got Totally Krossed Out, that they were splitsville? Has the importance of holding that CD on that day lasted all along? Because, well, I most definitely still turn to CDs in times of need, and have always done so ever since.

A few days ago I happenstantially ran into Teddy's dad, Ted, at Best Buy. He was on his way out, carrying some sort of huge electronics box with a big smile on his face, practically bouncing through the store; I was on my way in, planning to buy Craig Finn's mediocre debut solo album. This was the first time I'd seen Ted, now in his 60s, in at least 10 years. Ted was a self-made man. A successful psychologist who spent most of his life working at a very rowdy State Mental Hospital located on the north end of Fort Wayne. He played college football and was one of the best amateur weightlifters in the country for 25 years. Growing up Teddy and I would often go to Ted's weightlifting competitions, where he'd always win first place in his age group while Teddy and I wandered around the town where the meet was held.When I saw him recently I realized that, at 5'9 1/2", I was now taller than the aging Ted Striverson, Sr. who always seemed bigger than life to me and Teddy. But, damn, he still looked just as muscular as any linebacker I'd ever seen. And, more than anything, he looked very happy. Happy to see me? Happy to get home and plug in whatever new toy he'd just picked up? My guess is that Ted had just bought a 3D projector for his house, because that's exactly the kind of thing Ted would buy. Not a coffee maker, not a computer.

As much as I despise the 3D fad of the day, I can't help but wish I could go back over to Ted's house again to hang out, watch television, eat leftovers and shoot baskets and forget about the pain my family has been in since that gray Easter day in 1993. As much as I love music and look forward to cracking open any new CD I buy - even a strangely Christian one by the fading frontman of The Hold Steady - I can't kid myself. I'd much, much rather hang out with Ted and Teddy again, sitting on the floor, watching NBA games or whatever movie happens to be on. Passing around a bottle of hot sauce as we sip sodas and aim funny comments towards the television. Shoot hoops, listen to raps and forget about the mess that is real life.

Interview: Magnolia Electric Co.

Published by NUVO, circa 2008

Greg W. Locke: Did you release any recordings before Secretly Canadian started putting out your records? In general, do you remember much about your early days before Secretly Canadian?

Jason Molina: I recorded a lot of music in the mid- and late-80s that was given away at either garage shows or other places. I used to record songs on my boombox at home then hand them out to the other guys sitting the bench during gym class. That’s not a joke, I really looked forward to hanging out with people who could care less about being molded into a perfect student. I had a few official releases over the years prior to Secretly Canadian that I can remember: several cassette-only releases by my old band, The Spineriders; a compilation track on a record called Clearing the Air around 89-90; a few compilation tracks; and several other cassette releases in the Cleveland area. I also did a flexi disc for a magazine along the way and a 7” all prior to Secretly Canadian. There are a lot of things out there with songs I wrote but did not sing on.

GL: So there was a good 15 years there that saw you playing and recording before picking up with Secretly Canadian. Can you tell me a bit more about the time before you were able to focus on your music as a career?

JM: I was playing live a lot, working full-time shit jobs, spending my money on guitars and books while my friends were all buying dope.

GL: Sticking with that time of books and guitars for a moment, is it true that you were in metal bands before your Songs: Ohia days? If so, are you still into heavy music?

JM: Not so much metal but more so heavy psychedelic rock. We liked Pink Floyd but also collected Folkways Records.

GL: Moving forward to the last 10 years or so, it seems like you have spurts where you record and release a lot of music in a short period of time. Do you work in spurts or are you always writing?

JM: I write everyday. I put together records and sometimes set them aside to start on another one. As far as my output goes, that all really depends on what Secretly Canadian sees as a strategic time to put something out. There’s more music sitting on the shelf than I’ve ever put out.

GL: Speaking of all these records, do you have anything you’re working on right now? Any plans for a new release anytime soon?

JM: I just finished a wonderful record with a well known Texas-based songwriter and am writing and doing demos for a solo record. A plan to record another Magnolia Electric Co. record in November with Steve Albini producing has been confirmed.

GL: Albini again? That’s great news. One of my favorite albums you’ve released, the final Songs: Ohia record, was recorded with him, too, so I’m already looking forward to that not-yet-recorded Magnolia album. I’ve followed the careers of Will Oldham, Bill Callahan, David Berman and Jason Molina for what feels like forever at this point. The four of you - as well as a few others - have really done an amazing job of continuing in the spirit of Dylan, Young, Townes and so on. I know that me and a lot of my friends feel very lucky to have you guys around. I know that you either are or have been linked to Will at times, do you know these other guys? Any thoughts on any of them?

JM: I’ve known, met and worked with most of those people. Some of them are good friends, others I only know from playing together or a handshake on the road - that’s enough for me in most cases.

GL: I liked Fading Trails quite a bit but was absolutely blown away by Sojourner. Why did you decide to put together Fading Trails like you did? Nashville Moon is a huge record for me personally, many people I know, too.

JM: Secretly Canadian came up with the idea to do Fading Trails and then work on the Sojourner box. It was a good idea and I’m glad I said yes to it. Otherwise I think those records would’ve come out over a five years period. I was too busy thinking about working on new music to wait that long.

GL: There’s not a whole lot of info about you on the Internet, which I love. I like music. I like to write. I like to write about the music that moves me. That said, I don’t really understand the world of media, and really appreciate you taking the time to “talk” to me, a fan who happens to write. How much do you put into this sort of thing? Is the mixing of art and business something you’re comfortable with?

JM: Well, I don’t put much time into reading music writing. I like to just get to my work. My job is to go and write songs and work hard.

GL: Okay. Getting back to your work, your lyrics imply that you’re a literate guy, or at least someone who knows and loves words. As far as the basic art of stringing words together goes, are there any major influences - be them songwriters, poets or whatever - you’ve carried with you?

JM: I was once really excited by old writing, old books and old sources. I have since worked on something closer to writing like I would say it. I do love words but I don’t live in books … but I do read everyday. I’m always looking for a good piece of trouble to get into or near so I can hear that language that gets thrown around in those situations.

GL: Tell me about being on the road; I’ve seen two of your shows, both of which were lean, mean and very memorable. Are you a big fan of touring and do you usually tour with the same people?

JM: I always tour with the Magnolia Electric Co. It is a name and it has many members. Touring is magic. Touring is very hard. Touring is not for everyone and not for me sometimes. That being said, I’d rather be looking at the town I’m heading towards than the minefield I just made it through - which thankfully is over my shoulder. Writing on the road is a pure joy and about as difficult to do as anything. Hungry? Cold? Exhausted? Lost? Worried? Stressed? Sick? Being treated like a dog? Now go write a song!

GL: Well, I think your true fans all appreciate the work someone like yourself puts in. I’d imagine you’re not making millions of dollars, you’re just making a living and putting your art out there - which is a lot more than most people manage. Okay, last question. I get the impression that your albums are put together in a way that nods to 60s and 70s albumcraft, meaning that you seem to consider the details - everything from sequencing to the small details that carry a level of consistency from album to album. Ten or less songs, simple artwork. Albumcraft. Do you think of the whole process as a part of the art?

JM: For me making a record is always Side A and Side B … or else a start-to-finish piece. The themes, art, lyrics and overall sound only work their best if they are carefully placed.

Feature Story: Lee Miles

Published by Whatzup, circa 2006

Before breaking into places-you-been questions with lo.automatic’s chief singer/songwriter there was a purely superficial issue to address. Was his simple, poetic name – Lee Allen Miles – a gift his parents gave him at birth, or was it a stage name? Miles’ response was stripped-bare-honest: “Stage names, like beards and expensive cars, are for people with something to hide.” Miles’ uncommon guts-without-glory stance seems to reign over every aspect of his life, most notably his music. Onward with the places. After graduating from Fort Wayne’s Wayne High School, Miles headed to Bethel College in South Bend, where he studied music, philosophy and literature. Aside from the humdrum task of graduating with a liberal arts degree, Miles kept busy. “I spent my time working random jobs for the school, landscaping and playing music,” he said. His band at the time, Dark Blonde Water (originally named “Hagas”), saw success in South Bend, a town known for its competitive original music scene. While there, Miles learned the importance of playing original material. “If you weren’t doing something you truly created there, then no one gave you the time of day. [Fort Wayne] isn’t like that, but I think the tide is changing as more folks forsake the bar scene for house shows,” he said.

Dark Blonde Water played shows, recorded songs and, unfortunately, ended with a fall as the young band ran into major problems with their management. “It was all a learning experience, and the issues with our management eventually proved to be the undoing of the band,” he said. “We were a moderate success, sold a decent number of albums and played a ton of shows. We had one song, ‘Cadillac Dawn,’ that was a No. 1 single on South Bend radio for two weeks,” explained Miles, adding “It was a horrible song, but I wrote it when I was 19 years old.”

One of the first things anyone will mention when discussing Miles’ music is his distinct voice. “I can’t stand my voice, but some folks seem to love it. Love it. They’ll come up to me and say this or that about it, but I usually think they’re lying. When I first started playing music, I couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket. I would write the songs and let the other guys in the group sing,” Miles said.

Miles ultimately found a new, “booming” slant to singing while taking a sight-singing/ear-training course at Bethel. “I learned to sing from my diaphragm, which gives singers a powerful, robust voice,” said Miles. “It can also be overbearing and obnoxious, which is how I sang up until recently.” Miles’ “robust” approach to singing – which can be most defining heard on the booming “Mrs. James” – helped him find comfort as a lead singer.

After the dissolution of Dark Blonde Water, Miles found himself back in his hometown of Fort Wayne, in time recording his debut solo album, So Much Pain, So Much Sorrow. Somewhere along the way Miles began having brutal problems with his digestive system due to over four years of antibiotic use, leaving him bed-ridden for two years. Remembers Miles, “I slept 12 hours each night and at least six hours through the day. I lost most of my friends because I could no longer spend quality time with them.”

Miles’ health problems led to anxiety and food allergy problems, ultimately resulting in the need for a lifestyle overhaul. “My family saw me through [the problems] when it became clear that if something didn’t change I might not last much longer. I still wrestle with the food allergy and anxiety problems to this day. However, they are much less pronounced.”During this time Miles made his first striking mark on the Fort Wayne music scene with the release of his second solo album, Bear, in 2005. Despite looming health issues he started playing out frequently, eventually meeting like-minded songwriter Kyle Morris. The two solo artists soon began playing shows around town as a duo. Said Morris about first meeting Miles, “When I met Lee at an open mic some two years ago, I had just been fired from my job and he was sick. Even though we were both pathetic, we saw promise in ourselves.”

The rare circumstances of their meeting led to a musical kinship that hit its stride as the two artists formed lo.automatic, eventually adding other players, including James “Longsleeves” Musselman, who has since relocated to San Diego, where he recently released an excellent, Radiohead-in-your-pocket album called Killing Aesthetics. “James and I were both on a bill for a show at Convolution Records,” explained Miles, “He found me on Myspace. At the time I was still very ill, but I was on my way up. One thing I would say to myself as a means to stay positive was that I was stronger than 1,000 lions. I posted this blatant lie on my web page. James saw it and, not knowing my situation at the time, thought I was being cocky.”

Musselman and Miles began working together in the spring of 2006 on what would become Miles’ third solo album, the aptly titled 1,000 Lions.“After the Convolution show we spoke at length and discussed music, recording gear and other topics,” said Musselman, “Before the end of the night I offered my recording services in the event he needed them.” The project quickly fell into place as Musselman worked as the album’s co-producer and engineer, offering Miles his lo-fi mobile recording techniques, a set-up that Miles welcomed compared to the expensive studio sessions he’d been a part of in the past. Eventually Musselman’s wandering spirit landed him in California. “We’d marched on through the recordings despite real-life obligations until James disappeared to California, leaving me to sort it all out. I called (lo.automaic guitarist) Jon [Keller], who is a registered engineer, and he took over as producer,” said Miles when asked about the recording of 1,000 Lions.

Quickly becoming known as one of the area’s most stirring young guitarists, the 20-year-old (E-bow-clad) Keller – who Miles says “can play any Elliott Smith song” – hit it off with Miles quickly following the same Convolution Records show at which Miles and Musselman became acquainted at. “I wasn’t really looking to join a band and had never met another musician that I wanted to be in a band with,” said Keller. “After Lee and I met I found that we liked a lot of the same music.”A studying guitarist now for over half his life, Keller also had much to offer on the topic of Miles’ modus operandi, “Lee is very opinionated and doesn’t put up with [much]. Those qualities tend to make people think he’s a jerk, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Lee is a quite sensitive and honest musician that puts his heart any emotions into his music and lyrics.” Trying to explain Miles’ abovementioned “guts-without-glory” stance is not always easy. He’s the type of artist that takes his work very seriously and isn’t afraid to make the kind of music he loves, even though it might not go over well in a city like Fort Wayne.

When asked about his influences and approach to songwriting, the highly literate Miles mentions writers Charles Bukowski, Ayn Rand and Allen Ginsberg as well as songwriters Jandek, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Elliot Smith and, most notably, Will Oldham (Palace, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy), adding “I’d say Will is my … yeah, he’s probably my favorite songwriter.” While the actual sound of Miles’ music would most easily be compared to the typically cryptic and oddly whimsical Oldham, his “no thanks” approach brings to mind the spirit of Jandek. Known as an “outsider musician,” Jandek has self-released some 49 albums since 1978, never offering his real name, personal information, interviews or anything else resembling self-promotion. Basically, Jandek lets his music, and only his music, speak for itself. “I saw Bob Dylan play at Notre Dame in the late 90s. He didn’t say a word in between sets. He didn’t have to. This is the kind of music I want to hear, the kind of music that doesn’t need to be sold with a bag of [B.S] tricks,” said the ever-candid Miles. This attitude, along with his penchant for substance and originality over accessibility, echoes the attitude of both Jandek and Oldham, two artists who have never seen much commercial success yet continue following their own artistic progressions regardless.

While in correspondence for this very article Miles sent over a song called, “Wait for Thee,” with an accompanying note that simply said “Here’s a new one I just finished.” Weeks earlier Miles had also passed along an early, unfinished copy of 1,000 Lions and a covers-only album titled Leaves That are Green. While Leaves was full of bare, well arranged interpretations of off-the-cuff tracks, 1,000 Lions was a loose, lyrically dense offering full of subtly varied Americana tunes that featured, as hinted at earlier by Miles, brilliantly detailed, toned-down vocals reminiscent of early Oldham. Anyone familiar with the famed initial home recordings of both John Darnielle (Mountain Goats) and Oldham himself will have an instant soundcrush on 1,000 Lions. But don’t be fooled by the expression “home recordings.” Miles craft is long-labored, and he knows how to use his resources. The results, frankly, are better than the previously mentioned (and often spotty and lazy) early work of Darnielle and Oldham, two artists who’ve gone on to release shelves full of first-rate, fully-baked Americana albums. Explaining the sound of Miles’ recent work any further is tempting, but probably better saved for a future review. Let’s just say that Miles rightfully calls 1,000 Lions the best work of his life.

On the subject of his plans for his latest, greatest batch of recordings, Miles seemed nearly exhausted when thinking about 1,000 Lions, an album he’d originally planned to have completed long ago. “I wanted it out by 2006,” he said, “but it’s already a fourth of the way through 2007 and it’s still not out. It will, however, be out by mid-April.” When then asked about marketing for the album, Miles’ honorable Jandek-inspired spirit came to the forefront. “I’m sick of marketing. Marketing is for T-shirts and hair products and other [stuff] you don’t need. If people want my music they’ll find it. Otherwise, they can obviously live without it.” Upon further prodding, Miles did say that people interested in acquiring his music should start by checking his website at www.leemiles.us.This lack of enthusiasm for selling himself to potential fans doesn’t necessarily mean that Miles is against the concept of getting his music out to record labels. When asked about his intentions in this regard, Miles said that he plans to shop the recordings to labels in hope for some interest, adding “I will single out [Chicago’s] Drag City most certainly.”

Though not a big label by any means, Drag City has – over the last 15 years or-so – established a reputation as the label for often misunderstood, too-smart-for-their-own-good songwriters. Songwriters like Smog’s Bill Callahan, the Silver Jews’ D.C. Berman and, naturally, Will Oldham. Sounds like good company for Fort Wayne’s most uncompromising and persistent young songwriter and his ante-upping new album, 1,000 Lions.

Feature Story: Jon Keller

Published by Whatzup, circa 2008

“My ultimate plan is to create lifelike dolls of all of my friends and then keep them in my bed,” songwriter/guitarist Jon Keller recently told me. “Then, when they come to hang out with me, I'll say something like ‘oh, I'm sorry you had to see this, I wasn't expecting you so early,’ then quickly cover their doppelganger doll up with a blanket.”

Keller, who has played in a number of Fort Wayne bands and is now jumpstarting a solo career of sorts, is a genuinely peculiar dude. Before his DDP (Doppelganger Doll Plan) days he would drive around with a life-size clown doll in his car, slyly puppeteering it to jolt people in nearby cars.

But before all that, he himself was a clown.

“Yeah, it's true, I used to be a clown,” he told me. “But it was never my goal to become one. I went to a Christian school in Kokomo and my homeroom teacher thought it would be a good idea for us to have a clown-themed ministry. I have no idea why. Anyways, everyone had to come up with their own clown character and make the costume. Naturally, I veered more towards the Hobo style. I used to juggle all sorts of stuff.”

Before making his way to Fort Wayne for college Keller lived 15 minutes outside of Kokomo in a town called Galveston. Not exactly a cultural hub.

“I loved growing up there. I didn't really have any friends in my neighborhood, so the majority of my time was spent riding my bike around. There really wasn't anything to do but play guitar or go see movies,” Keller said when asked about his notoriously eccentric taste in film and music. “I got tired of the mainstream crap movies they were showing in Kokomo, so, when I got my first car I would drive 45 minutes to Muncie a few times each week, just because they had a nice theatre that played more independent films.”

As far as his early music-related inspirations go, Keller, who now plays in The Illegitimate Sons, went through a number of phases at a young age, starting with The Beatles, Derek & the Dominos, The Allman Brothers Band, Neil Young and Bob Dylan.

“I read as much as I could on all of those bands and who their influences were. And thus, when I was in middle school I began to get into some of the more popular jazz musicians like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, Wes Montgomery and Charlie Parker - all because I read an interview with Duane Allman where he said his biggest influence was [Miles Davis’] Kind of Blue,” Keller told me. “So when I was in the eighth grade I went with my church to the Keystone Mall in Indy for some sort of dumb scavenger hunt activity. Instead of doing the hunt I went  to the music store and bought my first copies of Kind of Blue and In a Silent Way. When I got home I set my stereo up with the speakers on both sides of my bed so I could listen to Kind of Blue while falling asleep. I did that for a year or two.”

Once in high school the clown got into artists who remain staples for him to this day, including Radiohead, Wilco, Tom Waits and, more than anything else, Elliott Smith.

“I actually first heard Elliott Smith by accident. I was really into a jazz pianist named Brad Mehldau for a while, and he had a song called ‘Bottle Up and Explode.’ Somehow my copy got deleted off my computer, so I was trying to find it again online, stumbling across a version by some guy named Elliott Smith,” Keller told me. “I bought all of his albums within two weeks, soon finding out that he’d just died weeks earlier.”

Years ago Lee Miles told me that Keller, known for his ability to pick up on songs as quickly as anyone, could play the whole Elliott Smith catalog on guitar, this likely due to the manner in which he first started playing.

“I started playing music at about age 10. My brother plays guitar, so growing up there were always guitars around the house that I would pick up and try to figure out,” Keller, who is currently mixing down his first solo album, told me. “The biggest thing he did was write out a few scales for guitar and bass. He told me that, as long as I figured out what key the song was in, I could play any of the notes in the scale and it would sound good. He was mostly right.”

After high school, not sure what to do with himself, Keller went to The Recording Workshop in Chilicothe, Ohio, where he learned “how to work in a recording studio.” The main thing he learned, he says, was that he didn’t want to work in a recording studio.

“After that, at age 19, I moved to Fort Wayne in January of 2006. When I got here I looked up everyone in town who listed Elliott Smith as a music favorite on Facebook, then added them as a friend,” Keller said. “You could say I didn’t have good social skills. Anyhow, I added some dude named James Musselman as a friend, later seeing that he was a musician. He was about to play a show, so I decided to go.

“So I went to his show at Convolution Records. I only caught his last song, but decided to stick around to see this other act  called Lee Miles and Kyle Morris. I was immediately stuck by how much Lee sounded like a beefy-voiced Neil Young. I thought he was so good. So after that I contacted him and found out we had a lot in common.”

Soon enough Miles invited the still very young Keller to join his then-band, lo.automatic, on bass. The day Keller was set to join the group Miles called him up to tell him that he’d already found a bassist, inviting Keller to come play along anyhow.

“I remember playing a lot of bizarre, e-bow feedback type of stuff. I don't know why he wanted me to play with him so bad. I don't know why anybody wants me to play with them,” the sad clown said. “That was about four years ago. Since then I've been in a number of lineups with him, both solo and full band. We've also lived together many different times, which is always interesting.”

In the years since first meeting Miles, Keller has become a local staple, often playing with Wooden Satellites, Mark Hutchins and Thunderhawk, all while working on solo material, going to school, delivering pizzas and getting engaged.

And more, too.

“Lee is doing a solo album with a few guys from Sweetwater. He asked me to record it, so I think that'll happen sometime in June,” Keller told me. “And we're trying to finish the new Illegitimate Sons album right now. And I think I’m going to play some stuff on Mitch Fraizer’s solo album”

The highlight of the moment, though, is the Keller solo album, which has been long discussed on the local music scene.

“I've got pretty much all the recording done and am now just mixing and mastering,” Keller said. “It initially turned out really acoustic-y and soft, then I started attending more Superhunk and Thunderhawk shows and decided to go back and add some heavier guitars. I still sort of hate everything I've recorded, but at this point I'd rather just release it and get rid of it.”

Oh yeah? Well, I’ve heard the record, or at least an early version of it, and it’s anything but hateable. There’s an Elliott Smith vibe to the vocals, for sure. Mostly, though, I’m personally excited about Keller’s solo live shows.

“I'm just now starting to play more solo shows, which is completely new to me. I have to learn all that stupid stuff like singing into the mic and whatnot,” Keller laughed. “What a drag. I don't really know what I prefer yet. I love playing with the Illegitimate Sons, and I don't want that to ever end, but I'm also starting to enjoy playing by myself.”

In addition to the Sons, school, work and recording, Keller also has much going on personally to be excited about.

“I officially got engaged a few weeks ago and we are getting married in September. I can't wait!” Keller told me. “Our whole dating relationship has been long distance, which has made things interesting, but still amazing. Anyways, my fiancé, Amy, is moving back to Fort Wayne in May, so I can't wait for that. I think we're going to stay around Fort Wayne for a while after the wedding - at least until I finish school. Then who knows what.”

Hopefully a lot of rock shows, some records and more clown-related shenanigans.

Feature Story: Silver Jews

Published in NUVO, June 2008

If much can be inferred about a person’s life and inner state through a snapshot, then photos included on the two albums that currently serve as bookends to the Silver Jews catalog speak volumes about indie rock’s poet laureate, head Jew David Berman. Berman displays two very different grins in the shots. The first, taken in the early ’90s for his proper full-length debut, Starlight Walker, depicts a jolly — even naïve looking — Berman who is, we can surmise, smiling at his new future. The second, a live-on-stage photo taken for his recently released sixth Jews album, Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, sees a sort of weathered and appreciative smirk that suggests the challenges he has overcome — substance abuse, depression, suicide attempts.

The young man who wore the Starlight smile was much more a thinker, writer and wanderer than a professional, travelling musician. Indeed, that poet laureate title is at least partly earned: A collection of Berman’s poetry, Actual Air, was published by Open City in 1999; GQ thought it captured the “absurd American sublime” with lines like “I am not a cub scout seduced by Iron Maiden’s mirror worlds.” He didn’t tour in support of his first four albums, eventually setting out on the road in 2005, 13 years after the first peep from his band, the seven-inch Dime Map of the Reef. The band was created by Berman in 1989 with musicians who would become more well-known through their work with Pavement: guitarist Steven Malkmus and drummer Bob Nastanovich.

“I think not playing gave me time to develop in a way that people who develop their songwriting on stage and in public never get a chance to do,” Berman told NUVO. “I’m glad that things worked out this way; working with myself and learning, and revision, and not really getting any feedback aside from album reviews — which aren’t really feedback — just made me more informed.”

On Saturday, Oct. 11 the puzzle piece songwriter and his suited Jews will play their first ever Indianapolis show at Birdy’s Bar & Grill for what will be the band’s 106th show. Suffice it to say that the Lookout Mountain smirk came from a man with a new love: the road.

ALBUM MAKER DISCOVERS HIS PEOPLE

During those initial tour dates, Berman says that he quickly realized that, against his expectations, many of the folks singing along at his shows were half his age. Many in the crowd seemed to know all the words to his songs, singing along while Berman read the lyrics from a notebook. Before the Jews could make it to the 13th date of their initial scheduled jaunt they had more shows lined up. Many more. By the time the band returned home to East Nashville, Berman was a changed man.

“My mood has been very good the last year or two. When people tend to be happier they have more interest in the world around them. So the title [of the new record] is outward looking,” said Berman, whose 2001 album, Bright Flight, was an often awkwardly inward look at Americana heartache. “I got a real dose of the music I’d written up to Lookout Mountain when last touring; it was the first time I’d really played any of my songs. For the first 12 years of recording I would finish the album, then on the day it came out I’d never hear the songs again. So this was the first time I ever wrote an album after listening to what I’d done previously.

“The albums are a series, and the new one caps off the other five.”

Berman explains, “It brings things around again and shows me facing an audience, where I was [at first] coming out of the audience. I was the music fan for 10 years before I wrote a song, so I feel like I came out of the audience. I’ve always had that perspective, but I stopped paying attention to who the audience was [because I didn’t play for so long]. Now I’ve been going out into the crowd after the show. People like to hug and I love that because we just experienced something together.”

WRITING FOR A NEW JEW ERA

Berman makes albums with very specific ideas and themes in mind, with each release acting as a snapshot of the writer at a different age. Where Bright Flight was a middle America record about living and loving (and more importantly, variety in where you live and what you love) and Tanglewood Numbers was comprised of children’s songs written for adults, Lookout Mountain is a love letter to youth. Stylistically, each record features a new collection of musicians assisting Berman, similarly formatted packaging, almost always 10 songs, lyrics that take time to settle in, minimal production and the kind of vocals you either love or, well, turn off as quickly as possible.

Berman’s latest record appears, at times, to be solely aimed at his younger fanbase. The songs are funny, full of energy and insights and, more than his first four albums and similar to Tanglewood, even somewhat accessible to unaccustomed ears. But don’t be fooled, Berman himself is still at the center of it all, claiming in interviews that the album works as an advice manual of sorts for young listeners, complete with Berman’s words backed by his own mishaps.

“After a show young people come up who seem to really have a relationship with the songs and tell me, you know, that they love me and things like that. And they probably might,” Berman said. “When I say I love a city or a crowd, that’s a different kind of love. A lot of other [bands] come to these cities and say they love the crowd and the city, but they’ve loved a lot of cities for a lot of years. Mine is a new love. It’s fresh, and I mean it."

Film Column: How Television Punked Cinema

Published on ZeCatalist.com, November 2011

I don’t often write about television. Growing up in the 90s, small screen programming never felt like art to me – that is, not to the degree that film did. The were shows here and there, such as “Northern Exposure,” “Twin Peaks” and “My So-Called Life,” that certainly had cinematic minds behind them; that said, most television, to me at least, felt more like entertainment than art. “Hollywood Squares,” “Full House,” “My Two Dads,” etc. Then, towards the end of the 90s, HBO went to work on a new wave of original programs (“The Sopranos,” “Six Feet Under” and “Sex and the City”) that featured a production style close to – and even exceeding – the indie films of the day. Those shows, all three of ‘em, did deservingly well. A new model was in place.

Now, about 10 years after these landmark shows really hit their strides, nearly every program on television is following suit. Film actors are doing television, as are producers, cinematographers, writers and even the biggest snobs of them all, directors. Even studs like Gus Van Sant (an all-time legend in our book), who recently directed the first two episodes of a great new Chicago-set drama called “Boss,” is getting in on the action. And, further, many modern TV writers, directors, actors and producers are, for the first time, are making the big jump into credible film careers. (For our younger readers: if you were a film actor before 2003 or so, and moved into TV, people said your career was over; and if you were a TV actor during or before that time and you made your way into film, you had to really prove yourself before people took you seriously.)

Why is the production on television now so good? Why have things changed so much, and so quickly? Couldn’t just be the heavy influence of Tony Soprano, could it? Well, for one, due to advances in technology, it has become quite a bit cheaper to produced a high-quality picture. But that’s not enough, as quality starts with talent, not toys. Mostly, the networks have found new ways to make money from their shows (both past and present), starting with – and focused on – television’s broad introduction to the retail market. Ya know, TV on DVD – something that, for the most part, didn’t really exist before “The Sopranos” (season one of that great, great show was the first big selling TV series of all-time). Now, taking the money-making even further, the networks have all begun streaming their shows on the Internet – on sites painted head-to-toe with paid advertising. Oh, and that Coke can you saw Dexter drinking out of? That’s there for reasons having nothing to do with Dexter’s thirst or soda preferences. So, basically, the studios and networks have more money to play with than ever before, and they’re actually putting a lot of it into their productions rather than their pockets.

Now, more than ever before, TV is the absolute focus of the American entertainment industries, film studios even suddenly banking much of their future dollars on TV programming, rather than Jim Carrey or Peter Jackson. The result in 2011, somewhat surprisingly, has been the best year ever for television, our screens bursting with quality programming. The bad shows (most of ‘em), the good shows (say, “Pan Am” or “Two Broke Girls”) and the great shows (“Breaking Bad,” “Dexter,” “Treme,” “Boardwalk Empire,” “Homeland,” etc.) alike all look great, up and down – they’re beautiful to look at. Sometimes the writing is contrived or the acting misses the mark of quality, but, for the most part, television seems to have caught up with film, kicking aside the monetary limitations of decades past.

So what does all this mean? Well, plenty. For starters, a whole lot of people don’t go to the movie theaters nearly as often as they used to, if at all. And a lot of people have cable TV these days. But, mostly, (and this is something we hinted at weeks ago), an immeasurably large percentage of people are downloading everything they want to see – usually for free – from websites like The Pirate Bay. The scary new trend resulting from the influx of downloaders is, for the first time since the rise of TV on DVD, a drop in the retail sales connected to television programming. Thus far the decline in sales is small, but if the negligent policing of downloaders continues, what do you think will happen? Fewer DVD and Blu-ray sales and thus fewer shows that can afford to feature film-level quality crews and writers and actors and directors, most likely. What do we do then? Go back to the theaters and watch whatever comic book sequel of the day is out? Ugh. This transitional period we’re in sure is … interesting. And infuriating.

Album Review: Dan Deacon's Bromst

Published on EasyStreetOnline.com, March 2009

There’s a scene in director Alfonso Cuaron’s 2006 sci-fi thriller, Children of Men, where music plays a key role in the film’s secondary agenda – forecasting the future. Foul blasts of broken robot noise spill from the screen as actor Michael Caine dances a jig we’ve never seen. It’s a noble effort by Cuaron, Caine and whoever programmed up the awful sounds, but let’s leave the musical predictions to the musicians. Dan Deacon’s second album to see major distribution, Bromst, whether it means to or not, does a better job at predicting the future of pop music than Cuaron's beautiful film does.

Beginning with a hushed ambiance that slowly builds into what functions as an introduction, Bromst gives the listener a final moment of peace before the aptly-titled opener, “Build Voice,” really revs up. An arrangement of vocal loops, piano, digital beats, horns and rolling keyboards create a song that feels more like a rethinking of classical composition than it does electro-pop. No real strings being stroked with bows; plenty of programming and loops. The song, like most of Deacon’s material, would fit well if played between cuts from LCD Soundsystem and the Animal Collective – good company. The general vibe here is electronic pop, though maybe the most anything-goes version of said genre you’ll find in the U.S. It’s a somewhat brutal sound, just as the music in Children of Men was.

While 2007’s Spiderman of the Rings, Deacon’s first major release, was maybe a tad too silly to be taken as the grand artistic statement it was so often written up to be, Bromst settles back a bit, expanding on Spiderman’s style while tightening the screws. Each song, including the record’s shortest composition – the three-minute “Wet Wings” – here feels epic, almost exhausting. By the time track three, “Paddling Ghost,” ends you might need a break – it feels almost as if Deacon has thrown the whole world at you. The whole world, backed by somewhat organic drum programming, electro-fuzz, loads of vocal effects, endless keyboards and solid production. It’s the kind of solid, hard-labored work that even a late-70s Brian Eno would be impressed by. It’s the kind of work only a pop culture junkie with extensive college-level composition studies under his/her credit could accomplish.

The only real question remaining is whether or not Deacon ever intends to make music that can be taken seriously by the heard-it-all set. (Is he maybe just a step or two too far ahead of his time, or will his snazzy style always feel a little too youthful, playful and, well, forward looking?) Should he buckle down even more, or would doing so take away the magic? Songs like “Snookered” and “On the Mountains” suggest that Deacon is capable of making the kind of forward thinking proto-prog Radiohead has made … but do we really need another Radiohead? Does “serious music,” even when of the futuristic breed, need to be self serious and joyless in order to be effective? Something tells me Deacon will answer these questions in no time at all.

Until then, we have Bromst, one of the very few recent records this writer would consider filing under “genius.” It’s an extreme collection of sound that wont fit your every mood, surely, but one that will stand the test of time due to its sweeping imagination. Deacon is not so much predicting the future as he is influencing it – a rare feat indeed.

Show Preview: Tom Morello (RatM)

Published by NUVO, circa 2009

It’s been a busy year for guitarist-cum-singer–songwriter Tom Morello, who is set to hit the Vogue stage on Nov. 13 in support of his latest solo album, The Fabled City. Morello, known foremost for his unique guitar style that at times sounds louder than an army, tours as a solo artist under the alias The Nightwatchman. After disbanding his most recent rock ’n’ roll project, Audioslave, in 2007, Morello made some serious plans for 2008. After years of silence, Morello and his name-making band, Rage Against the Machine, started playing together again in late 2007, including a headline-making visit to the Republican National Convention. Morello, hailed as one of the “30 Best Guitarists of All Time” by Rolling Stone, could have been exhausted after the Rage tour.

“Focusing on The Fabled City after a busy year has been easier now that the Rage shows are done for the year and I can focus exclusively about getting the live performances ready in support of the album,” Morello told NUVO. “The live show is going to be half acoustic, half electric; the template is 50 percent Dylan, 50 percent Hendrix, combining the acoustic ‘three chords and the truth’ vibe of the new album with a full-on Marshall-stack-attack of guitar heroism.

“I’ve grown exponentially as a singer and solo performer since my first solo album. I played hundreds — probably thousands — of shows as an electric guitar player and hadn’t really performed as a solo singer–songwriter. Touring with great artists like Billy Bragg and Steve Earle — seeing those who are best at it — taught me a fearlessness. I’m willing to perform any time, any place. Whether it’s a protest with tear gas flying or huge festivals like Bonnaroo, there’s really not much that you can throw at me now that will surprise me.”

While Audioslave didn’t dabble much into the serious, Rage was a politically engaged band, churning out anti-corporate polemics, playing provocative shows on Saturday Night Live and outside of the New York Stock Exchange. Thus Morello’s turn as a political singer–songwriter really isn’t all that surprising.

“There are a lot of links in the political songwriter chain, be it Pete Seeger or Woody Guthrie, or early Dylan or Springsteen,” Morello said. “I think it goes beyond singer–songwriters as well, bands like The Clash, Public Enemy and Rage Against the Machine. Rebel music comes in a lot of different flavors. I’m very pleased to count myself as one of the links in that chain.”

In support of his new record, produced by Brendan O’Brien (Springsteen, Rage, Pearl Jam, etc.), Morello promises a diverse show aimed at connecting with the audience.

“There is a backing band on this tour called The Freedom Fighter Orchestra, comprised of friends I’ve jammed with for years in Los Angeles,” Morello said. “I love the opportunity this new material allows me to really go for broke on the electric guitar in a way that is not constricted by any song structure. I don’t have to worry about keeping things within the span of a radio hit, so I can always do what I want.”

Looking back on his two-decade career after such a busy year, Morello had much to offer about how he came to be the artist he is today.

“The biggest success I’ve had as an artist is that I’ve been able to maintain a connection to an audience while writing and performing material that is very honest. The band I was in before Rage, called Lock Up, saw every music industry cliché in the history of music industry clichés. Up until that point I was trying to write hit songs and make hit records; that was my dream. When that fell apart I vowed that I was never going to play another note of music that I didn’t believe in. That’s when Rage formed.

“From that day in 1991 to this day, with the new record, that has been my North Star, making music that I believe in and having the good fortune to maintain an audience. Feeling like every show and every record matters along the way.”

Feature Story: Clem Snide

Published by NUVO, circa 2010

Flash back to 2001, where this love story starts. The album was The Ghost of Fashion and me and my cronies were the junkies. At the time Clem Snide, far from a household name, were all the buzz amongst rock critics, as was Ben Folds, who was touring in support of his much loved solo debut, Rockin’ the Suburbs.  

Having just turned 21, I was beyond stoked to hear that Folds was bringing the Snide along for his much anticipated Piere’s show. So us junkies showed. For us, Folds was the bonus and Snide was the focus. We’d been playing Ghost in our record store for months, hanging on to every hilarious and heartfelt lyric. We were certain that, between “No One’s More Happy Than You” and “Moment in the Sun,” this Eef Barzelay guy, who fronted the Snide, understood us more than anyone. The desperation was warm and the observations cold, just how we liked it. Eef - not Jeff Lebowski - was our dude.

That said, when the leader of our pack (our store manager, Jim), was able to score an interview with Barzelay for his then-popular “Wrong Side of Sunday” radio show, we worried. Us insecure indie brats feared that this incredibly witty and untouchably cool songwriter would make fun of our leader, thus crushing us so hard we‘d be forced to turn back to our Smiths and Radiohead albums. Jim pressed on regardless, doing all he could to make a good impression and show Clem Snide some Fort Wayne love.

And it went great.

Seven or so years passed before One Lucky Guitar owner Matt Kelly brought Barzelay back to town, this time in support of his first full-blown solo record, 2008’s Lose Big. It was a hot summer and our local scene was changing - getting better. In 2001 it was nearly impossible to find fellow Snide fans in Fort Wayne; by 2008 they were everywhere. Jim having moved on to manage record stores in Michigan, I stepped up to interview Eef, scared as hell.

And it went great.

A year after the Lose Big show, in the spring of 2009, I found myself interviewing Barzelay again, this time in support of another Kelley-booked Fort Wayne show in support of a reunited Clem Snide, who were touring in support of their then just released sixth studio album, Hungry Bird.

Ten seconds into the Hungry Bird interview Barzelay was telling me stories about hanging out at the Brass Rail, drinking and singing along to the jukebox with locals. He joked about the prospect of moving to Fort Wayne, next telling me he remembered me and loved his 2008 trip to the Fort so much that he now hopes to begin his tours here.

And that show - and interview - also went great. But our story is just beginning.

A few months ago Barzelay e-mailed me out of nowhere to tell me that his twang-y indie crew would once again be kicking off their summer tour in Fort Wayne, for a show once again booked by Kelley - this time for OLG’s Lucky 10 concert series. The album this time around is called The Meat of Life, and no matter how strong my feelings are for Ghost (and End of Love and Lose Big), I can without question say that the Snide is at the top of their game, Meat easily ranking as their most approachable and consistent work yet.

Listening through the record recently I started thinking back to those junkie days. Ghost single “Moment in the Sun was all set to be the next indie hit, having been selected as the theme song to a hip show called “Ed.” The critics were buzzing and every college town indie store in the country was playing and featuring Ghost prominently. It was the record to like if you were one of those people who liked the record of the moment.

Then, for some reason, nothing happened. No big MGMT- or Shins-like crossover moment for the Snide. No big score. We junkies were confused. The Royal Tenenbaums did well, why wasn’t “Moment in the Sun” hitting the masses?

Thinking back to that moment all these years later, I started this, my third interview with Barzelay, off with a question about the irony of “Moment in the Sun.” Why didn’t this song, which had all the indie buzz in the world going for it, not cross over?

“Wait, we were we slated for ‘next big thing’ status? I think I may have been napping when that gentle breeze blew through the break room,” Barzelay joked. “But really, I have been reflecting on it lately and … I suppose it could be perceived as self indulgent, but, really I've always just made the record that I could make at that time. Every couple years or so I tend to have a collection of songs. If someone is fool hardy enough to give me some money to record a record, I round up the dudes and we just try and make it feel good and right. I've never tried to guess what fans may or may not want.”

By 2005 Barzelay had already written three songs - “I Love the Unknown,” “Moment in the Sun” and “Weird” - that, to these ears, should’ve been crossover hits. He’d even recorded a version of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” that should’ve been the feel good hit of the summer.

But, instead, the Snide began to struggle. The band’s longtime label, SpinART, packed it up and, soon after the release of their 2005 record, End of Love (fantastic, by the way), Barzelay saw his band falling apart. Before they could finish their next record, the Snide was kaput.

Not just that, but Barzelay, now a father, also saw his back catalog go out of print due to record label royalty issues.

“What's become of the Clem Snide catalogue is really a very sad story,” he told me. “But the good new is, assuming the world doesn't end, come 2012 I get back the rights to the master recordings. So maybe I can do a proper re-release.”

For now, new fans can readily find Lose Big, Hungry Bird and the new record, The Meat of Life, which best represents where the band is at right now.

“Recording Meat was a lot like recording Hungry Bird, in that it was the same setting and people, but this time we were more united with a shared vision,” Barzelay told me about his new batch of songs. “It all came together quickly and deliciously. I wanted it to sound like a classic classic rock LP, but with good words. And I also wanted it to be very warm and ear-friendly.”

One of the new songs, titled “I Got High,” stood out to me instantly, working almost as an us-versus-them anthem for oldish 30-somethings like myself who stare down the hip new kids at the record shops. In the song Barzelay talks about how he “got high with Sufjan Stevens fans in Normal, Illinois,” purposefully mispronouncing both “Sufjan” and “Illinois” before going on to sing “this song goes out to all your beautiful American boys and girls.”

It’s at once funny, bitter and loving, and Barzelay was happy to see that I dug the sentiment … got the joke.

“That's great! Oldish indeed! Will Oldish, even,” he joked. “That song bubbled up when I was on tour with Ben Folds. It was cold and wet and all flat grey in the Midwest, and I was playing solo opening sets in boom-y gymnasiums to mostly indifferent college kids. There was for sure some old man bitterness starting to rise on up inside. But then I had this one great night in Normal, and that song came the next day. It came heroically, almost to stem the tide of resentment.

“I mean, I respect that rock n’ roll prefers the young and fresh, but nevertheless the indie rock of today sounds so much like some kids playing dress up to me. Not that my shit is more ‘real’, per say, but at least it's still tethered to this Earth. I mean, that new Joanna Newsom record? Did she record that in Narnia?”

Good to see that he’s still understand me.

Next I asked him about his ties to Fort Wayne, which he always seems to enjoy discussing.

“My plan for this run of shows is to keep it lean and only go where we are wanted. Fort Wayne and all them good people at the Tiger Room treat us very nice, so I always make sure our booking agent lines something up,” he explained, next explaining what it was like to reunite and tour with Clem Snide in 2009.

“The tour last year was overall very good,” he said. “It felt really nice to play with Brendan Fitzpatrick and Ben Martin again, and we locked in together almost immediately - after having been locked out for four years.”

And, because I’m a fan and I need to hold on hope for the future of the Snide, I asked about Barzelay’s future plans.

He wasn’t sure, but did mention two exciting projects, the first of which sees the Nashville-based songwriter reuniting with Spellbound and Rocket Science director Jeffrey Blitz (Barzelay provided the soundtrack for Rocket Science), this time to score the upcoming documentary film Lucky.

“Yeah, I did that score,” he joked. “Nothing but net, too! Oh, and I also just finished music for a movie called Janie Jones, which should be out later this year. It has my stink all over it.”

Not bad. Eef’s is a good stink to have.

Feature Story: Loudon Wainwright III

Published by NUVO, circa 2007

Songwriter Loudon Wainwright III’s underappreciated life story will someday be made into a feature film. Probably a dark, comedic jaunt by some guy named Judd Apatow. Hipsters and lazy listeners everywhere will promptly buy the soundtrack, later kicking themselves for not loving Rufus and Martha’s dad while he was in the middle of one of his two Golden Periods, the second of which just happens to be taking place as he pulls into Indianapolis for a September 27 show at Clowes Memorial Hall alongside longtime friend and fellow legend Leo Kottke. Thankfully, Wainwright it not dead yet. Not even close.

Though he has been steadily releasing studio albums for the better part of four decades, Wainwright found new breath when the abovementioned film and TV auteur (who Wainwright had previously worked with on the short-lived “Undeclared”), asked him to not only act in his blockbuster comedy, Knocked Up, but also contribute the film’s soundtrack. Along with acclaimed songwriter/producer Joe Henry and legendary guitarist Richard Thompson, Wainwright recorded his now classic 2007 album, Strange Weirdos for the film. The album not only saw some of the best sales numbers of Wainwright’s career, but also led to a second album, the recently released Recovery, and thus the current tour with Kottke.

“My friend Joe Henry and I were working on my previous album, Strange Weirdos, and we were talking about songs, you know,” Wainwright recently told Nuvo. “As a teenager he’d been a fan of my earlier material, and he said, ‘wouldn’t it be interesting to take some of these really old songs - most of which were recorded just voice and guitar - and record them with the band we were working with at the time?’ I thought it could be interesting, so we tried one of the songs and liked how it came out, so we started to make a record.”

Recovery, as a result, is a profile of a young artist re-imagined by the second artistic wind of a seasoned veteran. The songs, once fragile and simple, are fleshed out and big. The impact lingers, whether Wainwright planned it this way or not, as an album celebrating one of the greatest overlooked songwriters ever - an album that displays the personality and charm of a man now 38 years into a busy career.

Understanding the depth of Wainwright’s history as an entertainer - and therein why an album like Recovery now makes so much sense - takes some devotion. Known as much for his dark sense of humor as he is for his bleeding-heart-honesty, Wainwright has seen a decent amount of screen time throughout his career as a songwriter, holding down roles in “M*A*S*H,” Elizabethtown, Knocked Up, “Undelcared,” Big Fish, For Your Consideration and many others. To see the man perform says it all: each phrase demands its own series of mannerisms and expressions, as if Wainwright is acting out his songs while singing. “I always wanted to be an entertainer,” Wainwright told Nuvo.

And all along, through all the screen roles, famous children, tabloid-like coverage of his family issues and so on, there has been the music.

“I’m always trying to write. That’s one of my main jobs. I’m a performer and sometime actor, but I’m mainly a songwriter,” Wainwright said. “I’m always concerned about writing. In the beginning of my career I worried about if I’d continue to write, but I have managed to keep up with it.”

As for the writing, well, let’s just say that it’s honest. A brief list of topics for those unfamiliar should suffice: failed marriage; dark meditations concerning his father; being hailed as “the new Dylan”; the feelings he had just before his song Rufus was born; hitting his daughter and so on. More than any songwriter that comes to mind, Wainwright’s output is defined by his guts and lean honesty. When asked if he ever has a period of explaining to do towards friends and family upon the release of new records, Wainwright perked. “No. My friends and family know who I am and know what I’m going to do. They’re all used to it, so I never panic about that.”

And those famous kids? “My kids are grownups now,” Wainwright said when asked about his three famous musical offspring, Lucy, Martha and Rufus. “They’re into their own things and I don’t think they need my advice. They’re doing very well. I’ve toured [with them all], but they’re all embarked - they don’t need my advice, they can make their own mistakes.”

A new record and a tour with longtime friend Leo Kottke; times couldn’t be better for Wainwright and his loyal fanbase. More so than nearly any popular American writer Wainwright has always known that, sure as there is pain in love, there is sweetness in hate. You’ll hear it in the songs and you’ll see it on the stage - humor, honesty and heart, uncomfortable moments and all.

Interview: Buck65

Published by ZeCatalist.com, circa 2007

While recently compiling a list of my 160 favorite hip-hop albums ever, I noticed a trend. Not only did Buck 65 take my No. 1 spot with his 1997 classic, Vertex, but a number of his records - seven, to be exact - made it into my Top 50 (two in our Top 10!) of all-time.

Is Richard Terfry, a 38-year-old ex-baseball-playing Canadian who looks more like one of the guitar playing twins from The National than Nas or BDK, one of the best emcees of all time? Oh yes, easily. Also one of the most inimitable. Not just that. Buck is a FANTASTIC producer and DJ. On the majority of his records, he writes, records, produces, rhymes, and mixes. He’s an auteur, and, most importantly, his records are unlike any other. They’re somehow both classic and boundary pushing.

Here’s how I’d rank my favorite albums from the 65er: 7. Weirdo Magnet (No. 50 on our all-time list); 6. Language Arts (No. 32); 5. Talkin’ Honky Blues (No. 25); 4. Square (No. 15); 3. Man Overboard (No. 13); 2. This Right Here (No. 7); 1. Vertex (No. 1).

So, all that in mind, I sent Buck 65 an e-mail, asking if he’d be up for an interview. He was! And the result is easily one of the highlights of my career as a writer/fan. Here we go​ ...

Greg​ W. Locke: Thinking back, what was the moment that propelled you into a larger spotlight?

Buck 65: To be honest, I think that having my name dropped by the guys from Radiohead back around the time when Kid A came out is what did it. The timing was amazing because everyone was talking about Radiohead and their new musical direction. So right at the peak of Radiohead mania, they were talking about me! So bonkers.

Greg: I remember hearing that you moved to Paris and maybe got married? What's the story? Are you in Canada? France? The US? I heard Colorado, even!

Buck 65: I moved to Paris right after I signed my deal with Warner - I guess that was 2002 or so. I lived there off and on for the next six years. I got engaged to a French girl named Claire. You can hear her on a few songs on Secret House Against The World and there's a picture of her in the CD booklet-thing. Her great-grandfather is/was (he's dead) Francis Picabia, who is one of the original Dadaists! Claire and I aren't together anymore, but we're still very close. But I did get married! Last year. My wife Emily is from Colorado. We live in Toronto now. Emily and I work together some too. We wrote a bunch of songs together on Dirtbike and she does vocals on "Person To Person" on Dirtbike 1. She helped out on a couple songs on the second 20 Odd Years EP too. We wrote a song called "Tears In Space" together and she plays ukulele on one called BCC.

Greg: What have you been up to lately? Music? Other projects?

Buck 65: Well, even though I've already started releasing music for 20 Odd Years projects, it's not quite finished. I'm putting the finishing touches on some of the songs that will be on the third, fourth and fifth EPs now. I'm also working on a few collaborations for other people's albums. Plus, I'm working on a project with Buddy Peace from the UK right now - that could see the light of day in 2010 - and there's the 100 Story Building project I'm doing with another rapper named D-Sisive. We've asked people to send us stories that we'll turn into songs. We've already started recording for that. Oh, and there are a handful of new Bike For Three songs, too.

Greg: I know you're a big film and baseball buff. How much do those two interests bleed over into your music?

Buck 65: Lately I've been trying to keep my music stuff as outside-influence-free as possible. But the odd reference still creeps in. And in a general sense, I'll watch a great film like, say, The Mirror by Andrei Tarkovsky and come away feeling very inspired. So that might spur something, but not necessarily directly. But I will say that with the project I'm working on with Buddy Peace, he has thrown out some challenges like, "let's figure out a way to make a song that's in black and white!" Or "let's make a song that's out of focus!" So, we'll see what comes of that...

Greg: You write, produce, DJ and rap. Your music has changed a lot over the years, how has your production style grown? Is it who you work with? Your approach? Your influences?

Buck 65: Hmm. To be honest, I think the main thing that has changed has been the technology. I can do these things now that were either impossible, or that would have been insanely expensive ten or fifteen years ago. That's a big factor. But I guess the other factor is just all the things I've been exposed to over the years - music I've heard, books I've read, films I've seen, trouble I've gotten into. I'm still drawn to all the same textures and sounds and moods and instruments I've always been. Sometimes I have to try to resist the urge to make everything dark and slow and sinister and minimal and stuff. But I really indulged myself with Dirtbike - which wasn't so long ago - and I'm sure most people can trace the parallels between that stuff and say, Vertex.

Greg: Can you tell me a bit about Dirtbike? What's the thinking behind giving that away for free? It's good stuff!

Buck 65: Before I made Dirtbike, I made the decision that I wouldn't sell it or send it to any press. Reason being, I didn't want to think of it as a failure if it didn't sell well or if it got bad reviews. I just wanted the whole thing to be a source of joy - the same joy I remember feeling back in the days when I was making music before I had much of an audience. In those days, it was all about wide-open creativity with no expectations to corrupt my thinking. I'd play stuff for my friends and that was about it. So I wanted to do that again. So when each part was finished, I emailed a link to a handful of friends. Eventually, the records started to spread on the internet and so finally, I posted the links on my website. That felt really good. I'm not very comfortable with the idea of trying to cram anything I do down anyone's throat. So I hope to do more of that kind of thing in the future.

Greg: Can you tell me a little bit about the new DVD and EPs you’ve been working on?

Buck 65: The DVD was put together by a guy named Christopher Mills. He's very creative. He came along for part of the tour for the Situation record and shot lots of stuff. Then, near the end of tour, a bunch of the tapes and equipment got stolen. We got some of the tapes back, but lost a lot of good stuff too. So we made due with what we had left, told the story, and called it "The Lost Tapes." We also shot a video for the song "Shutterbuggin," which was inspired by a rare film called "The Beaver Trilogy," which is one of the best things I've seen in my life. There's also lots of animation and crazy editing and random stories and live performances and stuff. I really like how it turned out. God, we worked on it forever. As for the EP, it's the first in a series of five. When all is said and done, there will be twenty new songs out there. Then, we might possibly release a limited edition album with selections from the EPs and a bunch of new songs. I'm sitting on a mountain of material right now. There are four songs on the first EP. One of them is called "Superstars Don't Love" and the lyrics were written the day Michael Jackson died, so it's a bit of a tribute to him, among other things. That one was produced - in the hip hop sense - by my friend Jorun, who I've been working with for close to twenty years. He's one of the illest beat makers ever. It's a shame he's not world famous. There's also a cover of a Leonard Cohen song - "Who By Fire" - which features my friend Jenn Grant. I stayed at her house when I was recording most of the new material. And there's a song I made with Nick Thorburn from Islands. That one's called "Gee Whiz." Buddy Peace added a scratch verse to it, which needs to be heard to be believed or even understood. Buddy is a monster.

Greg: It's the 20th anniversary for you and hip-hop! Looking back over the years, how has your relationship with the music/genre/culture changed?

Buck 65: My relationship with hip hop has changed drastically in the last 20 years. Where to begin?! I worshiped at the altar of hip hop most of life, but began to fall out of love around '96 or so. The last album I remember LOVING was the Dr. Octagon album. I don't know what happened after that. Maybe it's a getting-older thing, but at this point, I admit I'm pretty out of touch. I just lost interest. Now, once in a while I'll hear some crazy hype about a new rapper and check them out. But I always end up thinking, "I don't get it." So these days, I still listen to hip hop all the time, but it's all my favorite old records from '86 and '87, mostly.

Greg: Our website, www.ZeCatalist.com, recently named your album, Vertex, our favorite hip-hop record ever. Seven of your albums are in our Top 50 and two are in the Top 10! Needless to say, we love your records and thing they're aging very well. Do you have a favorite Buck 65 record or two?

Buck 65: I recently compiled my own personal Top 5! One of my favorite things is a special mega-mix thing Buddy Peace did for the Strange Famous site before Situation came out. Dirtbike ranks very high for me. So does Square. I think I had the Dirtywork EP as my number one. And the first Sebutones album, Psoriasis, was also on my list.

Greg: I love Square but somehow don’t know the Dirtywork EP. I’ll have to look that one up. I've long been curious to know how you feel about "This Right Here is Buck 65." Is there a story behind that record? Seems like it was maybe the "make it" sort of moment for you - at least from a label's perspective. Are we way off?

Buck 65: The whole "This Right Here..." story is a weird one. I signed a deal with the now-defunct V2 label back around '04. The idea was that they would put out Talkin' Honky Blues, which was still new-ish. But they felt the album wasn't strong enough or what they were looking for or something. So they suggested making an "introductory" record for the US market. So they picked a few songs from Talkin’ Honky Blues and suggested re-recording a few older ones to "clean them up" and add a few new ones. I thought the whole thing was a very strange idea. Then, I made Secret House and they were funny about that, too. So I asked to be dropped and they complied. A few months later, the label folded. So my theory is that shortly after I signed with them, they started getting into trouble and were under pressure to come up with some big sellers. The White Stripes contract with them ended and Moby's album kinda bombed and that was it. They went tits up. The story of my life ... bad timing.

Greg: Bummer. I remember being surprised that “This Right Here” wasn’t a big album. If that were released today, I think it’d do VERY well. What's ahead for you? I know you’re working on the EPs ...

Buck 65: Looking ahead, there's going to be a 20-country tour later this year. There are the other projects I mentioned - with Buddy Peace and the 100 Story Building thing. Slowly but surely another Bike For Three! album is coming together. The 20 Odd Years EPs ... Lots of stuff. And I was thinking of doing another Dirtbike type of thing again before too long. I have lots of ideas for things I'll be doing on the website too, so keep an eye on that