ISSUE 121 • FREE

WINTER 2015

THE GARDEN
WHITE BOIZ
JESUS SONS
SUBHUMANS
DAVE DAVIES
DANIEL LANOIS
BILLY CHANGER
MARGO GURYAN
FRANZ FERDINAND
& SPARKS
KIM AND THE CREATED
DISCO’S OUT ... MURDER’S IN!
AND MORE
 THE
CHARLATANS
UK
WITH EYELIDS

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NICK LOWE & LOS STRAITJACKETS

QUALITY HOLIDAY REVIEW
WITH THE C ACTUS BLOSSOMS

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ACOUSTIC STAGE:

KEVIN SECONDS • NATHEN MAXWELL

STEVE SOTO • ELVIS CORTEZ
FOOD TRUCKS AND BEER GARDEN
ALL AGES
with special guests &
Jamie Lawson

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6 THE GARDEN
Chris Ziegler
30 MARGO GURYAN
Tiffany Anders

10 KIM AND THE CREATED 33 DAVE DAVIES

Daiana Feuer Kristina Benson

14 FRANZ FERDINAND & SPARKS WHITE BOIZ

Gabriel Hart
34 sweeney kovar

18 BILLY CHANGER 40 THE EX

Christopher Ziegler Christina Gubala

22 DANIEL LANOIS 46 SUBHUMANS

David Cotner Linda A. Rapka

26 JESUS SONS 48 VIAL

D.M. Collins Kristina Benson & Chris Ziegler

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THE GARDEN
Interview by Chris Ziegler
Photography by Grace Oh

The Garden are a post-punk band in the same way Big Black were a post-punk band, in that they wanted to go past what punk was
capable of doing—and then and now, that means electronics and noise and weaponized personality, as well as a live show where at
least one person is gonna store up all their energy and try and climb a wall. On haha, their new album for Epitaph and Burger, the
Garden are more polished, more clear and more focused than ever—this is a band turned into an industrial laser, designed to cut
through anything in front of them and sear shut the wound on the way out. They’re currently on a worldwide tour, but L.A. RECORD
got them to stand still for a few seconds to do this feature. Brothers (and occasional Yves Saint Laurent models) Wyatt and Fletcher
Shears speak now about how you too can do what you truly want ... if you really want it.
Wyatt Shears (bass/vocals): The record is called sucks! It was better way back ten years ago, W: Yeah, we lived a pretty fuckin’ regular life. lot of people … don’t even think about that?
haha and it has a very sarcastic theme to a 90s 80s …’ Fuck the past! We’re gonna make I can’t really dodge that question, Which is fine?
lot of the songs—a very trickster-ish vibe. I this time the best. So how’d you go off the rails? F: We didn’t when we started making music.
wanna take you down a road lyrically where F: We don’t care about the past, we don’t care W: Like not going to school? We were kind We just made a stereotypical punk band. But
you think you’re going the right way but you’re about the ‘70s, we don’t give a shit about of forced out of guilt and lack of a better when you go on and get a better view, you’re
actually not. It’s like here’s this toy … but it’s David Bowie—this is about Wyatt and us option to go to college, so we went to a like, ‘Wait a second—I don’t have to stay like
not a toy, it’s something else. A lot of songs and what we’re doing. Nothing else matters. community college for one semester and this.’ And don’t get me wrong—we’re not
mean a lot to me—what I believe in and what We constantly get people coming up to us just constantly ditched classes. Not cuz we claiming to be the fucking gods of anything
I stand for. Like ‘All Smiles.’ We have a lot of like, ‘Oh, Bowie, man—it MUST have been were trying to be fucking cool—it just felt here! We’re still molding it ourselves and a lot
problems with apathy in music, apathy in hip- an influence!’ Dude, I’ve listened to one David so off. We were playing shows at that time, of the time, we’re not content with what we
hop, apathy in a lot of things. ‘I don’t care, I’ll Bowie song in my life. I don’t give a shit—I but none of the shows were good. They have going on. It’s taking us a long time. But
sit back and smoke my weed cuz who cares, don’t base what I’m doing off past influences were just shitty local shows. the record is where we’re at now, and the next
right?’ That’s what’s cool now. ‘All Smiles’ is or things that have already been done. I’m F: The whole point of the progression and one will be where we’re at at that time. When
like get up, shake someone’s hand, look ‘em basing things off myself and who I am as a how we are now vs. how we were before the record got put out, I don’t have a feeling
in the eye and show ‘em you mean business. ‘I person and Wyatt is as well. That’s what makes this started … we’ve played around so many of, ‘Ahhhh, time to relax!’ It’s more of a frantic
have a smile on my face instead of a frown.’ us happy. Cuz we’re creative ourselves. Not to bands, so many cities and so many countries. feeling of, ‘OK—now to get on to the next
Fletcher Shears (drums): Apathy has become a emulate anybody else. Don’t get me wrong, there’s great things out thing!’
huge trend and we’re not really about that. Doesn’t making something new get harder there. There’s good music. But the amount I never picture you relaxing. Maybe that’s
W: We wanna show we have a purpose, we and harder as time goes on? It’s like settling of bands and artists actually breaking the what I was asking when I was asking about
have a point and we’re driving forward. We a frontier—eventually people take every mold—a real mold—is really hard to come never being comfortable.
wanna show you we mean fuckin’ business! last piece of land. There’s always more and by. I think there’s only a handful of them. F: I love relaxing, man! Relaxing for me is
F: But at the same time— more of the past behind you, making sure W: You’d be shocked at the fact that you go riding my bike or getting exercise or sitting
W: —we’re obviously very goofy. And that’s there are less ‘new’ things to be done. somewhere like Indonesia and you hear a band in my room making Puzzle music. Or just
where the trickster sarcasm comes in. F: I know what you mean, and you’re totally in Indonesia, and you go back to America and hanging out with my friends and eating
So you’re against apathy, and apathy goes right. You can’t really do anything without a lot of the bands are doing the exact same Weinerschnitzel.
hand-in-hand with comfort. Do you have having to take something from the past. But thing. Maybe a tiny bit different based on Your dad was in Shattered Faith—did you
to make sure you’re uncomfortable to do it’s smarter to take a little bit of something your surroundings but basically the same. get a creative head start by being exposed to
the work you wanna do? from the past and put drops of it in what F: The whole point of what we’re doing and punk and hardcore at such a young age?
W: No, not really—it’s just a natural thing. you do now, and that way you make it your the background of what we think about a lot F: We started off listening to a lot of bands
You’re naturally uncomfortable? own. You can build from there. Obviously is just trying to make something unique and maybe people wouldn’t listen to when they’re
F: I think we’re perfectly comfortable. you’re not gonna wake up one day and do that’s got a sound of its own. It’s own brand. younger. Like listening to the Prodigy on the
You seem comfortable. something completely original. I mean— Without having to take so fucking much of way to kindergarten and misinterpreting
W: As far as the apathy and the anti-apathy, maybe if you’ve watched no TV, listened to what else is going on. some of the really nasty lyrics! It helped serve
of course it’s one thing not to care—like no radio … some child that’s lived in the W: Because you don’t need to! You don’t need as a backbone. Also there were times it made
don’t care about what another person says woods all of its life? But when you’re living to base your band off another band. You can it harder for us. I remember in high school,
about your music or your style. But as far in a city or living in a town, you probably if you want, don’t get me wrong—it’s a fuckin’ we’d be wearing spiked leather jackets to high
as not wanting to change the course of our are gonna take something, and that’s free world and you can do whatever you school, and my parents weren’t into that!
generation creatively in any way and laying understandable. But we’d like to try to make wanna do—but you don’t HAVE to do that. Just like normal parents, I guess. I’d put my
back and doing what has been done before … it as ‘us’ as possible. That’s the overall goal. I think a lot of bands start off like, ‘OK, we leather jacket in my backpack and when my
that’s apathetic in my opinion. That’s the form You both had fairly regular childhoods in gotta sound like some band to start off. Let’s parents drove off, I’d put it back on. So it’s
of apathy we’re talking about. Not our social Orange County, right? Same TV shows, sound like this band first and we’ll see what not like our parents were open to everything
environment. We’re in a generation where fast food and suburbs as a lot of people in happens.’ You can start off with a blank slate. we were into, even if it was something they
everyone is looking at us like ‘This generation California. That’s something you CAN do. But I think a were into.
INTERVIEW 7
Did knowing your parents had made
records make being a musician seem more
possible? Or more realistic?
F: No, to be honest for me. The first time we
made a record, I didn’t even realize what it
meant. We were around musicians sometimes
and we listened to a lot of music. I didn’t know
if it was a record or CD—didn’t matter to me.
I was listening just as simple as you could ever
listen, liking it for what it is.
W: Once we got involved with Burger, it gave
us more of an idea what it could be. The first
vinyl we ever put out wasn’t even Burger,
now that I think of it. That was MHV—the
old band we were in. Life And Times was the
second vinyl. But two different bands so it
doesn’t even matter.
You grew up in and around punk and
garage music. In which way was it more
helpful to you—showing what you could
do? Or showing what you shouldn’t do?
W: I have to say, after a lot of years, I’m not a
big fan of garage music. But originally finding
it when I was younger, the biggest part that
really appealed was the DIY aspect. And that
anybody could do it. But that’s just me …
Wyatt Shears.
F: I never really got into the music as far as
garage rock goes. It was a small part of my
life when I was lot younger, where I liked it
cuz nobody else liked it. Not a lot of young
kids knew about garage at that time. ‘OK, I’m
gonna try to like this cuz nobody really likes
it.’ Then once I was really honest with myself,
I was like, ‘I don’t really like the music at all.’
As far as punk goes … it’s just that energy.
You’re at a punk show and just RELEASING
that energy. That’s one of the best things about
music and playing—releasing that energy in
the most uncontrived raw way. You’re not
releasing the energy for the crowd, you’re not
releasing it in a different way than you would
completely by yourself naked in the woods,
basically! A lot of bands release energy in
their own way but sometimes it’s a controlled
releasing of energy, and I’m just talking about
literally letting go and making it as raw as you
can. That really intrigued me about punk
when I was younger. Not so much anymore
cuz to me … every once in a while you hit
a punk band but it’s just kind of like a repeat?
W: If it’s a repeat, it’s a not a punk band.
They’re emulating what punk was back in the
day. Punk is a lot of different types of rap and a
lot of different types of things, in my personal
opinion. A punk band you’re not gonna hear
do the typical ‘Dah na, da-dah-na, da-dah-na,
da na!’ …
When and why did music become the
thing you knew you were committed to?
When did you go from liking music to
considering yourselves musicians?
F: We always do what we love to do, which
is this, but we were doing it in different …
environments. We started off fucking under
underground—the sewers, basically. Now I
feel we’re on our feet and have a goal and we
know where we’re going. Before we played cuz
we loved it but we didn’t know what we were
doing. We didn’t even necessarily care if just
one person was watching us, which happened
many many times. It took us a long time to
get where we are now.
W: We still consider ourselves small. We got a
lot to do—but it’s a lot of fucking work.
So what is the goal? And what is the effect
of even having a goal?
F: This might come off weird but … a
samurai lives and dies by the sword. There’s
not a certain goal. It’s living, honoring what
you do and honoring your profession.
W: We wanna keep moving. If it doesn’t feel
right, it doesn’t feel right and I’m not gonna
force it. But for now … we’re both 21 in 2015
and this is what we want and what we feel
we’re supposed to be doing.
What inspires you now? Not what specific
people—but what qualities? What do you
like to see in other humans, and what does
that do to you?
W: When I see another musician or a public
speaker or movie director, I don’t consider
myself on the same path. I consider myself in
my own lane. But when I see someone play
a show or doing something I think I could
do, it motivates me to go and get what I
need, you know? That’s the beauty of living
life—not being restricted to the one person
everyone thinks you are. You can do literally
whatever the hell you wanna do. That doesn’t
mean fake something and be someone you’re
not. If you’re feeling it, fucking do it. There’s
nobody stopping you. People say it all the
time: ‘Be yourself.’ But that’s just one specific
way. Change your whole image if you feel it.
Transition into a whole other phase of your
life. You have the freedom. A lot of people live
their lives not even thinking that’s an option
but it fucking is!
How did this become a possibility for you?
Why did you realize you could take your
own path?
W: Spontanaeity brings it out. Genuineness.
That’s what we like to do. When I’m on stage
I’m not thinking what face I’m gonna make,
what move I’m gonna do, how I’m gonna
play my bass … people think it’s staged but
I swear to God it’s not. It’s exactly how it
comes out of me. People think we’re on drugs
or drinking—funny cuz we don’t even do
drugs or drink alcohol! It shows how much
people don’t even think this can be a natural
thing! ‘There’s no fucking way you’re not on
heroin.’ That’s what ‘haha’ is about. Constant
accusations. ‘Cells Stay Clean’ is that as well:
‘No, dude—this is raw energy. This is us when
we go up there!’
The Garden seems like really it’s about
change—the idea that you can change
yourself, change the way you fit into the
world, maybe change the world through
that. Is there anything you think can’t ever
be changed? What’s permanent to you?
W: As long as you’re in control of your own life
and weren’t born imprisoned in any way, then
yeah, you can change anything. Especially
especially creatively, with your music. There’s
always room for improvement or growth. But
if you wanna stay the same, that’s fine too.
You’re also into the idea of shapeshifting—
physical change, and putting the most
fundamental concept of ‘you’ up for grabs.
That shows up in a few songs: ‘I want no
part of my physical form…’ Why?
F: That lyric for me was about getting tired of
my persona and Wyatt’s as well—sometimes I
just really don’t give a fuck about what I look
like and I don’t want anybody to care what
I look like. I just wanna do my own thing.
If you’re getting sick of it, don’t dwell on it,
INTERVIEW
basically. A feeling of being over caring about
the way I look.
Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask
Fletcher why he liked to wear women’s
clothing? That seems to have really
captivated people who cover you.
W: Even though we don’t even fucking do
that now, we still get the same question! They
want to talk about something Fletcher did in
2012. Let’s progress here!
F: I was doing it cuz I was trying to make
myself look and feel like an actual woman.
Because that’s how I felt—it felt right to me. It
doesn’t feel right to me now so I’m not doing
it. I still wear women’s clothes, I still wear
men’s clothes … who gives a fuck! It doesn’t
mean anything. That part of me was that part
of me in 2012, 2013. I didn’t do it after that
cuz I didn’t feel it! But people love to pin you
down, love to feel safe: ‘Finally, we figured
out Fletcher!’ No, that’s not what it’s about. If
you’re not comfortable with me changing and
moving on … they don’t pay attention.
How did you put haha together? Some of
these songs go back to much earlier releases.
But it all fits together.
W: We don’t usually do a record like this. With
Paperclip, that was ‘sit down, get it done, it’s
done.’ We did it with a guy we didn’t know.
‘Let’s just call this guy.’ He was like, ‘Uh,
OK—wanna do it for $140?’ ‘Uh, OK.’ So
it was like, ‘Let’s do these songs really fast so
we don’t have to pay him too much!’ He was
like, ‘Come back and we’ll edit and mix’ and
we’re like, ‘Nah, it’s cool! We like ‘em like this!’
And we sent it to Burger and that’s how it was.
This record obviously took a lot more time.
In the studio, we’re not like really focused
and militant. Half the time we’re laying
around, joking around. It comes naturally.
The recording process probably took less than
five months. We actually calculated that. This
one, we were doing a lot of things in our life—
getting a label, a lot of touring. It couldn’t be
done in one night. We were in a different
headspace. Unfortunately—and we don’t
like to do this—it was a couple pieces over
time. It’s interesting—it feels more complete
than Paperclip now. Feels like our first actual
album. Obviously we still count Paperclip,
but this feels like a really new beginning. And
we’re stoked. We don’t like to waste a lot of
time and we’ve never been the type of guys
who are like, ‘OK, we’re going to plan for
three years of records and it’s gonna be done
in three years.’ We wanna get it done.
You like you’re very careful not to get ‘stuck’
in something.
W: Our appearance and what we’ve done
can be deceiving. We’ve gotten called things
before: ‘Oh, you guys are famous now!’
Actually, we’re not. We still share a room, we
still pay bills, we’re still doing things almost
how we were before. It’s a little upgraded
at this point! But we haven’t felt like we’ve
accomplished enough to wanna be done. We
wanna make our musical mark, you know
what I mean? We want people to look back
and say, ‘Wow, they really did something.’
Instead of ‘they put out one sporadic album,
did a little modeling and that was it.’ We’ll
get left behind. We haven’t made enough of
a mark to become a thing in the future in
my opinion. We’ll be remembered maybe
by some people at this point, but it will fade
INTERVIEW
away very easily. There’s a lot we still feel we
have inside us. For us, we know we’re gonna
put this out and a lot of people aren’t going
to like it, but it doesn’t matter for us cuz we
know we like it and this is the direction we
wanna go. We have a very checkered past
when it comes to music. We’ve had a lot of
EPs come out and then The Life And Times
of a Paperclip, which is what people recognize
us for the most. A lot of people have clung to
that and put us in certain categories—‘garage’
or ‘lo-fi punk’ or blah-blah-blah. We’re having
a good time shooting that down with this
record. That’s why we created Vada Vada in
the first place. We can call ourselves what we
wanna call ourselves. Call us what you want,
but this is what we are. I mean—we have like
hip-hop tracks on this new album. What are
you gonna do?
What’s the story on ‘We Be Grindin’? The
Garden seems to have a fascination with
‘the club.’
W: I actually like going to the club! I like
to go dance. It’s cool. But at the same time
I like to make fun of people if that’s all they
fucking talk about: ‘Up in the club!’ It used to
be something obviously in the early 2000s—a
very macho thing to say. ‘I’m in da club! I got
girls!’ And in my opinion, a lot of the time its
used in a very homophobic way: ‘I’m a big
man, I walk in the club, everybody looks at
me …’ For the most part, I like to make funk
of it. But I like to go to the club—to be part
of it! To just go!
And what’s with your fascination with
writing from the perspective of inanimate
objects? From Life And Times of a Paper
Clip to ‘Everything Has A Face’ on this
album—you like to give life to things that
were never alive.
W: That became a thing when we were really
little. We’d see a paper bag flying in the street
and a car would roll over it, and we always
felt bad for the paper bag—we told ourselves
like, ‘Fuck that—why are we even feeling bad
for that?’ But in a way it made us both feel
weirdly bad. That was the start of us putting
either music or personalities to objects.
How do your own limitations affect you?
Even with all the experiments you do, there’s
still just the two of you live. In a way, you’re
working with a lot less than a lot of other
bands, even if you’re trying to do more.
F: At times it’s been hard. In the past when
we started using a lot more electronics in
our recordings, we got to a couple songs
like, ‘Shit—how are we gonna do this?’ But
we found solutions and pushed through all
the questioning and wondering if we would
figure it out. We’re able to play the album and
that’s a good feeling. For a long time we’d do
the electronics out of an iPod. We’d go on
tour hoping it wouldn’t break every night—a
fucking nightmare! Sometimes it didn’t work
and sometimes it did. Now we have this thing
called an SPD-SX—a little pad I keep next to
my drums. It’ll do whatever I want.
What have you done on haha that you’ve
never done before?
F: The song ‘Egg.’ The way we made that song
and the way it sounds and the instruments in
it are something we’ve never done before. We
made it completely in the studio while sitting
around bored. And the grand piano—we’ve
never had anything like that.
W: Wait til you hear that on the SPD-SX! All
these songs we have now like ‘This Could Build
Us A Home’ or ‘I’ll Stop By Tomorrow Night’
have leads on them. It’s pretty interesting to
work with leads. And ‘Gift’ has those violins.
F: It was really hard at first—it took us a long
time. We’d mess up at shows.
W: A pretty cringe-worthy mess!
F: But we’ve got it down more than we ever
have now.
Did your own creativity haunt you? ‘We’re
dooming ourselves by using this string
section.’
W: Sometimes it did. We really looked into
what was possible live. I was nervous for a
while: ‘How the hell are we gonna pull off
“This Could Build Us A Home?”’
F: We’d start playing without any keyboard
and it sounded ok, but you know—this
needed what it was supposed to have. When
we got the SPD-SX, we started going really
hard at it so we could do it the right way live.
W: This is the whole point. Even though this
thing was not fun to learn—kind of a pain
in the ass!—we’ve grown from it. The point
is to keep pushing ourselves musically and
see what we can do. We wanna be versatile.
This is the way! You gotta do things you didn’t
necessarily wanna do. Isn’t the whole point of
rock ‘n’ roll to kinda do something new? Push
any sort of boundary?
F: That’s more of a punk thing.
W: Or Vada Vada?
You’re a very active band—almost
compulsively active. You’re always on tour
or doing something. You never disappear.
W: We get paranoid. You consistently see
artists like, ‘Where have they been? They were
doing so well!’ For us, it’s a little depressing.
We try and stay active. The peole who listen
to your music and look at your posts are there
to support you. As long as you support them,
they’ll support you.
F: I notice a lot of people going through the
motions. Put out an album, tour, then stay
quiet a long time. And then come back and
do the same thing. To me, that seems a little
robotic. Don’t get me wrong—I understand
when you’re a band and you do what you
gotta do and what’s gonna help you in the
future. For us, we don’t wanna stay quiet
for four months. We like to keep doing shit.
We’re very proactive and aggressive people. It
wouldn’t feel right if we took a break.
W: Even a month off kept us pretty antsy!
F: We can barely handle four weeks!
Would you be able to be as disciplined as
you are if you weren’t family? Could two
strangers ever achieve this level of total
band commitment?
F: A big part of it is we honestly love doing
it. If we didn’t like it, we wouldn’t be doing
it. We love doing it, we love performing, we
love creating. Being brothers and spending
21 years in the same small room together has
definitely helped. It’d be different even with
just something as small as having our own
rooms. We’ve never had our own room in 21
years! That gives us a specific kind of closeness
a lot of people don’t have.
You talked before about dropping out of
college—how do you make sure you’re still
educating yourselves each day? And what
do you think you’ve read the most: sci-fi,
horror or self-help books?
W: I like sci-fi and horror but I’ve been
trying to broaden my horizons and learn
more about what’s going on in the world.
Not from a political standpoint but more
issues people claim to care about here but
then don’t look at other parts of the world
at what’s been happening for a long time.
Recently I read about in the U.K. how a
transsexual woman was put into a male
jail and I’ve never heard anything like that
before so I was really shocked: ‘Shit! That’s
insane! That’s so fucked up!’ But then I
read more and that kinda thing has been
happening in Thailand for a really long time
with the ladyboys and stuff—it’s crazy cuz
nobody gives a shit unless it’s happening
somewhere you’re ‘supposed’ to give a shit, I
guess. Like America or the U.K. or Europe.
It is a big deal—but it’s strange cuz so many
people are unaware it’s been happening in
other parts of the world.
Did doing modeling work for St. Laurent
change the way people think of the band?
Or the way people talk to you, now that
you’re not just musicians but models?
W: That’s a part of us, and what we did means
something to us. A lot of people ask if it annoys
us when people come to shows just to look at
us? You know, to be perfectly honest—if they
wanna buy a ticket and come in and see us,
what am I supposed to be mad about? Some
people come for music, some people wanna
meet us cuz we modeled for St. Laurent …
whatever the case, that’s fine. As long as love is
in the building and the energy is good, that’s
my honest answer.
Did all those sewer-level shows you played
help in any way once you got on the
runway? ‘This is nothing, no one’s even
throwing stuff.’
W: It wasn’t anything too different. It was like
playing baseball and then the next day playing
football.
F: On stage it’s more spontaneous. This
was more controlled. You have to go out
there and do a certain thing. You go out
in front of people and do something not
necessarily scripted but more controlled.
The similarities were the fact people were
there watching, and that made me more
nervous. I was nervous more than second
time cuz I knew what it was about. The first
time we didn’t know shit. The second time,
I gotta make sure I really don’t fuck it up!
The first time Hedi Slimane came back out
from hiding, we were kinda the first guys
for him to present to the world—like, ‘I’m
back in the modeling game!’ Thank God we
didn’t know that at the time! We probably
would’ve been a lot more nervous.
W: I can’t even explain how much ignorance
we had about modeling. We had no fucking
clue!
What dead or fictional person would most
deeply understand the Garden? I don’t
mean an influence—I mean kinship.
W: I would hope Socrates!
Because he asked question after question to
get at the ultimate truth?
W: I guess so, yeah!
THE GARDEN’S haha IS AVAILABLE
NOW FROM EPITAPH AND
BURGER. VISIT THE GARDEN AT
THEGARDENTWINS.COM.
9
KIM AND THE CREATED
Interview by Daiana Feuer
Illustration by Alex The Brown

Kim and the Created might be the most dynamic of all the bands that have come from the land of Burger/Lolipop Records, and certainly
they’re a treat to behold—a radioactive but delicious piece of candy. The music grumbles like a sci-fi horror show and Kim House is
the pretty monster, clad in a cat suit and thrashing around on a stage that can’t contain her mighty force. Like that classic tale of a
woman grown to 80 feet tall who just can’t help trampling power lines and crushing buildings in her search for love and understanding,
Kim comes from a place of vulnerability. She lets it all out on stage and it’s impossible to look away. She finished her Echo residency
with a Halloween cover bands show, where she turned the Created into the Cramps, and here she lets us in on her tender side.
Where have you shopped most often and a woman, people want me to be some sort Is the end goal to feel more normal or to What made you turn away from dance?
spent the most money: Halloween store? of image for all women. But I’d like to be an feel more different? I didn’t leave it as much as evolve into acting
Party supply store? 99 cent store? Pet image for all people dealing with anything. There isn’t a goal. It’s just what is actually and theater then into music. It all flowed
store? Record store? Why? Is your performance style a form of happening. I think everyone has feelings and pretty naturally and led me to today where I
Kim House: Halloween stores, of course! It’s rebellion? thoughts that make them feel different and I feel like I combine all of them into one with
no secret I love costumes and spooky things. I honestly just try to release my emotions just deal with mine by being open about it. writing music, live performances, videos
For my residency at the Echo I was Batman and my body on stage. Whatever happens, That’s what helps me. I think I’ll always feel and so on. I like that in music I have more
characters every Monday: Catwoman, happens. different but the more people can relate to control over my creativity.
Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn. Why? Because I Have you ever gotten hurt at a show? me the more that makes me ‘normal.’ What were some highlights of that period
like to have fun with it for myself. I think if I I almost lost my eye at the Echo at Echo Park What brought you to the whole catsuit of your life?
just get into what I’m doing, people will get Rising 2014 when I jumped into the crowd aesthetic? Do you remember the first show Performing on stage of course, but I loved
into it, too. … and into someone’s fist that completely you performed in one of these outfits? intense practices several days a week.
Have you ever had a hair-dye disaster? opened my eye lid. Then it was swollen shut. I wanted something I could move around Taking that many years of dance made me
Any time it doesn’t turn out how I wanted, I kept playing with blood dripping down my easily in with all the jumping, climbing, a stronger, driven person and I’m grateful
I just go with it. I wanted it black this time face. I was wearing a Clockwork Orange outfit bar crawling … As a dancer, I’m most for that time.
to match Lux Interior for the Cramps covers so it was all very strange. comfortable in spandex. They also feel like Why is it important to give less of a fuck?
we did and it turned blue—fuck it! Now I’m Even with the snarling, animalistic a costume—a character—which makes it For me, it was important to give less fucks
blue for our European tour! movements, possessed faces, etc, there’s easier for me to open up emotionally. The because I was giving far too many fucks and
Do you believe in ghosts or spirits? Have still make-up and skin-tight cat suits and cheetah catsuit was my first. I guess it is sexy, it was killing me. I had to let go in order to
you ever had a close encounter with the playing dress-up … how is this a form of but to me it felt totally covered and almost keep my sanity, or least what was left of it. At
third kind? femininity? [like a] non-sexual alien type suit. some point you realize no matter what you
I believe in life on other planets, and that we I think it is really important to show that What kind of dance did you do? When do, it will somehow end up being negative
don’t know shit outside our tiny, tiny, tiny, you can be ‘pretty’ and still have dark feelings you’re playing, do you ever have flashback in someone’s eyes so you might as well do
tiny world. On this Earth, I believe in karma or relate to many different ideals. In some moments where you feel like a dancer? and be exactly what you want and the right
and trying our best to make the most of it. I ways, I am a normal person in this world I took ballet, dance, tap, jazz and point. people will get it and you will feel finally
think we are all in for a big surprise after we and in some ways, I have feelings that make I had lessons and recital and rehearsal for comfortable in your own skin and head that
die … and that could just be that we turn me feel different and on stage is the feeling hours everyday. When people I play in bands you were completely yourself and, still, it
to dust. of going through that. I hope that whoever with complain about practicing, I don’t get was OK to be that way—to be you.
What is your responsibility as a woman in feels that way too can recognize it in me and it. I don’t see practice as work. If I’m not What does ‘punk feminism’ mean to you?
rock? find someone they can relate to and that I’ve practicing, what the hell else would I be I think the same as it means to ‘give less
I am myself and use music as a way to release affected someone in some way. Everyone has doing? I don’t see much similarity between fucks!’ Same answer, literally. Standing up
emotions I have trouble dealing with. It’s many sides to them—it’s just how much you my band and when I would dance. Dance is for yourself and what you think and feel and
therapy. I don’t think ‘issues’ is a male/female choose to show. And I’m getting more and more about structure and my band is about being OK with that and strong enough to do
thing—it’s a human thing. Just because I am more comfortable letting more of myself out. letting go. it no matter what.

10 INTERVIEW
 UPCOMING
HIGHLIGHTS
in Royce Hall

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Is there any part of the establishment that
you hope to destroy or conquer?
Cliques. L.A. is one big giant high school
cafeteria all over again. Who you know
trumps what you do a lot of the time and it
can be frustrating. Hard work vs popularity
contests seems to be the challenge.
You channel dark emotions on stage—how
much of it is performance and how much
is personal? When bad things happen,
are you like, ‘At least I can use this for a
song’?
It’s all me, my feelings, and extremely
personal. It’s what I’m currently going
through, dealing with, trying to make sense
of. It is the ultimate release—therapy. I do
use music as a way to get through things.
Writing it out helps then getting to let it out
psychically on stage—then being appreciated
after helps too because it makes me feel OK
with what’s happened. I don’t think artists
have to suffer. I think there are people out
there that can take a beautiful feeling and
portray it to us in a way some of us can’t,
and that’s what they’re here for. We all have
a reason.
Do you have a pre-show ritual?
I like to sit alone in quiet. There is so much
on my mind that I want to go over, and also
I want to just chill out before the crazy show.
The show on stage—and after—takes a lot
out of me, so I just like to save it.
What do you hope people get from your
performance?
Just honestly hoping they walk away feeling
anything at all is what gets me going. Even
if it’s scared or confused, at least they are
feeling something. I’m not trying to be a
role model. I am only being myself—which
includes the good and the bad. I just hope
that sometimes some people can relate to
what I’m saying and it helps them.
Do you feel the ‘Kim House’ persona
is still separate from you? The more you
perform, do you ever feel like you have to
actively turn her off?
I do because I feel the pressure to be the exact
same way on stage as when I am off stage and
it’s hard because on stage is a release for me.
That’s impossible to be going through 24/7.
I hope fans who relate to me on stage can
relate to me off stage as well.
What’s the new single ‘Get Go’ about?
It is about how when you’re suffering with a
mental illness, although everyday is different,
the feelings you have remain the same. So I
say everyday feels the same from the get go. I
think people who get it will understand what
it’s like to wake up everyday feeling the same
and not sure how to get out of the cycle or
wake up to a new feeling. It’s the struggle.
The music isn’t the answer right now—it’s me
going through it. Maybe the next album will
be the answer—who knows? We recorded at
Lolipop in a few hours and several one-take
tracks. Wyatt Blair recorded us and has given
me opportunities in music when no one else
would and I am forever grateful for that.
How does Kim on cassette fit with Kim
on stage? Obviously there’s a lot of
physicality missing. Do the recordings
have something the stage doesn’t? Do you
need both together to ‘get it’? Or do they
do different things? This question brought
to you by Iggy Pop.
INTERVIEW
They’re very different. First of all, because I
am always playing with different musicians.
The first—the demos—the second and the
third tapes are all different people playing
on it. You could also see a live show and a
week later it’s an entire new band. I think
live has something the tape doesn’t—energy,
and I don’t mean physically. Live is always
louder—in your face. It can evoke more
from the crowd, and you can feel it more …
literally feel the sound. That’s part of why I
rarely record. I don’t enjoy it as much as I
love performing and feeling the live sound:
I lay on the stage and can feel the bass drum
while we play and it’s the best feeling in the
world. To ‘get’ my music, I think you can
get it on the tape by relating to the lyrics or
live by feeling something. I think the entire
point of music is to have someone to relate
to—to find the words for you, or make you
feel good and bad emotions. I think I do
that.
Which of your songs is the most personal?
What inspired it?
They are all personal. I write as I’m going
through the emotion. ‘Never Again’ is about
a time I felt like giving up on everything and
that’s the darkest song. It’s rough playing it
live over and over and over again and putting
myself in that headspace when I’m trying to
move on in my life, but it’s important to me
to be able to be there for others who might
deal with the same thing. I aim to make the
full-length different emotions as I’ve changed
a lot the last year.
What are some of these demons you’re
wrestling with? What’s wrong?
Like a lot of people, I’ve always felt very out
of place. Being bullied in school or even
recent life, feeling ostracized and like a black
sheep in my own family … it’s led to trouble
knowing what to do to feel better. I’ve dealt
with depression and anxiety for significant
parts of my life. I’ve had fucked up things
happen to me, as I’m sure everyone has. I’m
just trying to make sense of it all and do the
best I can.
How does the experience of ‘performance
therapy’ differ from normal therapy? Why
does that work?
Therapy can be very scary, clinical, cold
and even end up leaving you feeling more
depressed and like an open wound. On stage
you are free and then celebrated afterwards—
they’re very different. On stage you’re in
control and left feeling better afterwards, like
there was some sort of resolution and you’re
stronger for it.
You said: ‘The music isn’t the answer right
now—it’s me going through it. Maybe
the next album will be the answer—who
knows?’ What would happen if you got
an answer? Would you stop? Turn into
someone or something else?
By answer I mean finding a way to deal
with things. I’m sure it will be a life-long
journey. No one is 100% happy all of the
time. If I change, my music will too. I’m
always changing. I’ve performed on stage
through dance, theater, and music my
entire life—I can’t imagine not doing it.
Sometimes I fucking hate it because of the
business and I want to stop but then I think
‘What the hell else would I do?’ and I keep
going.
If you were a superhero what would be
your power? And your tragic flaw?
I’ve always wanted to be invisible so you see
how people really act and think when they’re
alone. It sounds creepy … but I just mean I
wish you could see people at their true selves.
But then if I was invisible, my flaw would be
feeling alone … and that’s the opposite of
what I’m trying to do in music.
How many band members have you gone
through in the last year? Is that a challenge
to being the Kim and constantly having to
create the Created?
I have had almost 40. I like playing with
different people and seeing how the songs
change and having different adventures with
different people. It’s pretty intense practicing
nonstop but I’ve done it since day one so it’s
become a way of life now. I’m addicted to
change.
Los Angeles rock is sort of split between
the hippie-dippy enthusiasts and the
punk rockers. Is there anywhere these two
approaches converge in your eyes?
I spent 20 years on the east coast so I think my
sound is probably a result of a mix of sounds
by a mix of geography. I think everyone is
starting to play together and I think that’s
cool … less boring at least [than] to see just
one particular sound for hours. Mixing it
up is way more entertaining. Now they call
every single genre ‘psych,’ I guess.
If you had to go live on the moon and
could only take three records with you,
what would you take?
I know its probably ‘not cool’ to say the
Beatles but it honestly is what I listened to
most of my life. The white album especially.
Again, typical, but the Doors. It’s too hard
to pick a favorite album because my favorite
songs are split over many. Strangely enough
though, one of my favorite tracks is an
acoustic demo version of ‘Hyacinth House.’
I don’t see my stage performance as ‘punk.’ I
idolized Jim Morrison growing up: swinging
around, giving no fucks, scaring people,
sending a message: all of it entertaining or
dark, I loved it. I am a huge classic rock
freak. Everyone thinks I’m super into 90s
and punk and all these girl groups I’ve never
heard of. 50s doo-wop and 60s and 70s rock
‘n’ roll are my favorite. I also listened to Billie
Holiday on repeat my entire life. Her voice
and deep emotions … you could really feel
what she was feeling. I played trumpet and
was a tap dancer so I really loved her music
for many reasons.
Where on the east coast did you grow up?
What brought you to Los Angeles and
what makes this city feel like the place you
want to call home?
I was born in Virginia, but from 3 months
old until 19 I grew up in Gainesville,
Florida. I was a drama geek and outcast my
whole life. I took band in school but sucked
at it because I had a terrible teacher. In fact, I
graduated in Education with a concentration
in Psychology because school was so awful
that I wanted to be a guidance counselor to
help make it better for other kids like me. I
moved to L.A. to become an actor but hated
the business and found in music I could have
more freedom. I like L.A. because it really
does feel like you can do anything you want
here and pursue any dream you have. I also
like that there is always something to do …
even though recently we have been playing
nonstop, so I rarely go out since my life is
now being at shows. I picture myself one
day moving to Europe. I love change and
constantly moving forward.
As you have been touring more and more,
do you see a struggle in being a woman in
the music industry?
I find that people don’t like being told what
to do by a woman, or even an artist in
general. I work very hard and anything I say
to someone in my band or in the business
side is only to try and strive for the best, but
even still people take it wrong and don’t like
being told what to do by me.
When you look at festival line-ups, it’s
almost 80 percent dude bands. Does that
frustrate you? Where do you stand on the
subject of classifying ‘girl bands’ and ‘boy
bands?’ As a woman, do you have to be
loud to be heard?
If the bands are good, then it doesn’t make
me angry. Festivals are usually groups of
friends working with other groups of friends
and as much as that can be a beautiful thing,
I hope merit will be more of a reason for
things then just ‘scratch my back, I’ll scratch
yours.’ People call the band ‘female-fronted’
and one day I hope it can just be called a
rock and roll punk band. I’m loud because
I am loud. I think to be heard you have to
never give up and make them listen.
Can you describe the evolution of the
vision and sound of Kim and the Created,
from your first show two years or so ago to
now? Have you always been comfortable
with your body or is it something you
sought to conquer?
I played drums because I always wanted
to my entire life. I moved to the front out
of wanting to push myself further as a
challenge to myself. Everyday I try to push
myself out of my own comfort level. I’m just
changing and learning about myself—just
like everyone else is. Catsuits make me feel
like a truer sense of myself: I guess it’s like
a character I developed that was from deep
inside of me that I wanted to be more of, and
that I am now becoming. Who knows what
will happen next? Art imitates life. I never
stopped ever no matter what got in the way
or what I was feeling. I never thought I would
be doing what I’m doing now. I always hated
my voice and was uncomfortable in my own
skin. I’m trying to be strong for myself and I
think in doing that, it can show others to do
the same. Give less fucks.
PABST BLUE RIBBON AND ALVA
SKATE PRESENT KIM AND THE
CREATED WITH RETOX, MIKE WATT
AND THE MISSINGMEN, USELESS
EATERS, DEATH HYMN #9, DUSTIN
LOVELIS, RUDY DE ANDA AND
MANY MORE ON SAT., DEC. 12, AT
MIDNIGHT MASS FEST AT MADHAUS,
624 PACIFIC AVE., LONG BEACH.
NOON / $15-$20 / ALL AGES WITH
BAR. MIDNIGHTMASSLB.COM. KIM
AND THE CREATED’S ‘GET GO’ IS
AVAILABLE NOW FROM LOLIPOP
RECORDS. VISIT KIM AND THE
CREATED AT KIMANDTHECREATED.
BANDCAMP.COM.
13
FFS
FRANZ FERDINAND & SPARKS
Interview by Gabriel Hart
Illustration by Dave Van Patten

Not very many groups can boast the distinction of not only being the world’s best pop group made up of two brothers, but also maybe
the longest standing—and I am going to unflinchingly say best pop group PERIOD—but since Sparks’ debut in 1969, they have not only
remained ahead of but downright CREATED or IMPROVED every curve on the track. With Russell’s commanding falsetto and Greek
Rock God good looks and Ron’s innate songwriting chops—a and bizarre personality that is so boiling and subtle that it’s impossible
to replicate. although Paul McCartney once tried—they have an insular sibling magic so pure and unpredictable that it seems the
world at large is always trying to catch up. Last June, the group pulled off another first, but this time with the help of new comrades:
a band-on-band collaboration with Glasgow’s Franz Ferdinand they have named FFS. It’s a complete co-mingling of the finest elements
of both groups without dimming their respective fire—in fact, it’s added a mysterious and highly flammable chemical to their output
and they’re now spreading this napalm worldwide. I caught up with Russell upon his return the states after a globe-trotting tour that
climaxed in Glasgow for Franz Ferdinand’s homecoming, just before FF came to the states to do the same in Sparks own Los Angeles.
We gabbed about the new record’s unique intercontinental songwriting process, whether or not we actually grow out of puberty, and
the generational choice of cocaine vs. Adderall.
I can’t think of a time in my life where I got unique in that way. You can think of one-off The first song written for the album was by this to be a unique project. Beyond that … we
to see a billboard for a Sparks record! collaborations—hip-hop things and such— Ron. It was ‘Piss Off.’ That’d been written worked from 6,000 miles apart. We were in
Russell Mael (vocals): That’s a shock, I know! but something to this kind of extent where eleven years ago when we first met Franz L.A. for the whole writing process, and they
I’ll be driving my van around listening to there’s spending over a year writing material Ferdinand. For various reasons, the idea were in either London or Glasgow doing their
the new record and see a billboard for it—it and all … at least from our perspective, the of working together hadn’t quite been bit. The writing was done in a pretty segregated
almost makes me feel like a normal pop- amount of energy we put into it was to try implemented then despite there being a way. We’re pretty insular, the two of us. We’ve
culture person. And it’s certainly a triumph and make it so it wasn’t just a one-liner of, desire for both bands to do something. We not had a lot of contact writing-wise with
for you—Sparks is one of the original ‘Oh, it’s Franz Ferdinand and Sparks.’ We broached the idea of working together then, the outside world. We don’t even really know
trollers of pop culture. wanted to avoid there not being real depth but they were very busy and we were doing how you do that process! We have our ways
It’s a nice comment, and we’re happy the behind it. Once people got past the idea of various projects, but despite that we came up of working. I think the geographical barrier
label has supported the project in that sort the two bands working together, we wanted with this song ‘Piss Off’ that we thought was that was imposed on this actually worked to
of way. It is something refreshing. In this day there to be music to support it. a good opener. When we finally reconnected its favor. There were different ways the songs
and age, it seems like things are going the It’s worked for me as a fan of Sparks—I’ve eleven years later with the idea of, ‘Hey, came about. A lot was completely from our
opposite direction as far as what kind of music been a fan ever since the movie Rad came whatever happened to us working together?’ side, where we would just have a finished
is supported on all kinds of levels—not just out when I was a little kid. I don’t know it seemed like both bands were excited again song specifically for this: ‘Piss Off,’ ‘Johnny
record companies, but radio-wise. To have if it was my snobbery in my 20s, but about that prospect, and Ron wrote that song, Delusional,’ ‘Dictator’s Son,’ ‘Save Me From
that support now in our career, we’re really when Franz Ferdinand came out, they ‘Collaborations Don’t Work.’ We thought this Myself.’ There were some that were hybrid
happy. Creatively, Sparks and what we’re didn’t resonate with me. But now I can would be a good … I dunno, it’s not a mission tracks—they sent us like ‘Police Encounters,’
doing—what we have been doing up until immediately see the stylistic similarities statement. Maybe an anti-mission statement? and we did all the melody and the lyrics. Same
this album—we really feel we’ve done special and the daring movies toward reinvention Or not a statement you’d normally send to a with the ‘The Man Without A Tan.’ They sent
stuff and special music that is not attempting that the two groups have made on their band you’re about to collaborate with? ‘Hey, us a backing track with nothing else on it, and
to work within the system, and we’re proud own. It makes me feel a bit foolish for guys! Collaborations don’t work, and here’s all we came up with all the lyrics and the melody.
of that. We’re doing things that are outside missing the boat on them ten years ago. the reasons way!’ The potential pitfalls! But we And then there were a couple instances where
of, ‘Well, what’s the chart position?’ So when Has this collaboration opened you to a thought lyrically it was really provocative— Alex had a song that was his entire thing,
a project like FFS comes along and you not younger crowd in the same way? both to them and an audience as well, saying, like ‘Little Guy From The Suburbs’ was his.
only don’t make any concessions to wanting We definitely have attracted a lot of new fans ‘Hey, we’re doing what we think is a really cool ‘Power Couple’ is Ron’s song. And there was
it to be fitting in—in any way—and you also from the collaboration. On this tour, we played collaboration and by the way, collaborations one section in ‘Collaborations Don’t Work’
have the support of a company that thinks, really big festivals all around the world. There don’t work!’ And then musically we felt it was towards the end where it says, ‘I ain’t no
‘Well, this should be the norm rather than are obviously Sparks fans at those festivals, but really … it was not conventional, as far as the collaborator’ that Alex came up with.
everything else’ … it is satisfying. there are fans too—in the reverse of what you structure of the song. It was pretty complex, The first two songs on the album—‘Johnny
This collaboration is really more like just said about yourself not being attuned to and had various stylistic elements along the Delusional’ and ‘Call Girl’ are these anti-
two bands fused into one. It’s like Franz Franz Ferdinand’s stuff—that were less savvy way, as we sometimes like to do. We thought hero love songs full of yearning, pining,
Ferdinand gain a keyboard player and about Sparks. People come away like, ‘How if they’d like that song, then we maybe could paranoia and self-loathing. They’re from
another singer, and Sparks gains a seasoned did I not know about this band that has 24 proceed without fear. an older man’s perspective—but they’re so
backing band. Did you consider it a whole albums out?’ That’s what’s really surprised What were the actual creative parameters timeless, they could also be from a teenager’s
new band as you were making it? people who may not have been aware of for this record? Did you ever meet like, perspective. Do you think we ever grow out
It is—we really went at it that way. We wrote Sparks to this extent. It’s been helpful—we’ve ‘Alright, we’re gonna do this …’ Is there a of the awkwardness of puberty?
songs specifically for this new entity. We gained a lot of fans in this endeavor. song that is completely 50-50 between the No—it’s always there. In some kind of way.
think it’s pretty precedent-setting where two The song ‘Collaborations Don’t Work’— two groups? That’s a good observation. ‘Johnny Delusional’
established acts that both have their own obviously, the ultimate contrarian There weren’t any creative discussions about is kind of universal. The specifics of what’s
careers have gone off and done an album of all declaration of intent. Did that come what this should or shouldn’t be. That was in that song—the person is delusional, but
new songs, for one, and then taken it further from any actual tension? Or was it just an really good, I think. We just wanted it to be as we all have our doubts, and maybe sadly it’s
and toured together as this new entity. It’s innocent ironic romp? good as we could make it. Both groups wanted never gonna happen for this character in that

INTERVIEW 15
song. But you can expand that to be more
universal as well. Having doubts and being
delusional about other things. I really like that
song—it’s one of my favorite ones, and one
we came up with later in the process. There’s
something in the melody of that song—it’s
really bittersweet, and all about this guy who’s
not gonna potentially reach this goal of what
he wants in life, but there’s something maybe
he’ll get? You’re kinda rooting for the guy
despite the obstacles along the way. It’s sad but
maybe uplifting as well in some sort of way.
Keep on trying—who knows? Maybe you’re
not delusional after all!
Most of your output has had this
undercurrent of self-loathing that to me
always translated into an inexplicable
feeling of empowerment.
‘When Do I Get To Sing My Way’ maybe
touches on a similar yearning for something,
and regret that hasn’t happened—when do I
get to sing like Sinatra did? When do I get
to feel like Sid Vicious did? And it’s not just
touching those issues of seeking something
you may not obtain or haven’t obtained. It’s
also a way that theme is dealt with that makes
it special. ‘Johnny Delusional’ is not a typical
thing you hear as a pop song. It’s a unique and
really personal and special way of treating that
kind of theme. That’s what makes those songs
different. It’s not only the theme—people can
have that theme in a pop song in a general
way—it’s the manner you write about it. It’s
done in a clever and fresh way, too, and the
analogies and metaphors in both those songs
are both not hackneyed. That’s the ambition
within Sparks songs from the past—wanting
to write about things, but write about them in
a newer way of dealing with subjects. Maybe
it’s a love song, which is a not a particularly
inventive topic, but it’s how you treat that
topic, and what craft you put into the lyrics
that makes it special.
I tell people that it’s hard to write a love song
in the English language. Other languages
have single words that we’d need a whole
paragraph to explain.
It is—that’s something Ron especially and of
course I do too take really seriously.
You use a lot of French on the new record,
I noticed.
That too! There’s a craft to writing. One is
having an ability to write things that at least
in our minds have some weight to them. But
there’s also having the desire just to want to
be able to do something in a way that is fresh
as well, and not going for the run-of-the-mill
lyrics in pop songs.
Are you familiar with the Portugese
term ‘saudade’? It’s a type of longing for
something completely unattainable. Far
beyond nostalgia.
Maybe we’re a Portugese group and we don’t
know it? I know about fado but I wasn’t aware
of that term.
They have a national holiday about that
whole phrase—it’s one of those words where
you have to explain a whole paragraph to
get the word across.
That’s really cool. I even bought a poster when
we were there on this trip—a movie poster of
a movie made about a famous fado singer. But
I wasn’t aware of that term.
Was there a specific political family that
inspired ‘Dictator’s Son’?
16
I don’t think so. I think Ron and I, we like
the idea of—
Like a universal thing? Like one dictator’s
son could easily be the next.
Exactly. One dictator’s son fits all. There’s
something appealing about a song from the
viewpoint of the son of the dictator. This
guy’s after all the ideal of all things Western
that are really crass and capitalistic, and we
thought there was something really appealing
about that. Which isn’t far-fetched at all—you
read about Kim Jong Il and they’re totally in
American cinema and all this, and it’s mind-
boggling that their country is impoverished
beyond imagination and then the guy’s a
fan of importing models from Sweden to
entertain him and watching American movies
while everybody in his country is dying of
hunger. There was something appealing about
a song from the son’s perspective, like, ‘Yeah,
you know, what he’s into is Hugo Boss and
dental floss and Buffalo wings and all.’
Is that a lyric? Buffalo wings?
‘Wings and dip,’ it says—‘co-ed knees and
BLTs.’
What about ‘Police Encounters’? I know
there’s a voyeuristic love story in there, but
was there inspiration from a;ll the recent
police brutality caught on camera?
No—it wasn’t anything to do with that.
We liked the idea that was pretty much
literal—like if it’s a pop song, it must be some
statement about anti-police brutality cuz
so much has happened in the past year, but
what we liked was it was more a story about
this guy who was in love with a policeman’s
wife, and when she didn’t wear underwear. It
was a literal story that didn’t have a politically
correct theme to it.
The album seems pretty lighthearted until
the last song, ‘A Violent Death.’ Why that
final 180 degree turn? Besides the fact that
we’re all gonna die?
The lyrics to that were done by Alex. We wrote
the music. Again, there were no restrictions
on what sort of subject matter could be
entertained on the album. Alex asked us if
we could do music around those lyrics. The
process of the writing on this album is less
mysterious than people think. We’re just really
excited to play in L.A. with this. We played
two shows in Glasgow, their hometown, and
now we’re looking forward to the flipside.
What’s coming next for FFS?
Neither band really knows the next step
regarding FFS. We’re just really excited we got
the project to this stage. It’s played 31 shows
already around the world and it’s been well-
received everywhere—playing Glastonbury
and that sort of a thing has been very exciting.
We never thought this seed of an idea would
involve billboards in Silver Lake or Los Feliz!
It’s cool it came this far. As far as what comes
next, neither of us have gotten to that stage
of thinking yet. We have a couple movie
musicals we’ve been working on as Sparks—
the Ingmar Bergman is still ongoing. We have
Czech producers involved and we’ll hopefully
be filming in Prague sometime next year. And
we have one other we’ve written that no one
knows yet.
FFS’ SELF-TITLED ALBUM IS OUT
NOW ON DOMINO. VISIT FFS AT
FFSMUSIC.COM.
 BILLY CHANGER
Interview by Chris Ziegler
Photography by Debi Del Grande

Billy Changer is the bassist of the very formidable Corners, as well as an Echo Park engineer and
now the very solo artist behind a just-out self-titled LP on Lolipop that’s part experiment, part
self-expression and part shot in the dark—or maybe it’s more a flare fired into the sky in hopes
of help or at least shining light on things for a second. It’s lo-fi in a careful way and it’s a home
recording that doesn’t sound like it ever had a home, and Changer played every part of it himself.
(Even the chorus of responding voices that make him seem like he’s got a bunch of his friends with
him—that’s just Changer and the miracle of analog multitrack technology.) The album art and that
photo right there both transmit the mood in a moment: the human alone on the streets of the city
they live in, looking back at you while you look back at them. Changer’s album is introspective
and reflective in a way that perfectly serves the closeness of a recording like this—when it’s done
playing, you might feel like someone just left the room. Changer speaks now about where he came
from and where he—and we—might be going.
Where are you from? What was it like You’re making a lot of solo music right How solo was this particular album? Is
growing up there? now—why? And why now? What do you anyone else helping? Like on ‘Stranger
I’m from Calabasas. People call it get to do solo that would be a challenge Next Door’—are you doing your own
Calablackless—that’s the kind of stupid in your band? backup vocals?
neighborhood I grew up in. Serious I’m making a lot of music because that’s That song particularly was a hard one.
conservative shit. I hate it. But my family all I really know how to do. I’ve narrowed It’s all me performing it. I played all the
was different—my dad is a rock ‘n’ roller. my skill set so drastically that I probably instruments, I sing all the backup vocals.
Always has been and always will be. He couldn’t even work a cash register and can This isn’t something I’ve done before. I’ve
never really played music, but he just loved barely operate a car. From writing and tried to write songs and record them, but
the scene in L.A. He showed me the Rolling recording so much, I’ve become a chronic I’ve always failed miserably. Or not had the
Stones, Hawkwind, Judas Priest, Frank single task thinker—I literally cannot think confidence to show my friends to the degree
Zappa, Yes, Grand Funk Railroad and of more than one thing at a time. Being in that I have in this work.
Iron Maiden when I was really young. My a bad is rad, but you really have to give it all What exactly does failure sound like?
mom, on the other hand, has been working up and let the other cats shine on. Luckily A lot of it was my singing voice. I was a
full time for over 35 years. She’s takes care I’m with a group of guys who are all in a backup screamer in my first band. I’d
of us. I’m a late bloomer by nature. Always similar boat—from the same area, the same practice screaming in my bathroom.
awkward and very sensitive. I was never generations, and same musicianship. It’s Did you wait for your family to leave?
the cool kid in middle school—always easy to let them shine on—it just ends up Of course. I had to seize the moment. One
the one who wasn’t chosen after running sounding good that way. That’s the beauty time my next door neighbor called the
my ass off to the basketball court. [When] of a band: half of the work sometimes is cops, and the cops came over with their
I decided to go to college, I got hooked just getting around everyone’s differences, guns out—’Is everything OK?’ Really I was
up with KXLU and started volunteering but the remaining product is just so cool just screaming my ass off, trying to get the
at the Smell every weekend and every and unpredictable. I’ve started trying best scream I could. It was always really
summer. I linked up with Corners and I’ve to incorporate that into my solo stuff depressing lyrics: ‘Help me, you’re killing
pretty much been on and off of tour since now—even letting people into my private me, you stabbed me in my heart, I don’t
graduating last year. recording sessions. wanna live anymore!’

INTERVIEW 19

New Album Is:
a toe tapper + a lip smacker
a be bopper + a ShowStopper
“Melodies to live by, a dance beat to die for.” — LA Record
KʀSVORYH\GRYHEDQGFDPSFRP
What a testament to the power of music—
it got people coming to your house ready
to kill you.
Then I’d show up to band practice and I’d
try and scream and they’d be like, ‘You’re
not doing this right. You don’t sound good.’
That made me realize no matter how much I
tried, maybe I was never gonna be good. At
singing—I could always play guitar a little
bit. That was my main instrument. Singing
was where I was most vulnerable. I never
could do it! I felt good doing instrumental
tracks, but it was like, ‘How do I tell a
story with my voice?’ I’m a late bloomer.
I’ve been recording song by song for the last
year and a half.
This was originally a split cassette with
Tracy Bryant—did you mess with the
recordings before you put it on vinyl?
Oh fuck no. I never went back to it. I
refused. They haven’t been touched. It’d be
smart of me to do that cuz my technique
is a lot better now. Frankly, I love the lo-fi
sound. I wish that maybe it was different,
but I have to stand up for something. As
Billy Changer and a solo artist, what’s
different is I’m literally trying to capture a
moment, a place, a time and an emotion.
If I fucked with it, it never would work out
the way I want it to be. I definitely tied a lot
of knots in my shoelaces recording this. I’m
writing as I’m recording. Now I have these
worried shoes, walking around as people are
listening. My music is not about ‘Lemme
try and amaze a bunch of people.’ I’m trying
to connect on a one-to-one level.
I thought so, too. This is a very … not-
extroverted record. It’s not trying to
convince me or sell something. It’s more
like, ‘This is me, take it or not.’
I was purposefully doing that the entire
time. I have a story about every song I’ve ever
written. Unless it has something that moves
me, it won’t come out. I’m not a realtor
trying to say, ‘Hey, my art is great! You need
to listen to it!’ I don’t know how it’s going
to affect people. I’m hoping somebody can
connect in a personal way. I recorded in a
4-track in my old apartment—my bedroom
at times—with equipment I bought from
playing local gigs, or a little money I got
from my family to live. I’d spend it on gear
you could buy from a local music store. I
wanted it to be something that didn’t really
involve computers—that was organic in
that way. So I could push myself to this
like … a musician who doesn’t really know
how to sing, who never really wrote a record
before, but he’s basing it off his emotional
responses to how he’s living in this really
crazy time in his life. And I was hoping
someone would connect with that.
Do you feel at risk making something
so personal? If someone doesn’t like this
record, that means they don’t like you.
There’s a difference between worrying and
caring. I care so much about what I do and
the people around me that for some reason
I don’t worry if people like it or not, or if
they like me or not. I heard the other day
there’s a group of guys who don’t like and
they actually burned a Corners record! And
almost burnt down their apartment while
doing it.
See, physical media is the best.
And these are people I know—with music
out on labels I’m associated with. I know
they think I’m a douche or I come off in an
unpleasant way, and it does bother me. But
at the same time it fuels me. It’s the cycle of
life—that’s where it all stems from in the
first place. It fuels the fire.
What is ‘mutant pop’? You sing about that
on ‘Island Fever.’ Is it pop for mutants? By
mutants? Pop that somehow mutated?
It’s more from outsider art. I didn’t know
how to categorize my own music. But if
I created this own world, I could name it
and make it into something and feel free to
roam in this land of mutant pop. I can be as
weird or cool in my eyes as I want.
It’s like your nature preserve.
Exactly. You can tell I’m a very sensitive
person. I like creating a world I can roam
in. I’m scared of people, you know? I don’t
know. I think of pop as an actual burst. Or
a lollipop. Something I can enjoy. Color.
Obviously it’s popular music. I wanna form
an association between my music, maybe
outsider music, and songs structured in a way
that could be pop songs. They have standard
structures, the melodies are singable.
What do you mean when you say ‘outsider
art’? Who are you thinking of?
I love Daniel Johnston. He introduced me to
music that was very personal. Other people
who loved his music got him known. It
wasn’t this big machine, this PR campaign
… it was him and his drawings. And it was
because he was weird and he talked about
things he really cared about just with him
and his little keyboard or whatever. The
world was strange to him. I could relate to
his lyrics. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s
mutant, it’s weird and it made me feel like I
could be myself.
What do you mean by ‘weird’? You’ve said
that a few times, too.
I’ve never heard something so intimate
in popular culture before. We’re talking
about popular culture cuz everyone knows
who Daniel Johnston is—or he’s impacted
a lot of people. It’s weird because it’s not
well-oiled, it’s intimate, it came about in a
different way than normal and he challenges
what it means to be in a band, an artist,
a musician. It’s not like growing up and
listening to the Rolling Stones and seeing
glamour and big concerts. Like my dad
showing me Queensryche or Hawkwind or
these other bands that’d play huge massive
concerts. That’s what I thought rock ‘n’ roll
was all about, growing up as a kid. The
Beatles! Taking over the world! This was
something different. That’s why I consider
it weird. Everything I thought I knew was
not in this guy. It was not about that. He
didn’t care, as far I know.
So you want a direct connection with the
person you’re listening to, and you want
to make an album that can offer that same
kind of connection to your own listeners.
You want to send and receive an answer.
I know Corners is known cuz we love
Joy Divison, and that’s why I love Joy
Division—’Atmosphere:’ ‘Walk in silence /
Don’t walk away, in silence / See the danger
/ Always danger / Endless talking / Life
rebuilding / Don’t walk away.’ These are all
very isolating personal feelings. That’s what
INTERVIEW
I like. Trying to hit me—actually hit me—
instead of hit the masses or some general
area.
So what would it look like if you did
connect with people one-on-one like you
talk about? How do you know when the
goal of your music is achieved? And once
you achieve it, then what? In The Devil
and Daniel Johnston documentary, he
has so many songs about the girl Laurie
that he loves. But when he finally meets
her after all those years, it’s just kind of
anticlimactic.
Every artist is scared to think about that.
A lot of people believe that you write the
best music when you’re sad or depressed
or going through a hard time pursuit of
something. All those fucking crazy things
in your mind making you feel like you
wanna die and you don’t know what you’re
doing … that’s what people want to hear.
As an artist, I realize I’m going to have to
keep challenging myself to create. There
is a way to do it. I have a grip on what I
want to do and I have to hone in on it. You
have to be aware of who you are and what
you’re feeling and what’s going on in society
around you—and how do you participate
in that conversation? No matter what,
if I can do that—and I’m trying—there
is something unique I have to offer. It’s a
different time, a different place, different
people and I’m influenced by different
things. I hope just by … suffering in that
way I can offer something! (laughs)
When it comes to making music, are
there things you always try to do? Or
things you hope you never do?
Writing songs and making music is my form
of meditation. On a planet in a universe I
don’t understand, surrounded by people
who vary from self-righteous intellectuals
to empty-headed bots, I don’t believe
anyone has it figured out yet. Somehow
songwriting keeps me sane and provides me
a pathway to enter into a place I truly want
to be, where music is the most important
thing and the sole means of expression. You
really think when aliens finally find our
civilization that they’re going to want to talk
to the president of our military industrial
complex or the lawyer politicos ruining
the planet? I believe they’re going to talk
to people who actually create something
important—the ones that can’t just burn
up in a rebellion or some amendment.
Music is forever and truly pure. But rock
‘n’ roll is dying one lazy payola campaign
at a time. So my responsibility, I guess,
as an original songwriter is to just try
something different—to give rock ‘n’ roll
fans something to feel and listen to when
tuning in, something they can dim the
lights to and relate to someone else about.
I’m putting as much life into it as possible.
That’s my job as an artist—a vessel that
someone can question, dig in to, and
appreciate what we as a society take for
granted every day.
Why is rock ‘n’ roll is dying? What is
gone, and why does that matter to you?
It matters to me cuz I’ve chosen this as
my life. I’m a rock ‘n’ roller. I’ve listened
to that music since I got my first cassette
player. That’s my roots. People who grow
INTERVIEW
up differently with different music have
different ethics, morals … like what
constitutes a song? I don’t think it could
ever be a real song if it didn’t have a little
bit of guitar, bass and drums into it. Other
artists don’t even need that when they write.
Lolipop is a rock ‘n’ roll label whether its
garage or synths or that band Part Time
which is more 80s—it’s all within the same
roots. The problem I see is these well-oiled
machines in the music industry. I don’t have
anything against that. I’m sure it’s always
been there. But I feel people are relying
and dreaming upon the machine more than
they’re really focusing on who’s driving it, or
what’s driving them to go towards that? L.A.
is crazy—you see all these people moving to
Los Angeles, all these people doing things
to try and get known, be heard. Really, they
coulda started where they were from! Make
music that was true to them where they were
from and then let it emanate from them
so people have to pay attention! It’s this
constant wanting of acceptance, wanting
people to go to your shows—who cares if
they’re putting on the best show they can?
Or whether people are there are not? I see
that as death to rock ‘n’ roll. It’s hard. You
don’t see a lot of people coming out to these
shows. My friends aren’t making a living,
working part time or full time. I don’t see a
lot of success.
Is this a symptom of something bigger
manifesting in this part of music? Or is
it something starting here that’s going to
flow into wider society in a few years?
I grew up just in the time people were
getting cell phones. I had a pager when I
was young, and I had a cell phone that had
‘Snake’ on it. The only entertainment the
phone got! I felt lucky to have one of those.
I’m on the cusp of all this craziness. I think
people that are leading rock ‘n’ roll now are
probably my generation. The problem is
when I turn on the radio to 98.7 or KROQ
or any big rock ‘n’ roll or ‘alternative’
station, you just don’t hear fucking rock ‘n’
roll anymore! You hear stuff that was done
in the ‘90s—they’d rather play a song from
‘94 than a band big in rock ‘n’ roll now.
That’s the sign of the times. Something is
not right. It’s on a personal level for me too.
I love my friends and their band, but on
whole, there’s a reason why rap and hip-hop
and R&B has really taken off—when you
hear it, there’s something undeniable about
the beat and the sound they’re making.
Maybe it’s the lack of budget—maybe
there’s no budget for a band to make a good
recording. What I find most is a lot of bands
don’t have the resources to experiment in
the studio. That’s where the magic was, and
has always been. Bands just trying different
vocal effects, drum sounds, different bass …
now it’s expected like, ‘What budget can get
the best sounding recording?’ Well, it’s not
about that! Fuck—I’d hate if some labels
told me, ‘We’ll give you this money to give
us the best-sounding album you can.’ What
the fuck does that even mean? I don’t know
what to even do with that. There’s all this
pressure to do very well with very little for
rock ‘n’ roll musicians. I don’t even know
the last band that had a huge budget that’s
on the radio now.
So do you think being in a garage band
now is a luxury, in a way? That’s tragic
but bitterly hilarious.
Garage was born in the garage, right? But
their access to equipment was at a way
higher standard than what’s available now.
Whether their families or they got lucky
with a record deal … there was money, still,
in music. You were able to put out a single,
sell a bunch if it became a hit, and make a
living. Now it’s not possible. I don’t know
what’s going on with the consumer but
people are not willing to invest. Say you’re
a fan of a band here in Los Angeles. I don’t
see people giving them everything. Give ‘em
your money, buy their t-shirts, buy their
records, go to all their shows, make sure
they have enough to make a great album!
As the saturation becomes overwhelming,
the fans spread across the spectrum. You
like my band? Then you like that band,
you like that band, you like all the bands.
You don’t know which one to throw your
money at. You just throw your money at
the scene—buy whatever cassette comes
out. But there’s not a deep investment.
That’s why none of these bands have any
fucking money. There’s nothing for them to
work off of. They’re scrounging change to
record on low equipment. It’s not ready for
the rest of the world.
It’s this weird collision of saturation and
scarcity. It seems there are more bands—
and the things that go with bands—than
ever. But so many people are struggling.
I’ve found a lot of bands get their money
from licensing—but the difference with
getting your money from a corporation and
not the consumer is exactly that. Every band
wants to be trendy and cool-looking and
sound great cuz those are the people who
will buy your music: the trendy cool-looking
people who have money and are in that
market. When people were buying records
because there were only records … you’d be
getting money from the fans! People who
were listening to your music—who expect
more from you! Who want to see you be a
rock star! Now it’s completely different.
What’s something you love spending
money on—even when you shouldn’t?
And what’s something you wish was free
all the time, and why?
Ha—I just had a fortune cookie that advised
me to watch how much I spend. I have a
spending problem when it comes to audio
gear. All the money that comes in goes out
the other end in the form of recording gear.
I just bought a Toft ATB mixing console.
I’m always happy to buy cool percussion
instruments if I come across something.
Recently I’ve been buying all sorts of weird
things from Richard Robertson, an amazing
audio engineer in Echo Park. Just anything
that’s not an 1176 [limiter] or a clone of
something that has been abused billions of
times. I wish recording music with super
nice custom consoles was free or at least not
so expensive, like how recording studios ran
before the 80s. But the romanticism and
money just isn’t there anymore. So everyone
is recording and writing in smaller groups
with shitty gear and computers. That’s where
Rock has it all wrong—there’s no money in
rock ‘n’ roll anymore and the government
invests nothing in music. I say stop funding
the army and war on drugs and starting
making science labs—and music, art,
cinema, and dance studios—more available
to the public. The library is the only free
creative environment I get to utilize at this
point. That needs to change.
You seem to have a very clear idea of what
your songs are ‘for’—to communicate
directly with select people. Do you
think it’s important for writers to have
a purpose for their songs? Or can a song
just be a song, and that’s enough?
I do and I don’t. That’s what makes a great
band and not an OK band. You have to
live the life of what you’re writing about.
‘I want our new music to be really dance-y
and cool and great!’ But are you the kind of
person who goes out and dances and drinks
and has fun every night? Or do you have
different things in mind? You have to figure
out who you are a person and how you can
reflect that to other people. There’s nothing
wrong with what is song is intended for as
long as it’s genuine. As long as you’re living
it, there are people doing it—you know it’s
gonna be around in a couple years because
you’re doing it! People are still rollerblading!
Going to roller rinks! And you know what
they play? Disco! Disco’s dead, but when
it comes to a roller rink, that’s the coolest
fucking song you can hear.
You say you feel like an outsider in
many places, but when it comes to
music, you feel at home. Why? What
makes this fit?
I didn’t for a long time. Then it clicked.
With practice and meditation and thought
and just sitting there … sometimes I’d just
sit there and look at my tape machine.
‘How can I use you in a different way than
I have done before?’ Each song on my
record was like that. Like I’d record drums
first without a melody at all—’Sweet
Time’ had no melody or guitar. I recorded
a drum beat I liked and then formulated
a song about it. Or I’d put the input into
the output and put it through the tape
return and see what that would do. Just
experimenting—I felt at home. No one
was telling me this is wrong or right or
sounded good or sounded bad. It was
really up to me to decide what felt good
inside. That was one of the first times I’ve
been able to connect with myself. Writing
and recording a song is one of the only
ways I really know what I’m doing. That’s
why I feel comfortable doing it. And then
you listen to it, and the human part comes
in. It’s one long connection.
BILLY CHANGER WITH SHOCKING
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14, AT THE SMELL, 247 S. MAIN
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BILLY CHANGER’S SELF-TITLED
ALBUM IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM
LOLIPOP RECORDS. VISIT BILLY
CHANGER AT BILLYCHANGER.
BANDCAMP.COM.
21
 DANIEL LANOIS
Interview by David Cotner
Photography by Ward Robinson
On July 17, 1974, after working at
Buck Owens’ studio in Bakersfield,
guitarist Don Rich was killed in a
motorcycle accident.
He left no skid marks when he died
on Highway 1 in Morro Bay. In the liner
notes for the album, Country Pickin’:
The Don Rich Anthology, Owens wrote,
“Something I never said before—
maybe I couldn’t—but I think my music
life ended when he died. Oh, yeah—I
carried on and I existed, but the real joy
and love, the real lightning and thunder
is gone forever.”
With that in mind, I respectfully
decline a ride on the back of Daniel
Lanois’ motorcycle.
Daniel Lanois—the Québécois
producer who has worked with everyone
from Brian Eno and U2 to Bob Dylan and
Rick James—is currently finishing up an
album of ambient lap steel music. On
the drive up the highway to Newcomb’s
Ranch, the biker bar at which he’s
working out both old songs and new,
there’s a snarl in the traffic ahead.
Someone’s driven over the edge of
the cliff at the side of the highway.
It isn’t Lanois, and anyway, looking
at the accident is a passé and pointless
pain in the neck, even if the helicopter
sent down to retrieve the fallen rider
produces an impressive sound that’s
massive enough to almost touch. It
is not for nothing—here in the upper
altitudes amid the beauty of Nature
and the suggested peril that lies in wait
around every hairpin curve—that one’s
mind turns toward transcendence.
We’re all going up, one way or
another.
The lap steel guitar is intrinsically
a contemplative instrument—and it
challenges the player to go beyond
the temptations of mere navel-gazing
to reach that place that is outside
oneself. It holds within it the promise
of operating like a sonic Ouija board,
here in the mountains saddled with
names like “The Devil’s Backbone”;
one last shot at communion with
earthly spirits as they head on up and
out. From the plants crawling up the
side of the stage to the chimney to
the crawlspace in the ceiling, so much
here today suggests the promise of
the Beyond.
Newcomb’s Ranch carries with
it a high-altitude clearness of focus
despite the revved motors and rubber
burnt repeatedly though the dusty
mountain road. Lanois takes the stage,
his lap steel guitar making the room
seem vibrant lighter than air, piercing
the veil without piercing the ears.
Movements slow to a gentle crawl as
INTERVIEW
the guitar tone clears the small-talk out
of the room, replacing it with a warm
and weirding otherness that’s easier
to live inside than it is to describe.
People applaud when he’s done tuning
up—just like they did for Ravi Shankar
at Woodstock—reveling in a level of
sound that exists somewhere between
a harmonium and a Tibetan singing
bowl.
Appealing peals sit high atop a
throne of drones, forceful and then just
as suddenly fading into the surrounding
ambiance. Even the arcane hiss of the
unused speaker seems to harbor some
kind of eldritch potential, emanating
slowly in an incessantly expanding
circle. That’s the thing about the music
of Daniel Lanois: when it’s over and
the last note shimmers and fades, it’s
remarkable even in its own absence.
Rocco DeLuca, the other half of
Lanois’ duet, is lost somewhere on the
way to Newcomb’s, so Lanois goes
solo, and if one’s eyes are shut so that
the ears are the organs moving the
journey—the listening experience—it’s
very much like that ride up the winding
highway to the bar. He runs through
“Still Water” and “Jolie Louise,” off
his debut solo album Acadie; “Rocky
World,” from its follow-up For the Beauty
of Wynona; and “Here Is What Is,” off
the 2007 album of the same name,
placing him squarely in the chansonnier
tradition of the Québec of the ‘60s and
‘70s, singing about love and loss and
all that that implies.
DeLuca finally arrives, presently
entering into a dynamic with Lanois
that’s one of two like minds matched
evenly in taste and passion. Outside, the
notes and the tones sail along until they
become part of the wind and the heat
and the world that waits for them with
open arms to welcome their haunting
melodies into their rightful place in
nature. DeLuca’s vaguely unearthly
voice is an absolute highlight—lost but
brave, essentially at peace and coming
metaphysically correct.
Adjourning to Lanois’ home later in
the week—an unassuming Silver Lake
estate the street wall of which has been
tagged with graffiti that pronounces
him “Saint”—reveals a warm twilit
cathedral of sound. The living room and
first-floor quarters have been converted
into a recording studio with sound-
making machines of every vintage; he
constantly adjusts sounds and levels
in his quest for a quality of sound the
essence of which only he understands.
It’s a process that consumes the
majority of his time now as he prepares
the launch of this latest record.
23
“My mother is cooking eggs for Rick Ja
How do you think about these songs when
you think about the limitations of putting
them on vinyl?
I just think that in terms of attention span and
getting to know a record intimately, it’s better
for it to not be too long. It’ll be on whatever
format—CD and otherwise—but I like those
short sides. I like 16½ minutes a side—so
I’m going to convince the record company to
accept a 32-minute album. And that’s enough
for me.
I’d agree, but I think ambient music tends
to expand your attention span—you expect
to keep going—and in their way, ambient
music fans are really intense because they
get into a piece and they don’t want it to
end!
[laughs] But you’ve heard how quickly the
events come and go in this music, so it’s not
a long textured thing. Some of it is quite
demanding—it’s not coming at you; it has
some welcome in it, but it has bends in the
road. So it’s quite an active journey and I
think that that means that it should not be
… we’re not an endless desert expanse. The
tonalities in this body are such that they wake
you up!
And it’s not a shapeless fog—it’s not this
miasma which is just something that sort
of exists and then sort of ends.
Right—it’s not a shapeless fog. Well-put!
Use that! You’ve seen the full spectrum of
the operation here—that sort of fragmented
show up there in the hills and then the beauty
of this estate and how devoted I am to my
work; how much it means to me to build a
masterpiece. I don’t rest until I feel that I’ve
built a masterpiece. Somebody might say that
I haven’t. But I’m certainly trying.
But you do it for yourself—and that way,
it’s all the masterpiece you need.
That’s right, but I also do it for the listeners.
I’ve always enjoyed this idea that I would
take the listener on a journey, and I feel a
responsibility to make it as interesting as
possible. For the scenery to be innovative and
to be fresh scenery and not something that’s
been visited in the past—
—not back to the Airport—
—and I’ve never bought into the idea that it’s
all been said and done and that they’re all just
variations on already-existing shades.
It’s tempting to buy into that, but it’s also
an incredibly cynical observation.
I think so.
And of course the end result of that way of
thinking is, ‘Why bother?
[laughs] Exactly. So, I think I’ve broken new
ground in this body of work and I’m very,
24
very excited about it. [In the kitchen, a stack of
new CDs from Warp shrugs and collapses across
the tabletop as we sit down.] We’re flirting with
signing to Warp. The publishing guy—Alex
Hancock—heard some of what you heard in
there and he flipped out. He said, ‘Don’t sign
anything with any publishing company until
I can make an offer.’ So he’s going to put a
good word for me to the fellows in New York;
I’m preparing a presentation for the New
York people—Steven Hill, the head of new
projects, has relocated from London.
What does the presentation entail?
It just means I’m going to play them pretty
much what you just heard. I’m going to have
it hand-delivered! [laughs] I’m not going to
have it delivered via satellite, I’m going to have
it hand-delivered by my co-producer from
Toronto in a little orange Pelican™ Case. Not
to sit there and listen to it with them—but
just as a sign of commitment to show them
that we’re serious about what we do.
To literally go that extra mile.
It’s also so they can put a face to the production
work. I also do business with Andy Kaulkin at
ANTI- Records here in L.A., and I owe Andy
one more record—so I’m going to play him
this and say, ‘Andy, I think Warp should put
this out—so let me deliver a more commercial
record to you.’ I have another more rhythmic
record on the boil and maybe that’s a better
one for Andy. I know that Eno, who I saw
earlier this year, said so many good things
about Warp—because he’s on that label—and
he made an introduction to Steven Hill for
me. He says we should be label-mates. Hey,
thanks for coming all the way out for the
show, and coming here …
Considering I live in Ventura! But it’s worth
it—if you want to go do something, you
just go do it. Mileage means nothing!
I lived in Ventura myself for a while. I
had my studio in Oxnard at the Teatro on
Oxnard Boulevard. It’s touchy there—I got
pick-pocketed there, at the Cielito Lindo
Café across the street from the theatre.
[laughs] I didn’t get hurt, but I lost some
important papers like my permanent border
crossing card to the States, and once that
was gone…
What’s someone going to do with that!
Ah, they were just looking for money. But I
lived in the projector booth in the theatre for a
year. The pool table here was set up in the old
popcorn area. Some strange things happened
there—we had somebody drunk, driving a
pickup truck, jump over the sidewalk and run
right into the entrance of the theatre! Right
through that gate!
OK—you know Buddy Burgers—up the
block, north a bit? There’s that motel right
next door to it. Every year or so, they have
someone mount the curb and go right into
the wall! It happens on a frighteningly
regular basis.
They do have a bit of a problem. Usually on
Sundays. And then I rented a little house in
Ventura after the novelty of the projector booth
wore off. There’s a nice little place as you head
inland and then you come upon a bluff. The
little house I was in was right at the bottom of
that—and I loved it out there. It was sweet! I
think that past Neptune’s Net, that’s the end
of the earth. I was driving with a friend [back
then] and listening to some music, and I saw
the Teatro was for rent. And I thought, ‘This
looks kind of interesting,’ and I took it with
my partner at the time. Made a Willie Nelson
record [Teatro] there; finished Time Out of
Mind for Bob Dylan there. We started and
finished Time Out of Mind in that place; did
the soundtrack for Billy Bob Thornton’s Sling
Blade there. We found posters for the old
movies, some real beauties. A lot of them were
comedy porn—guys chasing girls with bras
on their heads—Benny Hill-type stuff. I was
out in Joshua Tree for a year with my studio—
completely oblivious to all the Queens of the
Stone Age, but two houses down from them.
We were hopping around with the studio. We
were even in Ojai for a year. We were renting
an estate—a big beautiful stone guest house
in the outskirts. I got a little bit tired of being
out there after a while so I took an apartment
in the city—Cahuenga and Franklin in a very
beautiful apartment, and then this [Silver
Lake] came up. I snapped it up, got it for next
to nothing 14 years ago. Back then, nobody
wanted to spend money in Silver Lake.
Back then, it was kind of a rougher place.
It was a rougher place, and anyone that was
looking was saying, ‘Well, let’s go blue chip—
Beverly Hills, Hancock Park…’
… yeah, but this place has such character.
It has soul. I’ve never seen the kind of
windows you’ve got in there before. It’s
grown to become its own entity.
It’s a rare bird—100-foot pine trees, eucalyptus
trees. When it rains, it’s fantastic. We even have
our own weather here, a little bit. It never gets
as hot as it would otherwise. It’s always a little
bit cooler because of the reservoir. Anyway,
thanks again for coming—it was a bit of a
disaster up in the hills [at Newcomb’s]!
Here’s the thing: if you don’t tell people it’s
a disaster, they’ll never know! It’s like that
thing what Eddie Van Halen said about
making a mistake on the guitar: do it twice
and smile. Everyone thinks it’s all part of the
plan! There’s a lot you can get away with if
you just don’t tell them you’re getting away
with it.
Right! Well, we had this kind of romantic
notion about having our friends who ride
bikes being there—but none of them showed
up! Bizarre.
Do you think it was the heat?
I think it was a little early in the day, and I think
there were other motorcycle events going on,
that’s why—some faraway ones. But I like the
sentiment: the idea of motorcycles and music.
It was Rocco’s idea because he’s up there all the
time. It sounded sweet.
Well, I will say, with ambient music, that
it’s hard to make it sound bad. You get the
right sound system going and it always
sounds pretty.
Yeah, because it’s textural.
It’s different because when it’s beat-
oriented, there’s an obligation to go
along in a particular kind of rock ’n’ roll
direction. Sometimes you simply want to
be transported somewhere else—and that’s
what ambient music does best. It takes you
somewhere other. But when you started
doing ambient music, was there any kind
of confusion or crossover with New Age
music?
First of all, I met Eno in late 79 and then we
made a bunch of ambient records in my studio
in Canada. He invented the term ‘ambient
music.’ We made half-a-dozen albums over
the course of three years—and I loved it. I
was very skilled, and I’m a good musician,
and he came into my world with this vision,
and I thought, ‘This is amazing—the least
commercial thing I’ve ever heard, I’m most
excited about!’ And we just forged ahead and
made these records. We loved our work. We
developed a whole system of processing that I
still use today. I was not really hip to anything
‘New Age,’ particularly—I come from more
of a folk and rock ’n’ roll and soul music
background. I didn’t know who Eno was! That
shows you how sheltered I was in that small
town I was in—didn’t know anything about
Roxy Music. So I quite innocently entered
this world that he created, and I loved it—so I
became very supportive of his thing and I was
able to find him some shortcuts because he
comes from art school and he’s a pretty good
musician, but I was a studied musician. So I
was able to say, ‘This might work better, try
this, let me do an edit here…’—and things
moved fast. So that was kind of the beginning
of it, but … I don’t even know what New Age
music is!
INTERVIEW
ames! Tell me that’s not rock ’n’ roll!”
Early ECM label releases. The Windham
Hill label. [The artist] Deuter.
Ohhhh, Windham Hill! Was that not the
beginning of the squeaky saxophone? I will
say though that the saxophone has taken
a terrible turn somewhere, where it got so
squeaky to the point where the whole tourist
business loves the saxophone. You can’t go
to an airport without hearing [ … makes
horrible sax sqronk sounds]. It’s like with Jaco
Pastorius—that guy’s so great, he’s invented
this form … then every bass player from that
point on was thumbing the bass up the wazoo!
It was ridiculous!
It’s interesting how something like that, you
wouldn’t think it would be so influential.
And then you’ve got decades of it.
Decades of it! I never bought into the ‘easy-
breezy’ aspect. I call it ‘massage music.’
Chocolate cheesecake music.
Just to ruin a form, or reduce it to something
that’s so watered down and so far away from
the origin of it that it’s maddening. But
anyhow—that comes down to taste. I’ve
been lucky enough to have been involved in
what I call a few scenes—the rise of a scene.
Like the ambient records with Brian Eno—I
don’t mind saying it: it was Eno’s idea, and
I helped him the best I could, and we made
beautiful records, and I was happy to have
been part of the building of those beautiful
records. They’ve lived on. We listened to
The Pearl by Eno and Harold Budd—it’s a
beauty! I recorded a Harold Budd record here,
actually. It’s one that didn’t get noticed a lot;
it’s beautiful, just straight piano. It’s called
Bella Vista. I met him in a diner—hadn’t seen
him for years—and I said, ‘Harold, I’ve got a
really nice piano at my place. Could you come
by?’ And I had the studio downstairs—he was
not hip to the studio—and I had the piano
already miced, and I brought a few girls over,
had some wine. He came in and I introduced
him to the girls and said, ‘They’ve never heard
you play. Would you give them a little idea of
what it is that you do?’ So Harold sat down
and he played for half-an-hour—he played
beautifully—and we did it again, another
half-hour another time. And I was recording
the whole time, and we went in, and with the
engineer I was working with at the time—
Adam Samuels—we put a lot of work into
it. We chopped out the lesser-interesting
material, and we made a record and presented
it to him as a gift. I said, ‘Harold, this is my
gift to you.’
Did he know you were recording?
No.
So what did he say?
INTERVIEW
He was very pleased that I caught it in a naïve
state.
Was that secret recording a technique that
ultimately formed that record—that he
was not self-conscious, knowing that it was
being recorded?
He was obviously performing to the people
in the room—and unaware that we were
recording, I think it made for better playing.
He was not thinking, ‘I gotta get this right’ or
‘Oh, I made a mistake.’ He played beautifully
and he was just so grateful—and at the time
I felt that I owed a lot to Harold because it
was the beginning of my relationship with
Eno, and the record was just so beautiful. I
just wanted to do that [recording] for him.
We got some great sounds. Just straight
piano, no effects. All the recordings with
me and Rocco—we didn’t come in with any
motives thinking that we were even making
a record. We were just playing. We’d come
off the road—we played beautifully on the
road—but it was not this material.
Are you going to take this material on the
road at some point?
Yes—we start on August 29th across the
street from the El Rey. Brian Foote [nb. of the
band Nudge, on the Kranky label] is having
an ambient music night with Tim Hecker.
So they came over here, and me and Rocco
played a little bit; showed them what our setup
was like, and Brian said, ‘Well, why don’t you
guys come over and do this ambient night?’
So that’s what we’re going to do. They get a
few hundred people in this place. So we want
to take this on the road—we’re road dogs,
anyhow. I told Brian, if you can get me some
work, I’m happy to go out there—because
we do the steel guitar thing, but I also do an
electro thing. We could always do something
at Hollywood Forever.
That would be the perfect place for it.
We’re ready to travel, man. We might take
some of those little loops, get one going in a
little box and play with that just to increase
our palette of colors.
You should get some Buddha Boxes. Eno
loves ‘em!
I have a bunch of little East Indian tabla
practice boxes, and they’re great. Now you
can get the app on your phone—that’s really
nice.
What was the first sound you remember
hearing in your life?
[long pause] I can’t answer that. I don’t
remember!
All right then—what’s the first sound you
remember hearing that you remember
really liking?
[Just then, his iPhone’s default ringtone sounds.]
Not that one! Well, musically, I love the sound
of the violin that I remember from when I was
a kid. My grandfather was a violin player—a
violoneur—a fiddler; played jigs. My dad did as
well, but my grandfather was pretty good. So I
remember being mesmerized by violinists. I’m
French Canadian, so I caught the tail end of
those old country ways—gatherings of people
who had no money, but set up entertaining
shows at someone’s house, play cards, drink
and shout and have a real good time with the
violin. It made a big impression on me, and
we were talking about this—me and Rocco—
how in that kind of rock ’n’ roll environment,
we never separated ourselves from the adults.
We didn’t think, ‘Well, these people are really
out-of-touch, they’re corny, it’s a fucked-up
situation—I can’t wait to leave the house!’
It was not the feeling [with us] at all! I loved
my grandfather and the way he played the
violin. These gatherings were significant to
me, and we wanted to be like them! Stay up
a little later, peek through the door, see a little
hanky-panky going on—and it was exciting!
That was actual rock ’n’ roll! Rock ’n’ roll was
not something you discovered once you leave
the house—it was in the house!
So it wasn’t necessarily about rebellion for
you when it came to rock ’n’ roll.
Not at all—not at that stage of it, anyway. I
felt that that was the most interesting part of
what was going on in the community—right
in our houses—and it was at these gatherings.
And my uncles were funny and sang funny
songs [sings in earthy and impenetrable
French]—things like that. It’s about making a
stew and everything has to rhyme with on—
like croissant and so on—like it’s ‘99 Bottles
of Beer,’ you just keep adding an ingredient.
I loved my uncles, and I loved that they were
funny. I guess I didn’t even know what rock ’n’
roll was except that that seemed more exciting
than the average life. I caught the tail end of
50s rock ’n’ roll—everything, all the cars that
went with it. We wanted to be like our parents,
our uncles; most kids grow up and they roll
their eyes at their parents. It’s infinitely boring
and they just can’t wait to escape this terrible
ordeal—and it was not like that when I was
coming up. I never rebelled! Ever! I had my
recording studio in my mother’s basement for
a decade! She loved it. I loved her. We grew up
together. There was none of this, ‘Oh, I gotta
get away from these people and be a punk!’
I was already recording Rick James in my
house! My mother is cooking eggs for Rick
James! Tell me that’s not rock ’n’ roll!
What did you record for Rick James?
It was not an album, it was demos. He lived
in Buffalo, which was close to Hamilton
in Ontario, and Rick was connected with
Canadian musicians, because he was in a band
with Neil Young called the Mynah Birds.
Eddie Roth, a great organ player in the area,
said, ‘There’s a kid that you should record with,
Rick.’ And we recorded some demos for him,
and recorded a lot of fascinating people in this
basement! In an average neighborhood! I don’t
remember ever wanting to leave that house to
find a more interesting place geographically
where things would be ‘cool,’ or that my mom
was not cool.
Well, you made your own scene.
Well-put. If you’re smart enough to build a
scene, you own it—that’s who you are.
And you’re never bored.
Never bored. And we feel that way about
what we’re doing here, playing this beautiful
music—and it’s powerful, it’s orchestral; it’s
profound. It is not coming at you; it is not
pushy in any way. It was invitation in it—I
think that’s what’s beautiful about it. As many
bends in the road as there might be, I think
there’s still a nice welcome mat, and it’s saying
to the listener, ‘We invite you to come on this
emotional journey with us.’ And I think that’s
a very sophisticated place to have gotten to—
we’re not ramming anything down anyone’s
throat here.
You’re just being.
Just being. And we have no motives—we’re
not thinking, ‘Jeez, let’s make this kind of
record, for that kind of label…’ None of this
kind of talk. And this gets back to how I’ve
always operated: what is the matter at hand?
What do you have? Not what your proposal
is, or what your spreadsheet is showing, or if
you’re trying to get a budget or anything like
that. No. Here’s what we’re doing—it already
exists—and what do you think of it? It’s the
only way I’ve ever worked. I’ve had hits. I’ve
produced hits for a lot of people. But we don’t
go in thinking that we’ve got to make a hit.
I’ve never worked that way—I was telling
Rocco about that this morning. If something
seems to be resonating, you stumble upon
something through a natural way, and a little
something sticks up its head and says, ‘I’m
viable. I could get to another dimension if you
just fertilize me and water me.’ At this point in
my life, I just want to make the most beautiful
music as I can make and have it embraced by
as many people as possible.
VISIT DANIEL LANOIS AT
DANIELLANOIS.COM FOR UPDATES
ON HIS COMING ALBUM.
25
Even just looking at Jesus Sons lets you know that something’s
happening here: unlike the ubiquitous beach goth crowd in their
adopted hometown of Los Angeles, these denim-clad dudes
know that boots are still in style for manly footwear, like they
just walked out of an Eagles photo shoot circa 1973. But looks
can be deceiving; while Jesus Sons definitely have a classic
Americana rock sound, they’ve got more energy than all of Glenn
Frey’s cocaine binges combined, and have been boogie-ing their
way onto bills with garage bands for years with raucous rock
copiously peppered with country lyricism and the kind of blues
sensibility you used to have to sell your soul for. Fittingly, I caught
them now at a crossroads: they’ve just lost their lead singer, but
they’re also releasing the best album of their career, and may
even have found a spiritual calling: making sure the rock world
knows that the blues is about feeling good.

Are you guys scared about how this
interview is going to portray you? It
would be a tragedy for someone like me
to say ‘Oh, you’re a blues band!’ Because
that doesn’t really cover it at all.
Erik Lake (bass/vocals): Don’t be afraid of the
word ‘blues.’ I think that’s what we always
based the band on in the beginning. I know
Shannon [Dean, lead guitar/harmonica]
loved the Velvet Underground stuff, and
[guitarist/vocalist] Brandon [Wurtz] loved
Chuck Berry, and we all kind of got along
because we love every form of the blues.
You can’t escape it. And I think every rock
‘n’ roll band that has ever been successful—
or has not been successful but has come up
with at least one song that has cut down to
the bone—has been successful because the
blues are in it. People run away from the
blues, but it catches up with them.
But you guys do NOT have the Stevie
Ray Vaughn-80s Eric Clapton approach
that people may think of when you say ‘a
blues band.’
EL: That’s a huge compliment! It’s very
natural. We’re a very organic band. We catch
a groove and we stick to it … maybe a little
pullback. It’s a groove that I think those other
blues musicians didn’t carry. It can be a simple
song—and we have songs that are one chord
the whole time—but the way we play , there’ll
be a change in the groove, and people will
think we changed the chord, but we didn’t.
That’s where blues comes from. Elmore James
played almost the same slide on every song.
The electric blues definitely taught rock
‘n’ roll about ‘tone’—every great rock
artist or great album has a defining sonic
texture. How have you established your
signature sound?
Shannon Dean (lead guitar/harmonica): On
EL: And a lot of it came from being on the
road. That is actually THE reason we made
this record. We’re on the road in the middle
of the night with all those truck drivers, and
you’re kind of alone in all this darkness in
strange places, and you feel like you’re part
of that. You’re in nature, but you’re not.
It sounds a bit scary.
EL: We hydroplaned pretty bad once in
Oregon! We didn’t crash, somehow. But we
were going through these hills late at night
through a fog where you couldn’t see a foot
in front of you with semi-trucks going by at
80 miles per hour.
When I think of trucker music, I tend to
think more of country than of blues.
EL: Oh definitely. My father raised me on
Merle Haggard. That was one thing I told
Brandon: if you want to play with me in
this band, I have country in my blood.
But at the same time, country is a form of
blues. It’s different. There’s a dorkiness of
how it’s portrayed sometimes. Being from
California, I get it, how people have a bad
connotation with country music and the
way it’s become.
SD: These people, they didn’t have the
International Submarine Band, they didn’t
hear a lot of Gram Parsons stuff or even
Waylon. And some of that stuff is incredibly,
incredibly good.
EL: But at the same time, blues has become
just as bad. There’s supposed to be a
sweetness to it, in its limitations. And the
simplicity of the blues is in country music.
And it moves your feelings. People can
cover people’s songs over and over again,
and it’s the way they put their emotion into
that one cover. That’s the feeling of country
music kind of pouring through. The Stones
can kind of take it and flip it upside down.

the first record, we were trying to find our
sound. But by the time we did our Better
Times EP, we went with the swampier,
more upbeat vibe: stompy! Catchy! On
this album, we wanted to put a couple slow
songs on, too.
EL: It’s okay to ‘slow your roll’ sometimes,
as cliché as that sounds.
SD: We wanted to make a good road record:
something you could listen to all the way
through, so we pulllllled back a little bit.
Made everything just a litttttle bit slower
and a little bit groovier. Like a fuckin’ choo
choo train!
JESUS S
But it’s another kind of blues, and people
kind of need to recognize that. And that
was one of our objectives when we made
this last album.
You’ve got some song titles on this thing
that totally remind me of country—like
‘Won’t Walk No Line,’ which is clearly
a Johnny Cash reference, to ‘Outlaw
Women’ which seems like a Waylon
Jennings reference—but the songs don’t Interview by D.M. Collins
sound like those artists.
SD: When we wanted to add country Photography by Stefano Galli
elements, we never wanted to sound like
a country band. We just thought those

26
SONS
27
“Like a fuckin’ choo choo train!”
elements were important, you know? It’s
like finding all these elements from all these
different genres of music and then trying
to put them together into something that
sounds different than all of them, but that
has … like, those good elements from all
of them. When you’re writing a song that
has a deep meaning that talks about real life
situations but also has that pop element,
and follows a very specific song structure
that people are used to, that’s what they
typically like.
EL: The blues is about overcoming your
sorrow. Our song ‘Born to Lose’ is a perfect
example of a song where things aren’t
working out, but you’re fine. Every song of
ours is a story, with a beginning, middle,
and end, which I think is something we got
from country.
SD: It’s about finding a balance between
writing stuff that means something to you
that has all the elements of the music that
you really like, but that’s also easy to ingest
and has that solid beat that makes people
want to stomp their feet and dance because
that’s super important. A good performance
is about crowd participation, making
people want to dance, and get crazy, and
get fucked up!
How do you play backwoods country-
blues but still get people up and
dancing?
SD: I think it’s the stomp-your-feet
swampiness. But also the sleaziness!
Putting in lyrics and talking about real
life experiences. Throwing in things about
getting high! That’s more real. There’s a
lot of songs like back in the day. I feel like
Natural Child is really good at that: they’ll
have a killer song and a killer vibe that’s
catchy on its own, but then a really insane
lyric that makes you want to sing along.
That’s huge.
Are there other bands that may not sound
like you, but which you think have the
same idea?
SD: When we came down to L.A., there
was definitely a super heavy 60s psychedelic
vibe to a lot of the bands, and there had
been for a long time. And we had a great
time playing with those bands, but we never
felt there was a band that fit with our exact
vibe. There’s a bunch of stuff going down
in Nashville with a very similar blending of
blues and country and rock, and I’ve always
been super interested in that. But I have
seen more bands here starting to, like, talk
about adding pedal steel and stuff. Pearl
Charles is doing some really amazing stuff.
Scenes hop from era to era, you know?
It’s almost like everyone in L.A. is 1966,
and you’re trying to coax them into
1969. That goes for recording style, too.
28
Modern-day garage-y bands usually go
for ‘lo-fi’ recordings, but that has to be
consciously sculpted in the studio, just as
much as the Beatles in the mid-60s. Your
new album is a more naked, ‘live’ sound,
more like … the late-era Beatles.
EL: We gave ourselves a week to mix it
and record it. I like to put that pressure on
myself, because otherwise you’re there for a
week thinking about whether you should
go back and overdub a tambourine on
something.
SD: We focused more on the musicianship
and piecing it together. It wasn’t as organic,
in a way. A first recording might have an
element that was so close but might not be
quite right. So we might totally change the
tempo or add some swing.
EL: We took three days of recording and
tracking songs, and it was all sounding terrible
to us. And on the fourth night, we all drank a
few bottles of tequila, and the album we have
now … it all just came to be.
SD: We tracked over 80% of this record live
in one night, during the blood moon. We
recorded through a Tascam 388.
EL: Rhythm guitar, most lead guitar, drums
and bass were all recorded live.
SD: We did get to do stereo drums this time
around, which was really exciting. And we
wound up playing the drums back through
PA speakers, and blasting them into this
kitchen.
EL: There’s a triangle in the ceiling above
the stove that creates a reverb chamber
naturally.
SD: … and we put another mic at the end
of that, creating natural echo on the drums
rather than adding effects to them. Rob
Goodson, our old bassist—he recorded our
first album, and we flew him down to L.A.
to record our second one. He’s got a lot of
cool tricks up his sleeve.
EL: We put the rhythm guitar in the
bathtub! That’s why I prefer recording in
a house to in a studio. It fits our sound
better.
A lot bands in the 60s did that because
there were no technological alternatives,
but people rarely take the trouble now.
SD: We try to do it as old school as we can
do. Most of our gear is pre-1970. We’ve
only recorded to tape. We try to do things
as accurate as possible, too—how people
used to do it. It’s like, if you look at a film
photograph versus a digital photograph, no
matter how good the technology is now,
there’s something that’s missing, even if it’s
subconscious. So if we record to tape and
it’s all analog and it’s all live, then it has a
life to it that you can’t really duplicate.
EL: We’re not really an ‘effects’ band.
Everything you hear on our new album
was very natural, coming out of an amp.
You can get a really good tone out of an
old amp without a lot of pedals. You got
to play it like you mean it—you can’t just
click a button.
SD: We weren’t using a lot of effects at all.
A lot of the ‘grit’ you hear is just my amps
pushed to the max so they’d break up and
crackle.
The band Feels, who have a lot of texture
and distortion to their sound, just had a
ton of effects pedals stolen. What advice
would you have for them to help them
move forward without them?
SD: It totally depends on the vibe. A lot of
the stuff we’re trying to do is just really bare-
bones, as true ‘tone’ as possible. With a mess
of pedals, I felt like I was trying to chase some
tone that wasn’t quite there, until finally
I wouldn’t even like it as much as if I just
unplugged the pedal and didn’t use it. But I
don’t know if that’s the vibe for everyone. A
lot of people use a lot of delay and choruses
and phasers. On stage I just have a tuner, a
fuzz pedal that I built myself, and I have a
boost. And a reverb, but only because the
reverb on the Silvertone 1484s doesn’t work:
it just sounds like birds chirping!
I noticed some of the new songs also have
organ on them. What kind of organ is
that?
SD: It’s a Korg organ.
Ha! So you’re not completely analog.
SD: Bert played that! We originally brought
Bert in as a bassist, but then he had to leave
for a little bit, so Eric jumped in on bass so
the new drummer Chance could learn the
songs. Then when Bert came back, instead of
playing bass, he brought a guitar to do slide
on, and he brought the organ in, and he
started doing that, and doing percussion in
the background, and really filled it out. Bert’s
really good at doing stuff in the pocket. That’s
another reason that the new stuff sounds so
different—we just had more ability!
EL: We’ve got a lot of kooks in the kitchen,
ha ha! There are a lot of egos in this band,
in a good way.
SD: Bert would always have good ideas, and
it was funny because on the rare occasions
when he didn’t, you could really see it in
his face, and he’d just not play. And then
he’d just grab a maraca or something and it
would always be perfect.
EL: I think a lot of the songs get a lot of
places because Shannon is just an amazing
musician. You almost always have to have
that one musician in the band who kind
of outshines everybody else—where he’s
almost like an evil genius in a healthy way.
One example is the last song … Shannon
was just playing this solo with his face red
and his eyes closed, and we just let him
groove on it for awhile and then came
back at the end into a very traditional
Chuck Berry kind of blues song. That’s a
perfect example. We just stepped back for
a second.
Do you think the egos will be just as
‘good’ considering the recent lineup
changes?
SD: When we moved to L.A., we had two
other people with us—we picked up Bert,
Eric, and Chance. Now Brandon is moving
to Boise, Idaho, in January. Eric was doing
a bunch of backup vocals already and him
taking over wouldn’t sound that much
different. But we’re considering adding
Peter from Electric Magpie and adding a
pedal steel and knocking out a bunch of
new songs with the new lineup and pushing
it even further.
Are you on good terms with Brandon? It’s
hard when a front-man leaves a band.
EL: Brandon’s moving back home to Idaho.
No hard feelings! I’ll miss Brandon. To be
honest, we were on a huge roll and then he
had a huge change in his life. It’s not like
because of something bad, like drugs, or
because things weren’t working out between
us.
SD: When Brandon got his wife pregnant,
we talked about it. We knew it wasn’t
conducive to having a baby and raising a
family and being in a band, unless you’re
making a stupid amount of money with the
band. I knew if I had family in Boise who
would help me raise the kid … I mean, the
kid is going to be super brand new!
EL: He’s a great songwriter and lead singer
for two records, if you include the 7”. But
since that 7” and this album, we’ve really
come together so I don’t think there’s going
to be a significant change. We all kind of
write the songs together. Shannon is almost
the main songwriter in the band, and he has
been since the beginning. The chemistry is
still there between all of us. I write pretty
much the same way as Brandon, lyrically
too. We all have the same influences: Bob
Dylan, the Rolling Stones, J.J. Cale, Chuck
Berry, Merle Haggard, Gram Parsons,
Jimmy Reed…
Do you have a fantasy that in 25 years,
you’ll have a reunion tour, and Brandon
will join you for all the old songs?
Brandon’s kid can come up and fill in the
slot of whatever member dies along the
way!
EL: I would love to! He even gave his
daughter a great country music name: Etta
Jane!
JESUS SONS’ BRING IT ON HOME LP
IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM MOCK
RECORDS. JESUSSONSBAND.COM.
INTERVIEW
MARGO GURYAN
Interview by Tiffany Anders
Illustration by Rachel Merrill

I first discovered Margo Guryan when I was working at Amoeba Music in Hollywood. I had just moved back to Los Angeles after having
lived in New York City for five years, where I had made and released a record. I had the honor of maintaining the oldies section at
Amoeba where the re-issues and unearthed gems flowed in at a (no pun intended) record pace. It was encouraged by management
to check out everything that interested us as to better inform customers, so we were given ‘loan logs’ where we could borrow most
any used item that came in, and I certainly took advantage of this perk. I had highly anticipated getting my hands on a used copy of
Margo’s Take A Picture, just based on the cover. I had re-stocked the new CDs of this album for the shelf so many times and the photo
of this very thoughtful girl in a cozy red sweater staring out at the rain from a perfectly framed window had very much intrigued me. I
assumed she was a French pop artist—it was like something out of a Jean-Luc Godard film. When I finally got my hands on a copy, I
learned that I was wrong about her being French—but right in my assumption that this album would rock my world. It was filled with
beautiful pop melodies that flowed from sweet, introspective dreamy love songs to complex pop infused psychedelia and made her
songs stand out as quite different from the others of the time. I became a Margo Guryan fan from this point on. I found her on Facebook
and was happy to learn that she was residing in Los Angeles and was teaching piano. I asked if I could take lessons from her, and was
honored to be her student for a short time. It was wonderful to catch up with her for this interview.
When you were teaching me piano, you became apparent the more I played with other I was to play some songs for you,’ said I. I do remember the story you told me about
talked a lot about your love of jazz and musicians. You had to internalize the chord ‘Oh!’ And they took me to another office Miles Davis! I remember you saying he was
studying jazz in school. How did you start changes. If you had to think about where you which had a piano in it. I played one song quite flirtatious.
composing on your own? were in a particular song or what chord came … then another … then another. One of One night I went to Storyville to hear the
I began piano lessons as a child—at age six. next, that stopped the flow. I never wanted to them reached into a desk drawer and pulled Miles Davis Quintet. When I got there I
But I had ‘made up rhymes’—it would be be a singer ... or performer of any kind. Some out a bunch of contracts. They asked me to learned the intermission pianist hadn’t shown
overreaching to call it ‘poems’—earlier. As ten years before Take A Picture I was signed to go around the corner and do what I had just up. The club’s manager asked me if I would
soon as I could put a few notes together, the Atlantic Records as a singer, mostly because done while Tommy Dowd—their engineer play. I said, ‘No way!’ I was taken to George
rhymes became songs. I knew little about the they liked my songs. The one session I did was in those days—recorded me. That’s how I Wein’s office, given a shot of brandy and
different genres of music, though the first a disaster. They told me to ‘sing out,’ and the found out what demos are! A week or so talked into it. They told me just to play until
record my father bought for me was East of the louder I sang, the worse it got. But it did get later, Wexler called my home and said they I was tapped on the shoulder, at which time
Sun by George Shearing. I didn’t fall in love me my first recording: Chris Connor released wanted to sign me. I would be finished. Not being much of a
with jazz until I got to college in Boston and ‘Moon Ride.’ I know you grew up in New York City, and I jazz improviser, I just played my own songs
heard kids playing it in the practice rooms. How did you get signed? recall you telling me a story about sneaking ... one after the other ... until I was tapped
How did jazz fit into your life? Was it It was a circuitous route. George Wein— out to see jazz as young girl. on the shoulder. I got up and began walking
rebellion? Counterculture? A new home? in Boston—wanted to sign me to his I grew up in Far Rockaway, a suburb of New down an aisle when someone approached me.
What made you connect with it so instantly Storyville Records. He gave me a contract. York City. It was more small-town life than I couldn’t see who it was because the room
and so deeply? My dad wanted a lawyer to look at it. The city life. There were no clubs—or musicians, was dark and I was still adjusting, having had
I think the connection was basically rhythmic. lawyer we saw didn’t like the contract but as far as I knew—in Far Rockaway. But a spotlight on me. The person put his hands
The music felt so good. It also sounded thought if there was interest in Boston when I got to Boston University, there were! on my shoulders and said, ‘Yeah, baby!’ It was
so much better than the pop tunes I was perhaps there might be interest in New Storyville was the most popular venue for Miles.
accustomed to hearing. I guess ‘a new artistic York. He sent me to see Herb Eiseman the bands that travelled and I made sure to There were a lot of women as part of the
language’ would fit best. at Frank Loesser’s publishing company. I take a History of Jazz class that was given at songwriting boom working in the Brill
After college was your goal to become played some songs for Herb. He thought BU by George Wein, who owned Storyville. Building in New York City in the early
a jazz pianist? Or was songwriting and the songs not ‘commercial’ enough for his George allowed me to enter the club 1960’s. Did you hope to be a part of that?
singing something that you practiced while company, but he liked what I had written through a rear door and instructed the wait- Were there any female pop writers that you
studying jazz as well? and sent me to Atlantic Records. My parents people to ignore me as I was underage and admired?
I think writing was my goal. I did study with accompanied me to Atlantic Records—very couldn’t drink. One didn’t have to ‘sneak I wasn’t aware of the Brill Building writers
Jaki Byard in Boston but I think I was a hard embarrassing! I was called into an office and out’. You simply signed out of your dorm. at that time. And, in any case, they were
‘teach.’ If you want to be a good improviser met Jerry Wexler and Ahmet Ertegun. They But there was a curfew and you had to sign writing ‘pop’ songs, which held no interest
you have to be a fast thinker. You have to said, ‘OK, let’s have your demos.’ I said, in by that time. I heard a lot of great bands for me at that time. I was only interested in
internalize the changes … know them almost ‘What are demos?’ They looked at each ... and once got to play intermission piano jazz—only listened to jazz on the radio and
intuitively. I’m a slow thinker. That’s fine for other with rolled eyes. ‘Well, what did you opposite MILES DAVIS! It’s a bit of a story only went to clubs where jazz was performed.
writing, but not good for jazz improvisation. It expect to do for us?’ they asked. ‘I thought which I’d be happy to tell you. I didn’t know—or know of—any female pop-

30 INTERVIEW
writers. Or male pop-writers, for that matter.
I had written songs since I could put words
and music together. They reflected what I
heard on the radio, which was mostly fairly
boring ‘pop.’ But when I got to Boston and
fell in love with jazz, everything changed ...
and everything I wrote reflected my new love.
The change from pop to jazz was exciting.
And after many years in this arena my friend,
pianist-songwriter Dave Frishberg played
‘God Only Knows’ for me. That song was an
incredible teaching moment for me. Brian
Wilson’s chords almost never had the root in
the bass. I thought ‘I can do that!’ I bought
Pet Sounds, listened to it over and over, turned
off the record player, sat down at the piano
and wrote ‘Think of Rain.’ Voila!
Spanky and Our Gang first recorded your
song ‘Sunday Morning’ which became a hit
and then was recorded by several other pop
artists—how did all that get started?
Bob Dorough—along with Stuart Scharff—
was producing Spanky and Our Gang. We
knew Bob and David Rosner, my publisher,
suggested I bring a few songs to one of their
rehearsals. They were rehearsing in a loft
near where I lived and Bob invited me to
attend a session. So, armed with two or three
demos, I followed my ears and took what
was surely a freight elevator to the large space
where the group was ensconced. The group
stopped singing as soon as I walked in and
was introduced to them. ‘Let’s see what you’ve
got,’ one of them said. Bob and Stuart were
in a control room where there was recording
equipment and a record player. ‘Sunday
Morning’ was one of the few songs I played.
They liked that one. ‘Why don’t you save that
for yourself?’ I recall Spanky asking. I thought
it was an odd choice, as Spanky and Our
Gang had just had a huge hit with ‘Sunday
Will Never Be the Same’. But I said, ‘Oh,
please—if you want to do it, DO IT!’ And
they did.
Jackie De Shannon—a wonderful
songwriter in her own right—recorded a
version of your ‘Think of Rain.’ Were you
aware of Jackie De Shannon as a songwriter?
For me, I’d consider it a huge honor to have
someone like De Shannon record a version
of my song.
Of course I was aware of Jackie DeShannon.
I especially like her ‘Think of Rain’ because
it was one of very few that didn’t copy my
demo. The arrangement was totally original. I
thought Jackie did a beautiful vocal.
Tell me about recording Take A Picture.
Once again, David—and my demos—did
the trick! David had taken the demos to
various record companies to show songs for
other artists. One record company exec asked,
‘Why don’t we just record her?’ There were
a few offers and David chose Bell Records
because it was a small ‘happening’ company
and my record would be less likely to be
lost among the popular artists who released
albums on the big labels. Take A Picture was
getting some good reviews and airplay. Larry
Utall—president of Bell Records—called me
into his office and told me that they wanted
me to start performing: TV, record hops and
such. I told him I didn’t want to perform—I
simply wanted to write. All promotion was
then stopped. The record tanked. I saw it in
the 39¢ bin in Tower Records. A sad moment,
32
indeed. Of course I’d hoped it would be right
up there with Harry Nilsson, the Mamas and
Papas and all the other wonderful artists and
groups who were changing the pop music
scene. I did not expect Bell Records to call
on me to perform. And it did change the
trajectory of my career. I continued to write
songs, but got more into production—via
David Rosner—than I ever expected to.
Learned a lot, though. And I did manage to
keep some of my own records.
Take a Picture is kind of the perfect Sunday
listening record—it’s got a dreamy quality
to it and strong themes of ideal romance.
Was there a particular time in your life that
inspired those songs?
Youth! I think most writers—of music,
poetry, books, whatever—find their voice
as youngsters. That’s when you dream,
hope, plan, imagine. That’s when each new
relationship is a novelty, fresh, to be reinvented
... and to be voiced in song and story.
When you hear these songs now, what
seems most familiar about the person who
wrote and sang them? And what feels most
unfamiliar?
Still the same person, I think. Today, I like
some songs more than others...some records
more than others. I can’t imagine anything
feeling ‘unfamiliar.’ One of the earliest songs,
‘Good-bye July’ was one of the last demos
recorded. Maybe I’ve grown a bit, but I don’t
think I’ve changed.
Was there any kind of philosophical
difference between writing for ‘someone
else’ and writing for ‘you’? We’re inundated
with the idea that music is so highly
personalized to its creator—is it really?
No ‘philosophical difference between writing
for someone else and writing for’ myself. I just
hoped that some artist or producer would like
a particular song and come up with a better
arrangement. Unfortunately—to me—most
artists and producers just copied my demo
arrangement. The records I like best are the
ones that didn’t copy my demos. And I don’t
think ‘music is so highly personalized to its
creator. I think Malcolm McNeill has made
‘Think Of Rain’ song his own.
I personally completely identify with being
reluctant as a performer, but I find it really
interesting that you were more interested
in songwriting rather than performing—
because I find your songs and the way you
perform them so uniquely ‘you.’ Did you
enjoy the recording process?
Years before I married David, I was married
to Bob Brookmeyer. Bob was a performing
musician; he worked with groups that included
Gerry Mulligan and Clark Terry among others.
I got an excellent education as to the people
you had to surround yourself with, especially
if you were successful. Lawyers, accountants,
managers, booking agents, club owners, and
on and on. People told you where to be, what
time to be there, what to wear, who to meet.
And on and on … It just wasn’t my cup of
tea. But I did enjoy recording. Once it was
discovered that if my voice was doubled I
had an acceptable sound, it became great fun,
and very satisfying. Turned out it was an easy
process for me and the results put me in the
Astrud Gilbert/Claudine Longet bag.
After the disappointment following Take A
Picture, did you continue to write?
Of course. Many of them are on the ... Demos
albums. In fact there’s a vinyl edition on
Sundazed coming out soon: 29 Demos with
two new ones added. They’re versions of my
songs by Malcolm McNeill and Chip Taylor
which I love and make the record unique.
And I was always more interested in being
strictly a songwriter.
There are so many great songs on that
collection, I am so excited to hear more!
They all seem to vary in styles. ‘California
Shake’ has an almost country rock feel to
it, with guitar and drums that are quite
different from your previous jazz inspired
songs—where did that come from?
‘California Shake’ is one of the few—if not
only—songs I wrote with someone else.
Richard Bennett, who was Neil Diamond’s
guitarist, suggested we write together. This
had never worked out well for me but I liked
Richard, thought he was a terrific musician
and his idea was well worth a try. Richard
played a melodic fragment for me which I
found intriguing. I said, ‘That sounds like a
disaster song.’ It made me think of the Bee
Gees ‘New York Mining Disaster.’ We had
just moved to Los Angeles and I was very
conscious of the fact that I was now living in
earthquake territory. That fragment evolved
into ‘California Shake’. With Richard on
guitar and Dennis St. John—also in Neil’s
band—on drums it’s no wonder you perceive
a different ‘feel’ on that song. I wrote the song
on piano, but no doubt Richard’s guitar was
an inflluence.
There’s a rumor you did a 70s disco song—
is that true?
True. My step-son, Jon Rosner—who was 12
or 13 at the time±was into all kinds of music
I rarely listened to. But I did enjoy ‘Saturday
Night Fever’ and came up with ‘Hold Me
Dancin’.
How did the re-release of Take A Picture
happen?
One day David received a royalty statement
from Japan. He said to me, ‘This statement
has all the songs from Take A Picture on it!’
What he found out was that Keystone, a
Japanese label had issued a pirate copy. Shortly
after that, Cornelius—a Japanese artist—put
my record out on his Trattoria label. This was
soon followed by a release on Siesta [a Spanish
label] for Europe. About this time my step-son,
Jonathan Rosner, played ‘Sunday Morning’
for Linus of Hollywood—a local artist. Linus
recorded that song. One day he came to my
house to meet me. He walked in saying, ‘I
want to hear everything you ever wrote!’ It
wasn’t long before Linus asked to release Take
A Picture on his Franklin Castle label. That
turned into a lasting relationship with Carl
Caprioglio who still releases my records on his
Oglio label. Finally, I was home!
How about the demos album? Had any
other artists recorded these songs before
the release?
It was either Linus or Carl Caprioglo who
thought it would be a good idea to have
another record out, and all of my demos were
highly arranged—except for ‘I’d Like To See
The Bad Guys Win’ which was a piano-voice
demo—and therefore suitable for a release.
By the way, ‘....Bad Guys...’ was written for
Mae West after I heard her sing a Beatles
song, but never got the song to her. Yes, other
artists had recorded some of the songs before
... Demos was released: ‘I Love,’ the Lennon
Sisters. ‘Sunday Morning,’ quite a few. ‘Think
of Rain’ and ‘I Think a Lot About You,’ Cass
Elliot. ‘Shine,’ Linus.
Do you think the internet age has made
it easier for those who are not interested
in being performers—those who are more
interested in simply writing and recording
the music—to get their music heard and
acquire a fan base? And do you think the
internet has had something to do with your
new fan base?
A qualified yes. I think writers still have to
perform in order to get needed exposure. But
music videos have made a huge step toward
getting one’s music to its target audience. A
hit video can take the place of many small-
town tours. And limiting performing to TV
and videos can work for a lot of writers. But I
think big city venues will continue to play an
important role because of advertising and the
crowds that show up to hear favored artists.
[Regarding the new fan base] again, a qualified
yes. Don’t forget: it was Japanese record
collectors who first sparked the interest in Take
A Picture. I don’t think the internet had much
to do with this. But today, with YouTube and
social media, the internet plays a humungous
role! It also makes correspondence between
a writer and those who like his or her music
possible. I assume this is gratifying to both
parties.
Was ‘16 Words’ the hardest song you ever
had to arrange? It only has 16 words, and
few if any are obviously poetic.
I read Joe Wilson’s book The Politics of Truth.
He was the former Ambassador sent to Niger
to bolster Bush’s claim that large quantities
of uranium was sold to Iraq. He found the
statement to be untrue. I took Wilson’s book
to the piano ... opened to the page containing
the ‘16 words.’ It wasn’t hard to come up with
something that could be easily repeated. We
recorded the track four times and proceeded to
use different combinations of singers on three
of them. We had one track left over—perfect
for an instrumental! Probyn Gregory supplied
almost all the instruments: guitar, trombone,
trumpet. He was amazing! And then James
Reitano created the video—a work of genius,
I think. It wasn’t hard. And it was very, very
satisfying.
You’ve recently recorded and released a few
new songs, which are fantastic—I marvel
at how your voice is still consistently
wonderful. Do you have any plans to release
a new full length album?
No plans. But I’ve been communicating with
several wonderful young singer-songwriters
and a collaborative effort is not out of
the question. I’ve written a bit for Ashley
Reaks, a terrifically inventive British artist
who may weave what I’ve written into his
startlingly original work. And I’ve sent Wyatt
Funderburk, a Nashville singer-songwriter
whose song ‘Cold’ knocked me out, some
unfinished tracks which he has permission to
use in any way that suits him. There’s a great
example of how the internet connects people!
A NEW DELUXE GATEFOLD EDITION
OF MARGO GURYAN’S ... DEMOS
WILL BE RELEASED BY SUNDAZED
IN 2016.
INTERVIEW
DAVE DAVIES
Interview by Kristina Benson
Illustration by Bijou Karman

Yes, he invented and/or globally popularized the concept of guitar

distortion after he sliced up the speaker cones in his misbehaving
amplifier, but the discography of Kinks co-founder and guitarist
Dave Davies neither begins nor ends with “You Really Got Me.”
Brother Ray wrote his share of hits, but Dave could have made
a beautiful little solo album during the 60s—and would have, if
music-biz static didn’t drown out the chance. Instead, his fearless
and genuine songwriting was revealed mostly on B-sides and solo
45s and odd album tracks like the haunting “Strangers” and the
uneasily psychedelic “Creeping Jean.” As the Kinks soldiered
on, he’d eventually get his solo albums going and he’d lend a lot
of power to the band when they entered their 70s revival. Then
a few years after the Kinks collapsed in the mid-90s, he kicked
off a solo career in earnest. His 2014 release Ripping Up Time
is the fifth in a string of 21st century efforts, and he’s currently
touring Ripping Up New York City, a live album that matches
klassics and deep kuts (yes, “Creeping Jean”) to
his new material. L.A. RECORD barely got
any time to talk to Davies at the end of a
long press day, but that’s OK—he’s always
been a guy who can say everything he needs
to say in two minutes and change.

You said once that when you write,
you don’t think—you just write. Is
that still true even now?
The thing—as always—is getting
ideas. The harder you try, you worse it
gets. If I get an idea from a dream or
a person I see or something, it triggers
the whole process. If I overthink it, it
doesn’t really take shape as I would’ve
liked.
Is that scary?You’re really relinquishing
control—at the mercy of inspiration.
That’s a tricky state of mind for
anybody! Usually, you’re trying to find
that mindspace … a place in your head
that isn’t really anywhere. You have to
have a sort of blind faith that things are
gonna happen. Once you get started
on an idea or a theme or a musical
phrase or a riff, as long as you’ve got
somewhere to start, you can try and get
in that place in your head. It’s hard to
explain, yes. And the harder you try, the
more difficult it is. You have to let go
of yourself a bit, let go of panicking or
worrying or trying to hard.
‘Screw it, I’m done stressing—it’s
gonna happen!’
Yeah—hopefully!
Something I really admire about your
music are your sad songs—‘Strangers’
or ‘This Man He Weeps Tonight’—
because they’re not just sad songs.
They’re complicated and melancholy,
and they can be angry or frightened
or lonely at the same time, too, which
seems like a far truer reading of the
concept of sadness.
It’s a kind of process—I find
melancholery really really useful. It’s
a way of remembering and trying to
construct something hopeful for the
future. Cuz you don’t want to wallow
in sadness all the time. I find that the
actual sort of … caring, it’s like caring
about things and you use that. It’s not
the same as sadness. I find I can get
into that state of mind. There are many
things that aren’t necessarily regrets,
but maybe they aren’t happy, and those
unhappy thoughts or memories you
might ponder on and it’s better to try
and work it out through art or music
than to drag yourself down with it. If
you confront these feelings, it can lead
to hopeful ideas and positive ideas
about the future. The song ‘Strangers,’
if you really think about it, is quite an
optimistic song. It’s giving up something
to get more. The guy in the song, the
protagonist or the singer or me or
whatever, he’s trying to say, ‘Alright, I’ve
had enough—but what are you doing?
Maybe we can find out what life’s about
together.’ Which in a way covers a lot of
different aspects of the human mind and
being, really. Because it could be about
all of us. Maybe we’re all intimately
connected at some level? Not just a boy
and girl or two guys that meet and try
and make a go of it.
DAVE DAVIES’ RIPPING UP NEW
YORK CITY IS AVAILABLE NOW
FROM RED RIVER. VISIT DAVE
DAVIES AT DAVEDAVIES.COM.
WHITE BOIZ
Interview by sweeney kovar
Photography by Theo Jemison

At the beginning of 2015, my good friend Eric Coleman from Mochilla confided that Shafiq Husayn of Sa-Ra Creative Partners and Krondon
of Strong Arm Steady were finishing an album. I asked what they were calling themselves. Coleman paused before answering: “White Boiz.”
In a world where being “Black” is constantly being dissected, what does “White” mean? The rhyme is never without reason. A devoted
student of Noble Drew Ali and the Moorish Science Temple of America, Shafiq was Krondon’s guide into a world of history, knowledge and
symbolism obscured by modern culture. After years of discussions and debates, Shafiq turned on the MPC and Krondon stepped in the
booth, both committed to bring the core of their conversations to wax. The result is Neighborhood Wonderful, out now via Stones Throw—a
hard-hitting hip-hop LP equal parts high science and street corner content. So just how does high science and heavenly glory translate into
rap music? I spoke with the two Master Teachers to find out.

I’m sure this is the first question everyone
asks, and I’ll ask it too: can you break down
the science behind the White Boiz idea?
Shafiq Husayn: White Boiz’ Neighborhood
Wonderful is a venture into society that
looks at the duality of things, to keep it
short and simple. In the context of the white
conversation, depending on what circle you’re
in, white will mean something specific to you.
Everyone knows that white means purity.
Purity means God and God means the ruler
of the land. A group of people have taken that
construct and applied it to what you would
call ‘race.’ We know there’s only one race—
the human race. So that gives way to the
conversation: ‘What is really white?’ White
Boiz and the album Neighborhood Wonderful
is our way of saying let’s have a conversation—
let’s talk about it.
Krondon: We’re in agreement with that. When
we were coming up with the concept, the basis
of our conversations was to truly look at what
the meaning of ‘white.’ Us being brothers of
knowledge, we saw the breakdown in that
understanding in society today. Obviously
the perception over time changes, so in this
time ‘white’ means something to this society
in America today. That doesn’t necessarily
mean that is the truth or that it is accurate.
Like with all things, the perception over time
changes. We’re bringing it back to what the
original essence of what that term means
when you place it upon a people or society.
We’re taking it back to where it started. Not a
racial term or a thing to describe a particular
sect of people but more of a state of mind and
state of spirit and state of being.
In the imagery you’ve released from the
album—the teaser video, photos and even
the cover—there’s heavy references to the
Moorish Science Temple of America.
K: My initial experiences with the M.S.T.
of A. were based on the teachings of Noble
Drew Ali. Not delving too deep into it, but
the basis of those teachings. Even prior to
me recording with Shafiq, our conversations
in the beginning were about us connecting
the dots as brothers together. He opened
my mind up to the intricate workings and
the foundation of the M.S.T. of A. This was
years before we even recorded one record. I
have to give my brother Shafiq the personal
credit for opening me up to the intricate
workings. Growing up studying all things
Black or so-called Black, of course I came
across the teachings of Marcus Garvey,
Noble Drew Ali, Master Farrad, all these
people. I wasn’t able to get an in-depth idea
into the M.S.T. of A. until brother Shafiq
enlightened me. Then I was able to do more
homework and research on my own. Then I
was given some literature on my own. Then
I attended some meetings and met some
brothers. It was an organic thing for me to
grow into that understanding of what that
religious corporation really is and what it
represents for not just our people but for the
world. To touch on what you mean about
the symbols in the imagery and particularly
the flag we made, I have to say that the
things I was exposed to in the M.S.T. of
A. allowed me to see how America is made
up and designed. Personally, as a man, the
teachings allowed me to see America for
what it really is. That’s why it was really
important for us to put the Moor stars as
the stars on the flag. By the way, when we
were having the flag made, Shafiq didn’t
even know about it. That was something
that I pulled in at the last minute. The Ahk
didn’t even know I was doing that.
SH: I had no idea. It just happened, and
check this out—Krondon is not even an
official member of Moorish Science Temple
of America.
K: Not at all, but I am a believer and a follower
of the understandings and the concept of
what it is to be a Moor. I bring brothers to
the temple. It’s really about us knowing truly
who we are. Not who the preacher says we are
on Sunday. Not who the newscaster says we
are on Monday. Truly who we are and what
position we have here in America. That’s the
most important part. What position do we
have as a people here in America.
For some reading this interview the concepts
and the terms associated with Moorish
Science Temple of America may be foreign.
Can you break it down and explain whom
you’re considering a Moor in present day?
SH: A Moor is what you might call an
African-American, but you have Moors who
are all over the planet because of the Moorish
Empire or the Moroccan Empire or what later
morphed into the Ottoman Empire. In the
context of the Americas, it was never discussed
that the Americas were actually a part of the
Moorish Empire—actually the capital seed of
the Empire. That was a conversation missing
from the history books because of the bearing
of the Moorish history inside of that. You
can’t talk about the United States of America
without talking about Moors. Impossible.
That right there illuminates another dynamic
on the social conversation of ‘What is White
and Black?’ or ‘Who are the White people
and who are the Black people?’ Take it out
of white and Black—what is a US citizen
versus an American citizen? I’m at the DMV
and the sister at the counter is generalizing
America with the United States. I had to tell
her you have other nations and governments
that are in the Americas too. You have Brazil,
Colombia, Chile, Nicaragua, El Salvador,
Belize. The United States does not make up
the Americas. They are a portion of states
that come together to form a unit called the
United States of America. If you go back you’ll
learn they were called the British Subjects of
North America. That’s in the history books.
There was a Continental Congress. George
Washington was a general before he was a
President. In whose government was he a
general? Who was the president? If you can’t
behold these simple truths that are before
you, then all this high science and heavenly
glory—you ain’t ready for that yet!
K: Amin.
SH: You ain’t know your ass from a hole in
the ground, is what they would say. Let’s
have a conversation. That’s the philosophy
behind White Boiz. Now let’s talk about
creativity—every artist should have some kind
of intention behind their music because your
intentions dictate your expectations. When
we put on this white garb and put on these
names and monikers, there’s an expectation
out of this. The expectation is we intend to
provoke thought! The thought is the cause of
it all. The thought is why in today’s society we
got people walking around talking about this
person is a White person or a Black person.
200 years ago, the thought behind that word
was different. Krondon and I, 200 years ago,
could be considered free white men. We
would be considered slave-owners, or let me
put it this way—we would be considered
Slav-owners. 13th Amendment bans slavery
and involuntary servitude in the United
States except by crime or punishment. Ask
the question: What is the difference between
slavery and involuntary servitude? We ask
that because involuntary servitude is what
we suffered against our will. At one point,
slavery was what you agreed to for services
in exchange for your labor—you would go
home. Involuntary servitude, they owned
everything about you. They’ve attached
another group of people to that word, ‘slave,’
when it was for Slavs.
Who were Slavs?
SH: Czechoslovakians, Yugoslavians, basically
Eastern Europeans. My point is: names and
terms get redefined through eras. In different
social circles, names and terminology are used
differently to express whatever everybody
agreed to. Who agreed to ‘Negro,’ ‘Black’,
‘Colored,’ ‘Afro-American’ or ‘African-
American’?
K: I didn’t agree to that shit!
SH: Who signed up for that? I don’t remember
a census coming out from us to vote for the
Black President. Where is the Black flag?
Where is the constitution for the Black

INTERVIEW 35
people? Where is Black land? Even if you say
African-American, we’re talking about two
separate continents. Each of those continents
have more than fifty sovereign nation-states
with constitutions, with presidents, monarchs,
kings, flags, histories, embassies, consulates,
passports. What are we talking about now?
What is happening?
You mentioned sparking thought as an
intention behind this endeavor—do you
have any more specific actions or thoughts
you hope to elicit with this work?
SH: We’ve been talking about White, right?
Let’s talk about Black. If you look at its
etymology, ‘black’ comes from the word
‘bleak’ in German where we also get the
word ‘bleach.’ If you say ‘black’ what is the
first shade it shades to? Grey, and then from
grey it fades to white. It never passes through
the color spectrum. Now let’s talk about
color. What is color? It’s anything that has
been painted, stained, varnished or dyed.
Inanimate objects—things that aren’t living—
you can paint that and it can be washed away.
When did the real living thing get turned into
an adjective? ‘Black person’ is not real. White
Boiz is a reset. When you have a painting
you want to paint over, what do you do? You
take some primer and you white wash it. You
might still see remnants of the old piece there
but it’s a blank canvas. It’s taking the concepts
out of the linear conversation of Black/White
and now we’re going to put it in color—in
real life. Everyone has had their chance to
white wash the first stone that was here, the
Moorish history, so we’re going to white out
the white conversation. It’s a reset because
it’s the original conversation. White means
purity, purity means God and God means the
ruler of the land. Amin.
K: We want what’s happening right now. We
want what is happening to you. When you
saw it, when you got the album, you had all
these questions. Now you’re privy enough to
know Shafiq and be one of us so you’re able
to call and email and send out a kite and get
us on the line. For those that can’t do that,
which is the majority of the world, they gotta
talk amongst each other. They gotta research
and go online and utilize this information
highway that we have for more than just porn
and promo music…
SH: …and fuckery.
K: They should go and engage in some history
and engage each other, the way you’re asking
us these questions. They should ask their
mothers and fathers, their uncles and cousins
these questions. What we’re saying overall is
that the conversation needs to be had.
SH: If Black lives matter, then this conversation
about what ‘Black’ is matters. There is polarity
in everything, so within the so-called Black
conscious community, there is a divide on
topics. The common things we agree on are
like the need to have our own voice and so
on—the divide comes in the way to achieve
that. You have one perspective who says we
need to assimilate and you have another group
that really wants to go back to how it used to
be—a reset. There is a duality in everything.
You may have foreign sympathizers to our
plight and obviously you have oppressors who
still want to carry out atrocious and heinous
acts on our people. That’s why there is always
going to be a conversation whether it’s ‘Black
36
Lives Matter’ or something else. Our people
is not going to get any redress by identifying
themselves with a title that is at bare minimum
culturally ambiguous. ‘Black’ and ‘African-
American’ is still culturally ambiguous—at
bare minimum. There is not nationality
attached to that. Everyone else has some flags
that they can pull out on their day. What
does the so-called African-American Negro
Colored, descendant of a legacy of slavery and
Jim Crow-ism have? What flag do we pull out?
That conversation matters. Who is the father
of racism? Johann Friedrich Blumenbach,
German scientist, anthropologist, psychologist
from the 1700s—what some would call a
renaissance man. He is the one who came
up with the modern day racial classifications.
This is the 1700s bro! This concept of Black/
White back then was a new thing, so to speak.
It didn’t mean anything in the context of
what we’re meaning now. Just like how hip-
hop—in its inception and in its purest form
and then through the different eras—it has
morphed into this new age form. Is it in its
purest form? No, there are remnants of it. Just
like there is only remnants of the Moorish
history. You see everybody else wear our stuff
and acting like us, but the people who are
party to the contract don’t know they’re party
to the contract.
It sounds like you have some strong and
specific intentions with this work—I’m
curious about your process of creation.
K: It started off as a personal admiration of
each other’s craft—what we each represented
in music. Then the conversation quickly
illustrated how similar our minds were and
how similar our backgrounds were and where
our mentality brought us in music today. It
just continued on until an album was made.
We had more conversations then we did
studio sessions. It’s the conversations that
shaped the music.
SH: That’s a very good point. This shows
you the professionalism between the both of
us. What he’s saying is the time to actually
perform tracks and make tracks … it’s like
really no time. That thing doesn’t really take
much time to do. It’s the philosophy and
intention behind going into the vocal booth
or getting behind the drum machine or
keyboard that’s now spearheading this.
K: True indeed!
SH: Our technical prowess and abilities are
already there but we have to plant an intention
behind it now.
I especially love the guests on the album.
Can you tell me a bit on how D Prosper,
Chace Infinite and Blu landed on the
project?
K: We had ideas going into this on who we
wanted but the scheduling and timing didn’t
allow us to get everyone on the crusade. Chace
Infinite is probably my personal favorite
MC. He’s also on of my mentors and biggest
supporter in music my whole entire career. It
was so spiritual for me. He’s honestly the only
rapper that I truly cared about being a part of
this. Spiritually he’s one of my soul mates. He
actually had another verse for us that did not
make the album, but that’s neither here nor
there. Chace was the only one to do multiple
records for us. If you know Self Scientific, if
you know Chace Infinite individually and
what he’s doing with A$AP and all of that, you
know that he’s one of my biggest influences.
Blu is just a genius with words to me. He’s a
big fan of mine as I am of his. I’m really big
into omens and I felt like it was a good omen
to have Blu a part of this thing. You see how
we used him and D Prosper as kind of guest
trumpeters or guest violinist that we brought
to our jazz jam session. D Prosper is a musical
savant and he’s been behind some of the best
things to happen in music in the last 10 plus
years. Spiritually it was very important to
have him be part of it as well. Again, I stress
that these were spiritual decisions more than
just, ‘Oh, they’re dope rappers’ and so on.
Of course they are extremely talented and
extremely acclaimed in their own individual
ways but for Shafiq and I it was spiritual. The
same goes with everyone else—Thundercat,
Iman Omari and Jimetta Rose.
Was most of the production made from
scratch? Or was Krondon able to peep into
the Shafiq Husayn archives?
SH: It was strictly Krondon peeping into my
archives. There may have been some songs we
touched up but most of the production was
gems from the archives.
K: I have to be honest—as an MC coming
from Strong Arm Steady, with this LP I was
able to do and express exactly what I wanted
to. As far as the music goes, you already know
brother’s music—there was so much! I sat
up for months just listening to music. I just
wanted to make sure that I didn’t pick music
from any other place but my spiritual energy.
The thing that made the album a whole was
that spiritually it was connected in what it
was that we were doing. I didn’t speak to the
music until the music spoke to me. The first
record we ever recorded was ‘Bloomingdale’s.’
That’s the first beat that I picked and that’s
the first record that we recorded and this is
after a year of vibing and conversation, three
months of studio sessions just listening to
music. Then I heard the ‘Bloomingdale’s’
beat and I knew that was the first one. I
asked him what the name of the beat was. He
said it was called ‘Bloomingdale’s.’ I’ll never
forget—I said ‘Is that right?’ I went into the
other room and wrote the song because—no
bullshit—the music was telling me about
every woman that I met that were schemers
and scammers, that led tricks and beat niggas
over they head, that had four or five kids and
was out with me every night. The music was
telling me, ‘Do you remember that time?’
When I heard the beat for ‘Mary’s Son’—this
is before there was any instrumentation on
it, before any Thundercat or Chris Dave or
anything—that beat spoke to me. It said, ‘It’s
going to be OK. Your momma wasn’t there,
your daddy was gone, you had a baby at 14
and look, it’s OK!’ This is my most honest
record. It’s the most transparent as an MC
that I’ve ever been.
SH: We keep overlooking the big elephant
in the room. Krondon is Albino. For all
intents and purposes, he is a ‘Black’ man.
His momma and daddy are so-called ‘Black
people’ from the ‘hood, the real ‘hood, from
the seed of what you call Gang Bang L.A. It
don’t get no more ‘nigga’ than this nigga. So
what is that in the context of what you would
call a ‘white’ person? Krondon has a whole
other science on that. He gave a bar out on
The Breakfast Club radio show in New York
that’s still resonating within the M.S.T. of A.
I’m going to let Brother Love go in on that.
Back to the father of racism, Johann Friedrich
Blumenbach—he was basing his findings on
what he called phenotypes, cranial science
and other features like the nose. Based on
that he came up with a system to say who was
intelligent or who wasn’t, who was superior
and who was inferior. That’s where the ‘who’s
better than’ from today came from—that’s
why we call him the father of racism. You
have to now deal with where did you come
from, Johann Blumenbach? Who are you?
Albinism is a pigmentation demonstration.
It still doesn’t have anything to do with what
you’re talking about.
K: You got white people like Brother Ali.
I love Brother Ali but nobody wants to ask
Brother Ali what he really is though. Hello?
Anybody heard me? He can rap, be Muslim
with a name like Brother Ali and yet no one
wants to ask him what he really is. A white
man with a white mother and white father—
albino though—who has a Black wife and
came up Sunni but because he’s Muslim and
wears a kufi and does his surahs, no one wants
to ask him. His being albino has made him
as an individual racially ambiguous. To a lot
of people, he is racially ambiguous. You gotta
know that’s my brother. I gotta send Ali this
album. I’m trippin’ not sending Ali this album.
Here’s a white man who is proved a white
man but racially he holds no moniker. If you
talk to Ali, you might can’t tell. He was raised
in the Midwest, the whitest part of America,
he’s a Muslim who raps and sounds like
Martin Luther King. He’s racially ambiguous.
My point is that if we fit genetically and we
speak about what we know as the 36 shades of
Black, and we speak about what my brother
said earlier regarding where the word ‘Black’
came from and it’s original origin, then who
are we talking about? The Holy Father’s
genetic make up. This is just how he made us.
You can’t change how he made us, it’s just how
we’re made. It’s what they call the gene pool.
It has a beginning and it has an end. This is
just the truth. If Brother Ali and Krondon
are both Albino. If I have a baby with a white
woman, Black baby. Right? If a white man
has a baby with a Black woman, Black baby.
Right? When we speak about ‘White’ and the
true essence about what race is, Brother Ali
and I are representations of what God truly is,
even without melanin. You gotta take that. If
you want to look God in it’s purest forms you
have to look at my brother and I and see what
God is telling you through us two individuals.
We’re reshaping how we view these things
because propaganda can be confusing if we
don’t really do our real homework on what it
really means to be these things. How did these
titles and monikers that we put on ourselves
come to be?
WHITE BOIZ WITH GUILTY
SIMPSON, PEANUT BUTTER WOLF,
J. ROCC AND SAMIYAM ON THURS.,
NOV. 19, AT THE REGENT THEATER,
448 S. MAIN ST., DOWNTOWN. 8 PM
/ $10 / 18+. REGENTTHEATER.COM.
WHITE BOIZ’ NEIGHBORHOOD
WONDERFUL IS AVAILABLE
NOW FROM STONES THROW.
STONESTHROW.COM/WHITEBOIZ.
INTERVIEW
60 ONE REPORTER
THE EX
Interview by Christina Gubala
Illustration by Angie Samblotte
Genre-spanning Dutch quartet The Ex have a 35-year history of forward thinking experimental collaborations and thrilling live
performances. Though their instrumentation has remained rooted in rock—just bass, guitar and drums—they’ve managed to
interweave elements of European folk, African rhythm and melody and free jazz in thoughtful and fresh ways, often as a consequence
of the places they’ve traveled and friends they’ve made. The Ex ooze positivity, take care to avoid the pitfalls of nostalgia, and offer
some very sound advice for anyone hoping to keep the punk fire burning after decades on the road. (Hint: eat well.)
What is your favorite album of all time?
Arnold de Boer (vocals): The first thing that
comes to my mind—it’s always different for
me, personally. Tomorrow will be different
from today. But right now is Ethiopiques Vol.
14— Getatchew Mekurya. It’s a series of
Ethiopian music and it’s from the 60s and
70s, the golden age of the Ethiopian jazz
and swing music. And in this series there is
number 14 with all the music of Getatchew
Mekurya, the saxophone player that we’ve
also played with and made two albums with.
That record, I think we all agree, is super
special. The story is that they made it with
the intention of making an album that was
really good to play in restaurants! It’s totally
screaming and obnoxious and urgent and also
super beautiful, and a keyboard that is like a
rock ‘n’ roll organ, and then Getatchew really
going all the way and breaking all borders you
can imagine. It’s a fantastic album.
The Ex as a band and you specifically have
affiliations with Ethiopia, but there’s also
some Ugandan riffs that were referenced
in some earlier projects. Are there other
destinations in Africa you hope to travel to
and explore the music?
Terry, the guitar player, with Emma, his
girlfriend, wife, they traveled through the
whole of Africa for a year, more or less—they
were seeing almost half of the countries.
There is a village in the Congo that has a lot
of Ex cassette tapes. There’s exchange anyway
with them! This was in the mid-90s. It’s
complicated, but at one time, the car they
were with got stuck, and a lot of people from
the small village helped them to push the car
out of the mud. And in exchange to thank
them, Terry left a lot of Ex cassettes in that
village. None of us has ever been back there,
but maybe …
There’s a passionate fan contingent there?
You never know who is inspired by the Ex!
We played in Egypt a few years ago. That
was quite interesting because it was a festival
INTERVIEW
of new music, set up by the people after the
first revolution on the Tahrir Square. At the
point they decided to do the festival, they
were super happy because it seemed like there
was gonna be some sort of a change and more
freedom. So they invited us to play the festival
but at the moment we came to play, there had
already been a regime change. On the one
hand, it was great to do the festival. On the
other hand, all the people involved knew this
was the only time they could do it and next
year—the year after—it’d be impossible to do
it again. It was a bit of an intense situation.
But it was great to play. There were a lot of
people and we played in an old cinema—it
was fantastic.
It sounds very bittersweet.
In a way—the moment you can do something
and that night and the exchange with the
music and the people there and all the stories,
in itself was of course fantastic.
I can’t think of many bands that have played
a festival on the eve of re-revolution. What’s
it like for such a politically literate band to
be put in that situation?
People involved in that festival came from
different countries from North Africa and
the Middle East. Some of them lived in
Europe before and had seen the Ex. The
invitation was not based on The Ex’s political
outspokenness from the 80s albums. I think
those things lay more subtle and I think it was
mostly a musical choice. It has to do with who
we are and how we do things. That fits with
a festival like the one in Egypt much better
than with Lollapalooza, for example. We are
part of an underground metro network and
we ourselves are a station, too. We travel from
station to station and these people set up a
station in Cairo and we fit there. And Cairo
was full of surprises too for us—we were not
confident and outspoken, we were curious
and surprised and went fully into the sound
on the Friday at midday when the prayers
came from hundreds of mosques.
You have a lot of experience on the festival
circuit—how has festival culture changed
in the last fifteen years?
That’s a hard question to answer. Every
now and then, we end up in festivals
that are really special—not connected to
LiveNation or something. Imagine a small
village somewhere in the mountains where
the local people are preparing calamaras
and there’s no security and there’s only one
cop who got really drunk the night before
because he liked the music so much. That
kind of festival culture … that’s from all
times. Sometimes if we think there aren’t
any good festivals around then we organize
our own festival. That’s what we did last
year. We called it the Ex Festival. Every now
and then, luckily we end up quite a lot of
times in places where people create festivals
on a very simple human level. Not a big
blah-blah-blah.
What is the least festival-like festival the Ex
ever played, and what happened?
I think of our show in Ankara, Turkey,
which was not informal at all in the first
place. The reason for the invitation was
400 years of cultural and trade relations
between Turkey and the Netherlands. A few
people working at the embassy were Ex fans
from their youth and they suggested the Ex
to come and play. All was well-organised
but the place where we played in Ankara
was tiny and we had to improvise with the
sound system. Andy had to stand in front of
the entrance since the stage was too small so
people bumped into him all the time. But a
hundred people were there and went wild,
dancing and shouting. The people from
the embassy were happily surprised, and it
was a great night. This formal informality
is great—there is always a way to leave the
paved road with the signs and rules and
that’s very important in music.
Why has the Ex lasted so song? What keeps
you going?
Making exactly the music you like to make,
and keeping changing and don’t get stuck in
some way mono-minded thing. That helps—
variation helps. Not doing really long tours
helps to survive! Eating good food helps. Like
we’re having now for Kat’s birthday a very
nice meal! And on tour also, playing in places
where you meet people who have a heart
for the music and do their best not only to
get loads of people into the venue but also
organizing it really nicely—having a good
meal and a whole entourage of people, and as
you go from place to place you are welcome.
You have a direct human connection with the
people who set up the show. Some people
became really good friends through the
years. That really helps as well. One thing is
to always work on new music and to never
create any borders, or accept any borders. And
not doing any super-long tours. Terry is also
saying—what is quite important is not trying
to have your band in some sort of expansional
growth, a thing that you have to get bigger and
bigger within two years or three years or blah-
blah-blah. Try to not work with managers
and lawyers. And don’t sign any contracts!
Security is always dangerous! We don’t like
security at the gigs, and they are there anyway!
They don’t understand that we don’t like them
to be there. Sometimes it gets a bit irritating
on both sides. They usually have no idea what
kind of situation they are in, and they behave
like they’re in a warzone while the opposite
is true—they’re in a place where music is
happening. They start doing things that work
so against the whole evening and the whole
thing going on, and we don’t like that so we
start to send them away. And of course they
think they are the people who should send
people away, so then they get confused and
then we usually win! It happened a few times
that security started to push the audience, and
then we start pushing the security and then
… it’s not something brag about! But that’s a
thing that can be annoying.
41
The Ex has always had a political undertone.
Do you find yourself leaning toward the
political when you compose lyrics?
I write the lyrics but it’s not something I do
completely alone. Because the four of us are …
we make the music together, so when I write
lyrics, I write things that come to my mind,
of course. But it has to do also with the four
of us. I’d never use some lyrics that the three
other people don’t connect to. And sometimes
Andy comes with ideas or just says something
in conversation that triggers an idea for lyrics.
Because we speak English most of the time in
the band because Andy is from the U.K., it’s
not just only me and something that comes
only from my mind. Then again, I don’t see
it directly as a pure political thing. It’s more
collected with the way we do things anyway.
And that’s independent and everything. If
some people think the ideas and the words
that are in the song are political, that’s their
take on it.
So more of a personal politics?
I’m definitely not preaching. I’d rather trigger
people to start thinking for themselves about
something. It’s not one direction—not how I
think is how everybody should think. That’s
not it. Actually the opposite! We talk a lot, we
travel a lot, we have ideas and dialogue and
that already gives a good basis for what fits the
Ex and what not. But yes, in the end it’s what
I come up with: stories, observations, views
that I put in such a way that they are never
pedantic but rather challenging the mind—
turning brains upside down and convictions
inside out.
Is there any pressure to maintain the
momentum and experimentation the
Ex has had through the years? Or does it
just come organically? There have been
countless projects everyone is involved with
at any moment. Is it ever exhausting?
No, no—it’s the opposite of pressure. It’s the
freedom you experience and the freedom you
take to do whatever comes up in your mind
and out of your fingers and voice and hands.
The music especially … if there’s no pressure
and no obligations, it gives a lot of energy.
It’s the opposite of feeling burned out. If you
ever feel tired, I advise people to start making
music and they’ll get a lot of energy.
So re-energizing the soul?
Definitely! Cars could run on music, I think!
Probably your music! You’re a thrilling live
act. Have you had any favorite moments
on tour? Or met any crowds that struck a
chord with you?
The amazing thing about touring how we try
to do it is to make every concert different from
any other concert. So to not have something
like … to feel like it doesn’t matter where you
are? We always say immediately yes when
there’s an invitation from a country that we’ve
never played before. Because that always gives
an extra chance to a complete new experience.
That makes it hard to choose! If every gig is
the same and there is one with one person
clapping really loud, you might choose that
one as being special. But because we play in
Romania and Ethiopia and Russia and Brazil
and the U.S. and Scotland and Mexico, the
excitement is in the fact that the people in
the audiences are really different. Maybe in
Finland during the gig, the people are a bit
cool, and you think, ‘Ah, I don’t know if the
42
gig is so good?’ But afterwards, people come
up individually, completely raving and buying
all your CDs! It’s completely different from
Mexico where people climb on the stage like,
‘Arg-rg-rg-rg-rg-rg!’ And it’s both great, and
the fact that it’s different is great.
How frequently do you find yourself
experimenting with new instruments? Do
you pick up instruments as you travel?
It’s not really in the instruments. The Ex
started 37 years ago and Terry still plays
the same guitar! But it’s the way of playing
that’s different. We’re quite simple with the
instruments, actually. The only thing that’s
changed in the last ten years is Andy plays a
baritone guitar also, but he changed it a bit to
his liking. The [2011] Catch My Shoe album is
the first one that doesn’t have a bass player—
it’s Andy playing the baritone guitar.
You joined the Ex as a singer in 2009,
but you’d collaborated with them before
that. How did you first start working
with them, and how did you end up their
frontperson?
We met once in 2004 when we were playing
a concert—I was playing with a duo Zea
and the Ex was playing, so we met, blah
blah blah. It was great, actually! When the
Ex had existed 25 years in 2004, they did
this amazing big convoy tour with lots of
musicians, including Getatchew Mekurya
from Ethiopia and Mohammed Jimmy
Mohammed, many Ethopian musicians, but
also musicians from France and Italy. And
they also invited us—me and [co-founder]
Remko—to come and play, so we went with
the convoy tour. And that’s really a good
way to get to learn each other much better!
After that, we did some tours together more
and more. Then in 2008 … the Ex has been
doing lots of projects in Ethiopia, and they
thought it would be a good idea to bring me
and Remko to Ethiopia, and that was really
fantastic. I also played with Terry and Andy
in the Ex. That’s a quick history of how we
met and performed together before I joined
the Ex. When they asked me, I was surely
into playing with three amazing musicians
and starting something new. I asked my
mom and my girlfriend and they said that
I should do it, so I did. We started from
scratch making all new songs—it felt like a
new band.
You have so much history—how do you
put a set list together?
It’s always the new songs that we play. The
newest set we have. We don’t go back in history
too much. Now we will be playing with Ken
Vandermark and we’ll rehearse with him and
also adjust the set a bit. It’s more the fact that
when we play with Ken, maybe we think
about the set a bit different than yesterday or
last weekend. But it’s always focused on new
songs.
Why?
Nostalgia is like a drug—like Ritalin. Maybe
nice at times, but it slows you down. We
always have new ideas and new things to say
and that gives loads of energy and so we can
continue. New ideas and new music are the
best drugs—that’s why.
THE EX’S THE EX AT BIMHUIS IS
AVAILABLE NOW FROM EX RECORDS.
VISIT THE EX AT THEEX.NL.
SUBHUMANS
Interview by Linda A. Rapka
Illustration by Walt! Gorecki

As the frontman of influential English anarcho-punk band Subhumans and punk/ska groups Citizen Fish and Culture Shock, Dick
Lucas expounds against war, corruption, corporate greed, and systematic cultural oppression. Subhumans formed in Southwest
England in 1980 and experimented with rock tempos, blues melodies and instrumentation not usually heard in traditional punk.
Splitting in 1985, they entertained several brief reunions until reforming more permanently in 1998 with an extensive tour of the
UK and U.S., and continue to perform regularly. Rotating among an incestuous mix of musical projects, Lucas has remained steadily
active with Citizen Fish—which shares several Subhumans members—since 1990, and recently regrouped with Culture Shock, a
short-lived band formed just after the initial Subs split (featuring several members who went on to form Citizen Fish).

I was your pen pal when I was 12.
Dick Lucas (vocals): What? Really?
In the early 1990s, soon after I discovered
punk and the Subhumans, I sent you a letter
in the mail and you actually responded. Do
you still write back to fans?
Yeah, you know—I try to. Of course now it’s
all by email.
At the first Subhumans show I went to,
someone threw a shoe at your head, a crowd
of people jumped onstage and unplugged
your equipment, and we were all pepper
sprayed.
I remember one massive show we did in San
Bernardino, in 1998. That’s right—a shoe did
hit me in the head. It was the most ridiculous
show we ever did. The place was the size of an
airplane hangar. It was just stupid. We were
just so minimalized by the whole event. We
were on a massive stage standing as close as
possible to each other just to remind ourselves
of what we actually were: a punk rock band.
There were two to three fights breaking
out every five minutes off in the distance.
The power went out and the crowd started
chanting ‘bullshit,’ and the security guard
came out with his batons and pistols and
whatever else was wrapped around his waist
looking at me saying I had to tell all the people
to get off stage. There were about 200 people
on the stage who wouldn’t move at all—they
were just shaking my hand saying, ‘Hey, Dick
great to meet you! Will you take a picture?’
Luckily the sound came back on and we were
able to keep on playing.
Your lyrics raise a lot of political and social
issues, from war and corporate greed to
systematic cultural oppression. What is
the most significant issue facing the world
today that you feel most compelled to
create a conversation about?
The biggest in the world today is what will
happen if we continue the way we’re treating
the planet. Estimates I’ve read about say we’ve
got about 85 years before the food runs out.
That and pollution, the ice caps melting… the
environment, in one word. I think personally
feeding the food we grow to animals who
consume such a vast amount of these
resources—and then eating the animals—is
a dumb way to go about it. We should leave
the animals out of the chain altogether and
go vegetarian. Not necessarily for moral
reasons but out of necessity—it’s better for
the planet. Underlying—or overlying—our
INTERVIEW
problems is that people’s greed goes before
need, perpetuated by the banks, governments
and the whole corporate way of dealing with
everything that the 1% use to keep us tied
down by economic chains.
These problems have persisted for a long
time. Too long. Is there hope?
There’s got to be hope. Without hope that’s
it—game over, everyone goes back to being
selfish and debased and not doing anything
nice to anybody else. It would become every
man for himself, and there are too many people
doing that already. Hope has to spring eternal.
It’s when enough people come to realize that
their lifestyle is supporting the status quo, and
the status quo is not supporting their lives
on the planet. People changing their own
personal behavior, en masse, makes a lot of
difference.
I’ve always been curious about the
inspiration behind recording your friend
Steve Hamilton’s song—and a personal
favorite of mine—‘Susan.’ A dark piano
ballad of sorts. It’s an unexpected departure
from the traditional punk oeuvre.
Steve, a local friend in England, wasn’t in a
band and asked, ‘Can you do something with
this?’ And I thought, ‘This is quite good.’ I
used to like messing around on piano so I sat
down and worked out how it could fit to a
piano tune. It was recorded on [guitarist]
Bruce’s grandmother’s piano onto an old-
fashioned tape recorder, the kind where you
press play and record—clunk!—with a cassette
tape. I played through the song with the lyrics
in front of me a few times, with the lead break
in the middle just made up every time. Then
we got to the studio and Bruce recorded bass
and some clicking noises for some reason.
There was no sort of ‘It’s not punk enough!’
or whatever—we just did it.
You should have performed it in San
Bernardino.
That might have have started a riot.
The last Subhumans studio album, Internal
Riot, was released in 2007. Are there plans
for a new record?
Our drummer Trotsky lives in Germany and
it’s very difficult to get the time to get together
and practice. If we all get together over four
days, the new songs need to be played a
lot. Internal Riot took a few years to get all
the songs written. It’s on the list of things
to do. High up there. We’ve got a few new
songs but nothing is ready quite yet. There’s
another dysfunctional thing going on in
that our original bassist Phil is learning ‘The
Knowledge’ to become a cab driver in London.
It’s an immense task that takes three years
of learning and passing a series upon series
of tests. He’s approaching the end of it but
luckily we have a chap called Jay who’s able to
play gigs while Phil’s busy expanding his brain
cells. It’s a fact that cab drivers’ brains actually
increase in size physically. The dendrons and
neurons actually grow in order to have the
capacity to hold all the new knowledge.
Does this make you want to become a
cabby?
It doesn’t necessarily make you smarter—it
just makes your brain larger.
Your other group Citizen Fish remains
active—you just released a new album.
And Culture Shock also has some tour
dates coming up soon. How do you juggle
all these projects?
By sort of working out a few months
in advance what everyone’s doing with
childcare and part-time jobs, and which
band’s free when. It gets a bit tricky with
kids and when time is taken up by serious
regular-money jobs like teaching music
or whatever. Being in a band is neither
predictable nor reliable. At least not these
bands, anyway! It’s remarkable these
bands can function at all considering we’re
approaching 45 or 50, but it’s fun trying. It
sounds like you enjoy keeping busy.
It’s good to be busy. You need free time in
order to create the stuff with which to keep
busy. For us, without new songs there’s
nothing for a band to keep touring with,
and if you haven’t got free time you can’t
create new material. It’s a lot to do with
just turning off the laptop and phone—not
watching telly which I don’t do much of
anyway—and setting up a few hours before
going to sleep and just having a go at it. You
also paint. How did you get into art?
I bought some cheap acrylic paints when
we did a gig in Poland in the 90s that cost
the equivalent of £2, and I went home and
messed about with them. I didn’t do much
for a few years, then started having another
go at it in the 2000s. I knocked out about
200 paintings in about two years. I paint 10
a year now instead of 100. More thought and
skill go into them now. There’s a website,
madasabrush.org, on which me and my
partner Michelle have put up quite a bit.
Do you display your work in your home?
Every available space is covered in paintings.
My garage has about 100 tacked up. The
other year there were all these wasps in front
of the paintings, and I had to hire someone
to spray and get rid of them. I’d been keeping
the paintings back-to-back in plastic bags to
avoid water damage, and the wasps had gone
in between them, eating their way through the
plastic and the canvases. We found a whole
wasp nest nestled in between two paintings.
They had made a giant hole right through the
middle of the two paintings.
You could have made that into its own
unique piece. Wasp art.
Right—what you could do is varnish it to
make it a work of art in itself. But wasp nests
are made with amazingly complex filaments,
and you touch them and they fall apart. I
could start a wasp farm inside my paintings.
How big is the wasp market?
What are your thoughts on the upcoming
U.S. presidential election? What would you
do if you lived here?
Emigrate? Politics are run by trillions of
dollars. Money runs the entire political
system in America. I’m still trying to catch up
with what that Bernie chap is saying, but he
seems to be on the left side of politics and up
for social reconstruction instead of screwing
people over, which is breath of fresh air—but
it may be made up, who knows? Donald
Trump is worse than a joke because he’s being
taken seriously by people. He must bring out
in people the sort of nasty caveman, guttural,
selfish instincts they dare not say in public,
but on telly with Trump saying them they
think it’s OK to say yes to his reactionary racist
homophobic misogynistic bullshit. Trump
being on TV is just a sign of the times, and it’s
awful. He’s a Republican. Abraham Lincoln
was a Republican. If he could see Trump now
he would be turning in his grave.
This is exactly why we need music and art
to inspire the type of alternative thinking
needed in the world.
Right. If I put what I wrote in my lyrics into
a book I could sell maybe fifty copies. But
more people will be interested if it’s set to a
good tune. Music also brings people together
in social gatherings like gigs and shows. You
can’t get that on the Internet.
VISIT DICK LUCAS AND SUBHUMANS
AT CITIZENFISH.COM.
47
VIAL
Interview by Kristina Benson and Chris Ziegler
Photography by Christina Craig
Vial’s songs are roughly one and a half minutes long each—there-and-gone bursts of energy that practically burn you as they come
out of the speakers, just like good hardcore punk should. After a well-received demo and some random press from Pitchfork, they
released their debut vinyl—a 7” EP on Cut Rate, also home of a great Audacity 10”—in September. They’re modest (and hilarious)
in person but they’re ferocious live, and their songs have much more going on than just high-intensity complaining. In just a few
seconds, they dismantle and examine topics like gentrification (as in the song “Move”) and gender relationships (“You’re Not
Safe”) and the general alienation of wandering through the world of today. They speak now from their Egg Van as confused trick-or-
treaters sneak peeks from across the street.
At what point did you cross the line
from ‘people in a room together, with
instruments’ to feeling like you were really
a band together?
Kaitlin: I still feel like we’re barely a band.
Other bands play with us and we’re like,
‘They’re real bands.’
Krista: It’s like outsider art—for me at least.
I’m not musically inclined, and when I’m
writing lyrics, I’m like, ‘OK, this is what
sounds good.’ I feel like that’s how outsider
artists do it. I think the less, the better.
What was the first show you ever played?
Denee: The East 7th Street warehouse—just
a weirdo punk warehouse downtown. I think
with Blazing Eye. It was pretty good for a first
show—we were all pretty nervous, we hadn’t
played in awhile. But it was fun—it’s a good
full community there.
The coverage of Vial is like all random
people who saw you at a show somewhere
and loved it, and then Pitchfork. What does
being on Pitchfork do for a band like Vial?
Denee: It was like, ‘What the fuck were we
doing there?’ We do get a lot of really good
random blogs from people who’ve seen
us. Then there was the Burger Boogaloo
reviewer—she hated us! She said we were
really yell-y and only played twelve minutes.
‘The food here is awful, and the portions
are so small!’
Kaitlin: We enjoyed that a lot! And they called
us a girl band.
Jon: ‘I was really excited for this all-girl band,
but they were really yell-y and played for
twelve minutes.’ We were like, ‘We’re doing
something right!’
Krista: We get compared to riot grrl a lot—
Denee: And we’re not even all girls.
Which of your elementary school friends
would love Vial the most and why?
Denee: I have a best friend from elementary
school—she’s basically like my sister. And she
was always super encouraging and we would
jam together when we were younger but I
never played in a band with her. I think she
would be stoked for me—I wouldn’t say she’d
be surprised.
Kaitlin: Krista went to pre-school with me
and she’s the singer. I think we were just like
freaks from the get-go. You know there’s that
one other kid in the first grade: ‘Oh, you get
benched all the time too?’
Which of your teachers would be least
surprised that you’re in Vial now?
48
Denee: I was pretty openly weird from an
early age so I don’t think anyone would be
surprised. But I was really close to my high
school French teacher. I had her four years,
and she had very interactive class projects and
I was always singing or dancing. I think the
first time I actually played guitar in front of
my peers was in her class doing a weird French
song for a project so I think she would be
really stoked.
Kaitlin: Honestly, in high school there was like
us, and there was like the rest of the school.
So none! We were just freaks. All of our guy
friends were skateboarders and we just hung
out with them—they were barely graduating.
I don’t think any of our teachers would be
surprised. We had different colored hair and
we had cat collars and all that.
Do you feel like you chose freak-dom or
was it thrust upon you?
Kaitlin: Probably both. If you’re not
conventionally what-is-beautiful at the time,
you’re not going to be popular. Or if you don’t
have a lot of money. And I also chose it by
being attracted to extremes. When I first met
one of my best friends, I was in seventh grade
and I saw her and I was like, ‘I have to be
friends with this girl!’ She had a shaved head
and bangs. It was the first really extreme female
that I’d seen like that. And when I first started
hanging out again with Krista in junior high,
I totally remember we had no friends.
What is something you know to be true
that no one else believes?
Krista: Hmm—shopping at places like H&M
and Forever 21 does matter and it does affect
other people. Being in [the] fashion [industry],
one of my main reasons why I make clothing
is cuz I don’t want them to be made in China
or in third world countries. All my teachers
would be like, ‘No, it’s fine—they’re not being
made in third world countries.’ I feel like
people don’t realize that.
Denee: There’s a lot of people playing music
today that don’t really give much of a fuck
about the music itself. I feel like a lot of people
want to do it for like Internet popularity or
something, and that’s like a sad truth. That’s
what makes the real stuff that much better—
people who are actually doing it for the right
reasons. It’s necessary for them to be a happy
person or to just get by. That’s their creative
output and that’s what they have to do. And
that’s the sad truth—a lot of people are just
doing it for the wrong reasons.
What are the right reasons?
Denee: For yourself, and not to please anybody
else—not cuz you’re thinking about what
your fucking rating on Pitchfork is going
to be. And also that the phrase ‘girl band’ is
necessary to use when talking about a band.
It isn’t. Even if the band is comprised of all
females, ‘band’ works just fine.
What is the most irreplaceable record or
tape or physical music artifact you have?
Denee: The one record I’m super protective
over is a 7” by this obscure UK punk band
called the Molesters. One of my favorite punk
songs of all time—given as a birthday present
from my boss Larry Hardy, along with a stack
of amazing rare punk singles. And ALL of my
Neil Young records. He’s the best songwriter.
He’s gotten me through a lot of tough times.
What prompted you to write ‘Move’?
Krista: My fiancée and I had already lived in
L.A. for a year, but we were moving into a new
house. I got in a weird altercation with my
neighbor—she was pissed I was there, but she
had every right to be angry. I was just as angry
when I lived in San Francisco. It’s full circle.
She’s allowed to be mad. We’re all allowed to
be mad. But we can try to be decent to each
other. I can point the finger, and people can
point it at me. It’s a neverending cycle.
Kaitlin: Some people move to town like,
‘What’s up! I’m here!’ Dude, there is so much
more here than just your fucking party.
On ‘You’re Not Safe,’ Krista sings: ‘You’re
not safe, I’m the enemy.’ Who is ‘you’ and
who is ‘I’?
Krista: For that song, I’m singing about being
a woman, or a girl, and growing up and
feeling I’m supposed to act a certain way or
be a certain way. I was singing to the men
in my life. Not ones I’m dating, but family
members—or like to any older male in
general, where it’s like … I’m not this cute
young girl. Like, ‘I can stand my ground.’
Being a woman you can feel threatened, and
I was trying to be like, ‘I’m not just going to
bow down—I’m not submissive and weak, so
sleep with one eye open!’
Do you feel like you’re part of a
counterculture right now? A subculture? Or
just some little tentacle of mass culture?
Jon: I feel like we maybe grew up in our
respective subcultures … but it’s hard to claim
that when you’re a little older? We’re doing
our thing. We don’t feel the need to be like,
‘I’m punk.’
Kaitlin: Which is sad!
I like how you’re like, ‘Yeah, we’re not really
punk, other than being in this ripping
punk band.’
Kaitlin: We can’t talk to people about it. I just
don’t tell people I’m in a band—people you
meet at school or work who are like, ‘What
do you do?’ ‘I hang out with my friends.’ You
know: ‘You’re in a band? Do you play arenas?’
We’re really so insular.
Do you feel like there’s a limit on where the
band can or can’t go because of the things
you sing about? Like your future as a band
means you’re going to get pushed back in
line by bands that sing about nothing?
Jon: We don’t have a future!
That’s kind of refreshing!
Kaitlin: We’re not trying to live off it.
So what is the least likely next step for Vial?
Headlining Coachella? A reality TV show?
Denee: We’re not really going anywhere, just
like Jon said. And that’s where we want to
be. We don’t want to make this into a job or
anything—we want it to be fun and we just
want to be able to hang out every week. If
we happen to put out a another record, that
would be awesome.
Krista: We’re just so go-with-the-flow, but
we’re not going to headline some corporate-
sponsored show,
Kaitlin: We talk about a West Coast tour but
it costs money and time—everyone has jobs
or in school full time so it’s hard. I hope we
can at least record a tape again. I can’t imagine
us having a reality show? I don’t even know
what that would be—drinking beer and
making fun of each other? It would be very
boring. It could be a bedtime show. We are so
bad in front of the camera.
But you’re so fearless about playing shows.
Kaitlin: But we get so nervous.
Is that what all the beers are for?
Kaitlin: Yeah! We hype each other up too. It’s
nerve-wracking. You get up there and it’s like,
‘This is what I made.’ And everyone could be
like ‘fuck that!’ We’ve played shows where we
don’t fit in but we’re always like … fuck it, as
long as we’re having fun, that’s what matters.
VIAL’S SELF-TITLED EP IS AVAILABLE
NOW FROM CUT RATE RECORDS.
VIAL PLAYS WITH FLESH WORLD ON
SAT., DEC. 5, AT A SECRET LOCATION.
VISIT VIAL AT VIAL-BAND.TUMBLR.
COM FOR MORE INFO.
INTERVIEW
GDNA
Interview by Darian Momanaee
Photography by dana washington

GDNA is one of those producer-musician polymaths who can pretty

much do everything. A former (and disillusioned) electrical engineer
turned composer-guitarist-singer after a chance encounter with an
instrument he initially didn’t even want to touch, he now produces
and makes music that he describes as “organic soul with future
essence.” (And he’s right.) Besides this year’s solo release Quad-
rants, he has recently put out a project with rapper Soopacrzy, and
he has much more on the way. He joined L.A. RECORD to talk about
the barriers that musicians face in a post-label era, how long it took
him to convince himself this is what he wanted to do, and how to
get the courage to make fear into something good.
Youssou N’Dour—what is your connection Not exactly. Los Angeles still felt like this
to his music specifically? Personally and in distant exotified place. I had been to L.A.
terms of African diaspora? many times growing up, but never really got to
When I was three, when I would play back experience it. Something funny I just realized:
his Recordings Live In Concert, my dad would the local television news and radio were all
also record other live concerts—different Los Angles based, so half of the information
African musics across the country. And they’d was irrelevant to our lives. Like city politics,
be speaking in some African dialect, and crime, traffic reports and a lot of the times the
I’d always say, ‘Mom! Dad! What are they weather—local weather reports would post
saying?’ My parents speak Amharic, one of about L.A. weather but not Redlands. And we
like eighty dialects in Ethiopia, but as a child got the tail end of L.A.’s pollution. The I.E. is
I thought it was all a homogenous thing. surrounded by mountains so the smog would
One African language. So discovering the just sit there … all menacing-like. Inland
depth of uniqueness, the languages across the Empire is pretty diverse overall, but Redlands
continent and across the world of African- not so much. A quaint conservative middle-
dash-Black music was good for me early on. class suburb where I was called a ‘nigger’ by
I thought of Africa as a monolith, and I think age five. Now those instances were few and
that’s difficult to avoid when growing up in far between … but that wouldn’t be my last.
America. I’d ask questions like, ‘ … are there Great school district, though …
PlayStations in Africa? Are there … roads What kind of person do you feel like you
in Africa?’ Having so many African musics were as a child? What changed you? What
playing inside my household … it definitely would have been different without music?
formed my worldview. And having a father I was the sensitive kid that picked flowers
with such Pan-Africanist ideologies was with the girls and made bracelets for our
definitely strong for my development. moms. I paid dearly for that braclet. I had
Tell me more about your dad. some low-key bullies, nothing crazy. In fact,
My dad … he’s had an interesting childhood in rebranding efforts, I joined their ranks
himself, given that a lot of Ethiopians listen and started bullying another kid. It never felt
to Ethiopian music. His father played a lot like me, but I guess that’s ‘fitting in,’ right?
of music from around the world: music from I eventually got to apologize to the kid in
India, Latin America ... something he was middle school. I was also obsessed with video
very fortunate to experience, and he passed games and Pokémon cards. Still obsessed
that lineage down to me. My mom mainly with video games—I camped out for an xbox
listened to Ethiopian music—that and Celine 360. I continued onto high school, much to
Dion. So my dad made it a point to play my ire—I’ve hated school all my life. I had
music from around the world so my sister one of my bigger musical awakenings at that
and I would have a deeper understanding of time. I discovered artists like Erykah Badu,
music. the Roots, D’angelo, Prince, A Tribe Called
So he did that instructively? Like he was Quest … at the same time The Chappelle Show
trying to teach you? was happening along with The Boondocks. My
Yeah, but he did it passively. He never told my entire worldview was formed around these
sister and I, ‘This is a lesson that I’m teaching movements. Hip-hop even got me to start
you right now!’ reading recreationally—a practice I would not
What was it like growing up in the Inland previously dare partake. Real-world me felt a
Empire? Did you feel like you were growing sense of disillusionment from the student
up in Los Angeles? loan debt, coming into a fuller realization of

50
INTERVIEW 21
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what it means to be black in America, and
the role of capitalism in our lives. With that
disillusionment also came growth as I got a
fuller understanding of myself, the world, and
my role in the world. In childhood I revered
my sister. She was older and cooler. In high
school I started becoming more independent
of her influence, which led me to cool new
musics. Coming out of college in debt and
realizing I didn’t want to be an electrical
engineer led me to make some interesting
calls—some good, some bad. But that’s life,
and we’re all gonna die one day so fuck it. As
a listener, music has helped form my view of
politics, social justice, and the world. As a
creator, in addition to everything that came
with listening, came a deeper understanding
of myself. Unpacking and discovering the
difference between what I believe and what
I’ve been socialized to believe—which is an
entire rabbit hole in and of itself.
You and your sister made something on
BandCamp together—is she making music
right now?
Not at all. When she was in high school, she
tried to start a rock band. She got a guitar
for Christmas. My parents said they weren’t
gonna do it but they did it, and played for
about a few weeks. She was really excited at
first! But from them on she dropped it. Years
later I ended up picking up guitar, completely
forgetting my sister’s experience. And I had
a $60 secondhand First Act drum set—you
know those? From Target? I bought one
secondhand. All my life I wanted to play the
drums, but I never lived in an environment
where I could play the drums and not annoy
my parents, my sister or the neighbors. So in
college I navigated a way I could play drums
while the roommates were in class. I got my
first electrical engineering internship and
absolutely hated it. I’d get to work at 7:53, sit
in my car for 5 minutes knowing I could clock
in and get to my desk in 2 … I’d get it down to
the minute. I realized I had to do something
with my life but I didn’t know what. So I
took a fifth year with the intention of figuring
out what to do with my life cuz that wasn’t
gonna be it. I went back home and me and
my sister crossed over—we were home at the
same time. I started playing drums and was
recording through Audacity—free recording
software, very limited. My sister said, ‘Let’s
record’ and I started doing really silly freestyles
as a joke and we released it on BandCamp
that evening. All my friends thought I was
serious and they were disappointed when they
heard it: ‘Oh, I thought it was gonna be for
real?’ So after hearing that and having enjoyed
recording, I got bit by the bug and I put out
my first project two months later.
What was the first show you ever played
like? Was it what you expected?
It was another cringeworthy experience.
This time last year actually! I was singing
along while doing APC stuff, playing my
soul-infused electronic goodness. Even had
a guitar solo. That show was bad for three
reasons. One, feedback. Two, bad sound.
Three, it was an EDM night … I wasn’t told.
Made a few fans amidst what felt like a world
crashing down around me. I’d been holding
off live performance for a while purely out of
fear. But as with most things in life, you just
have to get in there, suck, and suck less every
INTERVIEW
time. On a long flight back from Ethiopia
a few weeks after releasing my first project,
I spoke with an older man that sat next to
me. He said something along the lines of,
‘If you’re not feeling out of your league or
underqualified on a daily basis, you’re not
living.’ So whenever I feel like a small fish, I
remind myself it’s a good thing.
How have you grown since you first started?
It’s been a short time since 2011.
Absolutely. The smallest aspect is actually
having gotten better at music—more refined
as far as my understanding and what I wanna
create. Having decided to enter music as a full-
time thing … it took me about a year to tell
myself that’s what I wanted to do, and it took
about as much time to tell my parents. In that
time there was a lot of ups and downs. Fears of
potentially ruining my life! I haven’t escaped
that, but I’ve gotten far more reasonable. I’ve
really been forced to come face to face with
my insecurities and understand who I am and
how I interact with people. There was a time
where I was an extremely thirsty producer:
‘Hey, I do music too! We should collab!’ Even
though I hadn’t even heard their music! You
see their play counts, you see that they’re bigger
and that’s something you wanna be a part of.
The biggest part was realizing you don’t have
to make music with everyone you’re friends
with. Let things happen naturally and be OK
with yourself.
What is the role that vulnerability plays in
the music you’re making right now? Do you
feel vulnerable as an artist?
Absolutely. The biggest was when I started
singing. For about two years I’ve been singing.
All my life I sucked! My parents and my
sister let me know, and I knew it! But I just
wanted to sing. I loved singing. Knowing that
I sucked did not stop me! Something that
kept me going … I don’t wanna say brilliance,
but ‘moments of brilliance’ is the phrase. I’d
think, ‘That ONE second did not sound
bad! Everything else was horrible, but there
might be something there!’ That was gnawing
at me, and one day I decided fuck it—I’m
gonna do it. I did a remix of ‘Fall In Love’ by J
Dilla and ‘MmmHmm’ by Flying Lotus and
Thundercat, and the day before of releasing
it, I was so scared! I’m singing on a song! The
idea of singing and wanting people to think
that it was good was something 23 years of
my life had built of knowing my singing was
bad. Having to unpack that, get through it,
develop my voice, be secure in my voice …
that’s the part I feel vulnerable.
You produce for other acts—what do you
think of your work when you aren’t singing
or doing vocals?
It’s like a different part of me that I’m able
to satisfy. I absolutely love producing for
others or having people come on to my
tracks without my voice on it. I do love to
sing. But sometimes you just like to focus
on the production. One of my favorites I
did with my longtime collaborator from
Chicago, Frank Leone, Donnie Trumpet of
the Social Experiment and Akenya—she’s
an amazing vocalist who was on Chance the
Rapper’s #10Day project. ‘Windows,’ with
Alex Wiley—she did the vocals on it. One
of my favorites is a song I did called ‘Bad
Mutha Fucka.’ I did that in the basement
of my uncle’s home in Denver while I was
figuring out what to do with my life, and I
had this rapper Macon Hamilton and now
one of my favorite people to work with and
a great friend, Waju. I DJed for him this past
weekend at a block party or little festival and
to see him go from zero to 60 … beforehand,
he’s just relaxing, really dead on energy.
And when he goes on, he’s just channeling
something. The first time we worked together
was ‘Bad Mutha Fucka.’ That got me my first
good looks, you could say. I think that one
got me Anthony Valadez’ attention—he has a
show on KCRW. He’s a figure I pay attention
to. So for that to all come together … one
of my first collaborations, one of my favorite
people to work with and the song that kinda
got me recognized by someone I had a deep
respect for … that takes the cake. Some stuff
I’m working on now that’s not released—one
song with Ill Camille, which I am singing
on, but I love the production and I love
her rapping. I did music with Fat Ron, an
Inglewood rapper who was recently on SiR’s
album Seven Sundays on ‘In The Sky.’ We have
a lot of shared ideas beyond the music. I love
when I’m able to work with a rapper, singer
or other musician, and the first times we meet
are just hours of talking. Doesn’t have to have
anything to do with music.
What role does the internet have in your
music, and in your life?
Everything. I don’t believe there would have
been a chance for me musically five or ten
years prior. A piece of it was that instant
gratification with that first pretend project
I put out with my sister—to hear instant
feedback without having to pass my demos
in Venice Beach or whatever. And not only
that, my brand of music and the music of
so many others don’t fit the mold of most
labels. We talk about gatekeepers today if
I’m talking with other musicians or other
creatives trying to break in, and it does not
compare to the gatekeeping that the labels
had once had. I’m able to put out my music
how I want without having to appease a non-
creative executive that wants to feel creative
and have that spill over to me and my music.
The feeling of freedom! Although … I love
social media and what it’s allowed me to
do, but there’s a whole host of questions.
I’m at an event and I want people to know
I’m at this event, so you have to make sure
you’re always thinking about these things
that really don’t matter? But then I get to
connect with people that listen to my music
and I get to hear how it affects them. So
pluses and minuses. But the internet … I’d
be nowhere with out it. Musically. And the
ability to download software, whether legally
or illegally … I don’t know what it’s like to
download illegally. I won’t speak for it. But
the ability to have thousands of dollars of
software on your computer—cuz the barrier
for access to music or really a lot of things is
so high that if I’m gonna get into music at
a young age or any age, I better come from
wealth! So if you’re not coming from wealth,
you can’t go out on a limb and say, ‘Lemme
get that $1,000 software, mom and dad!
Lemme get this brand-new keyboard that I
can’t shop for on eBay or Craigslist!’
Do you have any musical training? What’s
your history as an instrumentalist, and in
finding your voice?
The training for the guitar was minimal. This
isn’t me bragging. This is a bad thing! I’ve only
had two or four months of guitar training.
But I’ve been playing guitar since I was 16.
One day my friend came over and we were
gonna watch a movie, and he said, ‘Want me
to bring my guitar?’ ‘No, man—don’t. I don’t
want you to bring it!’ He brought it against
my wishes and he started teaching me basics.
Like a G major chord, C major—he had no
idea what the names were and I didn’t either. I
was bit by the bug that night. At that point I
was obsessed with video games entirely. When
my dad saw I had an interest in something
that wasn’t video games, he bought me a
guitar the next day.
He was just happy you weren’t playing
video games?
Absolutely. I was practicing for hours. Probably
six to eight hours per day. I was always a good
student in like AP classes, but my grades
started to tank cuz I just loved the guitar.
When I first learned various techniques, I’d sit
there for hours and zone out to reruns of the
Cosbys in my room and just practice til I got
it. I just would not quit! From there I went to
college and my guitar playing dropped. I was
an electrical engineer major and that took a
lot of time. I’d have spurts of inspiration …
but in college there was a piano in one of the
dining halls, so I’d learn songs from YouTube
on my phone. Once I decided to start making
music, I started being able to record myself. I’d
record myself vocally when I had a suspicion
there might be something there, and sure, it
didn’t sound great, but I could hear myself
and hear what needed to be fix and re-record
it and it continued to get better and better.
From there, I started playing piano, got a
MIDI keyboard. It was backwards. From
there I learned how to play the bass, and
then I got better on keys. My second project,
Basement Therapy, was when I was learning
how to play the piano. Quadrants, the project
after that, I was learning how to sing—I sang
on every song. On Basement Therapy, I sang
background on some songs—I needed paint
where it ain’t! And for this next project, I
realized I might’ve done maybe one guitar solo
on Quadrants. But the instrument I started
with was being represented the least. All of
these were like training exercises! So after
coming to that realization … the next project
is incorporating everything I’ve learned about
guitar and everything I’ve learned along the
process. And that is where we are today—that
is how this all came into one.
What do you feel want to get out of making
music at this point in your life?
Freedom, autonomy, self-discovery, and
getting a deeper understanding of the world
around me. People form much of their
understanding of the world through art,
media, and entertainment—for better or
worse. I try not to let my ego shut down
ideas before I can explore them. And I hope
to never make music I don’t like for whatever
reason—for a check or to cash in on the
latest musical trend—because that goes back
to identifying where society ends and you
begin and of course the inevitable gray area
in between. Being honest to the world also
means being truthful with yourself.
VISIT GDNA AT GDNAMUSIC.COM.
53
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 VAS DEFERENS ORGANIZATION
by CHRISTINA CRAIG

LIVE PHOTOS
58 Edited by Debi Del Grande

60 album reviews

WAYBACK MACHINE
62 Ron Garmon

THE INTERPRETER
64 Vas Deferens Organization

COMICS
66 Curated by Tom Child

68 ONE REPORTER’S OPINION

Chris Ziegler

72 BOOKS
Disco’s Out...Murder’s In!
Chris Ziegler
LIVE PHOTOS FALL 2015 ONLINE PHOTO EDITOR
DEBI DEL GRANDE

The Melvins Babes

August 2015 August 2015
The Observatory The Echo

SAMANTHA SATURDAY CHAD ELDER

Chelsea Wolfe
Radkey
September 2015
October 2015
The Regent
Alex’s Bar

MAXIMILIAN HO

Eagles of Death Metal

October 2015
SAMANTHA SATURDAY Teragram Ballroom
SAMANTHA SATURDAY

Tijuana Panthers
September 2015
The Regent

MAXIMILIAN HO DEBI DEL GRANDE

58 LIVE PHOTOS
 Plague Vendor Raw Fabrics
September 2015 August 2015
Bootleg Theater The Roxy

DEBI DEL GRANDE

Mikal Cronin CHAD ELDER

October 2015
The Wiltern

Thundercat
August 2015
Low End Theory Fest

DAVID VALERA MAXIMILIAN HO

The Lovely Bad Things Big Business

October 2015 August 2015
The Observatory The Observatory

LESLIE KALOHI SAMANTHA SATURDAY

LIVE PHOTOS 59

THE
BUTTERTONES
American Brunch
self-released
The Buttertones are an up-and-
coming young band from L.A. and
Long Beach (with current and for-
mer members of Cherry Glazerr,
Jeffertiti’s Nile, Wild Pack of Canar-
ies and Crystal Antlers) who blend
together all the best elements from
50s and early 60s rock ‘n’ roll. Their
style, however, is a very extreme and
dramatic divergence from the bands
they come from, except in terms
of its intensity. American Brunch is
ten high-energy tracks built from
twangy surf guitar riffs, rockabilly
rhythms, a rockin’ saxophone, and
very distinctive crooner-style vocals.
The opening song “Dak’s Back” sets
the standard for the album. Most of
the songs are very up-tempo with
intense build ups and comedowns,
but my favorite is the single excep-
tion “Baby Doll,” which has a slow-
er, more dreamy and ethereal vibe.
Genres are blended here in a way
that compliments and highlights all
their best aspects, while maintain-
ing a their speed, energy and inten-
sity. These songs recall early masters
like the Ventures, Gene Vincent,
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 fortherecord@
larecord.com and physical to:
P.O. Box 21729
Long Beach, CA 90801
If you are in a band and would like to advertise your re-
lease in L.A. RECORD, email advertise@larecord.com
60
ALBUM
REVIEWS
and Eddie Cochran, but with subtle
elements reminiscent of acts such as
Tijuana Panthers, Alan Vega, and
Bruce Joyner, too—and all with a
distinctly upbeat twist.
—Desi Ambrozak
THE CHAPIN
SISTERS
Today’s Not Yesterday
Lake Bottom
Over a decade ago, I walked into
the Echo and feel immediately in
love with these voices calling to
me across the darkened room—
the voices of three siren sisters who
had sultry alto harmonies so tight,
they hurt my heart. (I almost didn’t
notice they were playing tricky
guitar and banjo parts at the same
time.) I’ve been chasing that emo-
tional high ever since, but being a
Chapin Sisters fan is excruciating,
since they record only sporadically
and are more comfortable doing
covers of Britney Spears and the
Everly Brothers than writing solid
material of their own. Since the
departure of sister Jessica Craven in
2010 (“Craven” because she’s Lily
and Abigail Chapin’s half sister, the
daughter of the Freddy Krueger guy
instead of the “Cats in the Cradle”
guy’s brother), Lily and Abigail have
taken turns singing lead. I admit
to being slightly more on Team
Lily: her country-ish breakup track
“Love Come Back” may be the best
on the new album, with a sultry,
almost slurred vocal that’s naive at
the same time, like if Paul Williams
and Jessica Harper’s characters from
Phantom of the Paradise had actu-
ally found genuine love and sired
a daughter who’s now having boy
troubles: “I can’t sleep without you
because that’s when the demons
come. And I hurt myself like you
hurt me / you showed me how it’s
done.” But every track on the al-
bum is a triumphant return to what
we really want: a 70s Troubadour
sound that never really existed but
had really good pedal steel guitar
and organs when it did. And ohh-
hhh, those sinfully good harmonies.
Prepare to lose your soul.
—D.M. Collins
CONTACT FIELD
ORCHESTRA
Mapping The Futures
Gone By EP
Hit + Run
This album plays like a good cock-
tail made from the best ingredi-
ents. Don’t rush it and don’t try
and analyze it—just let it sink in
and then breathe. Like the best
found-footage movies, Contact
Field Orchestra’s fourth release is
an example of connection in the
weirdest way, layering incredible
field recordings with precisely per-
fect overdubs. Sans keyboards and
guitars, these songs would already
provide a powerful and a transfor-
mative experience. But with the
added keyboard parts, the listener is
struck by a haunting link between
old and new. It’s a thoughtful and
deliberate experiment in creation in
the spirit of a mad scientist from a
B-movie, built from raw sampled
beats excavated from the original
source material and brought to life
with keyboards and atmospherics a
la Pink Floyd. There are tones—and
songs—here reminiscent of early
Moby recordings at times, as well
as some as strange as anything that
Tom Waits has come up with. (The
guitars themselves sound haunting
and even slightly drunk.) At times,
music really can be the highest of art
forms, and here we are given a great
example.
—Daniel Sweetland
DEXTER STORY
Wondem
Soundway
Dexter Story is a prolific artist and
multi-genre musician who has
worked with the Gaslamp Killer Ex-
perience and contributed to com-
positions for the amazing Ethiopian
jazz ensemble Ethio Cali, fronted
by Todd Simon and featuring local
legends like Kamasi Washington.
Now Story returns with his second
solo album. Co-produced by Carlos
Niño with recording and writing
by Story himself, this is an album
inspired by a love of soul, jazz, and
funk via the sounds of Ethiopia,
Eritrea, Sudan, Somalia, and Ke-
nya. To combine these vastly differ-
ent musics into a cohesive experi-
ence is no simple feat, but the result
is quite interesting and enjoyable
and Story somehow makes it sound
easy. Fans of the Mulatu Astatke
sound will enjoy the first single “La-
libela,” which starts with a mesmer-
izing repeating keyboard track and
rhythmic drumming, joined by the
horn section and melodic vocals.
Other standouts include “Without
An Address,” featuring a Sudanese-
born singer Alsarah whose singing is
nothing short of enchanting. “Mer-
kato Star” is another hit, which
starts off with a handclap rhythm as
horns fade in as if from a great dis-
tance, setting up the song to build
to colossal heights. Over all, this is
another great contribution to the
burgeoning and diverse jazz scene
developing in Los Angeles today.
—Zachary Jensen
DIVA
Divinity In Thee
Circle Star
It’s rare for such an incredibly per-
sonal album—one steeped in the
vernacular of new age meditation
and liberated from the oppression
of negative thinking—to manifest
as playfully and bubbly as Diva’s
latest effort. Jump-rope rhyme
phrasing, synthesized clav clicks,
cyclical static transmissions and a
downright sexy bass line (or two)
are just a handful of the distinct
touches that make Divinity in
Thee both by and for Diva. Instead
of the self-serious pomp typically
associated with healers, Diva uses
her gentle vocals and focused lyr-
ics to engage the listener in the
first person, and it’s more than
just charming—it’s inviting. She
opens with a request for an open
heart and open mind, and spring-
boards into the cosmic swirl of
“Satori,” a Buddhist term for “un-
derstanding.” The sultry “Blessed”
and the bright, clean beauty of the
earworm title track intertwine the
notions of divine and romantic
love; lust and yearning are allowed
to thrive in the context of purity
and worship. “Infinite Gradient”
surfs along with cosmic Brill
Building shimmer, but instead of
wondering if you’ll still love her
tomorrow, Diva gives herself to
the harmony between darkness
and light. Guest musicians Zumi
Rosow and Matthewdavid provide
delicate licks of saxophone and
lute respectively, harmoniously
situated within the pastel tones of
Diva’s production—and it’s that
notion of harmony that perhaps
best defines Divinity in Thee.
—Christina Gubala
ALBUM REVIEWS

DEREK
CASTELLANO
A Modern Ecstasy
self-released
A Modern Ecstasy is a strange and
powerful journey through a wide
range of stylistic and emotional
changes. We move from the raw
and unnerving “Sanguine,” where
Castellano sings of destruction and
evolution, to the whimsical and
lovely title track where we find some
curious images of balloons and le-
gal rights. There are hints of Pink
Floyd and Frank Zappa sprinkled
throughout but the sound is some-
thing more akin to the Silver Jews
mixed with the Gorillaz. In other
words, this is a refreshingly creative
album. Castellano is in full-on self-
discovery mode on this debut, ex-
ploring not just ideas and images
but also a wide variety of sounds
and rhythms. The album fittingly
ends with an 11-minute mini-opera
of sorts with Castellano jamming
over some strange samples of Alex
Collier, the Andromeda alien con-
tactee. As Collier tells his story, Cas-
tellan’s sounds and vibes echo the
bizarre tale being told. Castellano
recorded this album in a wide array
of bedrooms across Irvine, making
it a collection of lo-fi techniques and
styles dictated by what was available
to him at any given moment. The
album plays like a diary reads—
lonely and beautifully disconnected
at times, but insightful at others,
and always somehow intriguing.
—Daniel Sweetland
DUDERELLA
Sophmore Slump EP
self-released
It took all of thirty six seconds into
L.A. native Duderella’s third EP,
ALBUM REVIEWS
Sophomore Slump, to decide that
I have never—and probably never
will again—heard something quite
as tenacious, as gutsy, or as defiant
as Duderella’s Daniel Reyes with a
mic against his mouth. To state that
I could very literally feel his spit on
my face would be an understate-
ment. With tracks like “Supreme
(fuckface)” and “NSFW,” one cer-
tainly has a clue what to expect,
but the songs will still leave listen-
ers in shock. “Sophomore Slump”
is the most obvious standout, yet
“Yin Yang” and “Attention” are the
strongest lyrically. The combina-
tion of strained yet almost sensual
vocals, pulsating bass and lyrics
that would hurt even the hardest
of hearts makes Duderella a rare
breed. Love him or hate him, one
thing is for certain: Sophomore
Slump will stick with you long
after you’re done wiping the spit
from your face.
—Audra Heinrichs
DRAB
MAJESTY
Careless
Dais
Just in time for the grey skies of El
Nino comes the second pressing of
this synth-electro-goth marvel from
Deb Demure’s perfectly named
Drab Majesty. Much like the afore-
mentioned weather phenomenon,
Drab Majesty occupies the creative
sweet spot between ice and warmth,
producing an album that is the aural
equivalent of floating suspended in
an isolation tank. Leading off with
“The Foyer”—not only the album’s
most immediately striking track
but one of my favorite songs of the
year—Careless remains engaging
throughout its relatively unwaver-
ing emotional and sonic palette,
evoking all the legends of 80s synth
(Gary Numan, Seventeen Seconds-
era Cure, Siouxsie, some of the more
downcast moments of Depeche
Mode and New Order) with the
visual aesthetic of an occult Klaus
Nomi. Demure cuts quite a figure
onstage as well, playing guitar along
with pre-recorded backing tracks
and projecting a surprising inten-
sity. I remember one stormy day in
high school when my older brother
came to pick me up in his 1975
Ford F150. Smoking cigarettes and
listening to a Sisters of Mercy tape,
he drove slowly through fender high
puddles to the Buena Park Mall, an
indoor shopping center that prob-
ably hadn’t been remodeled since
the truck was new, in order to buy
the first PlayStation. We walked
through this soggy relic, obtained
the pinnacle of 1995 gaming enter-
tainment, went home and played
Tekken. My brother isn’t around
anymore but listening to this album
brings me right back to that mo-
ment for some reason—which may
not mean much to anyone else but
it’s high praise, I can assure you.
—Tom Child
FRANKIE AND
THE WITCH
FINGERS
self-titled
Permanent
In the interest of full disclosure be-
fore I get too far into this review, I
will admit that I’m a bit of a sucker
for modern garage psych, which can
make it a little hard to trust my own
opinion. Do I love Los-Angeles-by-
way-of-Indiana’s Frankie and the
Witch Fingers’ self-titled album
because it’s great or do I love it be-
cause it knows exactly which of my
buttons to push in order to provide
maximum visceral retro pleasure
without challenging the established
touchstones too much? Ultimately
does it even matter when the end
result is so much fun to hear? This
is a one hundred percent reliable
garage psych album from start to
finish, played by musicians who
obviously know and love their in-
fluences … and who can actually
play! For sure it’s frequently one of
the most authentically period al-
bums in the genre that I’ve heard in
some time. With its echoed vocals,
Cream-esque harmonies, Farfisa,
electric 12-string and sitar cameos,
you could have put some of these
tracks on a Pebbles comp right
between Nasvhille Teens’ “Wid-
dicombe Fair” and Deepest Blue’s
“Pretty Little Thing,” and you’d be
hard pressed to identify the odd
one out. Alternately swaggering and
groovy, sometimes within the same
song, this is one of the strongest
contenders for garage psych album
of the year. Dig that album art, too.
—Tom Child
THE GARDEN
haha
Epitaph/Burger
The Garden—twins Fletcher and
Wyatt—are a couple of really nice
kids, but when it comes to their
music you’d never guess. On their
newest and most precise album yet,
the Garden are in the business of
the strange, the bizarre, the angry,
the loud and the volatile. With their
always powerful kick-and-snare
combination and funky but intense
bass lines, the Garden have made a
huge name for themselves in the last
few years, climbing from a garage
level to tours of Europe and high-
profile shows in America—and that
must be why they’re so comfortable
with how do things big. haha dis-
plays hip-hop hooks and old school
punk feel in front of a psychotic
backdrop. The lyrics are as strange as
ever, powered by the spirit of what
they call “vada vada”—a Garden-
creared philosophy of life dedicated
to always creating and living outside
of predetermined genres and styles.
That’s haha in a sentence, and with
Epitaph Records in their corner
now, the Garden are headed toward
a beautiful kind of destruction.
—Daniel Sweetland
HOWLS
Come On EP
Buddyhead
Christian Stone and Annalee Fery of
L.A. based rock outfit Howls know
a thing or two about the ticking of
life’s proverbial clock: after years of
quiet yet consistent admiration of
one another’s work, Stone and Fery
ultimately decided to marry their
respective talents and all at once,
Howls was born. If their first labor
of love, an album released in 2014,
failed to excite the ears and gladden
the hearts of listeners, this new EP
entitled surely will. “Krusht,” the
first track and undoubtedly the
strongest, will sufficiently soothe
the sting of the inevitable end of a
summer romance with its pulsat-
ing drumbeat, straining synths,
and tender but truthful lyrics about
the passage of time. The hook will
remain in your head long after the
leaves have changed color. Melan-
cholia takes center stage in all five
tracks of Come On, but somehow
the EP remains entirely danceable.
“White Noise,” for instance, evokes
a dizzying sense of darkness when
coupled with Ferry’s haunting vo-
cals piercing through the bass-filled
reverie. While heavy, it never once
loses speed. Much like the people
who made it, the EP and all of its
polarizing facets just make sense.
—Audra Heinrichs
LOVEYDOVE
Showstopper
self-released
Azalia Snail has once again demon-
strated the power of a simple song.
Now with music guru Dan West as
collaborator, Snail delivers an eclec-
tic and electrically exciting blend of
excellent songwriting and pinpoint
precise production, with melodies
to live by and a dance beat to die
for! Snail has always been known
for her wonderfully simple and sub-
tly strange lyrics, and mixing that
with possibly the highest produc-
tion value of any album in her cata-
log has done something special for
this veteran of the lofi indie scene.
With danceable and sing-along-
able anthems like “Luka Fisher”
or the powerful opening number
“Crown Dancer,” Loveydove has
released a consistently piece of work
that pushes this duo toward a new
sound. Their mission is ambitious
but refreshingly simple, too: Lovey-
dove is here to make you dance,
smile, and have a good time!
—Daniel Sweetland
61

Elyse Weinberg
Greasepaint Smile
Numerophon
Her debut Elyse made favorable impressions upon
release in 1968 on Bill Cosby’s Tetragrammaton
Records and with that, Elyse Weinberg sank into
obscurity. The non-appearance until this past
summer of Toronto-born Elyse Weinberg’s sec-
ond LP was due in part to the label’s financial
ineptitude and in part to a resurgence of inter-
est in her first LP and the folk milieu from which
she emerged. Not that Greasepaint Smile is any
patchouli-soaked extravaganza; thematically,
the ten tracks recall Nico’s famously bleak The
Marble Index more than what was then dropping
on the West Coast in the way of country-folk.
“City of the Angels” is something Lou Reed nev-
er had the guts to write; a nasty-ass rocker exco-
riating showbiz L.A. long before such contempt
was fashionable or even noticeable in a town
where most of the rockers were busy getting
themselves photographed with Groucho Marx or
Vincent Price. This shit sounds like something
Neil Young might’ve done and here he is picking
away on “Houses,” along with his usual producer
David Briggs at the knobs, plus J. D. Souther on
drums and Nils Lofgren on guitar. Holy shit. “Its
All Right to Longer” is the tender skewering of a
persistent dolt and “Gospel Ship” sounds like a
Notorious Byrds Brothers track. “Your Place or
Mine” reminds me of one of the faux-retro tunes
Dan Hicks was churning out at about that time
and the title track is the kind of fierce introspec-
tion John Lennon was just then honking at a
startled world. Weinberg’s third album (recorded
for Asylum) went unreleased as well and she left
L.A., changed her name to Cori Bishop and later
resumed her career on a modest scale in rural
Oregon. A very late-breaking Great Lost Album
of the 1960s.
Lee Michaels
Heighty-Hi: The Best of Lee Michaels
Manifesto
One-hit wonders just as often represent the com-
mercial peak of a long career as the fast flame-
out of some skyrocket act. In the case of Lee Mi-
chaels, his one hit eclipsed everything else about
him but vague memory of a longhaired imp snarl-
ing goofily while pumping an oversized Hammond
organ. Lee was a member of San Luis Obispo surf
hodads the Sentinals and later a busy session
man and oddball live act prior to signing for A&M
records as a solo artist in 1968. This was during
62
the brief period when major labels were signing
everybody who played at the Fillmore and Herb
Alpert’s corporate behemoth took on Michaels
without even hearing his music. This retrospec-
tive covers Lee’s extensive recording output
for a label that backed the eccentric rocker to
the hilt until it inevitably backed him out the re-
volving door in 1973. The tracks are presented
higgledy piggledy in non-release order and one
gets little sense of Lee’s evolution. What you do
get for your ducats are unexpected treats like
“Heighty-Hi” with its lengthy R&B derived proto-
Jesus rock fadeout, “The War,” an anti-draft pro-
test tune decorated with harpsichord, and the
acid-etched sunshine pop of “Carnival of Life,”
along with “Do You Know What I Mean,” a snide
circus calliope Michaels dashed off one morning
that whirred to # 6 on Billboard Pop and still fol-
lows him around like the Ghost of Xmas ATM Ma-
chine. Also included are his only other Top Forty
outing, a bad cover of Marvin Gaye’s “Can I Get
a Witness” along with a bizarre pass at Moby
Grape’s “Murder in My Heart (For the Judge).”
By his own admission, Lee ran out of creative
energy well before the end of his career, bashing
out LPs so he could get back to the serious busi-
ness of ingesting drugs. Retired from the music
biz for decades now, Michaels is a restaurateur
and owner of Killer Shrimp in Marina Del Rey.
Harmonia
Collected Works
Grönland
These five noble pieces of boxed vinyl represent
the entire recorded output of one of the great
side projects of all time. From 1973 until 1976,
Neu!’s Michael Rother partnered with Joachim
Roedelius and Dieter Moebius of Cluster for the
closest thing kosmische ever came to that stud-
ied Anglo-American agglomeration, the super-
group. Coming as it did during nearly the height
of transatlantic interest in so-called krautrock,
1974’s Musik von Harmonia is a startling early
example of what would later be called “ambient”
and enough to make Brian Eno (no less) proclaim
them the most important rock band then detonat-
ing before the public earhole. Critics say the al-
bum is more Cluster than Neu!, but such curious
judgment has more to do with what reviewers like
to cut ‘n’ paste twenty minutes before deadline
time. This debut is a sublime weld of both sounds
into a new synthesis; a thing that happens so
rarely these days we may forgive bloggers their
crimped notions of the possible. Deluxe (1975),
their sophomore album, was crafted at the band’s
homemade studio in rustic Horst. Structurally,
this one is a bit tidier but doesn’t subdivide
the soundscape into sonic tract housing in the
manner of many a Tangerine Dream film score.
The presence of Mani Neumaier of Guru Guru on
drums nudges proceedings in a rockist direction,
with “Gollum” a genre-bending standout. Though
it went unreleased until 2007, Live 1974 is just
as gorgeously bejeweled as their formal LPs, be-
ing perhaps the first recorded instance of three
musicians having the same acid trip at once.
“Arabesque” is the track most rooted in any kind
of rock idiom, while “Ueber Otterstein” is a nine
minute interstellar fantasia that makes most
prog rock of the era sound like Marvin Hamlisch.
Documents 1975 consists of scattered works re-
corded in studio and live in Hamburg before the
band broke up then reformed for a few days for
the glorious Tracks and Traces. Credited to “Har-
monia ’76” when finally released by Rykodisc in
the nineties, this double-length album is where
Eno himself finally clambered aboard the project,
contributing some reptilian bass along with the
occasional moaned lyric while pulling the whole
album into territory familiar to fans of Another
Green World. Included in the set are a booklet, a
poster, pop-up artwork and a code for the whole
works on digital. Stupendous all-day listening.
Paul McCartney
Tug of War (Deluxe Edition)
Hear Music
Though the Cute Beatle’s knack for composing
singles of superior hummability still had some
years left to run, this is probably the last even
half-great Paul McCartney album. The genial fun,
Beatly conceptual density and music hall razzle-
dazzle that was Macca’s post-Ram catalog had
worn to obscurity by the late seventies and the
Wings concept seemed trite years into postpunk
and months after John Lennon’s murder. Paul re-
tained Linda as backup vocalist and souvenir of
Band on the Run while bringing in heavyweights
like Ringo, George Martin, Stevie Wonder, Carl
Perkins, Stanley Clarke and more for collabora-
tive muscle. The LP opens with the title track’s
babble of grunting and straining, over which Paul
mournfully sings of peace on distant worlds and
the strife in this one. Thematically, this is up on
the stained-glass window with “Let It Be” and
like all McCartney protest music, is as painful-
ly earnest as his partner Lennon tended to be
sneeringly raffish with similar material. “Take It
Away” is one of Paul’s better late-period com-
mercial joints and a wistful gaze into his own
past, which he reimagines as a Fab Four-free
utopia of overlaid harmonies and fatback horns.
“Somebody Who Cares” is the traditional Side
One throwaway and “What’s That You’re Doing?”
is a funny and slick venture into electro-funk and
the better of the two tracks with Stevie Wonder.
“Here Today” is a simple and spare meditation
upon Lennon, paying tribute first and last to his
fabled stubbornness and unfailing humor. The
mood is splintered with “Ballroom Dancing,” a bit
of stonefaced satire that would’ve slotted nicely
on Abbey Road to however great the displeasure
of George Harrison. “The Pound is Sinking” is a
Rubber Soul throwback, “Wanderlust” the tra-
ditional side two throwaway, “Get It” a charm-
ing little retro duet with boyhood hero Perkins,
“Be What You See” a nice shot of white album
garble and “Dress Me Up as a Robber” the all-
time favorite McCartney song of some Stereolab
fan who’s been stoned since 2003. “Ebony and
Ivory,” a much-parodied plea for tolerance that
sounds far better as closer to this album’s mani-
cally veering jollity than it did as dentist office
music for the next twenty-five years. Bonuses in-
clude plentiful demos, “Rainclouds,” the B-side
to “Ebony and Ivory” and “I’ll Give You a Ring,”
the underbelly of “Take It Away.” Both are negli-
gible and irresistible.
ALBUM REVIEWS

MILD HIGH
CLUB
Timeline
Circle Star
Never was there a more aptly
named band than Mild High Club.
It’s mild in emotional statement
and in musical directional shifts,
and everything flows at cruising
altitude on Timeline, the band’s
debut full-length release on Stones
Throw’s Circle Star imprint. The
edges of sounds, like the glittery
synthesized harpsichords on “Win-
dowpane”, have been sanded off,
allowing the listener to swim about
in the zero-gravity realm the band
creates when they are hovering (in-
tentionally) above the fray. There is
a fascinating aural double-entendre
that underpins this effort from Al-
exander Brettin and company, per-
haps hinted at by the band’s punny
name. Buried in the mix, iPhone
ringtones mimic the sound of old-
timey telephones. The Summer
of Love in 1967 feels present and
yet routed through the glamorous
prism of Ariel Pink’s lush brilliance.
“Note to Self,” a particularly blissful
track akin to a leisurely wade in 70-
degree 2-foot surf, is punctuated by
a single pure tone—the texture of a
field recording, raw and personal. In
fact, multiple tracks on the album
end up with a little tail of acoustic
strumming and analog instrumen-
tation, perhaps most notably on the
tender “Elegy,” revealing an earnest-
ness buried in the palimpsest.
—Christina Gubala
MEDIA
JEWELER
$99 R/T Hawaii
Fire Talk
ALBUM REVIEWS
Orange County band Media Jew-
eler presents $99 R/T Hawaii, a
work consisting of seven mostly
instrumental tracks performed on
electric bass, drums, guitar and
trumpet. The track lengths span
between one and seven minutes,
with a total listening time of 22
minutes, and the band crams a tre-
mendous number of musical ideas
into that small space—these are
tracks put together as if they were
jigsaw puzzles. Instrumental mo-
tifs are overlaid to form patterns,
the length and intensity of which
varies with the addition and sub-
traction of motifs, and these pat-
terns are laid end-to-end to create
the individual tracks. This results
in variations in musical tension:
tension is increased by overlaying
dissonant layers or adjoining dis-
sonant patterns, or it is decreased
by removing layers or adding con-
sonance. The few lyrics presented
on the album are exclusively shouts
and chants, with no narrative
voice. In sum, the album is essen-
tially clinically precise mood mu-
sic for those with short attention
spans. A lyric on track 3, “Passport
Invalid,” aptly summarizes the al-
bum: “More black coffee. Anxiety.”
It succeeds in being musically chal-
lenging, masterful and cathartic,
while struggling to be cohesive or
make a lasting connection.
—Josh Solberg
OPIO x FREE
THE ROBOTS
Sempervirens
Pinky Up
For anyone still skeptical of what
happens when experienced rhyme-
spitting meets L.A.’s new-wave
beatmakers, there is Sempervirens,
the 13-track album from Low End
Theory vet Free the Robots (a.k.a.
Chris Alfaro) and old-school Oak-
land rapper Opio (of the seminal
hip-hop group Souls of Mischief
and the Heiroglyphics crew). It’s
always a treat to hear the results of
an unlikely meeting of the minds
like this—you know, for experi-
ment’s sake—but it’s even more of
a delicacy when the results reveal
something new for both involved.
Opio came up in the early 90s
and spent most of his career de-
livering witty, articulate lyrics over
scratches and 808 beats. Alfaro has
hip-hop roots, but his beats are dis-
tinctively of the 00s, weaving jazz,
psych, electronic and krautrock
into a distinctive sound. Together,
the two made songs for Semper-
virens that both seamlessly blend
their talents (“Psych Ward,” “Dirt
Nap” and “Backseat Driver”) and
also represent a shift in approach
for both (“Tu Sabes,” “Fuego” and
“Opiopia”). For Opio, it’s a return
to the sonic experimentalism that
fueled those early hip-hop days;
for Alfaro, it’s a new frontier of
producing music for vocals. It’s
less stoner Sunday afternoon and
more underground basement party
of the future—let’s hope the spirit
of Sempervirens encourages other
L.A. beatmakers to spread new
wings as well.
—Sarah Bennett
PAUL
BERGMANN
Romantic Thoughts EP
Fairfax Recordings
Paul Bergmann released his first
album 1 a little over a year ago,
and for those in the know, it was
a sleeper hit that stayed in regular
rotation. Clear nods to the man
in black and Bergmann’s omi-
nous baritone vocals established
his sound, and this latest 5-song
EP finds Bergman taking the best
aspects of his debut and elevating
them to new heights. The musical
growth demonstrated here is quite
remarkable, with a new complex-
ity in songs that tug at multiple
emotions. Take, for example, the
opening track “You May Never
Know,” which starts with a very
“Be My Baby” drum beat and gen-
tly introduces a distant tambourine
and light and catchy guitar riff.
The song’s warmth, along with
the dreaminess Bergmann evokes
with his vocals, makes for pleasant
contrast to the somber and heavy
lyrics. The rest of the album con-
tinues this full and genuine expres-
sion of Bergmann’s musical talents.
Highlights include the Americana-
influenced ballad “Wishing Song,”
a lovely duet with Warpaint’s Em-
ily Kokal, and my personal favorite
“Ocean Song,” which is a slow and
twangy song that proves Bergman’s
skill as a songwriter. The simple pi-
ano part, the quiet drumming, the
subtle guitar melody and of course
his signature soaring vocals work
together to create something heart-
wrenching in all the best ways. If
this EP is any indication of what
we have to look forward to from
Bergmann, we are in for something
great.
—Zachary Jensen
POST LIFE
Living Can Wait EP
Papermade Music
Punk rock has become pretty bor-
ing and formulaic in general, but
that’s just because most everyone
does it wrong. Post Life, a fiery,
exuberant power-pop quartet,
proves that punk can still be in-
vigorating in its fifth decade, so
long as it’s made with talent and
a sense of purpose. Post Life has
both, and debut EP Living Can
Wait presents a sound that is fa-
miliar enough to be immediately
accessible, novel enough to inter-
esting, and sticky enough to de-
mand repeated listening. Drum-
mer Erik Felix is a relentless rager,
locking in with Greg Shilton’s me-
lodic yet ferocious bass playing to
form a formidable rhythm section
under lead guitarist Michael Rey-
der’s furious and metallic riffage.
They provide a strong foundation
for singer/guitarist Brianna Meli,
whose performances perfectly
walk the line between confident
restraint and passionate abandon
on concise and compelling songs
that explore existential dread
(“23”); frustration with animals
(“Warehauz”); and a relationship
in crisis (“Dissolve”). The whole
thing builds towards the closer
“Post Life,” a menacing, stoic ru-
mination on the finality of action
that concludes with an affirma-
tion: “There is no rewind, there
is no undo, what you do is up to
you—yes, you.” It comes across as
a formidable mission statement,
and it’s the high point of a record
without a low point. Yes, punk
rock is tired. But if anyone tries
to tell you it’s “dead,” hand them
this tape.
—Geoff Geis
RYAN ADAMS
1989
Pax Americana
Ryan Adams’ new album is a
study in songwriting and un-
derstanding. In a career of risks
and experiments, he’s taking aim
at Taylor Swift’s massively suc-
cessful 1989, breaking down
the already beloved (and award-
winning) album and recreating
it in a way that not only sounds
but feels like a Ryan Adams re-
cord. His take on “Welcome
to New York” kicks off like an
angry Springsteen jam, which
he quickly follows with “Blank
Space,” originally a gargantuan
dance single that’s redone here
as a Neil Young-esque folk tune
drenched in heartache. Adams,
who Swift has referred to as a per-
sonal songwriting hero, destroys
the conception of a pop song on
the next track “Style,” where the
original’s massive keyboards are
traded for loud guitars and an-
gry Sonic Youth references. (The
lyric “James Dean day dream” is
swapped for “daydream nation,”
an obvious nod to the album).
The album finds its most heart-
felt and dynamic moments to-
wards the middle, where Adams
takes on some of the most emo-
tive aspects of “All You Had To
Do Was Stay,” a new wave-y bass-
driven song about regret that he
turns into a gut-wrenching song
about loss and anger. Adams is
always at his best with strong
melodies and heart-warming
and honest lyrics—that’s what
fans loved most about his Love
is Hell, Demolition, and Heart-
breaker. The beautiful thing here
is that he’s already been given
both. His only job—and one he’s
always done well—is to create a
sound that matches. On 1989,
he’s heartbroken, nerdy, obsessive
and a master of his craft.
—Daniel Sweetland
63
THE INTERPRETER
VAS DEFERENS ORGANIZATION
Curated by Kristina Benson
Photography by Christina Craig

Vas Deferens Organization is a long-running outfit for musical manipulation, which could take the form of a band or a production
session or even the much-loved and much-missed Mutant Sounds blog, now back in action as a Dublab radio show! Recently VDO-
ers Matt Castille and Eric Lumbleau moved within range of L.A. RECORD’s reach, so we asked them to ... interpret something for
us. They responded with their usual spot-on style: “Because the dead-eyed mechanics of modern pop culture conspire to cocoon our
collective consciousness in vacuous plastic wrap, it’s easy in such fallen times to lose sight of the more psychically transformative
dimensions of music and just how deeply musicians once strove to make of their sonic art a hammer not just to break on through
to the other side but to demolish that boundary entirely. These are the albums that are currently offering us succor and inspiring our
flights of fancy inside our gilded cage.”

JEAN-PHILIPPE GOUDE & OLIVIER COLÉ MASSIERA/TORELLI TURN RADIO ON

JEUNEES ANNEES (SARAVAH, 1976)
‘The first of two French albums on our list, though we could have
made a list of nothing but them as this scene has been a deeper well
of influence for us than even Krautrock. At this precise moment
in time though, it’s this highly obscure album by keyboardist Jean-
Philippe Goude and drummer Olivier Colé thats been blowing our
hair back, with its maddeningly cyclical and pitch-bending cul-de-
sacs and rubberized roundelays tattooing both of our brains like
a nuclear powered ear worm. Goude was the former keyboardist
of the band Weidorje, an offshoot of the legendary Magma, and
his angle of approach here is as cockeyed as it is catchy—the ivory
tickler’s equivalent of circular breathing. This also happens to be
the lone title on this list procured from one Steve Stapleton of
Nurse With Wound, part of whose collections I absorbed circa the
mid 2000s, though it’s only recently that it’s ascended to godhead
status for both of us.”
PIERROT LUNAIRE GUDRUN (IT, 1977)
“Seeming to have drifted into being from some eerie magisterial
parallel universe and filled with the wailing ghostly operatic voice
of Welsh expat Jacqueline Darby, this Italian masterpiece highlights
an approach to arrangement that seems guided by pure dream
logic. It manages to bridge a gap between the Philip Glass and Terry
Riley-informed systemic electronic rock of Franco Battiato and the
sorta castles-in-the-clouds fairy tale-like edge of the symphonic
progressive genre embodied by Banco Del Mutuo Soccorso in Italy
and Curved Air in Britain, but undermines those developments with
a subversive Faust-like streak of surrealism. This album is part of a
specific VDO arsenal of higher key medicine that we periodically
unleash on select parties nearing the clear light stage of an acid trip,
and it has reduced several music editors of our acquaintance to
slack-jawed awe and flowing tears under those circumstances. But
lo and behold, this album still works a charm and conveys a soul
punch even absent those specialized conditions.”
BOZ SCAGGS DOWN TWO THEN LEFT
(COLUMBIA, 1977)
“Yes, Boz Scaggs. Situated between his breakout success Silk Degrees
and his slicked-up 1980 outing Middle Man, this is a lowdown
sweet throb of an album evoking endless studio time neck deep in
blow and finesse. Has any human ever sounded so simultaneously
soulful and so like Kermit The Frog? Boz was obviously taking
copious notes while he was hanging out in the studio observing
Ken Scott producing the Tubes’ Young and Rich and the results are
writ large on tracks like ‘1993’ and the very Todd Rundgren-like
‘We’re Waiting.’ I discovered this one and passed it along to both
Matt and our other bandmate Chris a few years back and it’s never
been out of rotation for any of us since. Why? Because all three of
us in VDO are fundamentally perverse creatures and in love with
a certain kinda 70s super sleaze and on those terms this album is
breathing some rarified air.”
(MARCY MUSIC, 1977)
“French producer and surrealist mad hatter Jean-Pierre Massiera
has been with us as a cornerstone influence almost from VDO’s
inception, but this collaboration with his half-brother and long time
sideman Bernard Torelli is our current point of mutual obsession.
Turn Radio On is a perfect mixed-nut assortment of Massiera’s most
winning and screw-loose gambits distilled down into single serving
sonic ampules. This album also acts as a late 70s counterpoint to
his notorious and berserk late 60s outing Les Maledictus Sound,
with its concisely arranged and campy melange of cosmic disco and
library music kitsch deformed by dadaist interjections. This one
would have been an eBay score from the early 2000s, before the
price on this thing went through the roof.”
Dr. John the night tripper gris gris
(ATCO, 1968)
“Given that this is Matt’s initiatory album for baptizing select
parties into the deeper recesses of musical enlightenment, he’s the
one to expound more on this one: ‘This album’s high ceremonial
magic—evoking for me the ghost parade before Zulu—has been the
soundtrack for both my most reverent moments of acid mysticism
and for the countless nights of my misspent youth, dragging my
drugged and drunk ass home through the New Orleans gutters at
dawn with these songs ringing in my ears. It wasn’t until Eric moved
to New Orleans in 2005 that he was able to truly understand the
deep psychic energies coming off of this album, and ever since his
initiation, our music has taken an even deeper turn. I speak of Gris
Gris in this way because this is an album that one can only really
relate to others in terms of testifying.’”
PHIL MANZANERA DIAMOND HEAD (ISLAND, 1975)
“Arguing that some species of prog actually reached their imaginative
pinnacle circa the latter half of the 70s—the ostensible era of their
dinosaur demise—is counter-intuitive, but history is never such a
tidily proscribed thing. Alongside genres like Rock In Opposition
and Zeuhl, select forms of sophisticated prog-pop were peaking in
their potency at around this time and no one did the latter with more
panache than former Roxy Music artists like Eddie Jobson with his
outfit UK and the work in question here, the debut solo outing of
Roxy guitar god Phil Manzanera, whose work in this zone he’d carry
on under the band banner 801 henceforth. From the Robert Wyatt
guest vocals that garland album opener ‘Frontera’ onward, this is an
object lesson in both advanced acid-rock studio dynamics and uber-
cool pop instincts—some of the best featuring guest vocals from
Brian Eno—with the scorching tones of Manzanera’s axe—think
Roxy Music’s ‘In Every Dream Home A Heartache’—front and
center. I picked this one up sometime in the early 90s at a record
convention and both Matt and I have long had a high regard for it
but it’s only recently that it’s become such a central concern within
our private lexicon.”
65
 ALEX CIMA COSMIC CONNECTION (POLYDOR, 1979)
“This obscure Cuban-American electronic artist was our answer
to the kind of effervescent, hyper-melodic and suavely library
music-like electronic sounds proposed by Japan’s Yellow Magic
Orchestra, France’s Space Art and the early recordings of Jean-
Michel Jarre. This more giddy, kitschy and instrumentally ornate
dimension of electronic music has slowly gotten its hooks deep
into both of us, bouncing as it does off of vague, half-remembered
soundtrack fills, TV backdrops and ‘visit our concession stand’
advertisements from our early youth. I defy anyone to hear this
album and not walk away with one or more of these themes
buzzing in your brain. This one was a blog discovery of mine
from three or four years back and was subsequently acquired
by both Matt and me in its vinyl reissue form, given the cost
prohibitive nature of an original.”

severed heads city slab horror (ink, 1985)

“The significance of this album and the degree to which it has
scarred our psyches cannot be overstated. Indeed, this era of
work by these ascended Aussie masters of queasily pitching and
diseased-sounding post-industrial quasi-electro pop runs like a
silver thread through both the work of VDO as well its offshoots,
like Matt’s solo Muz project and my other band of the late 90s/
early 2000s, Sound. In spite of its ostensible surface darkness
and deathly audio pallor, this is paradoxically some of the most
positive and life-giving music we’ve encountered. Its eerie and
oddly emotionally charged keyboard themes rake against the
grain of their churning and devolving rhythm box loops and
deformed vinyl extracts like a mink coat rubbing against a mass
of body hair, creating a palpable and almost erotic frisson. Both
Matt and I were turned onto Severed Heads by our respective
childhood best friends while in our late teens and as such their
music and this album in particular has accompanied all manner
of misbehavior over the years for both of us—so this comes front
loaded with all of those sorts of mental associations for us as
well.”

TODD RUNDGREN A WIZARD, TRUE STAR

(BEARSVILLE, 1973)
“We hesitated before adding this to our list. After all, one half
of this album—which seems calculatedly divided between its
straight and stoned sections—is comprised of a kind of blue-eyed
soul that largely fails to engage with us. Ah, but that other side! All
three of us in VDO saw the light and have never fully recovered
from our first exposure to side A of A Wizard, A True Star and
Rundgren’s exploded and psychologically shattering vision of
pop music found therein. Todd had begun to experiment with
LSD at this time and the damburst of unfettered consciousness
he experienced is conveyed with almost harrowing intensity here,
with all of Todd’s latent strangeness and prankishness coming
screaming out of the gate on a gale of extreme phasing on
“International Feel” and then spiraling down a wormhole into
a parallel reality for the remainder of the side—one in which
pop song structures exist to be playfully molested, tied in pretzel
shapes and folded in on themselves like origami.”

HOSONO & YOKOO COCHIN MOON (KING, 1978)

“Despite our protestations of love for Yellow Magic Orchestra in
the Alex Cima piece, Cochin Moon ultimately remains the alpha
and omega of Harumi Hosono’s musical career in VDO’s book
and even all these years later is situated in all three members of
VDO’s top five albums of all time. This album—recorded the
same year as YMO’s debut and ostensibly a collaboration with
visual artist Tadanori Yokoo, whose work is limited to the cover
graphics—contains some of the most vivid and delirious music
any of us have ever experienced, electronic or otherwise. This is
music that seems to function on an almost cellular level, as if
the microscopically arrayed stratums of intertwining electronic
themes here were actually capable of entering your pores as
much as ears. I was turned onto this by a dear and sadly deceased
friend—the brother of Jim Edgerton, VDO’s 90s-era guitarist,
who taught me so much of the musical esoterica I know about
and whose collection—including this LP—I purchased after he
passed away.”
66
BRIAN BROOKS

67
JOHN TOTTENHAM

COMICS
LILA ASH | INSTAGRAM: SECRET_HOTGIRL

BILLY CHANGER
self-titled
Lolipop
Billy Changer has the name of the every-
man in a Philip K. Dick story, and like the
everyman in a Philip K. Dick story, there
may be something special about him—
something powerful even—that he neither
knows about nor fully controls. This self-
titled LP—originally one side of a split
tape with Corners bandmate and frontman
Tracy Bryant—is an understandably uneven
listen. It was put together more from expe-
riences that transformed into songs than as
a plotted album, so you can’t ever be sure
what’s coming next. Maybe an experiment:
“Black Angel,” like the very early Spacemen
3 when they couldn’t quite keep their heads
held up, with intently reverent subway-
sound Velvet Underground guitar. Maybe a
scene from a movie never made: instrumen-
tal “Chiller” is strange and a stand-out for
it, a song with vibes so heavy it needed like
an actual vibraphone. It’s urgent, nervous,
even menacing—a walk alone as headlights
flash off your back. Or maybe a deep one
like “Sweet Time,” a Daniel Johnston heart-
broke valentine with loose-as-hell Sticky Fin-
gers production. Side two is where the album
starts to dissolve into itself, where the songs
can’t quite hold to each other and Changer
brings out the slide guitar to show just how
slidey everything can be. By closer “You’re
My Girl,” we’re in a Flies On Sherbert wak-
ing dream with a song so loose it’s suddenly
all around you. What makes this album far
different from the usual “I made this!” auto-
bio recordings are the vast wells of tension
and want and id within—and the way the
songs drift uneasily above them, sometimes
warping and distorting in ways you’d never
expect. “Band of Brothers” seems like it
must just be about a night out with friends
… but there is something staggeringly des-
perate and even tragic happening there, too.
It’s like a song from a car going off a cliff—a
snapshot of the instant just before moving
forward becomes falling down. If there’s a
Joy Divison influence at work here, it comes
in three places: the lockstep rhythm at the
second half of the resolute “Island Fever,”
the razor’s-edge production precision and
then these stark and fearless moments at the
precipice. Changer always brings you back,
but I wonder if that’s even scarier—he does
know the edge is there, right?
68
BOMBÓN
A Date With Bombon EP
Burger
A Date … starts with lullabye-xylophone
and ends with a spaghetti-western trumpet
salute echoing toward infinity, and wouldn’t
that make a movie you’d wanna see? (Like
the band told us when we interviewed them:
“Quentin, call us.”) Unlike other bands cur-
rently confused about the difference be-
tween saying something and actually doing
something, Bombón really is a surf-garage
band, with reverb and fuzz to indicate de-
grees of drama and pipeline runs down the
E-string when the big waves are coming:
“Cosmic Surf” is that song, a water-born
descendent of the underappreciated Banan-
as’ “Pink Tuxedo” that sounds more ghost-
ship-py than space-y, with honking bari sax
and a Dick Dale break in the middle. But
lots of the rest of this is Bombón gone rock,
with “Somebody Told Me” as thee crusher: a
glorious/fearless Pandoras stormer with four
chords, tuff harmonies and a ferociously cor-
rosive “WAAAAAAAAGH!” in the first 15
seconds. Middle break is bleeding reverb—
nice touch, a lesser band woulda done the
expected fuzz—and like the Sparkles’ “No
Friend Of Mine” or the Haunted’s “1-2-5,”
Bombón rides the riff til the wheels fall off.
“Pow Wow” is like the Sweet’s “Wig Wam
Bam” as re-wrangled by Sam The Sham,
with appropriately wolf-y ah-woooooooos
and a waterfall of guitar, and “Swedish Fish”
is rivet-popping Milkshakes/5-6-7-8s in-
stro-rock. Opener “Dance Like Annette” is
Shangri-Las/Leslie Gore melodrama about
Funicelloid beach drama, done with punk
sarcasm a la David Johansen and the way
he says L-U-V. And closer “La Sirena” is the
grand finale, a Ventures-style closing-credits
epic with Morricone horn flourishes and a
dynamic shift in the middle that probably
indicates the part where the gunslinger stag-
gers back into the scorching desert. If they
still made movies like this, you could call
this record cinematic.
FUZZ
II
In The Red
And now comes the time for Fuzz to ask it-
self, “What is Fuzz? And who are Fuzz? And
why is Fuzz? And can Laena Geronimo play
strings on this?” (Yes to the last one, and it’s
great!) With original Fuzz bassist Cosio de-
parted and new Fuzz bassist Ubovich (the
Chad in the Meatbodies) on deck, Ty Segall
and heavy comrade Charles Mootheart have
redoubled their efforts in pursuit of every-
thing the band name implies, resulting of
course in a double LP for their second al-
bum. But there are also visible attempts at
doing something different here. The first
Fuzz album (2013) was so effortlessly joyful,
even with those lyrics about the sickness of
isolation: it felt like three literate, articulate
and even athletic musicians doing their in-
stinctive best to just make … something …
heavy, and like every heavy thing, it pulled
you along with it. On II, that spirit’s still
here. “Pollinate” (with its Leigh Stevens red-
line guitar solo) and “Bringer of Light” make
a killer single lurking in the center of the
record, with a tempo shift in “Light” that’s
sickening in an extremely satisfying way.
And the spirit of Sabbath, their lord and
master, won’t ever be dispelled: “Pipe” is one
step sideways from “Sweet Leaf,” with eerily
Ozzy-ish vocals and a dinosaur-enraged riff.
But then the clock hits 2:35 and in comes
the synthesizer like a killer comet streaking
across the night sky, and so Fuzz claws its
way toward the unknown. What I’m saying
is there are cracks in the monolith now: #1
was almost magically coherent, an alien stat-
ue cut from a single giant rock, but II is like
a Stonehenge, built from different rocks (of
various weights and sharpnesses) for mys-
terious primal purposes. “Red Flag” is fast
punk with at least half the feel of ’82 Black
Flag on shouted chorus and Greg Ginn-style
guitar acrobatics. And “New Flesh” and “Let
It Live” are unexpectedly … Ty Segall-ish:
the Manipulator arises again for songs more
like Sweet b-sides or heavy Status Quo than
Pentagram or Bang. (“Say Hello” is also an-
swering “Wave Goodbye” in a way, once it’s
done with the Eastern-style psych prelude.)
“Sleestak” is a percussive instrumental with
sci-fi synthesizer and “Silent Sits The Dust
Bowl” deposits Marc Bolan and his string
section (courtesy Geronimo) on the Planet
of the Fun House Outtakes for half the song.
(Don’t worry, Sabbath saves them … as it
saves everyone.) This isn’t a lesser record just
for having a different kind of geology; it’s
just not the singular cosmic bolt from no-
where that was the first album, and if it was,
I’m sure there would have been plenty com-
plaints about Fuzz not trying new things. II
is the document of those new things in the
trying, left sizzling as they first hit the tape.
Put it this way: the first Fuzz gave a lot and
asked nothing in return. But this Fuzz …
this Fuzz needs you to come with them.
FRANKIE DELMANE
Collected: 2003-2014
self-released
Post-modern proto-punk power-pop rock ‘n’
roll: from Frankie Delmane, can you expect
any less? Much like Sonny Vincent, Delmane
is a longtime practitioner and devotee of all
things high energy and high-octane, with an
appropriately colossal discography—he was
most recently on vinyl as part of L.A. pub
rockers Crazy Squeeze, though I could defi-
nitely be missing something newer—that
goes back for decades. Naturally, he deserves
a greatest-hits compilation, and naturally—
in a world where underground rock might
mean Urban Outfitters has it online but not
in the store—he put it out himself. Main
mode here is grinding Gizmos/Testors
cusp-of-the-80s semi-fi punk, with artful
changes any time you might get bored and
timed-just-right bursts of wild guitar. (“I
Don’t Want To,” “Freebasing With My Best
Friends,” “Never Let You Go,” done with
Delmane’s band the Injections.) But Del-
mane is a man of many talents, and he can
do sentimental (“Electric Thunder,” acoustic
desolation) and sappy-hook-y pop (“I Want
Something More Than You,” which comes
off like the early Zero Boys or maybe Real
Kids hijacking the Stones’ “Dead Flowers”)
and even a dynamic longform downer like
“On The Day, The Day That You Die.” Oh,
and of course a good old-fashioned scorcher
like “Working For The White Pigs,” which
explodes into riffs, screaming leads and a
lot of “Oh yeah!”s for its big bang ending.
There’s good stuff in here, and since Del-
mane is currently publishing a song a day—
for 365 days!—online, there’s a lot more
where this came from.
GIOVANNI MARKS
Double Tech Jeep Music
HIT+ RUN
So this is “crev-wave,” the label tells me.
When you’re already in the underground
and you fall down an even deeper hidden
hole, that might just be kind of the crevice
we’re talking here. And whether or not that’s
why Gino—a.k.a. Subtitle, one of the first
people on an L.A. RECORD cover—picked
the name, the concept fits. Double Tech is
a set of mostly instrumentals—although
much like the city late at night, you may
occasionally hear a furtive human voice—
that put new high-tech life into the sound
of low-budget VHS sci-fi horror films of the
80s a la Cronenberg, Carpenter and crew.
You remember that midnight basic cable
aesthetic for sure: agitated, pixelated, alien-
ated and mutated. “Put Name Here” (with
bass from Coto) describes the vibe in two
minutes: a distant, industrial lo-fi pulse and
a clear and penetrating digital beat. That’s a
lot of weight at opposite extremes, and you
can hear the metal inside every song bend,
like when big trucks drive over little bridges.
First few tracks set the scene—like the Blade
Runner opening credits, but from the per-
spective of the man in the city canyon, not
the eye flying through the fires in the sky—
and it gets heavy and alien by the second
half on tracks like “Youth Is An Arc 78, 88,
98, 08” and UFO-landing-and-abduction
sequence “Zartan Is Crev.” It’s an album
that sounds very now and very familiar at
the same time—a future arriving in pieces
that you need to put together yourself.
ONE REPORTER

POMAR
The Chung King
self-released
Chinatown band POMAR give birth to
a beautifully faithful krautrock album
with synths and sounds done just right—
even that motorik snare sound, which is
where the rubber hits the road with this
kind of thing—and endlessly satisfying
re-translations of the golden age of Can,
Neu!, Faust and the offshoots/one-shots/
solo projects that took a genre and turned
it into an ecosytem. (If any locals remem-
ber Long Beach’s Magic Lantern and their
maximally menacing song “At The Moun-
tains Of Madness,” those locals need to im-
mediately check out POMAR.) Truly, The
Chung King supplies something for every-
body who ever suffered what a wise man
once called “German Import Disease”:
the end of “Rickshaw” is the foundling
descendent of Neu!’s “Negativland,” “In
Need” is a breathlessly atmospheric fly-by
of La Dusseldorf’s Viva and “Too Early” is
glowing with the gentle guitar influence of
Michael Rother. (Actually, there are points
here and on the heavenly anesthetic closer
“The Room” where POMAR get so dissi-
pated they actually start to drift into toward
Spacemen 3’s Recurring.) Further notable
moments: “Ricksha” and “Top Down” and
the happily distorted “Sour Pout,” each do-
ing some aspect of “Yoo Doo Right” right.
Someone should put this on vinyl—it de-
serves it. Germany, you out there?
TIJUANA PANTHERS
Poster
Innovative Leisure
Beach punk? No, this is On The Beach
punk, for people trying to live their lives
like they always did as the world ends
slowly around them. Way back when, they
made a song called “Summer Fun” that
wasn’t about summer fun, and ever since
Tijuana Panthers have been daring people
to listen to the lyrics. Says “Set Forth,” an
propulsive anxiety-rocker equally dedicated
to the Swell Maps’ clatter and Alternative
TV’s disillusionment: “She loathes the
beach / no progress, just regress / hey, nice
dress / when’s recess?” If I didn’t know (and
couldn’t tell) how funny and sharp these
guys are, I’d call this a bleak and even an-
gry record. Of course the very next song
starts out, “Send down the bombs / on
our heads tonight / oh yeah!” but maybe
that’s what you’d call dark humor? Really,
Poster is an outside-looking-in album in the
LISTEN TO ‘ONE REPORTER’S OPINION’ ON DUBLAB
AT DUBLAB.COM EVERY THIRD WEDNESDAY AT NOON!
SEND MUSIC FOR POSSIBLE AIRPLAY OR REVIEW TO
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P.O. BOX 21729
LONG BEACH, CA 90801
psychic and sonic tradition of groups like
the Crazy Rhythms Feelies, the Embar-
rassment and even (demos era) Modern
Lovers or (demos era) Devo: people who
took a step back from the world and saw
the cracks and dirt intended to stay hidden.
Says slo-mo closer “Trujillo”: “We comply
with your corruption / it facilitates my false
comfort / I saw the angels, they told me /
my beliefs that will rescue me.” Summer
fun! Other hits: “I Hate Saturday Nights”
and “Gated Patio” are spin-offs from the
Cure’s “Grinding Halt”—both the music
and the “no people” part, with varying
levels of detachment —and “Miss, You
Hardly Know Me” is the unsettling story
of unmooring one’s personality. (“I was sick
of dreams / I wanted sympathy / human
contact / ‘Miss,’ I said, ‘You hardly know
me.’”) Producer Richard Swift finds a me-
ticulously ramshackle sound that fits the
band and the mood: things COULD fall
apart, but we’ve got it how it we need it …
for now. (A cover of the Muslims a.k.a. Soft
Pack underscore same: “I don’t know what’s
right, I don’t know what’s wrong anymore
/ I tell you it’s no good hanging people out
to dry!”) In a way, Poster offers a sort of con-
science for its genre, whatever combination
of “surf” and “punk” and “garage” history
determines that to be. These are pop songs
where someone says (once again) that the
way things are in pop songs is not the way
things really are at all. Obviously, this is my
favorite thing they’ve ever done.
VIAL
self-titled EP
Cut Rate
Four songs and about six minutes of corro-
sive punk from this L.A. foursome who like
things powerful and to-the-point—there’s
aspects of the Bags and the Dicks and even
the very earliest Black Flag/Panic tracks
here, mostly because of the hack-and-slash
guitar. But really this is like if a band de-
cided to model an entire ethos on Flip-
per’s “Living For The Depression.” (Which
bands should.) Political lyrics, in that they
identify and attack bullshit on contact, but
with more perspective than just “shit sucks,”
although yes, they get that shit sucks. Gen-
trification examination “Move” aims nega-
tivity everywhere—including inward—and
“No One Understands” is bleak and heavy
and gets bleaker by its end, while closer
“Void” is an all-out wrecker. Singer Krista
really pours out the napalm on this and the
whole band sounds like they came, they
pressed record and they caught fire.

SEXTILE
A Thousand Hands
Felte
A Thousand Hands, the debut album
from L.A. four-piece Sextile, was
reportedly inspired by the occult ex-
periments of guitarist Eddie Wueb-
ben while practicing what he calls
“open-eyed meditation.” In Wueb-
ben’s words, he felt as if “thousands
of hands reached towards him,” a vi-
sion that struck him as “frightening”
yet “exhilarating.” Bear this back-
story in mind when lending an ear
to the frantic sounds of Sextile. The
album is an unexpectedly cohesive
collection of call-to-arms anthems
and primitive, post-punk earworms.
“Can’t Take It,” the standout and
attention-catcher on the album, is an
amalgamation of all things aggressive
as lead singer Brady Keehn rants and
raves his way toward cathartic release.
The album’s space-y synth, guttural
guitar, and punchy percussion will
hit you where it hurts, and lyrically,
Keehn is at his best when he’s brood-
ing. (Drummer Melissa Scaduto’s
vocals take center stage on “Mind’s
Eye,” however, and I found myself
subconsciously searching for the
same kind of sensual strains on the
remaining tracks.) Either Sextile is
almost painfully in touch with both
the head and the heart, or they’re
simply on a superabundant supply of
drugs. Either way, one thing is clear:
this foursome is positively fearless,
and they’ve concocted one hell of a
musical cocktail that will surely have
a thousand hands anxiously awaiting
a sip of the strange.
—Audra Heinrichs
SOCAL
TENNIS PROS
MMXV
self-released
70
SoCal Tennis Pros’ self-titled full-
length is high-energy Latin punk
at its best, with ten hard-hitting
tracks full of subtle surprises. It
has a very distinct flavor that sets
it apart in many ways from most of
the bands doing this type of music.
For one, the level of musicianship
is of a much higher caliber than
you’d expect from typical garage-
punker hooligans. The chord pro-
gressions are more complex, the
rhythms are tightly woven together
with dramatic change-ups, and the
production reaches a level of pro-
fessionalism you almost never hear
for this type of group, thanks to the
involvement of Grammy Award-
winning Long Beach icon Ikey
Owens (of The Mars Volta, Jack
White’s band and of course Free
Moral Agents) who recorded, pro-
duced, mastered, and even played
on a few of the tracks. “Tap Water
House” is one of my favorites and
starts the record off with blaring
guitars and screaming vocals mixed
together in a melodic style reminis-
cent of bands like Gorilla Biscuits
and early Turbonegro. “Lionessa” is
another gem with Latin-sounding
keyboard and very catchy lyrics.
There are a few slower jams that
smooth the gnar a bit and a lot the
singing is in Spanish as well. I’m re-
ally keeping my fingers crossed that
this makes it to vinyl!
—Desi Ambrozak
SUMMER
TWINS
Limbo
Burger
Summer Twins have been teasing
us with a gorgeous combination of
nostalgia and street grit for some
time, and now the band has un-
leashed the best of both with this
album steeped in anger and grace.
On one hand, some could say that
what the band does is common-
place in an age of mix-and-match
bands who try so hard to be dif-
ferent that they end up sounding
the same as everyone else. What
is truly different here, however, is
that Summer Twins actually pull it
off: there’s an honesty and true love
and passion in these songs, more
than apparent on tracks like “Our
Word” or “Dreaming,” where they
allow the vintage sounds and vibes
to take lead. But it’s on the darker
and brooding tracks like “Demons”
where the real magic happens, with
sharp lyrics about what happens
when demons sneak up on you and
you have to shut them up. It’s an
unexpected moment that reveals
the whole album in a new way—
as something simple yet haunting,
and remarkably executed.
—Daniel Sweetland
TEEBS
AV ESTR
Hit + Run
Mtendere Mandowa—better
known as Teebs—is a master at
composing what has been described
as beat music, but what he creates
is much more than that. He’s de-
veloped a unique electronic sound,
filled with delicate yet hard hit-
ting moments so unique that in
mere seconds you can recognize
his work. Just a year after his 2014
breakthrough ESTARA, Teebs has
decided to give fans a taste of what
goes on behind the scenes with AV
ESTR, a vinyl-only album of out-
takes, remixes, and tracks previously
available only on a limited tape re-
lease. The lightness of his previous
albums is still present here, but the
source material is a little more out
there and so we get to see a dif-
ferent side to Teebs. The natural
sounds, bells, chimes, crunches,
delays, loops, and overall character-
istic dreaminess are still present, but
here they provide a much different
effect. Call it night and day, with
this album representing Teebs’ won-
drous daydreams. Another notable
difference: no guest vocals, which
doesn’t hurt at all thanks to Teebs’
production skills—if anything, it
strengthens the album. Picking a
few standouts from the album is
difficult since practically every track
could be a single, but one stand
out would be “Yellow Cover” with
its gentle and delicate build-up of
strings and tambourine that breaks
through halfway and slowly but
eloquently leads into the next track.
Once you put on this record, you
won’t take it off—until at least until
the next one comes out.
—Zachary Jensen
TRAPS PS
Real Corner Shock
Papermade Music
For years, Traps PS has been one of
the most exciting members of the
Smell/Pehrspace cohort. Many cur-
rent bands look to 70s no wave and
post-punk for influence, but Traps
PS does so with a hectic energy that
sets them apart from their peers
and makes them seem like an up-
date, rather than a retread. They’re
masters of the manic explosion, and
their live set so assaultive and ruth-
lessly frenetic that it would come
across as spastic if the trio weren’t
such proficient players. Their bril-
liance comes, in part, from seem-
ing like they’re always about to trip
over themselves—but they never
do. This kind of lightning is hard
to bottle, but Traps PS pulls it off
on the 14 funk-infected blasts per-
formed with mind-numbing dex-
terity on Real Corner Shock. At
first listen it comes across as a ca-
cophony, but repeated spins reveal
layers of twisted hooks on tracks like
“Quiet Now” and “Icon Accent.”
Traps PS is abrasive, but they occa-
sionally veer towards catchiness on
songs like the surprisingly anthemic
“EQ” and the singalong breakdown
of “New City.” But nothing on this
record lasts very long, and the band
seems to delight in creating brief
transcendent moments and then
taking them away. While Real Cor-
ner Shock clocks in at around 20
minutes, it still feels like a journey.
The album is highly recommended
for anyone who wants to rage.
—Geoff Geis
VISION
Inertia
Burger
Inertia is a killer collection of raw
rock songs from a group of no-lon-
ger-all-ages punk rockers. Grown
up? Yes. But less angry? No. If
punk is more a way of life than a
defined sound—as Joe Strummer,
Johnny Ramone, and countless
others have shown us—then Vision
is clearly a punk band, from the
powerful opening number “What
I Need” (where the band pleads
“Don’t take my soul from me!”)
or the soft-spoken but still aggres-
sive closer “Endless Flow.” Vision’s
new album stands toe-to-toe with
the band’s previous effort, both in
terms of writing and raw emotional
energy, as well as the on-point bass
playinag and ferocious vocals—sig-
nature traits of a band that has al-
ways deserved more attention than
they’ve been given. This is a raging
collection of ten well-delivered and
strongly produced songs. With age
comes understanding and Inertia is
telling example of that principle in
action.
—Daniel Sweetland
XL
MIDDLETON
Tap Water
MoFunk
Why has XL Middleton taken so
long to put out a full-length solo
album? Is it because he’s been too
busy making killer funky loops
for friends like Eddie Funkster
and Moniquea or was he too g-
funk deep in his alter-ego’s Big
China Mack’s gangster-rap al-
bum? Either way, we’re glad Tap
Water is here because, like Dam-
Funk and others, Pasadena-bred
XL Middleton is a pro at taking
the heavy funk bass and melodic
synthesizers of the once unjustly
derided boogie genre and giving
it new life. XL strays from mostly
instrumental modern-funk here
by giving most of his roller-rink-
worthy boogie renditions their
own simple and direct lyrics. On
“High on Your Love,” keyboards
twinkle like a high school slow
dance as XL sings about getting
addicted to a beautiful woman.
“Exception to the Rule” and
“Bumpin” both use a vocoder;
the latter track filled with enough
ALBUM REVIEWS
heavy bass claps and nasty-girl
squiggles that it manages to pay
homage to both 80s Prince and
90s hip-hop. But this isn’t a
nostalgic record. With cameos
from contemporary funk singers
Moniquea and Diamond Ortiz,
it’s very much made for blasting
through today’s speakers. XL is
a funk connoisseur and it shows
on Tap Water, where songs take
pieces from all corners of the
genre’s decades-long history and
turn the familiar into something
new again.
—Sarah Bennett
ZACKEY
FORCE FUNK
Chrome Steel Tiger
Hit + Run
Zackey Force Funk’s got a light
touch when it comes to his vo-
cals, whether he’s layered them
into a spindly lattice of synco-
pation or left them naked in
the spotlight for the listener to
examine every sensual articula-
tion. He whispers directly into
your ear, floating over musical
metaphors concocted by an ar-
senal of the inspired producers
on Chrome Steel Tiger. “Hearts
on Fire” is an instant burner, as
producers XL Middleton and
Eddy Funkster summon the in-
fectious momentum of a cosmic
roller disco. The Egyptian Lover/
Brian Ellis-produced “On The
1” throbs to a climax while an
insistent cowbell (and a panting
Egyptian Lover) play off Zackey’s
narrations. Tom Noble sets a fu-
turistic, seductive scene in some
luxuriously unlimited love den
on the synth-y “Lover Lane,” and
Zackey slips right into spotlight.
Although the classic Minneapolis
sound is recognizable through-
out CST, the album veers into
Gainsbourg territory, flirts with
crackly sample-era hip-hop tex-
tures and sends the listener away
on a pink satin cloud of samples
and a promise for peace. Chrome
Steel Tiger is a perfect reminder
that you don’t have to hit it too
hard to hit it right.
—Christina Gubala
ALBUM REVIEWS
LOCAL RECORD
FFS
SHOWS & SWAPS
ALL EVENTS ARE ALL
self-titled AGES UNLESS NOTED
Domino Sun., Nov 15
Grits & Soul Record Swap
The Continental Room
The most clever, catchy and inventive
115 W. Santa Fe Ave.
pop record of the last decade should need
Fullerton
no introduction. You saw my interview with
Free 12 am-5 pm 21+
Sparks’ frontman Russell Mael elsewhere in
these pages and you’ve seen the billboards
Sat., Nov. 21
all over town. The unlikely collaboration of
IE Record Collective
Sparks and Franz Ferdinand works so imme-
3587 University Ave. Lot 16
diately well that it actually becomes some-
thing VERY … well, likely, as if there might Riverside
be some kind of absurd coherent justice to Free 10 am-6 pm
pop music after all. are.” There you have it—a triply poetic home- recordcollective@
If you’re anything like me, you acknowl- run, encapsulating not just the universally gmail.com
edge that Sparks either invented or improved obsessive desires of the anti-hero of a song
called “Johnny Delusional,” but our broader
Sat., Nov. 28
on EVERYTHING COOL in pop music. And if
L.A. RECORD +
you’re anything like me, you are such a die- disconnect from one another in society as a
Blundertown’s
hard Sparks fan that you even kneel at the whole, AND ALSO a clever wink to the chal-
“Black Sabbath”
altar of their more lackluster monuments— lenges of two bands collaborating across the
Record Swap
because even at their most squirmy and ret- ocean from two disparate continents. In this
Cha Cha Lounge
roactively what-the-fuck, they never lacked economy, can it get any better?
2375 Glendale Blvd.
guts and wit. That made them the notorious The sound and sentiment of FFS is mod-
Silver Lake
group we know and love: the forever under- ern day science non-fiction, propelled by
Free 12-5 pm 21+
dogs that the world may never completely
catch up with, which speaks more of our cul-
Sparks’ icy keys and operatic delivery and
balanced with Franz Ferdinand’s uncanny
FORTHERECORD@
ture’s foolishness than their own. knack for confectionary glam guitar tones
LARECORD.COM
And if you’re anything like me, you may and near-fascistic metronomic rhythm. Alex Sun., Nov. 29
have scoffed at Franz Ferdinand when they and Russell are a two-headed snake, their (every last Sunday)
made their debut in the early 2000s. We forked tongues never competing as they Greater Orange County
were such reductionist snobs then, refusing know they share the same rattle. These two Record Show
to separate them from the disastrous tsuna- nail all the icky subconscious emotions to UFCW Union Hall
mi of Nouveau Disco Punk (what wave was the cross so we don’t have to—like the pin- 8530 Stanton Ave.
that supposed to be, anyway?) that gave ing sadness of nostalgia and defeatist nihil- Buena Park
us expendable, insulting acts like Interpol ism in “Little Man From The Suburbs” with $3 10 am-3 pm
and Bloc Party, shamelessly pretending that the haunting refrain “There are no heroes in
Factory Records had never happened. Well, this life… I didn’t make it like I hoped we Sun., Dec. 6
shame on us as well: Franz Ferdinand were would…” Meanwhile, “Save Me From My- (every 1st Sunday)
always steadfast subversive playboys of the self” transmits paranoia so thick and con- Rock N Roll Flea Market
highest order, just as our beloved Sparks. For vincing that I’m already looking out my win- The Regent
anyone that truly understands both bands— dow wondering where it all wrong. 448 S. Main St.
and the naked impact of their jagged contri- FFS is the kind of record that makes you Los Angeles
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Like oil and water in a swirling translu- where a wrong place/wrong time meet turns
cent rainbow ballet over the gutter’s grime, into lusting after a policeman’s wife. “So Sun., Dec. 6
the album’s opening is just as grandiose as Many Bridges (In The World To Jump Off Of)” (every 1st Sunday)
you’d expect: it seems like a classically in- is another globe-trotting indictment of jaded Pasadena City College
formed Sparks overture, but it’s pleasantly splendor, this time with wildfire gentrification Flea Market
interrupted by the calm and unmistakably and the docility of said inhabitants in FFS’ ri- & Record Swap
confident voice of Franz Ferdinand’s Alex fle sights. And though it’s their most cheeky Pasadena City College
Kapranos, rubbing our faces in the mud of and self-referential moment, “Collaborations 1570 E. Colorado Blvd.
studio writer’s block—or the tongue-tied Don’t Work” is the most interesting and defi- Free 8 am-3 pm
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ly,” he sings, “Headphones on your head, boil down rebellion into it’s most potent es- FIGat7th
they prevent the chance to even try.” sence, the simple truth is that you’re just 735 S. Figueroa St.
One could either imagine ear buds sick of everyone’s shit. That’s why closer Los Angeles
crammed into the holes of the gorgeous yet “Piss Off” should be considered the flagship Free 11 am-7 pm
aloof object of his affection, or the studio anthem of this record. It’s de-evolved delin-
headphones of Sparks vocalist Russell Mael, quent spout offs are the perfect contrast to a Sat., Dec. 12
who chimes in to complicate things further, collection of songs that should double as an Vinyl Junkies
as another self-loathing voice in the protago- instructional manual for how to intelligently The Casbah
nist’s internal conversation: “Some might maneuver through this twisted life—or how 2501 Kettner Blvd.
find me borderline attractive from afar/ But to at least vent about it eloquently! San Diego CA
afar is not where I can stay and there you —Gabriel Hart $3 11 am-5 Pm 21+
71
DISCO’S OUT... MURDER’S IN!
Interview by Christopher Ziegler
Illustration by Nathan Morse

The history of punk gangs in L.A. is still a secret history—something that persists in the credits of obscure 7”s, in the archives of Flipside
or the Whittier Daily News or in the memories of the probation officers and the punk rockers who were there. But most of the L.A. punk bib-
liography agrees that at some point, the art-freak-weirdo scene of the 70s metastatized into hardcore punk, which brought with it hardcore
violence that left victims brain-damaged, paralyzed or dead—and which eventually, as this book and others put it, “ruined the scene.” The
new book Disco’s Out … Murder’s In! is the first-person account of a self-described “ultra-violent punk rock gangster” who helped ruin the
scene: Frank the Shank, eventual underboss of the infamous-even-now La Mirada Punks, known city-wide as LMP. Authors Heath Mattioli
and Dave Spacone were on the periphery of L.A. hardcore as kid­—about the same age as Frank, whose first show was X at the Whisky
when he was barely a teenager and who’d witness his first murder before he was a freshman in high school. They’d meet him decades later
at a funeral for a friend, the all-too-appropriate place where the idea for this book was born. Through six years of interviews and research,
they pieced together the story of Frank, LMP and by extension the story of the punk gang era in Los Angeles. Although it seems like a life-
time, it really only spans a short stretch the 80s as Frank hauls himself out of a poisonously broken home, cuts his hair to get into punk—
and meets the punk rockers famously in possession of The Car, a murderous Lincoln Continental that starred in the 70s b-movie of the same
name—and soon finds his peers, his purpose and his passion in the La Mirada Punks. Of course there’s no happy ending—there’s no happy
anything, really. Instead, as Frank and friends noticed then and note now, it’s the ultraviolence of A Clockwork Orange with a homegrown
punk soundtrack and an unhealthy dose of nuclear-holocaust nihilism. Mattioli and Spacone speak now about life and death in LMP.
Who was Frank the Shank? ‘punk rock violence’ is just … L.A.! Nowhere D: They called him ‘The Godfather.’ He filled H: Not all the gangs, but a lot had a killer or
H: Frank the Shank was a kid from an else in the world! It is a hybrid of gangster. In them full of street smarts. two in the gang. But that is what separates
L.A. suburb about 20 minutes outside L.A., there’s a lot of hybrids. H: Most punk gangs came from the suburbs LMP. They did a lot of dirty deeds, man. A lot
Hollywood—a confused and impressionable D: And the music was the soundtrack. Come because their families had split the city years of stuff other punk rock gangs weren’t aware
kid who was deeply abused. on—are there happy punk songs? Anybody earlier. Hollywood was a place for the down of: do whatever you want in the city, jump in
D: A youth—like many—who turned to who’s ever even been connected to punk … and out, the spun out and the disfranchised. a car, hit the freeway—
punk rock for its volatile mix of excitement, you’re listening to it in your car, this new music D: Those families were chasing the better life —and you’re gone?
nihilism and danger. form, and you just wanna step on the gas, don’t dubbed the ‘suburban’ dream. A few punk H: There’s no cameras, there wasn’t that many
H: Frank unfortunately transformed into a you? The music came at just the right time, but gangs did actually come from Hollywood, cops, they got away with murder many many
monster, thinking the world was probably also just the wrong time. It may sound a little though—L.A. Death Squad being the most many times. I can’t speak to other punk
going straight to hell via nuclear holocaust. kooky, but it was a soundtrack to get psycho. noteworthy. LADS were strong allies with rock gangs. I’m sure they all had murderous
Why not take people out ahead of time? The classic themes of gangs are they need to LMP in the early years. people. But we didn’t go interview them and
What was a day in the life like for Frank protect themselves from somebody, but they Frank’s first show is an X show at the we can’t speak for them. Without being biased
and members of L.M.P.? What did they have an extra component of wanting to also Whisky, and his last in the book is probably here and not having interviewed these other
want? Where did they go to get it? revolt against something. What are all revolts? the hardcore party where everyone gets guys, we have spoken with many people in
D: Start the day: figure out a way to get Tantamount to revolution in some way shape stabbed. What is happening musically over the scene—really in the scene—and they’ll
money and get loaded. This entailed all sorts or form, and revolutions are violent. This was the course of the book? How does punk tell you the same thing.
of gangster business, big and small. gonna get violent, like it or not! change around—and because of—LMP? You’ve got newspaper clippings and photos
H: Off to Hollywood to swindle and see Frank at one point says something like, H: Punk rock music and the L.A. scene that document things Frank talks about.
where the neon nights took them. Scam on ‘The records told us to destroy society, so evolved constantly, battling back and forth What due diligence did you have to do to
chicks, spread fear, go to gigs. They really we were destroying society.’ with England who eventually moved on. make sure that you had the ‘true story’ part
never looked much past that day. H: They took that message personally! These Punk rock wasn’t built to last. covered? And how did you do it? This is not
How did these punk gangs in general work? kids wanted the ones that hated themselves! D: Punk bands seemed to be playing harder a very publicly documented culture.
What made them different from other Hated their parents! The ones that were and faster to keep up with the violence—or H: We were here in L.A. in the 80s. We’d hear
gangs? And from other punks? totally confused! This was a perfect fucking vice versa. Eventually most petered out. Punk these stories back then. And all the blanks get
D: Gangs center around neighborhoods, outlet—other kids to identify with! ‘Look at folds up its tent because it couldn’t go on filled in 30 years later. The story of the Car—I
correct? All over the world. Punk gangs center that dude! He’s a fucking mess, I’m a fucking forever. LMP continued. saw them driving by Knott’s Berry Farm one
around neighborhoods. What makes them mess … fuck yeah, punk rock! Let’s join a Were you prepared for the level of mayhem night! Years later we get the whole story.
different? Their commonality and what binds gang and fuck you up!’ That’s another reason you’d confront in this book? D: The very first stabbing in the beginning
them together is their love of music. Gangs we wrote this book—to let people know how D: Absolutely—we grew up on the sidelines of the book—the Pig Children stabbing is
forever have always had dress codes. So punk dangerous it was to be a punk rock kid in Los picking up all the street lore. We knew their legend. We were friends with the girl that was
rockers—because of music—in punk gangs Angeles. Nowhere else was it as dangerous to exploits well. It’s what kept us away from the dating the dude that got stabbed! And since we
had dress codes. They adopt from the gangs be a punk rock kid. flashpoint. were tangentially connected to everybody and
around them. Remember, in the suburban What kind of place was La Mirada then, H: Frank was forced to relive his horrific past knew Frank, we knew who did it! Remember
overlap of Los Angeles, every neighborhood’s and how did it affect who the L.M.P.s were? when signing on to the project. Sometimes how small L.A. is? It was even a lot smaller
a gang neighborhood, and if it’s not a gang Why were punk gangs coming from the he didn’t like it and had to walk away. We on back then, and if you were connected to punk
neighborhood, it’s connected to one. Other suburbs and not Hollywood where the first the other hand never wanted to hang up the rock, it was even smaller.
gangs control territory for profit. The punk L.A. punk bands had started? phone or leave the table. [But] Frank definitely H: The mod stabbing in Hollywood was
scene was something to be controlled basically H: La Mirada, the East Side and as well as changed through this process. another one people knew about. No details,
for the thrill of it. parts of Whittier—they called it ‘Shittier’— D: He did the work. He dug deep and but we knew the two gangs that were
H: And just violence for the sake of violence. was low to even lower middle class families. acknowledged his part in ruining the scene. involved.
These kids really didn’t think they were gonna D: Mostly white families, but also Mexican as The book is subtitled ‘the true story of D: Everybody has bad guys. But back then,
be around tomorrow. Most of these kids well. Second and third generation Chicanos L.A.’s deadliest punk rock gang.’ In the LMP was just extra deadly. That simple. They
weren’t given any love, you know? That’s with old-time L.A. ties. book, Frank even says that other gangs had such a legend and the more you talked
a big part of this—the fact that all these H: L.M.P.’s got advice from the gang leader’s were hesitant to kill, but LMP wasn’t. Is to people, the more you found out LMP was
psychopaths found each other in the name of father, who was an East L.A. veterano. that what set them apart? behind it. ‘We got into a fight with LMP and

BOOKS 73
we got some bats out of the car, but these
guys came back over the wall with axes and
meat cleavers!’ We didn’t have any problems
after doing our due diligence to call them ‘the
deadliest gang.’
This book reads like Frank just talking
directly to the reader—is that how it was?
What kind of work did it take to make this
feel so immediate and raw?
H: That was the challenge—getting Frank to
go back to that moment and not write it from
how he feels today in hindsight, but how he
felt as a youth. He’d hang up on the phone
with us—we’d get to a moment and there’d
be a silence, and he’d be like ‘… I gotta go.’
He changed as a person, I’ll tell you that.
That was the challenge: getting Frank to go
there and be raw and completely honest as a
kid. That’s why we chose to write it that way.
Unapologetic—that’s how Frank was. If we
wrote a book from Frank’s perspective today,
it woulda been totally different.
D: Frank is always gonna be a tortured soul.
His relationship with God and finding God
… it doesn’t wipe it away. Also remember
something: gangsters are forever. Frank will
forever be a gangster. So he is apologetic but
at the same time, quite conflicted. That was
the person he was back when he was a kid,
and that’s who we got him to be again.
H: He makes no apologies because as he
looks at his ‘career,’ those were the rules. Now,
OK—a couple innocent guys got killed. He
wasn’t really a participant in the innocents,
like the mod driving down the alley.
That’s one of the worst moments in a book
full of bad moments.
H: That’s the one that seems to affect him
the most today, still. But Frank is a gangster
forever—how it changed him as a person is he
started as saying LMP was the backbone and
punk rock gangs were the backbone of the
scene. By the time we got to the end of it, he’d
look us straight in the eye and say, ‘Man, we
fucking ruined the scene.’ So he’s accountable.
Frank’s a sharp guy. No pun intended.
Is this book going to solve any unsolved
murders? Are you or Frank liable for
prosecution now that this is out?
H: Listen—we knew we could open a cold
case here in Los Angeles by writing this. Frank
got all the OKs by all the players that are still
around.
D: That gang’s still around today. All the
players we spoke of and that we list in the
end of the book—the ones we have access
to, the ones that aren’t locked up—we had
conversations with them as well. There was a
lot of politics involved.
This is a very shadowy and undocumented
part of L.A. music history. If it’s known at
all, it’s known as part of the reason why
the punk scene in L.A. changed. But until
now, few if any people have talked to ‘the
other side’ who ruined it. Jack Grisham of
T.S.O.L. did his American Demon book
in 2011, and in 2013 ANP Quarterly did
a feature on L.A. punk gangs, and Craig
Ibarra’s recent A Wailing Of A Town book
talks directly to someone who was in plenty
of fights at punk shows. Now you have your
book. How is new information on this
time going to change the history of punk
music—and music—in L.A.?
74
D: It’s not gonna change the history, but what
it will do is actually tell the history—give the
history a rich narrative. What we’ve always
thought is a very L.A. narrative. A place where
people made their own rules—often quiet
violently. Maybe punk rock in L.A. is gonna
have to examine itself and ask itself hard
questions: ‘Why did we do this?’ We knew we
were gonna take the elephant out of the room
and stampede him through the public.
This isn’t a romantic book and Frank isn’t
one of these Hollywood anti-hero types—it
starts grim and gets grimmer. What makes
telling such a brutal story worth it?
H: Like Steven King said, don’t come to the
page lightly. This story needed to be told.
There is a million perspectives from the
musician, the singer … ‘Look at the life I
lived backstage with all these women and the
drugs!’ We’re only hearing that perspective
from punk rock. There’s not a story from the
trenches. We knew it was gonna be exhausting
for the reader. But why hold back and why
try to romanticize it or be flowery about it? It
wasn’t like that. These kids were a mess! Let’s
show it and tell you how it really was!
D: If you’re our age or were around at the
time, you knew that hardcore in Los Angeles
was really hardcore. It’s the absolute merciless
and horrific nature of it that makes it have to
be told. And also—nobody really knows what
ended punk rock in L.A. This is what did!
H: We started this process after Frank telling
the stories to us and other friends telling
stories to us and saying, ‘Hey, let’s tell the
story of the punk rock gangs in Los Angeles.’
All of them! We were gonna go to the leader
or whoever was the mouthpiece for the gang.
Then we realized … that was too much.
This one person’s perspective to us was more
important. Obviously a lot was left out. But
we feel if these other punk rock gangsters
could take their colors off—so to speak—for
a minute, they’d recognize it’s the same story.
So for you, Frank’s story is really the story
of the L.A. punk gang era?
D: Correct.
There’s that part in the book where Frank
says: ‘Everybody was pointing fingers at
the kids who lived brutally. Bands were
upset over losing friends to the crusade,
but still kept feeding it with their lyrics and
sound, then wanted to cry about it? Every
single band wound us up like A Clockwork
Orange, yelling something violent and
negative on every single record.’ I’m sure
you both remember decades of like ‘Violent
music causes violence’ campaigns, and the
answers from the musician’s side that of
course it doesn’t. But here’s a very violent
guy explicitly saying, ‘No, violent music
actually did make me violent.’ Was punk
music responsible after all for creating
punk gangs?
H: As a kid, Frank didn’t get it. He thought
these musicians were with him! One big tribe!
Then all of a sudden in Flipside and other
magazines, here comes Keith Morris or Rollins
or whoever complaining about the violence
in the scene and not identifying with it. And
Frank, obviously lacking depth as a youth, is
so confused: ‘Whoa, wait a sec—now they’re
attacking us when we’re paying for their
tickets? And they’re preaching this stuff to us?’
He didn’t have the depth to look into what
they’re saying. Maybe they weren’t necessarily
saying ‘Go fuck this dude up! Fuck the system!
Kill your parents!’ But … how could you do
that to kids, at the same time? They need to
be responsible for what they were doing and
not just put their hands up in the air and say,
‘I was AGAINST violence!’ Well, read your
fucking lyrics—no, you weren’t!
D: Let’s also look at how old he is. Do you really
expect some kind of in-depth introspection
from such a dysfunctional wild youth at the
time? What do kids do? They find something
to blame for it.
H: But at the same time … [the musicians]
need to take responsibility for the lyrics! You
can say Frank was wrong and he didn’t have
the depth, but these guys were pandering to
these kids cuz they knew they were selling
tickets!
D: We want you guys—the journalists, the
readers—you cut up that blame pie. We’re not
gonna go on record and say it was on them.
There’s so much to share. That makes this a
wondrous story and a nightmare. And here’s
the thing. There’s this big myth that there’s
these ‘HB-ers,’ these ‘jocks’ came in and they
were really football players and you know
something? That pisses Frank and all these
guys off. The gangs started way before that.
And the musicians had no clue and wanted to
assign blame to them. They couldn’t imagine
that youth from their scene that they started
had banded together and started doing this
at shows. The HB-ers, the jocks—no. That
was a myth. Punk gangs formed to protect
themselves from jocks, from longhairs, from
cops … all these guys beat on you! Funny
enough, some punk rockers were big guys!
Strong guys! Crazy guys! Maybe they look like
jocks to you, but no.
H: People like Jack Grisham from TSOL—
he owns it. He’s like, ‘Hey, man, I was a
dysfunctional motherfucker and you put a
mic in my hand. I was part of the problem.’
Instead of putting his hands up like, ‘I didn’t
want anything to do with it!’ He knows he
was inciting it.
Then there’s that part where Frank, a guy
who acknowledges ruining the scene, is
actually complaining how the scene is
ruined for him—full of ‘posers,’ ‘jocks’
and ‘hippies.’ He even says, ‘Our music
and message didn’t matter.’ What was the
message? What happened to punk that
made Frank feel like it wasn’t the same for
him anymore?
H: Any subculture has this. Even ‘burbs and
areas like Silver Lake: ‘Oh, it wasn’t like it used
to be!’ Everyone can identify with that. Part of
it was more jocks started coming in—people
that the year before were saying ‘What the
fuck is that?’ and next year they’re the punkest
of all the punks. Frank was complaining
people were getting beat up that he’d been
hanging out with the week before—it got so
big and his own gang had so many chapters
and there was new recruits within these gangs,
it was hard to keep up. And the punk rock
sound changed, the look of these frontmen
changed! And of course they changed because
they’re artists and artists don’t stagnate. They
move on with culture and what’s happening.
Frank didn’t wanna move on!
He starts out getting into punk because it’s
new and like nothing he’s ever seen—but
then he wants it to stay frozen that way?
H: That’s right. We probably can’t relate to
this completely but I got as close as I can to
it over the years with Frank to understand
what it’s like. Frank, first off, was a good-
looking guy. Charming and sweet, believe it
or not. But he had that other side of him,
man. And he was a fucking god. He walked
in anywhere he wanted in L.A.—to have
that feeling, that energy, that tingling around
you that no one’s gonna fucking touch you,
you can get any fucking girl you want, you’re
gonna kill anyone who gets in your face and
you got 20-30-40-50 guys right behind me.
Imagine that! I don’t think I’ll ever get that.
And he’s maybe 16 years old.
H: Correct. So how and why would he wanna
move on from that? But then these girls who
six months ago were looking at him and
winking at him are now giving him the look
of ‘Ew!’ They’ve moved on. And in the punk
rock magazines, everyone is moving on.
D: Let’s do an entertainment parallel—
these guys fancied themselves like a mob,
correct? Remember the end of Goodfellas?
All of a sudden it was over. And he was an
ordinary guy. That’s exactly how these guys
felt. Walking into a Tex and the Horseheads
show—their style was tired and the ladies
didn’t care. It’s over. That’s hard to face.
That makes the book hard to read, too. You
wonder—what was it all for?
D: All of this can be looked at as ‘What is the
story of man?’ When man has nothing to do,
he just destroys things. That way he can take
ownership of his life.
So that’s the story? Pursuing power by
causing pain.
H: And what was it all about? It was about
that moment. They never looked past it.
Maybe [LMP founder] Santino did with his
gang growing, but the soldiers didn’t look past
that moment. So what was it all for? Shit! For
nothing! Just that night, just that day.
What would L.A. punk have been like if
these gangs never existed?
H: The deeper I got into it, I realized this is the
byproduct—it was impossible not to exist. At
least in Los Angeles. Everything good has that
dark side. I can’t imagine punk rock being
some beautiful artful place for expression …
there just had to be a dark violent side.
Frank makes it simple: ‘So much hate, so
much fun.’ Is that this book in six words?
H: To get another person to suffer like you
suffer … maybe there’s some type of fucking
commonality there in that moment? [‘So
much hate, so much fun’] says everything.
That was Frank’s mentality. He hated himself,
man. He knows still today … that was the
price to pay to be that evil and that mean and
heartless and to look back now, it saddens
him. It was all for naught! What did he get
from it? Nightmares for the rest of his life. But
the hate was fun—it was so deep and dark he
found a love of it. He loved to hate.
DISCO’S OUT … MURDER’S IN!: THE
TRUE STORY OF FRANK THE SHANK
AND L.A.’S DEADLIEST PUNK ROCK
GANG IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM
FERAL HOUSE. FERALHOUSE.COM.
BOOKS