WILLIAM ALEXANDER VOL. 9 NO.

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6 IKEY OWENS
Jesse Carzello

28 WILLIAM ALEXANDER
MONIQUEA Frankie Alvaro
8 Daiana Feuer
32 OPEN MIKE EAGLE
D.M. Collins
12 THEE COMMONS
Desi Ambrozak
34 ELISA AMBROGIO
Rin Kelly
16 COZZ
sweeney kovar
42 NIK TURNER of HAWKWIND
Jonny Bell and Chris Ziegler
20 THE FLESH EATERS
Chris Ziegler
46 RED AUNTS
Ron Garmon
24 IBEYI
sweeney kovar

COZZ by GARI ASKEW


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4
DEBI DEL GRANDE
 IKEY OWENS
1974 - 2014
I don’t remember meeting Ikey, though I remember the first
conversation we had.  It was the early aughts and I was relatively new
to Long Beach with a lot of time on my hands and very little money. I
was spending a lot of time at Fingerprints Records on 2nd Street at the
headphone listening stations, checking out new releases and looking for
a bargain.  One afternoon while clacking through the racks of used CDs,
something came over the store speakers that caught my interest.  The
voice on the recording was very familiar though it seemed particularly
raw. This soulful voice was accompanied only by rough, idiosyncratic
guitar strumming. I looked behind the counter and knew immediately
from his body language that this man had made the selection.  Intrigued,
I walked over to him and inquired.  It was then that Ikey told me—in
his customarily loud and proud way—that the artist was Lauryn Hill and
the recording was an advance of an MTV Unplugged album.  We gushed
over Ms. Hill for a few and then I was on my way.  groove. The drummer follows suit and I’m right behind him, with some
After that initial conversation, we would always be cordial
and catch up when I’d see him around town at shows and at the bars.  washes over me as realize I’ve found a comfortable place within this
Occasionally, around last call, I’d give him a ride downtown to the Cooper
Arms, where he was staying at the time.
I started running to him in L.A. occasionally as well. I would go see
Defacto, and later Mars Volta.  One incident in particular that I remember
is going to see one of the first Mars Volta shows at Spaceland and running
into Ikey in the bathroom line. He took a copy of a Free Moral Agents
CD-R—conspicuously tucked inside another band’s cardboard promo
sleeve—from his jacket. He told me that he had just finished working on
it and to let him know what I thought of it.  I was struck by this gesture.
I wasn’t sure why I had gotten one of the few copies and certainly had no
idea why he seemed to care about my opinion of it.
One night around 2004 or so, he stopped into Alex’s Bar on
a night Luke Warm Quartet—my old band—was on stage. After the
set he came up and told me that he really enjoyed it and expressed
interest in jamming with us.  I assumed it was just bar talk but felt
flattered nonetheless.  Mere months later, we were on stage at the Echo
performing in L.A. for the first time with Ikey sitting in at a show that
he booked for us.
  After we finished a somewhat unwieldy set, I was brooding in
a corner at one of the tables to the right of the stage, alone with my
misgivings. Ikey spotted me, came over and said, ‘Great set, man. Come
on—there’s some people I want you to meet.’ And with that Ikey taught
to me something that I would see him do firsthand many times over
during our career together in Free Moral Agents:  perform vigorously and
unabashedly, and when it’s done, always put on your best face.
  I remember around this time I got a phone call from Ikey to play
the opening night at a club in downtown Long Beach called the Basement
Lounge—where the Blind Donkey currently resides. Over the phone he
told me the songs we’d be playing: a hip-hop cover, a Miles Davis riff, an
early FMA song, etc. I spent the next few days before the show frantically
trying to prepare, truly puzzled about why I was recruited for the gig. (I
still contend that my willingness to work for cheap in those days may
well have been a factor.) I certainly felt in over my head. It was one thing
to have Ikey play on songs that I had written, but it was another to be
a sideman in someone else’s sphere, something at that point I had very
little experience in. But it was too good an opportunity to decline. I was
prepared to sink or swim.
Born Dec. 1, 1974, Isaiah “Ikey” Owens was a Grammy-award winning keyboardist, founding mem-
ber of the Free Moral Agents, a member of Mars Volta and Jack White’s backing band, and a sought-
after producer and musician. He was an integral member of the Long Beach music community and
inspired too many people to count. He passed away on Oct. 14, 2014. He will always be missed.
6
  I arrived at the show for soundcheck, which was also to serve as the
band’s only rehearsal. Looking around at the fine cast of players that Ikey
had assembled for the event, I felt discernibly out-classed. After getting
through one of the five pieces we were hoping to use for a preliminary
run-through, the soundman informed us that doors were about to open
and our practice time was up. Ikey and I strolled a couple blocks to my
place for some refreshments before the show. On the walk back to the
venue he blurts out, ‘Forget the set list—we’re just going to improvise.’ 
  We arrive back at the Basement Lounge to a packed house. 
Everyone is swilling some then-trendy now-forgotten libation that
sponsored the private event. The time came to hit the stage. Ikey told the
rest of the band when they took their places to scrap the plan. He asked
the bassist, Orlando Greenhill, to just start us off with something in the
key of E. Without missing a beat, Orlando is vamping on an insistent
funky chord stabs and some understated staccato riffing.  A bit of relief
dynamic. Just as I’m settling in, Money Mark makes his way to the stage.
He immediately launches into a crowd-inciting organ solo.As Mark is
wrapping up, Ikey—never being one to be shown up—unleashes an epic,
screaming solo.  After an exhaustive few minutes of unbridled expression,
Ikey takes his hands off the keyboard.  The feeling in the room was beyond
electric. The crowd, many entering the throes of inebriation due to the
unending supply of free booze, was at this point in hysterics. As they
thunderously roared, Ikey turned around and shouts over to me, ‘Turn
up and solo!’ Up until that moment I had never tried to solo, barring
some between-song noodling at rehearsal.
  Similarly, when I got the next call from Ikey to play an upcoming
Free Moral Agents show, I again wondered why when the city was
teeming with more qualified players. Reservations be damned, I show
up to practice at an hourly rehearsal spot in Anaheim.  In the room,
eight other players—three vocalists, two keyboardists, bassist, drummer,
violinist, and myself—begin taking direction from Ikey as we attempt to
get the set together. After working with the vocalists for a bit, Ikey turns
his attention to me and asks me where my pedals are. It felt ridiculous
explaining to him that I didn’t own any, particularly since we had played
together several times.  Over the next few months Ikey starts passing
pedals to me. I became enthralled by the textural possibilities and my
approach to my instrument had been forever changed.
I remember the first rehearsal FMA had as a six piece—Ikey,
Mendee, Dennis, Ryan, Reid, and myself—at Greenhouse Rehearsal
Studios.  At this point the band had seen a few line-ups with varying
degrees of viability. As soon as we started to play that day, we all sort
of looked at each other and knew that it felt right. From that moment
onward—and I say this with only the slightest bit of hyperbole—it’s all
been a brilliant flash. I think I can speak for the surviving members of
Free Moral Agents when I say that we’ve truly loved and believed in what
we have done. Further, I marvel how we have maintained our chemistry
and ability to reach those ecstatic heights after so many years of working
together.  We all love and miss Ikey dearly.  We’re just beginning to know
what life without him is going to be like. Alas, we are grateful for our
collective experience and so proud of the work that we have done with
our brother Ikey at the helm.
  —Jesse Carzello, Thanksgiving Day, 2014
MONIQUEA
Interview by Daiana Feuer
Photography by Ward Robinson
Any given night, downtown Mexican restaurant Señor Fish turns into a funk scene. They’re not there
for the music. The stereo bumps endless mainstream radio pop. But the place has become the go-to
taco eatery for funk sweetheart Moniquea, her collaborator XL Middleton, his MoFunk label-mate
Eddie Funkster, and a crowd of their scene comrades. They all happened to be there lining the bar
when Moniquea met up to discuss her new album Yes No Maybe. She’s a cool, funny, down-to-earth
lady and we talked some deep subjects—especially love.
While we were drinking pre-interview, you
mentioned you started rapping in 7th grade.
Did you have a rap group?
I didn’t have a group per se, but I had a group
of friends that would rap together. I was
rapping like a madwoman.
That’s so cute…
You mean: ‘cooool.’ It was cute too—don’t
get me wrong—but it was really more than
anything just … COOL. Ha! I was always the
only girl. That was always fine with me but
became interesting as I became older.
They accepted you as an equal?
Absolutely. Sometimes I’d get embarrassed,
in the way that maybe acceptance makes you
a little bit embarrassed. Because of the other
people around you that aren’t doing it—
meaning girls. If we went somewhere that guys
were rapping, I was like, ‘I don’t know if the
girls will get mad at me if I go start rapping.’
That was the uncomfortable part. But I really
loved it. Especially when I went home and
thought about the day. Just to pay it forward
to my mom—that’s because of her and her
band. When I was little I’d sit and watch their
rehearsals—mouth wide open. They were
called the Roses. It was my mom, her sister,
a cousin, and two friends. They did a lot of
soul, Aretha Franklin, New Birth, people like
that. Once I got around 10th grade, I started
remembering why I‘d been drawn to music.
When you’re a kid, you’re struck by everything
that’s happening. When I got older, I realized
they were my source of inspiration the whole
time. My mom would always lead ‘Jump To It’
by Aretha and I thought that was her song!
What was your first stage performance?
If you really want to get technical, I did it at
my first school. I was probably in the 4th grade.
But when I really, really did it for people to see,
I was in 10th grade and it was at Pasadena High
School and it was the talent show. There were
people from different schools competing. It was
the biggest talent show to date that we’ve ever
had in Pasadena, and I won. I rapped and sang
a song I wrote. When they said I won, it was
an out of body experience. It struck something
inside of me. It was extreme to me because
it was the first big thing I ever done—to be
around your peers and to get that acceptance
from them saying, ‘We like your type of sound
and your type of voice’ I will never forget.
On Yes No Maybe you’ve streamlined your
sound into funk music, but your first record
had a lot more genres on it. Were you still
figuring things out then?
It was completely different styles. For the
longest time I had been trying to figure out
someone to understand my voice and the
music I like. The person that actually found
that inside of me is XL Middleton. I am still
proud of that 2011 Moniquea album. It was
something that I had to get out. My childhood
friend Teddy Bear produced it. It will always
mean a lot to me. I was always running into
people telling me to sing like this or that: ‘Can
you do Mariah Carey on this? Toni Braxton
on that?’ But I kinda wanted to be doing
the Moniquea the whole time. As cliché as it
might sound, it’s true. That album I wrote, I
loved it—but I was still searching for someone
to find me musically.
How did you and XL Middleton link up?
We’re from the same town, Pasadena. I knew of
him and he didn’t know me. He’s been doing
his thing for quite some time, and I have too
but we never had the chance to connect. We
met one night at a local Pasadena show that we
both happened to be booked for. He’d heard
one song on the Moniquea album—‘Can’t Let
You Go’—and it was funky to him. He liked
it. We ended up connecting on that song. It
was history from there. I’m not a runner—I
don’t run all over to sing. I’m a straight singer.
I feel a certain way when I sing and it’s a funky
sound that might hit you like Cherrelle or
Evelyn ‘Champagne’ King. I have the straight
sound like they have. I’ve always been this
way and I’d been looking for something to
accompany that sound. My voice has always
lent itself to the funk. Finally someone gets me
and can produce me.
Are you a couple?
No—ha ha! Everyone always thinks that.
It’s probably that video you made (‘You
Can’t Train Me’) where you pretended to be
a couple.
That’s the operative word, isn’t it! But that was
the introduction of him and I musically.
It’s great to find people who speak your
language.
It’s incredible. And I can say the same for Eddie
Funkster. Him understanding the voice that I
had—that meant a lot to me too. XL and I
had been working together prior to meeting
up with Eddie Funkster. Since we all came
together it has been like an apple.
An apple?
SOLID. You know how it grows? That’s what
we’ve been. I’m having the most fun in these
last three years that I’ve ever had and I wouldn’t
trade it.
I saw a live video from 2012 for ‘Secret,’
which is on your new album. Is that a song
you wrote before starting to work with XL?
That song is one I wrote before XL. It was
initially produced by another guy. XL liked
it and wanted to do his version. I was excited
because it’s one of the closest songs to my life.
I thought it’d be way different from everything
else on the new album, but he was into it.
I like that. It stood out for that reason.
A lot of people have said they liked it actually.
Also it’s got a lot of words.
It’s got a lot of words because I felt a lot of ways
when I wrote it.
What was happening?
What was happening is something that
continues happening. When people, they
don’t know you and they speculate on what
you’re doing and how you might be doing it
and with whom you’re doing it.
By that do you mean sex?
I mean sex, where you live, how do you make
money, where do you spend it? I’m pretty
private so when people don’t know that’s
when they start to wonder or come up with
their own ideas. It was—for lack of a better
word—liberating to put that into a song and
get it out without spilling too much. So ‘I got a
secret and guess what? I’m not going to tell you
but I’m going to sing about it. And still you
won’t know but I’m telling you how I feel.’ It’s
for people judging who I’m hanging out with,
what kind of music I do, how I’m living. From
family to friends—just stop. Let me live and
let you live. That’s how that song was born. I’m
glad it’s on the album. I didn’t see it coming.
Have you figured out how to fully play
the album live? It’s an interesting thing
about funk shows. Maybe they happen in
tighter spaces but performers use minimal
instruments.
You’re right about that. We have not been able
to play it with a full band live. That would
be spectacular. We have played with these
guys the South Bay All-Stars. This was before
the album dropped but we had a full band,
drummer, lead guitar, bass guitar, XL on keys,
myself singing. ‘Secret’ is crazy live. The energy
was skin-crawling when I got to do that song
with a full live band. We’ve done a few songs
live here and there but the opportunity doesn’t
always present itself in the places we go. In
the meantime we have a new guy—David
Z—playing keys with us along with XL. Then
we have the backing track but I always give the
vocals live. It’s a must. Or I would just quit.
Right—because what’s the point?
I know, but people are doing that. And it’s like
… fine. But me, personally, I got to sing it out.
9
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Whatever’s gotta come out, it’s gonna come
out. You’re gonna hear it coming from me.
What’s your dream?
When I’m 89 I want to still be singing, even if
it’s a little ditty on a cruise ship or Las Vegas.
If I can still sing songs from Yes No Maybe and
future people can shake a shoulder to it. All I
want in life is to be able to live and not worry
about anything but singing, the mortgage,
the dog, my family. I don’t need more than I
know what to do with. But I want to sing for a
complete living for a complete lifetime. When
that happens I will be complete.
What’s your writing process? Does XL give
you music and then you write lyrics?
The majority of the time it’s like that but I come
to him with lyrics and melodies sometimes
and he builds tracks around them.
Why do you make so many love songs?
Because I love LOVE. I’m in love with love.
Most women probably are. I’m really infatuated
with it. Wanting to see what the total outcome
of it can be is my dream.
When a song puts love on a pedestal, do you
think that kind of love is real? Or is that just
a fairytale?
I think it exists. It has not been heavily
discovered by most people. But I do still
believe it exists. Once I figured out about love
and relationships in real life—not just some
like ‘ooh, a boyfriend’—I realized that people
are supposed to feel this way. It’s supposed to
be for real. It’s not just a fairytale, like a movie
you can watch and maybe dream about it but
it’s not real. I really believe in it. And until it
happens, which I believe it will, I will always
look for it to come to me.
How close have you been to that?
I think I’ve been close. I think I’ll know when
I’m there. I think it’s tangible. It’s better to
believe that. When I see people who have been
together 20 or 30 years and then it’s over, that’s
alright to me because the two of them have
lived a lifetime together—gone through all of
the emotions. If it gets to a point where that’s
it, I can’t be upset about that. I look forward
to doing time with someone, whether it lasts
forever or not. After that take me to Vegas, take
me on a cruise, I’ll be that old lady just cruisin’.
And then when he’s 72 and has a 40-year-old
new wife, that will be fine too. I’ll treat her like
a daughter. HA! But yeah—I want to love and
experience love on the level of which I can’t
even imagine.
If you’re not experiencing that kind of love,
are you definitely with the wrong person?
I’ve been with a lot of not-the-right-persons. I
haven’t had ten boyfriends but I’ve always been
somebody’s girlfriend since I was 16. There’s
only one time where I thought I might get
married. It didn’t happen but it was the first
time I felt like I had looked into the sky and
imagined us married with kids. But it wasn’t
the time for me. I wouldn’t be here having
this conversation or making my album if it
had happened right then. I’ve always planned
my life to be an older mature mother where
I’m not looking to get out and get going:
‘Mom, can you watch the baby because I
wanna go out.’ I never wanted to be that girl. I
strategically planned to not be—excuse me—a
baby’s mama. I don’t mind for those that do.
I have known a lot of friends with kids and
they’re not married and the kids are great but I
INTERVIEW
just made a choice that it wasn’t for me.
You only have one life and it’s okay to decide
how you want it to go.
Eventually I want someone to take care of
and we take care of each other and say ‘Hey,
where’s my BenGay…’
Then they rub it on your butt for you.
Rub it on my butt until I fall asleep.
I’m not sure that’s where BenGay goes,
actually.
I don’t care. Just rub it on my butt. Even if it’s
my foot that’s hurting.
So the album is about love in so many ways.
Yes. The album is Yes No Maybe because it’s
the uncertainty of love but still believing in
it. That’s why a lot of the songs talk about it.
It’s scary though. You don’t want to fall in love
with the wrong person. That’s a waste of time.
But sometimes you don’t know if you’re
wasting your time while it’s happening.
That’s where ‘NO’ comes in, but it’s too late
because you already did it. And then you
realize too late: ‘Now it’s no, huh?’ But Yes
No Maybe is not a title that means ‘that’s it,
nevermind, forget it.’ There’s hope. I sing of
hope and I sing of love, past love, and what
I think might be love right now. Maybe it is,
maybe it isn’t.
It’s all carried off with confidence, which
makes the songs uplifting. It’s like you’re
not sure about the guy but you’re sure about
yourself.
Oh, you’re good. That’s exactly what that is.
Which is why people compare your music
to 1980s upbeat funky R&B jams. Those
songs about being a self-assured woman
who knows she’s attractive but she wants to
find love—she wants to find it on the dance
floor tonight while the DJ is playing. Don’t
you think that’s what makes those songs
last? Because the feeling is really good?
Yes, that feeling is real! I may interpret it
differently in 2014 but I like the way they said
it then. I connect to the language. I felt it then
and I feel it right now. That’s why those songs
have lasted. They’re saying it in this way that
makes you want to, I don’t know …
Put on your lipstick and go! Go get it
whatever it is!
It’s making me cry what you’re saying. It’s true.
Just go, yes, with your lipstick on! They said it
how they really meant it and the sophistication
of that whole thing turned me on as a youth
and growing into a young woman because I
am always about getting my point across in
the most non-abrasive way. Saying, ‘This is
how I feel about it but I don’t need to knock
you down with my words.’ Words are serious.
You’ve got to choose them in a certain way.
Whether I’m hurting or don’t like how I’m
being treated, or if I love the way I’m being
treated and everything’s great. In my writing
style I don’t want to knock anybody down
or make anybody uncomfortable. I have a
particular way of describing it that I like. It’s
strategic but I’m very much real about it. I feel
this way and I’m this person that lives this way
beyond the song in real life.
‘I Don’t Want To Get Used To It’ seems like
it sums up the Yes No Maybe theme and this
attitude we’re talking about.
That’s a prime example. It’s a real song about a
real person. We were having fun. It was great.
He was picking me up, taking me out. But
because of the kind of person he was, I didn’t
want to get used to this going out and chillin’
because at any moment it could snap off and he
would be gone. We weren’t together. We were
‘hanging out.’ I was scared of the inevitable
but at the same time, it was so much fun and I
wanted to keep doing it. It was too much fun
and too temporary. I couldn’t look into the sky
and see it as something real but I was starting
to like him too much. I cut it off.
That choice is harder than it seems.
It was hard, and we can go back to where
‘Secret’ began. I decided early in life what I
wouldn’t become … but people expect you to
be something ‘by now’—by now you should
be married, by now you should have children.
Fuck ‘by now.’
That’s what I said. But then speculation was
born from my decision. It was hard to live
with, but after I got over the fear of what
somebody thought of me or what I should
have by now, I wrote ‘Secret.’ At first I was like,
‘Maybe I should be married, maybe I should
already have some kids, maybe I should have
someone shack up in my house and drive my
car everyday and I don’t know where they are,
sure.’ No. I can’t do that. So I never did. But a
lot of people I know did that, and they couldn’t
do what they wanted to do for themselves.
You can’t give up all yourself to be a mom
or wife until you’ve fulfilled what you think
you need to do or found someone who
supports you in doing it.
There, you’ve said it. I want those things. I love
those things. But I have a plan and I’m sticking
to it. I’m not going to do something because
somebody thinks its time. Being a young black
woman, those expectations in our culture
reaches a pivotal point. ‘She still ain’t got no
babies. She still ain’t got no real man.’ I’m like,
‘I could do that for you. I could pop out a baby.
But I don’t want it like that.’ I want to try it
when I want to try it, down the line. I want to
get married and then have kids, not the other
way around. Some people think you should be
doing it any way possible, unmarried or with
the first person interested in you.
There’s cultural standards, family standards.
Each one has prescribed ideas about what
a woman should be doing at a certain part
of her life. Don’t you think it’s crazy there’s
more people in the world than the ones you
already know? And every one of them has
some thing going on—some rules or ideals
they’re juggling to determine what to do?
There’s a different perspective.
Think of people in Russia!
I forgot about them! They exist!
Or in the highlands of Guatemala.
If I run into one of those guys, I’m not going to
be surprised by what they’re doing. There’s so
many people that we don’t even know! We’re
just so into our things and our immediate
world. Maybe I’m living like there’s a whole lot
going on. Don’t focus so much on what your
friends that you’ve known forever are doing
if it’s different. Don’t worry about it. Because
guess what? There’s somebody you don’t know
doing something crazy as hell somewhere.
Somewhere, some guy might be giving birth
to a giraffe on a waterfall, I don’t know.
Out his butt! With BenGay all over it. And the
giraffe comes out with baby bangs. So why do
you care what I’m doing!
What do these views say about you?
I think they make me an individual making
her own choices. I don’t have any problem with
choices other people make. It’s been a problem
for me that people were having problems
with the choices I make. I don’t think that’s
necessarily feminist. I’m making my life for
me. It means I’m living like I know about the
guy with the giraffe baby. Everybody’s got their
own to choose. If you don’t hurt anybody, it’s
not hurting anything. People don’t realize they
hurt you by the things they think you should
be doing. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but
when I run into people from the old days, it’s
like they are disappointed in you. Like you’ve
failed in some way. Their whole spirit has been
dropped beneath them and got pierced.
It’s probably also that they had to build a
way of seeing what they’ve done as right and
what they should be doing. That changes
their outlook.
Girl, I have to close my eyes for a minute and
take that in. You just said something there.
And you’re right. And maybe they’re acting
that way because of what you said. But then
again should I feel bad about not being in that
position? I would never make someone feel
bad for their life.
On a lighter note, I wish you hadn’t told me
the story about your stepmom at church
before we started recording.
Can I tell you the story about telling you the
story?
You said that whatever city your family
visits, they always go to church.
They come from New Orleans. I come from
Los Angeles and we end up meeting in frikkin
Florida in Orlando, where all the tourists
are. My stepmother always has to go to every
Catholic church wherever she’s at. She’s a
Catholic woman from New Orleans, after
all. We went to the ‘Disney’ church—in this
Disney area where all the Disney people go. It
was so whimsical—the entire neighborhood
was Disney. There were twiddling birds. It
was manicured, and the church was all grand.
We walk into church and we’re the only black
people there. Plus, how we grew up, you wore a
dress to church and here half the people were in
casual clothes. So the church is full, and these
three black women in their finest just walk right
to the front. It was my stepmom and my sister,
and myself a few steps behind them. I stopped
at like the fourth row from the front, but they
just kept on walking, over the threshold, and
sat down with the choir. The people scooted
down for me, and I’m looking at my family,
thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, you’re sitting with the
choir!’ My stepmother kept trying to shoo me
over to them. I could not believe it. Every time
the choir stood up to sing, she stood up and
sang the songs loud as if she knew them. People
could not keep their eyes off this woman that
walked right in and sat with the choir like she
belonged there. My sister, she was just looking
so sad in her eyes. But she wasn’t about to leave
my stepmom there alone. So they sang with
the choir, took communion, oh boy. We leave
church and my stepmom acts like nothing even
happened. We’re like the Griswolds.
MONIQUEA’S YES NO MAYBE IS
AVAILABLE FROM MOFUNK. VISIT
MONIQUEA AT MONIQUEA.COM.
11
THEECOMMONS
Interview by Desi Ambrozak
Photography by FUNAKI

Thee Commons has the rhythm that makes you want to move:
part cumbia, part psych, part surf and all about keeping you up
and keeping on your feet. They come from East Los Angeles with
a sound that’s raw and full of energy. (Which explains how they
pull off all their guerilla-style generator shows.) The pots and
pans they used as drums when they were kids in their parents’
garage are as much of who they as politics and literature, and
they don’t worry about fitting into any genre—they just want to
express themselves honestly. Their coming release Rock Is Dead:
Long Live Paper and Scissors is a compilation of their best work to
date from their recent monthly EP series—now up to Vol. VIII—and
I sat with members David, René, and José on a warm November
evening in Long Beach to talk about their music and what makes
them so unique.

How’d you guys get started?
David Pacheco (guitar/lead vocals): René and I
are siblings and when we were little kids we
went to all kinds of backyard shows. Like
quinceañeras and stuff. A lot of that music was
cumbias and rancheras.
René Pacheco (drums/vocals): A lot of NSYNC,
Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, and … their
name escapes me but that song that goes
‘MMMBop.’
D: That was our soundtrack as kids.
R: Very diverse.
D: One of our uncles would come over and he
would play rancheras and drink beer with my
dad. And this one day he gave me one of his
acoustic guitars. I started playing—but I didn’t
know how to do anything. I didn’t know how
to tune it. So René and I were at our grandma’s
house at a party. We were in the garage with a
bunch of pots and the guitar. I was 14 and he
was like what? 11? It was super cute.
Actual pots and pans?
R: Well, they had a pretty cool sound. They
were like old school. Like, out of aluminum.
They were a lot more fragile. They had a good
bang. We would play a song [and play along].
He would strum and I’d keep a beat.
D: We thought, ‘It kinda does match.’ We told
our parents we knew how to play and put on
the track and started making noise. Then my
dad said, ‘Try it without the track playing.’ It
sounded like shit—ha!
R: We were just having a good time.
D: That’s when we started playing. I kept
playing guitar, René kept playing the drums.
He played in another band and I played in my
own band too.
R: It was just two members. His drummer for
the band he was in was such an active musician
and always wanted to do stuff. He had his own
little project that he decided to pick up again.
The bassist was in this new band. David was
singing. Then the drummer was playing bass
and has asked if I’d play drums. He started
teaching me how to get comfortable with it—
how to use it, set it up, put it away. All that
good stuff. It began from there. After that was
over David and I just went from there.
D: We started our first band.
R: ‘The Anti-Party.’
D: No, no—‘Hello My Name is Red.’
R: I just thought I’d mention ‘Anti’!
What kind of music was it?
R: It was very rock ‘n’ roll. A lot of people
would say we were rockabilly. Then we started
listening to surf and tripped out 50s stuff.
D: I started listening to a lot of chicha. It’s
music from Peru. It’s a style of playing that’s
surfy guitar with organs,
R: With psychedelic guitar riffs.
Like Los Saicos?
D: Los Saicos is more like the garage stuff. The
other bands that did cumbias but instead of an
accordion they had an organ and guitars to. So
it gave it like a crazy cool sound.
R: It’s its own thing. It’s not like rock ‘n’ roll
except the guitar. There’s so many different
kinds of cumbias. The southern cumbias use
and orchestra with winds or brass. They all
have percussion but the southern cumbias have
trippy guitars and the riffs are very melodic.
José Cruz (bass/vocals): It sounds like if you
took a cumbia band and took the 60s music in
America and England and combined it.

12
D: But the rhythm is its own thing.
R: The rhythm is what makes it cumbia.
When did you start listening to chicha?
D: In 2012. Shortly after we discovered that
kind of sound we knew exactly what we
wanted to do.
R: I didn’t know anyone our age who liked
the stuff. I didn’t think people would be into
it but everyone seemed to be having a good
time.
Before that, when you were doing rock, was
your style more American or Latin? Did you
sing in Spanish?
R: More American. We were already starting
to think that we should do stuff that was more
like what we grew up with when we heard
chicha—
D: Chicha was the sound that we really
thought was cool—ha!
R: Not only the Peruvian scene—our parents
were from Pueblo.
When did thee Commons become a thing?
D: 2012 in March—right after Hello My
Name is Red. We were starting to get more
political.
R: We were just starting to go back to college
and becoming aware or certain things. It hits
you pretty quickly. Music is our way of coping
because it can be pretty traumatizing you
know.
What specifically was it that hit you?
R: It wasn’t specific so much as just social
awareness of things that when you’re a kid you
don’t notice.
D: It’s like when you discover Nietzsche for the
first time, maybe like in your adolescence. It
has a profoundness to it. One of our songs was
about the protesters at Occupy. Me and René
did a generator show with them. Basically get
power by plugging into a car battery and just
played music for them. It was a lot of fun. But
I think at that point it was more of a political
thing and we thought, ‘Let’s change it up and
make it about music.’
R: That’s the purpose of music. It’s liberating
and not in a cheesy way. It’s a way of coping. I
never knew there was a cage in the world. All
the sudden I realized there is a cage. Music is
a way of saying, ‘There is no cage. What cage?
What you talking about?’ That’s why cumbias
are so dope because they involve so much
about celebrating life. That’s why I like music
so much. There’s a lot you can say behind it.
There’s a lot of responsibility that you have as
a person to celebrate this life we have and this
togetherness. So it’s different. There is that
responsibility—it’s there but it’s different. It’s
not such an important one.
D: I think that non-mainstream music has
always been—and cumbia included—music
of resistance in a sense and a way to say
something that hasn’t been said. It’s creating
it’s own outlet. That’s part of my inspiration
to make this sound happen. It’s a metaphor.
It’s a symbol. Thee Commons represents this
limited space where life happens with two
sides to it. A side where you can’t cope with
it and the side where you do what you can
and that’s where we come into play. It’s very
existential. Some of the lyrics in Spanish are
about choices you make and dealing with the
consequences.
Are there any issues specifically that you are
trying cope with?
14
R: Not really any more. At one point it was.
But now it’s evolved to where it’s really just
all about music. I really love being in a band
that’s cool—that has a vision for innovation
and using rhythms that just grab you.
D: We’ve been pushing to stay creative right
now.
It’s pretty impressive that you guys are able
to put out new music every month.
D: It’s a lot of work, though—a lot of work.
R: We keep ourselves motivated. If you’re
not motivating yourself then you have to pay
someone else to keep you motivated.
How old are you guys now?
D: I’m 26, René is 23, José is 21.
And you’ve literally been playing music
since you were kids.
R: Yeah, never accurately or anything—but
little stuff. I starting fucking around with a
keyboard and the musical guys at school came
and asked me to join. I signed up wanting to
play the violin or the flute but they put me
on trombone. I got trombone because I had
big arms. They were like, ‘No kid can play this
except you—you have the arms for it.’ I had
a trombone solo with a little pause: ‘Baaa …
ba.’
Do you have any songs that have horns in
them now?
R: I’ve always wanted to. It hasn’t worked out.
J: I feel like a lot of the guitar that we put
together is done in the place of horns that
we wish we had. But what we come with in
terms of rhythm and phrasing is because we’re
missing a horn section. A lot of the stabs and
riffs and the parts that David and I link up.
R: I just don’t think it would work with horns.
I think a three piece is what’s up.
D: When you get a fourth member it can get
really muddy. José’s been playing with us for
four or five months now.
How did you guys all meet?
R: We’re twins! He tried to eat me and then we
started playing together.
We’ll need to expand on that one.
R: It’s not quite clear. It’s all from a dream
in the womb. One of us would squeal then
the other would squeal back then we’d start
harmonizing.
D: René’s always been super energetic
and always causing trouble like at parties
and getting us kicked out of restaurants. I
remember this one time at McDonald’s in one
of those playplaces. We got the idea to use the
food trays to go superfast down the slide. Then
one kid got hurt and we had to go back to our
parents. We were like 7—like still little enough
to be cute. We weren’t trying to harm anybody.
We were just big enough to be able to handle it
but other kids got hurt.
What’s the worst trouble that you got in?
D: There was one that was pretty bad. It wasn’t
really trouble because It was an accident when
we were playing catch.
R: If we’re going to talk about my scars…
I’ve got a bunch of those. Not emotion scars,
physical scars.
So what happened?
R: You’re not supposed to play catch in the
dark.
D: We were at the park and I threw it to you
and I guess you didn’t see it.
R: I was like ‘I got it.’ It was a baseball. I was 8
and I was like, ‘Fuck it. That didn’t even hurt’.
Then I went to massage it and ooked at my
hand and it was completely red.
D: It was pretty nauseating to see it.
R: My parents were having this conversation
with other people and I go in like ‘AHHH!’
‘What the fuck?’ Everything happened so
quickly. We went straight to the restroom.
They’re like, ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’
D: So René and I are siblings and José—how
long have you been playing music again?
J: I’ve been playing since I was like 14 or so. I
was playing bass a lot for my church and that
gave me a foundation.
D: Then he got kicked out! He got kicked out
of the choir.
J: I got kicked out from playing. I hadn’t been
going to church all my life. I started when I
was 11. I already had a good sense of rock ‘n’
roll and 60s music and music that you’re not
supposed to listen to because it’s the devil’s
music. But I found the church to be a good
opportunity to play in front of people and to
get a good foundation playing a lot of songs.
Church music gives you a lot of songs to learn
and puts you on a schedule. Like Tuesday,
Friday, Sunday services with practice on
Thursday. Basically, I did that for three years
and built a good foundation to pick up songs
really quick. But at that point I started getting
more into the songs and playing more rock,
more riffs, more solo. One of the churches I
was going to said I need to turn myself down. I
was headbanging at church! Then I got busted
with these guys. The very first show I ever
played with them I realized it doesn’t go well
with cumbias.
You got kicked out for headbanging?
J: Not kicked out. I was asked not to do that
anymore and I just left because I found it
too confining. So I started doing my own
stuff called the Kings. Right before we
broke up I started playing with Casadegas
and my singer Eddie—or a lot of people in
L.A. call him Lalo—he started going to thee
Commons shows and when they needed a
fill-in for this big show, they needed a hired
gun … they reached out to him and reached
out to me.
D: Our old bassist had to go to jail. So he
happened to pick the weekend that we had
three shows. We got José and showed him the
chords that I was playing. He figured it out.
How many volumes of EPs do you have?
D: We have seven volumes—eight’s coming
out Saturday. It’s all recorded. [Out now—
ed.!]
When did you get the first one?
D: March. The vinyl was last year—its own
separate thing. That’s where I realized the
power of collective thought. One night we
came from the shows and we were like … on
multiple substances and we went like, ‘Damn,
man, we should set a goal!’ ‘What should it
be?’ ‘Let’s do a vinyl!’ We all agreed on it, so
that whole year of 2012, we raised the funds
and in by like October we managed to get it
to print. It took months. We got it by March.
It was cool having that. Right now we don’t
have a main consistent goal other than making
really fucking good music.
J: For many years, we had the goal of being …
fucking badass!
And now your goal is a new EP release every
month?
D: I think it’s a realization for us to talk about it
and discuss it—we did have the goal of putting
all the volumes out, and now that we’re getting
close to the end—
J: —what’s next?
R: I’d want to go on tour.
D: I was talking to these guys—we should do
a college circuit. That’s where the money’s at!
During Cinco de Mayo, or during the Día de
los Muertos events.
What do you want to accomplish as a band?
D: I wouldn’t mind it becoming my job. The
idea of it being a self-sustainable thing … at
least enough to do my own thing. I wouldn’t
even mind having a job and doing this, which
is a goal for me.
R: If you love what you do, it’s not really a job
anymore.
Do you wanna tour Mexico?
D: We were talking about that! Let’s go to
Enseñada!
R: Where’s Kumbia Queers from? Colombia?
D: Argentina.
I’ll go with you!
R: 2015!
Do you go back to Mexico very much?
D: No, we want to. But we’re always busy.
School?
D: I’m gonna finish soon. I’m doing animation.
Fun stuff.
J: I’m doing recording arts. That’s why I’m able
to do a lot of the recordings we’re doing now.
Since Vol. 5, I’ve done them.
D: If you listen, you’ll hear the difference.
I managed to save my laptop—before it
exploded—with Vol. 1 through 4, and I saved
some of the tracks I sent you. There’s like ten
of them, huh?
You almost lost the albums?
D: I did—all the masters for Vol. 1 through 4
are gone. But I managed to send you separate
masters for ten songs. We have the other tracks,
but we can’t adjust them anymore.
R: It’s fine. We’re fine with that.
D: Mr. Prodigy Producer over here’s gonna fix
them up! And through working with us, he’s
been introduced to other bands that are hiring
him.
R: In a way, we nurture each other. He’s helping
us and we exposed him to these beautiful
cumbias. When we jam out, he’ll remember
certain parts that we used to not pay attention
to. Like these cool riffs—that was cool!—and
move on. But he’d snatch them up! It’s cool.
Before no one would ever put their input in.
It was just David and I. Finally everyone is like
try this, try that—push it.
J: What makes it really fun is that we all have
different inputs and different approaches,
and we can also come to each others’
instruments.
What’s the story on your radio novela?
That’s like the ‘rediscovered’ E.P.
D: We were just drinking around a campfire
and were like, ‘We should do a story.’ In which
we narrate it, have different actors, a musical
score. It was this cool idea, and I was like, ‘We
could make a like a western!’ We needed an
idea for Vol. 6 and I had this idea for awhile
that I wanted to pursue, but we never worked
it out. I read a story in my Howlin’ Wolf
voice—cuz that’s where I got it from— you
know ‘I was black! I was playing the gee-tar!’
R: Get to the story!
INTERVIEW
D: This is the setup—it’s one of the essential
parts that I do in this voice, so it sounds even
more southern! It’s a story by Kate Chopin
about female liberation—‘The Story Of An
Hour.’ Everything happens within an hour.
I read the story first which was really hard,
cuz I would try and enunciate and my voice
would go back to normal. I did that, and then
I recorded guitar over it and did a lot of special
effects—grasshoppers, the train—and then I
gave it to [José] and he made it sound super
old school. It was fun.
R: The story was about … I can’t tell it that
quickly.
D: Just read it. It’s short. Just when I read
it, it hit me so profoundly. I wrote a song
immediately after I read that. We’ve been
playing it. It ends with the song and that’s the
song that was inspired by it.
R: We’re thinking about doing another one
in Spanish. A ranchera tribute—traditional
folk music that we love as well. We harmonize
pretty well in Spanish.
Where are you all from?
J: East L.A. Well, I’m not from East L.A.—I’m
from Ontario.
R: But he drives down, so that’s cool, man.
J: I practically live in the house.
R: You live far but it never feels like that.
Where do you go to school?
J: Citrus.
D: So it’s less traffic coming to our house and
chilling and then having practice. And René
goes to Cal State Fullerton. I got to Cal State
L.A. I’m doing my master’s right now in
literature. I’m in my first quarter—fucking
tons of research.
When did you play for Occupy?
D: We played one of the first nights they had
when there was protests. We brought the
generator and played music and let people use
the microphone to talk.
R: For some reason, [generator shows] are
always so scary—something about it feels
wrong. But then you do it.
D: The first one we did is when the Pixies
played the Palladium for the Doolittle tour.
That was our first generator show. Have
you heard Traps PS or Dirt Dress? They did
this thing called the Guerrilla Fest. They got
generators and picked five different low-key
locations and went and played and filmed it.
And took photographs and made a book about
it. We got the idea from them, just showing up
wherever we wanted and playing. Almost like
busking, but we were playing punk music.
R: Remember when we were at work and like,
‘I dunno if we should ... but let’s go do it?’
D: The whole ride over there was like, ‘Fuck
it.’ We go to our house, load up everything,
head over to Hollywood … that was hectic.
We were fucking nervous!
R: We were trying to drink beers to calm us
down but nothing would calm us down. It
was just so nerve-wracking. Then we did it and
it felt like naturally on mushrooms and ecstasy
when we were done!
D: Kinda like what Aristotle calls ‘the catharsis.’
You get all those endorphins going—cleansed!
R: It’s like if I got up on the table right now
and started dancing. It’s kind of unheard
of. Like instigating a riot—like ‘Wake up!
BLAUGHHHHH!’
D: It’s attacking the sterile part of life that
doesn’t move.
R: And watching the vibrations. It’s a
psychological social trip.
D: We don’t think about this stuff though.
R: I do.
D: Echo Park Rising was a lot of fun. Last
year we played and it was dope. We played the
Echoplex. This year we didn’t get hit up—
R: But that’s alright! That’s alright!
D: I figured where the main stages were at, and
mapped it out, and figured out the logistics.
Which is normally what we do with these
kinds of guerrilla shows. But in the middle was
a little park. A public space. Like five by ten
feet. We just decided to jam out cuz we knew
people would enjoy the music. And they did!
R: The Allah Las are very swaying back and
forth—they’re like the ocean tide, dude.
D: So we got there like 30 minutes before
they finished and we were waiting outside,
and once we heard their last song, it’s like,
‘Alright, guys—show time!’ A bunch of people
surrounded our little island. It was packed!
R: We were like ten-footer waves, compared to
swaying back and forth.
D: We got stranded in Arizona in the winter of
2012, too. For FMLY Fest Arizona. We went
to the desert the night before and camped out
and it was lot of fun. It was a full moon—
beautiful daylight in the desert.
R: But little did we know … tragedy was about
to strike the next day. We were driving and I
guess we didn’t check the water or something?
D: It just exploded! We had to wait on the side
of the freeway for hours.
Was it hot?
D: No it was cold! Middle of December! We
called this tow truck person and it took them
four hours to get there. He temporary fixed
it, and the car was still heating up but we
managed to get to Phoenix but we missed our
time slot. We didn’t get to play! So we get up
early the next day to head back and it just gets
even better. We’re driving back and we don’t
make it more than 30 minutes and the car
fucks up for good. Can’t be turned on at all.
Luckily I managed to pull over to this dead
end on the freeway by the desert. So we’re like
chilling—like fuck it, let’s make the most of
it. We grab a generator, and we did like what
we did at Occupy. Connect it to a power
converter and a car battery, and plug it in and
plug our amps into it. So we had one of those
in Arizona: ‘Fuck it, we’ll jam out here! In the
desert!’ And then like, well, fuck it! Our friend
has his phone, got a couple clips of us playing,
and then we went for a hike—‘Nobody’s
gonna jack our stuff! There’s nobody out here!’
So we went for a hike, and then we’re getting
hungry. It’s been like morning to afternoon.
One guy happens to come by—he saw us
playing and got out of his truck. He had seen
us playing while he drove by the first time,
even stopped and chilled and watched. But
then he came back five hours later like, ‘You
boys still waiting for that ride? Lemme know
if you need anything?’ We’d MacGyvered a
little fire with a bunch of twigs and all we had
was like a tortilla, some Tapatío, and a piece of
apple—which we grilled—
R: —the best damn taco ever!
D: We were fucking hungry! So we told this
guy, ‘Well, you got any food?’ ‘As a matter of
fact …’ He had a big thing of turkey slices and
cheese and bread.
R: I still think he was a ghost!
D: The video [we made] is cool. It’s called
‘At the Table.’ You see the guy that gave us
the food come out and he doesn’t have a
shadow. So maybe he’s a ghost!
THEE COMMONS’ ROCK IS
DEAD: LONG LIVE PAPER AND
SCISSORS RELEASES THIS MONTH.
THEECOMMONS.BANDCAMP.COM
FOR MORE MUSIC AND INFO.
COZZ
Interview by sweeney kovar
Photography by Gari Askew

It was never truly dead but recently, hip-hop from the West Coast
has risen to a stature it hasn’t enjoyed in years. One of the young
artists looking to make a mark is South Central’s Cozz. Barely in
his 20s, Cody Macc rolled a seven out the gate. While finishing
what was to be his debut mixtape Cozz and Effect, he was already
fielding meetings with seasoned music industry brass like Lyor
Cohen, Kevin Liles and even Wyclef Jean. Still, it was J. Cole’s
nascent Dreamville Records that made the most sense. Since
this summer Cozz has been a Dreamville artist. But what does it
mean for a young man from South Central to go from trying out
his first bars at 16 to signing a deal at 20? I got the “Dreams”
rapper on the phone to talk about what he learned from attending
high school a few miles south and a world away in Manhattan
Beach, the impact he’s looking to make and how it feels to be
finding yourself while knee-deep in the rap game.
Where were you born? Definitely, it’s always been in my plans. I’d love
I was born in Inglewood, [lived] there until to go back and visit and see where my pops
I was six and then I moved to South Cen- came from. I don’t know when but before I
tral where I’m at now. Before high school I leave the earth I’m going to go to Africa and
was just an L.A. kid who was going in the Nigeria and see what that’s about.
city, playing outside and kicking it with the What was some of the first music that you
boys and you know, getting in trouble—not started gravitating to?
getting in trouble but trying to stay out of I can’t remember specific songs. I always did
trouble. It’s just where we come from. Where gravitate to hip-hop—that was always my
there’s gang activity, we try to sneak out and shit, but old school hip hop like the 90s stuff.
kick it with girls and regular kid shit. I grew Growing up with the kids on my block, they’d
up with both of my parents, my mom and my always play rap or whatever. I was always a hip-
pops. Except later down the line they split up hop head but I always had diversity too. I love
after high school—they never had a healthy oldies, too, like old school hip-hop oldies. I like
relationship. It was always hard with things rock songs, too, but if I say I gravitate to a cer-
going on inside the house. Other than that, tain genre, it was certainly hip hop, old school
typical L.A. kids. hip hop. Artist-wise, I would say I drifted a lot
What was the soundtrack to your childhood? towards like Biggie, Pac and Eminem, too.
It was a lot of different shit because my pops, You’ve talked extensively before about liv-
he’s from Nigeria. My mom, she is American ing in South Central, but going to school in
from L.A. but she grew up with a lot of best Manhattan Beach during your high school
friends [who] are like Belizean, so she’d play years. What was it like for you when you
Belizean music, reggae … but they loved old had to make that change?
school hip-hop too. Like 2Pac, they played It was the complete opposite. I went to
Biggie, she played a lot of KRS-ONE. She middle school, like I said in one of my
liked soul, she liked Barry White—it was real songs called Orville Wright—now it’s like
diverse, man. a poor school where predominately black
Did you grow up with a Nigerian influence kids went, and after that school you went to
in your household? Westchester High School. That’s where all
Not really, because Pops been in America for my homies went but the moms didn’t want
like 30 plus years, and he’s more Americanized. me to go to Westchester High School be-
He’s African, but he’s stripped-down African. cause I was getting in trouble and that type
He’s definitely an American mind. Having my of thing. So I ended up getting accepted to
mom now, too—you know, he’s American- go to Mira Costa in Manhattan Beach and
ized. But food-wise and everything, I do have for me, it was the complete opposite of what
a lot of culture in me because I would go and I was going through going to school in my
kick it with my dad’s side of the family and area. First off, I never had white people in
they would eat a lot of African food growing class before. In all my classes, for me to be
up. I’m not a stranger to it, but I wouldn’t say [in] the one with just two black kids in the
like I’m heavy in the culture. class was just weird. It was just crazy. And I
Do you have ambitions to go visit Nigeria? still act the same in town, so I was dressed

16
 Vijay Iyer - Music of Transformation An evening with Gregory Porter

Dr. John & The Nite Trippers

Mulatu Astatke
plus special guest Meklit:
ALL NEW SEASON Ethio-jazz and Beyond

explore, engage, experience

John Zorn Marathon:

The Hermetic Organ
- solo organ improvisations
Zorn at LACMA
Royce Triple Threat
Gilberto Gil:
An evening with (Abraxas, Secret Chiefs 3
Gilbertos Samba & Bladerunner)
the way I wanted to dress. I dressed how I
dressed because I was so worried about the
other kids. Over in [South Central], everyone
cared too much about what you wear. Where
I’m from, they care shit—they’ll start shoot-
ing on you saying your shirt was dirty, they’ll
talk about you. [At Mira Costa] it didn’t mat-
ter. I probably saw like one fight go down that
whole time in high school. It was just like a
total different environment, man. But I’m
happy I went through it because I got to see
that everyone wasn’t living how I was.
Did it make you ask questions?
For sure. Pretty much like I say just now …
where I’m from, South Central L.A. … I feel
like people who are in this area never really get
out. They tend to think this is the only life. It’s
kinda like a box, like caved in. Out near the
coast it was like my mind was expanded and
I realized there is so much more to do—so
much other types of people out there that you
can learn shit from. But I also learned that
racism is out there.
How was that shown to you?
How some of the teachers would treat some
of the black kids in there. They aren’t noticed
a lot. Black kids would get in more trouble
for shit that other kids were doing that wasn’t
that big of a deal. I had a couple teachers
that—well, specifically I had a math teach-
er who would find any reason to fail me in
that class. I swear to God, one time I had a
test and you know when you do math, you
have to show certain steps and there’s always
shortcuts you can use to glide through it. So
when I had a test or whatever, I wasn’t show-
ing all the work—so I got the answer right
but he marked me wrong for most of my
answers because of the work. I’m looking at
other people’s papers and they’re doing the
exact same thing that I was doing, so he tells
me, ‘No, you didn’t show enough work.’ I’m
looking at other people’s papers and they are
doing the same thing, so he probably thinks
I cheated. Just little shit like that you have to
brush off, but it definitely is going down. The
school, other than the race shit, it was a great
school. It was like more like a college. With-
out me trying in the school I was growing up,
I would get B’s and I was doing real good. I
got Honor Roll in 8th grade—I made it and I
wasn’t really trying. When I got to Mira Cos-
ta, I never failed classes, but it was harder. The
curriculum was harder, they would have like
swim team, water polo, everything was nice.
There wasn’t no cages around the school—
you know what I’m saying? You could walk
out freely. But the schools around here, if you
see them it looks like jail. The gates are like
ten feet tall, if you’re going to leave you got to
climb over it and at Mira Costa you just walk
out. It’s more freedom, You can wear hats in
that school. Over here, you can’t wear no hats
because you know—gang affiliation. It was
free dress, it was just the total opposite of what
was going down.
Did you make any connections at Mira
Costa that helped you down the line in
your music career?
Oh, that’s actually funny, man because like
I’ve said in other interviews, I started rapping
at 16. It was like the end of tenth grade. How
I started rapping because I met a dude from
Inglewood that works there at Mira Costa
INTERVIEW
as well. He came in from Inglewood, trans-
ferred from whatever high school he was go-
ing to and he rapped. When I heard him rap
I started rapping myself, I felt like if he can do
it, I can do this shit too. Through him, that’s
where I met all the homies I kick it with now.
Through him I met Tone, which is one of my
manager-slash-homies right now. Later down
the line, I think after high school Tone had an
internship at Interscope, that’s when he had
his slight plug with blogs and shit. So at 16
that I was rapping, but last year was when I
got serious. I was showing the freestyles I was
doing solo because I was in the studio by my-
self, paying for my own studio time. I talked
to him last year I did some solos and shit and
he told me, ‘I still got blog connections, I still
have so many connections.’ That’s how the
whole thing manifested. Crazy as hell man
and I was not trying to go to Mira Costa. It’s
a blessing that I actually did go.
I’ve also heard that alot of people showed
interest in you besides J. Cole. Even though
you ultimately went with Dreamville,
where any other conversations interesting
to you?
Well, the label 300, they reached out—
that’s Lyor [Cohen] and Kevin Liles. We
talked to them, they were good people.
We actually were leaning towards them at
first. We probably talked with them for a
couple of weeks and we were actually talk-
ing about getting shit done, but you know
it just didn’t work out with them. It was just
the contracts. We knew what we wanted
and the contract were kind of screw us so
we ended up not working with them. As
people, I fuck with them heavy.
What was the conversation with Wyclef
Jean like?
It wasn’t long, it was short. I just remember
I was in the car and I think his manager or
one of Wyclef’s people reached out and called
my manager Tone like, ‘I got Wyclef on the
phone—he wants to talk to Cozz.’ Wyclef
got one the phone and was like, ‘Oh, I heard
the song’ he just heard ‘Dreams’ at this time.
That’s all I had out. ‘I heard this song and you
got talent and I was just want to guide you
and put my wings over you …’ He wanted
me to meet up and we never really did, that
never really worked out. But it was a short
convo. I met with the Game. We went to din-
ner and chopped it up. I always have trouble
remembering who.
You’re still relatively young. Does life feel
fast right now?
Hell yeah, man! My life literally changed—did
a complete 360--within a year. So everything
is new. Everything that’s happened is new for
me. Like I said, I never really performed until
this year. I never did shit with music seriously
until this year. Everything has been moving
really really quick, but I’m adjusting.
It sounds like you’re also you’re still coming
into your own as an artist?
For sure, for sure. I’m still developing as an
artist myself. I feel like subconsciously, over
the years, with just me bullshitting with rap
as a hobby I’ve been developing myself as an
artist. That’s where I’m at right now, but I now
that I’m doing it. I’m in the biz, I’m in the
game now. I know I have a lot of work to do,
I feel I have a lot of space to grow.
In the past year, what have you learned
about yourself as an artist?
Shit, I’ve learned …I gotta think about that.
Shit, man, honestly I’ve learned that the sky is
the limit because last year I never thought in
my life I could go on stage and perform and
then perform like I do now—like not even
trying to brag but I go on stage and I kill shit.
I pour my heart out on stage. I’ve just really
learned that this really is for me. It was a ques-
tion over the years, not being sure I could do
this seriously but I think this past year I really
realized it’s for me so I just keep going.
Which feels better to you, creating or when
you share it live with people?
I would say sharing it live with people. I do
love creating too because it’s just so fun for
me when I hear some shit that I actually
like that I made, but performing, I would
give it to performing because performing is
what you’re waiting for. That’s what you cre-
ate for—to share it with people. Performing
you get to do that, you get to see how they
react to your art. So I feel like that’s what
most artists live for, to see people’s faces. So
definitely performing.
Who is Cody Macc?
[laughs] Cody Macc is Cody Macc, man.
Cody Macc is a cool kid—he’s not that seri-
ous. He’s probably smoking weed and drink-
ing a brew and he’s just mackin’, mad chillin.
That’s the kid in me. That’s the cool side of
me, Cody Macc. Cozz is serious, Cozz is that
rapper, he’s a hardcore serious dude. Cozz
just wants to get the work done, Cody Macc
is laid back. Cody Macc came about because
that’s my nickname since I can remember. My
uncle been calling me Cody Macc probably
since I was born, so Cody Macc has always
been me. Cozz, I ain’t gonna lie, was just
kinda random. When I started rapping at
16, I kinda needed a rap name and for some
reason—I don’t know why I didn’t pick Cody
Macc—I was just like ‘Cozz!’ I ran with it and
people really started calling me Cozz all the
time so it worked out.
Can you walk me through the idea behind
the videos for ‘Dreams’ and ‘Cody Macc’?
In ‘Cody Macc,’ the hook says, ‘I got the
whole world waiting on this, I got the
whole city going crazy for me.’ Ironically,
in the whole video I run the city and there
is nobody there. So in a sense, it’s like the
world really is waiting for me. In that video
I am kinda lost. I’m solo dolo and I got to
find out where I fit in. That video is also on
some I Am Legend-type shit, like I’m just
walking around and I’m rapping through
the streets. At the end of the song I open
up the door and it’s like my entrance to the
game. I feel like Cody Macc is an example
of who I am, but I’m not somebody to play
with when it comes to these bars. I’m kinda
barring out in there and I’m just trying to
show off. I felt like it was a creative way to
do it instead of just being clichéd and hav-
ing a bunch of people in the video jumping
around and acting crazy. ‘Dreams’ is more
straightforward. ‘Dreams’ is dark hip-hop,
gritty, you know what I’m saying? That was
kinda my first song too, so I just wanted to
show where I’m from—like South Central.
We shot most of the scenes on 106th and
Western. I live on 65th and Western but I
was at one of my homies house at 106th
and Western so we shot down there and it
was kinda just like an insight of L.A.—the
night life and what it looks like so you can
get that feel. That’s why we was in the al-
ley way where we shoot dice and you know,
just around my city.
What was your mind state when you were
creating that song? It’s dark but at the same
time it’s passionate.
It was a bit of passion, a bit of frustration
and a bit of truth—it was like a short intro-
duction to me, kinda just telling you why
I dreamed of being rich. I think everybody
goes through a period of time where they
dream of being rich, you know? And that
was me telling kinda like why I felt like
I had dreams of being rich—some of my
problems, crap with my mama like, ‘Can’t
even lease her a whip.’
So L.A. is going through this beautiful
time where there is a big resurgence in rap
that is about L.A.—people born and bred
here. There is alot of newer folks like Vince
Staples, Joey Fatts, the TDE cats ... what
separates you from some of the other newer
cats?
I feel like I don’t even think about that. I don’t
think about what other L.A. artists sound like.
I feel like because of that, I just give an original
sound, it’s just me. I don’t even listen to no-
body else right now. I just do me. I don’t listen
to hardly anybody except myself. It just comes
natural, just me being me and being original
and building my fans and not worring about
what is predominant or cool or coming from
L.A. I just feel like we doing our shit and if we
keep doing that, we can’t go wrong.
You dropped Cozz N Effect already and
you’re definitely getting some ears on it.
What does the next six months or the next
year look like for you?
Well shit, man—just keep grinding, honestly.
I’m always working. I plan on putting out a
free mixtape real soon since I did sell my first
project I still gotta give the people free music.
You gotta do that to give people a reason to
come. I wanted to give Cozz N Effect away for
free like a regular mixtape. I’m just going to
keep working and keep recording, I’m hoping
to get my free mixtape by next year and just
keep doing shows and just keep pushing. We
still have videos to shoot for Cozz N Effect as
well. We’re going to keep pushing Cozz N Ef-
fect for now and just get that as big as possible
and keep feeding the engine, man.
At the end of the day when it’s just you—
you’re not in the studio, you’re not around
folks—what will satisfy you as a human?
What will satisfy me as a human? I think
I’m still trying to figure that out myself.
This is so new for me and I didn’t realize
that I really wanted it till now. Now that
I’m doing it, I feel like I’m here for a reason.
I’m still trying to figure that out myself, I’m
still trying to figure myself out. Before I can
figure out what can satisfy me, I got to fig-
ure out everything about me, man. I’m a
mystery to myself still.
COZZ’ COZZ N EFFECT IS AVAILABLE
NOW FROM DREAMVILLE/INTER-
SCOPE. VISIT COZZ AT TWITTER.
COM/COZY_MACC.
19
THE FLESH EATERS
Interview by Chris Ziegler
Photography by Stefano Galli

The Flesh Eaters were one of the first wave of L.A. punk bands and their 1981 album A Minute To Pray A Second To Die is one of
their best releases—but as our reviewer Ron Garmon put it this issue, it’s “one of those albums oft-deemed underrated because you
don’t see the cover on that many t-shirts.” Too bad, too, cuz that pop-art Hand of Glory would make a great t-shirt. It’s an image
from 1973 film The Wicker Man, too: a perfect precursor for a band fascinated with the way evil conceals itself inside the idyllic. The
Flesh Eaters were led by the polymathic Chris D., who wrote for Slash magazine, ran his own Upsetter label and zine and eventually
helmed Ruby Records—home to the Gun Club and the Misfits and more—while the rest of the band was a rotating selection of L.A.
punk mainstays. (Including members of X, Los Lobos and the Blasters for A Minute To Pray.) The result was a paranoid, gritty primal
scream of an album, now thankfully reissued on the superlative Superior Viaduct label. (Don’t forget to get a copy of Mono Records’
bonus-tracked reissue of the Flesh Eaters’ 1980 debut album No Questions Asked, however.) Chris D. speaks now about pulp, punk
and the poetry of exorcism rites, and the Flesh Eaters will perform live this January.
Byron Coley famously called A Minute to Who were the rejected 60s bands? reason. To get back to your question, when I The history of the people who have gone
Pray ‘the best rock record ever,’ but you I always liked Jefferson Airplane and was doing stuff with Ruby, they gave me carte through the Flesh Easters is really serious—
know, there’s another quote from him Steppenwolf. Then there were early punk blanche. I mean, they had to approve the bands members of X, the Plugz, the Blasters, Wall
where he said that between your work progenitors like the Sonics and the Standells that I picked: bands like Dream Syndicate and of Voodoo. When you were making records,
with labels like Slash and Upsetter and and people like that. There were some prog the Gun Club, of course. Misfits and Green were you waiting for a line-up and then
Ruby, your Upsetter zine and of course rock groups that I liked. I liked Jethro Tull— On Red too, which was originally supposed to writing for them specifically? Or writing
your work with the Flesh Eaters, that the first two albums. Once they started to get be on Ruby and then became a Slash [Records] and whoever played them was whoever
you really shaped a certain L.A. aeshetic. too concept-y my interest went downhill. release. There were other bands I really wanted played them?
I think the quote was: ‘He defined the It’s difficult to imagine going from Jethro to put out music for. I really liked Tex and the I really wanted to record an album with Tito
parameters of L.A. outlaw culture.’ Can Tull to A Minute to Pray. Horseheads, the Long Ryders … I’m trying to [Larriva of the Plugz] in the beginning but he
you look back now and see some of your I liked Ian Anderson’s lyrics, especially. Like think if I was still working at Slash when the left to devote all his time to the Plugz. He’s a
fingerprints on L.A. history? for instance there’s a song I love by them— Lazy Cowgirls album came out? I just got a songwriter in his own right, and he was doing
Chris D (vocals): I can to some degree. It’s ‘Sweet Dream.’ And the very first Jethro Tull call from Pat Todd [of the Lazy Cowgirls] out one song of his and all the rest of the songs
something that you really only think about album, which was very blues-influenced—it of the blue. He just called me to thank me for were mine. He was in the band [from 1977]
in retrospect. I definitely had an aesthetic was really like one of the best blues/jazz/rock helping to put them on the map. It’s really a until about February 1978. So he wasn’t in the
sense. I wasn’t a huge fan of the really records when it came out. And they gradually tragedy with that album. I think it’s as good band that long, just three or four months, and
hardcore punk stuff. Like right before Black got more bombastic and pretentious. They’re a as one of the Ramones’ first albums—the Stan Ridgway who ended up being in Wall of
Flag took off—when Keith Morris was band that I go back to the early stuff, some of very first Lazy Cowgirls album—and Restless Voodoo was in the band a couple months. I
the vocalist—they still had a recognizable their heavy metal stuff. I like some of the early has never re-issued it. The mechanism for was searching for a steady lineup but I don’t
kind of 70s punk style. There was a lot of Black Sabbath. But the first two albums are distributing records and releases is not that know … I wasn’t as dictatorial as Jeffrey Lee
60s and early 70s music that I really liked a the only two I can really listen to. It’s not that user-friendly but it’d be great if they re-issued [Pierce]. Jeffrey Lee could be hard on the people
lot. There was a lot of 60s R&B and blues I hate the stuff that came after. I just got kind that album. he played with it, and that’s not to speak ill of
and fifties country. That’s one of the things of bored with it. Led Zeppelin is the same way. If you made a call out of the blue to thank him—that’s just how he was. I worked well
where John and Exene, and Dave Alvin and ‘When the Levee Breaks’ is just amazing. But somebody for everything that they did for with him, and Kid Congo Powers [did too].
Jeffrey Lee Pierce … even Keith Morris. A after that I kind of lost interest with them. you, who would you call? But I think there’s definitely some of the same
lot of people wouldn’t recognize this about Didn’t Black Flag ask Upsetter to put out Probably there’s one or two different girlfriends. elements in the way I really wanted control
Keith because of the Circle Jerks but he has a record? But the idea fell apart after Keith So many people in the music scene. John and over the vision of the band. I really wanted to
a very universal taste. And he and Jeffrey left the band? Exene from X were a big shot in the arm to the be the only one who wrote the lyrics—unless
were very close friends. We all just kind of Yeah, it was something that I pitched to them. Flesh Eaters because I was opening for them a there was some lyrics I co-wrote with Julie
tied into the same wavelength with musical Greg and Chuck—and I can’t remember if it lot—during the first couple albums that were Christensen when she and I were together and
influences. There were some 60s bands that was Robo or Raymond—they were all into out. And just all the guys from A Minute To we had Divine Horsemen. On Minute to Pray,
people were rejecting just because it wasn’t it. As it turns out, they actually recorded a lot Pray. In some ways, John and Exene and DJ I loved John Doe’s songs, and he wasn’t the one
cool to like bands that had long hair or were more than I thought. With that double album were the only ones in a band at that point that who tried to get his song on the record—I was
hippies or whatever you want to call it. But Everything Went Black, there’s a whole side was really starting to become mega popular. the one who asked. But generally was I was
I never stopped liking a lot of the 60s bands of Keith Morris tracks. It’s too bad it didn’t The Blasters were popular but they hadn’t the sole lyric writer and there were also certain
that I like. happen but I think everything happens for a reached that X level yet. musical decisions I would make. For the most

INTERVIEW 21
 “It was really something to spit in the face of evil.”
part, the next lineup after Minute to Pray lasted
for a few albums and we probably could have
gone on longer but I just was getting sick of
playing really loud music all the time. Our
rehearsals were just ridiculously loud. It was
just painful. I was wanting to do something
more along the lines of Divine Horsemen.
And I was the one who broke that line-up up,
and said I don’t want to do the Flesh Eaters
any more.
You said you had a vision for the band. Was
this a vision of definite things you wanted
to do? Or was it like an anti-vision—things
you did not want to do?
Probably more of the latter. A lot of it was
just instinctive. Intuitive. I’m really a strong
believer in things that bubble up naturally
from the subconscious.
So much of your work is this strange mix of
horror films, murder ballads—these intense
ideas of love and death and sex and hell.
Why is that something that you’ve circled
your whole life?
I don’t know. I grew up as a really strict Catholic.
That’s had a formative effect. In terms of some
of the preoccupations with the romanticism—
when I was in high school, romantic poets like
Shelley and Keats and Byron and later on a lot
of French poets and symbolists and then the
surrealists. In some ways the surrealists were
really opposed to all the tragic love stuff but
there were just a lot of things that just kind of
melted together in my brain.
What about Céline? He’s one of the few
authors who ever made me physically ill.
Céline is somebody that I kind of admire but I
never really read any of his stuff in depth until
about three or four years ago. I read Death on
the Installment Plan. But there are a lot of other
French writers who were a lot more influential
[on me.] There are certain just … the first
things I see in the world, relationships between
people, and I don’t know if it’s the people that
I’ve been attracted to or it’s a fault or flaw in
my personality, but there’s some of this stuff
that’s … kind of self-immolation. I’m really
lucky I’m still alive. There are periods where
I would have been diagnosed as clinically
almost suicidally depressed. None of that
stuff has gone away, but I have a lot more … I
don’t want to call it wisdom, but I’m certainly
wiser than I was when I was in my thirties and
forties.
You’re going to be playing all these songs in
a few weeks. Have the songs on Minute to
Pray changed for you at all? Do the songs
feel different now?
There were songs I purposely wrote from a
standpoint of a character. They weren’t my
point of view. ‘Digging my Grave’ is from the
point of view of a killer. I don’t know if I’d write
a song like that today. I can picture myself
writing today ‘River of Fever.’ I don’t know if
can picture myself writing ‘Satan Stomp,’ even
though ‘Satan Stomp’ is kind of a archetypal
mythical look at Satan that wasn’t meant to be
realistic. I was kind of naïve because I really
22
expected a lot of people to see that the record
was trying to exorcize demons, not summon
or invoke them. That’s the one thing I wish
I’d been a little more careful. I don’t have any
regrets about any of those songs. Some of the
energy in some of the songs is super dark even
for me now.
That’s a hand of glory on the cover, right?
What occult purpose do those serve?
Yeah. It originated in Europe—it was
definitely a way of casting a spell. I got that
image from the original version of The Wicker
Man. It was the scene where he wakes up—the
really straight policeman who’s investigating a
murder on that pagan island. He wakes up and
that’s next to his bed. I just liked the image.
There’s no underlying subtext to the cover.
You’ve said you wanted A Minute To Pray
to be an act of exorcism—how? Is there
anything specifically exorcistic happening?
Or are you just like screaming to get the
demons out?
I’m just confessing that dark stuff and getting
it out there. And trying to throw up a mirror
so people who were feeling the same thing
could say, ‘Oh, I’m not the only person that
feels that way.’
Confession by proxy? An interesting idea.
On the inner lyric sleeve I actually put excerpts
from a medieval rites because I thought it was
very—it was really something to spit in the
face of evil, basically. That’s definitely more
where it was coming from. It wasn’t coming
from you know this whole ‘I am so evil!’ thing.
That was something that bothered me about
some of the other bands that had death-rock
imagery. They were really seriously into that
shit, you know? And in a destructive way.
I heard that got your album on the Gene
Scott show and he yelled about it being a
devil record.
I don’t know if it was Gene Scott—I thought
it was a local televangelist show that got
nationally syndicated. They were comparing it
to Ozzy Osbourne, and to me it was worlds
apart. But I took it for what it was worth from
who it was from.
I know you’re an actual published film
scholar—how much of that fed into what
you wanted to do?
There’s a big crossover. That’s what I really
wanted to do—be a filmmaker. That’s what
I went to college for. But there was just no
real support system that I could plug into
once I got out of college. My second love
was music. Even though I couldn’t play an
instrument, I had a really strong sense of
melody, a musical sense, and as far as lyrics
go I was confident about my writing lyrics.
And there were a lot of different vocalists
who influenced me. Music was kind of my
second love, and it’s partially just the kind
of personality I had, which is somewhat
introverted—not really the kind of guy
who would go out and steamroll his way
into the movie industry. There were some
independent movies being made back then,
and if you happened to get lucky and get
sucked into Roger Corman’s school of
filmmaking … [Otherwise] there was no
real mechanism or scene, and just everybody
I met that I became friends with was in the
music scene. Like starting Slash magazine
and meeting Claude Bessy and his girlfriend
who were the editors of Slash. Then from
those guys, going to the Masque all the
time, and becoming friends with X and the
Blasters, and meeting people from a lot of
other bands like Tito from the Plugz … that
was the scene I kind of plugged into and it
was just a natural thing that happened. My
one big regret is that I wish I was more a
musician—I could play guitar on stage, at
one point I got to where I could play guitar
and write songs but there was no way I could
sing and play guitar at the same time.
You never considered playing while sitting
on a comfy chair and singing?
I could never keep rhythm you know? I was
all thumbs.
What were your favorite movies at the time
that you were writing and thinking about
the songs that were going to become Minute
to Pray?
‘Pray til you sweat!’ was really a line from
a movie, a really crazy big-budget Western
called Duel in the Sun, where Gregory Peck
plays a sociopathic cowboy and Jennifer
Jones is a half-breed who’s in love with him.
And there’s a scene where the actor Walter
Huston is playing a character who is a fire
and brimstone preacher and he’s trying to
exorcise Jennifer Jones’ character from being
in lust with this evil character, and he keeps
telling her, ‘Pray til you sweat!’ stuff gets stuck
in my memory. I was reading a lot of pulp
noir—Jim Thompson, James Cain. It really
started to become more pronounced in ‘82 or
‘83, and then it really got into it in the Divine
Horsemen stuff—combining that with a lot of
imagery that I had in my head from French
poets and surrealists, primarily, and symbolists
from the late 1880s and 1890s. It wasn’t stuff
that I was consciously trying to emulate or
copy. It was kind of getting thrown into a
blender and it just would come out.
What’s your take on Mickey Spillane?
Sometimes he’s so contemptful and inept
that it’s almost psychedelic.
I like Mickey Spillane a lot but I’ve never been
able to read a whole book of his. I like him
in short bursts. His delivery is great but his
ideas were kind of mediocre and pedestrian.
They’re really cliché. Kiss Me Deadly—in the
book, the thing that’s missing is the package of
dope, and when they made it into a movie, it’s
a radioactive isotope. So that can be the perfect
distillation of kind of interpreting Mickey
Spillane in the right way.
You were drawing specifically from African
folk music and field recordings for A Minute
To Pray, too. Punk was barely five years old
at this point. Why were you already looking
back so far into the past for inspiration?
I was listening to a lot of blues and 50s and 60s
R&B and also there were white guys like Link
Wray—Link Wray and Bo Diddley are kind of
inextricably linked. But I really became obsessed
for a while about seeing what happened if you
actually took some African chants and African
rhythms, like drum patterns, and transposed
them—like actually took them directly from
their origin. Not filtered through decades
of living in America. Just went right to the
source—listening to African records that had
more indigenous native music and transposing
that directly to songs. Like if you listen to ‘Pray
Til You Sweat,’ ‘Satan Stomp,’ ‘So Long’ and
‘Divine Horsemen’ … all those are really just
transpositions directly from African music.
How? Did you figure out how to play
along with them? How literal was this
transcription?
Dave Alvin just reminded me how I did it. I had
a little cassette recorder. I’d sing the melodies
into the cassette recorder and then Dave Alvin
and John Doe split the songs up and figured
them out—like how they’d go instrumentally,
and f they were doing something that I thought
was slightly off, I would tell them.
You weren’t even playing guitar? You’d just
send a tape of you chanting and singing?
That’s the way I wrote a lot of the music. Once
I got into Divine Horsemen, I was trying to
be able to play guitar so I could actually write
music on guitar. But I’d still come up with vocal
melodies just driving around in the car singing
by myself. People talked about how much the
blues and R&B had its roots in African music.
There’s African-American people who’ve been
living here since who knows? 1700s or early
1800s? And how did their folk music evolve
once they were in America? I wanted to see if I
did a direct transposition from African music
to instrumental punk rock—70s garage band
punk rock—if it would hold up? If it would
sound similar. Some of it definitely does.
There’s parts of ‘Digging my Grave’ where
you could see both influences. I just was really
fascinated by the idea of doing it. You had this
filter of decades and decades of oppression on
African Americans and all that shapes their
music. And I wanted to see it you went directly
to the source and tried to transpose it to a four-
or five-piece instrumental combo, would you
get a similar sound? Which I thought it did.
There are definitely recognizable things from
both of the spectrums.
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INTERVIEW
 IBEYI
Interview by sweeney kovar
Photography by Eric Coleman
In the mythology of Yoruba, Ibeji were the twin children of Oshun, the orisha of water and the ocean,
raised by Oya, the protective warrior orisha who guards the underworld. The Ibeji are the patron orisha
of twins and their birth is considered an auspicious blessing that brings protection and happiness to
those around them. There is even a Cuban tale that tells how the Ibeji twins outsmarted and defeated
the devil with their drumming. Lisa-Kainde and Naomi Diaz’ music as Ibeyi stems from the influence of
their late father Miguel ‘Anga’ Diaz and the Yoruban way of life they’ve had since birth. Their self-titled
debut EP on XL Records is deceptively minimal. The songs are personal and powerful—they stick with
you long after pressing play. It’s easy to forget the twins behind this poignant work are barely in their
20s. Skyping from their Parisian home, the twins spoke with genuine enthusiasm, passion and a bit of
teenage shyness on family, balancing Yoruban themes in the music industry, cinema and rap music.
Hello! Do you guys speak Spanish? N: Me. old stuff. She’s really into hip-hop style and
Naomi & Lisa-Kainde: Yes! LK: Only two minutes before—this is young things—electronic underground rap
Awesome. Fantastico. You can answer nothing. things. Which I like! I really like the type of
anything in Spanish if English is difficult. What was it like to shoot the ‘Mama Says’ music that she listens to but it’s true that in my
What was your childhood like being both video? It looked very emotional. iPod you won’t find all the rappers that you
French and Cuban? LK: Thank you. will find in hers.
Lisa-Kainde: It was great. We had two different N: The video was shot after ‘River.’ N: We grew up with Yoruba music. Meshell
visions of life. We had al ot of culture and it LK: Actually we never had an idea for that Ndegeocello.
was a good thing. We would visit Cuba once video. The idea was just to shoot it. It was not LK: She’s my goddess. Nina Simone was the
a year. When we used to talk to Cubans about like ‘River.’ With ‘River’ we knew what we first time I’d heard somebody sing with this
Paris and to French [people] about Cuba, were going to do but ‘Mama Says’ was shot in type of voice—a type of weird voice. Yoruba
people didn’t get it. Of course it was strange two hours and it was really quick. We had no music, we grew up listening to those voices.
but it was beautiful too. I think it’s a great clue what was going to happen. Your debut EP seems minimal—there are
opportunity—not opportunity, it was great N: We just did it. only three songs. It’s almost bare because it’s
luck to have those two worlds [growing up]. LK: It was really emotional because it was so mainly your voices and percussion. Why?
In everything I’ve read so far on you guys, simple. That is our mother in the video clip. It LK: We thought about it and that was the only
most everyone mentions your father, Cuban was like us everyday. conscious decision we made. Our producer
percussionist Miguel ‘Anga’ Diaz—but Naomi, can you tell me about that moment Richard Russell asked us, ‘OK, what do you
I’ve also heard you guys mention your in the end of the video when you all come want to do with all your songs? An Alicia Keys
mother just as often. How has your mother together. What was happening? thing with a lot of instruments?’
encouraged the two of you creatively? N: In that moment, I felt that my father was N: Or you with a little bit of electronic
LK: There is so much to say. What Naomi around. It was hard. sounds?
said in our last interview, and I thought it LK: The thing is, we thought that it was not LK: She said no—just electronic and the two
was amazing—she said people never saw us as being filmed. It’s a kind of little rehearsal: ‘OK, of us.
twins because we are so totally different. We’re at the end you guys can sing together. Let’s see N: I think I was listening to some James Blake
really, really different. The only two situations if it’s good.’ [The director] actually really filmed and was like, ‘Wow!’
where people see us as a group— it. It was not planned at all. Ed Morris shot the LK: I think it was a way for us to make music
Naomi: —is when we are with our mother. video. He is a genius. We love him. of today, otherwise the songs and the Yoruba
LK: It is when we are with our mother we are Why did you guys decide to keep it? sound is older. That’s weird to say. It was a way
three against the world. I thought that was a N: I didn’t decide to keep it. to mix two other things.
beautiful thing to say. LK: Ed just did it. When I saw it, I thought All of the songs are very personal, from ‘Oya’
N: Our mother is amazing. it was beautiful because it was natural and to ‘Mama Says.’ Did you write the songs
LK: She is the one that can … que nos trae unexpected. It was us in an intimate moment. with Richard Russell? Did you already have
juntas, que nos une. [who brings us together, Since you guys are beginning to be a part them written?
who unites us.] of the music industry and doing interviews LK: We came to see Richard Russell and we
Dicen que son muy distintas, ustedes dos— with strangers like me, is it ever difficult to had, I think, twenty songs. He [chose and]
en que formas dirian que son diferentes? be asked about your father so much? said, ‘This one, this one, this one and this one.’
[You say you are very different—in what N: No. Not at all. We felt he picked exactly the ones we liked.
ways would you say you’re different?] LK: No! We always wanted people to know We felt excited, like, ‘Yes! You are the one
N: En todo. [In everything.] who our father is and people don’t know him. we wanted!’ We wrote in the studio because
LK: La visión de la vida, totalmente diferente. Los Musicians really know him but people don’t. Richard said to us, ‘Never stop writing.’ Some
actos, totalmente diferentes. [Our vision of life, So it’s a way to bring him to life again. No, people say there is a time for writing and
totally different. Our acts, totally different.] actually it’s a pleasure [to speak about him]. there is a time for studio and there is a time
She is more instinctive than me. Through us he is always here. Our music and for touring. Richard said this is bullshit. You
N: She’s more reflective. our father’s music is so different as well. have to write everyday because it’s the way to
LK: I’m always thinking about what I should What did you guys listen to growing up? express yourself and it’s important to express
do or not do, or if something is a good thing N: We grew up listening to everything. A lot things constantly. He told me to go back and
to do or not. She’s like, ‘Let’s go!’ of soul music. write some songs but the three songs for the
Who was born first out of the two? LK: I’m more jazz and I’m more oldies. I love EP were picked already.

INTERVIEW 25
You’ve said that your music is like prayer.
That’s beautiful—can you tell me more?
LK: Yoruba music is prayers. When I started
writing I took this and I felt I was singing
for something that is beyond earth. I feel like
sometimes you don’t even write your own
songs. You feel like something is coming
through you. I think there’s always a spiritual
thing in music. Singing is praying in a way.
Do you ever worry how you present Yoruba
culture through your music? I’m sure it’s a
sensitive thing.
LK: A lot. I will be honest about it. [I think
about this] a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot. I thought
about it two days ago again. This is one of my
biggest worries because this is a religion. We
don’t want Yoruba people to be offended at
all. This matters for us—it’s part of our lives.
We want people to really get it. It’s our way
to connect with Cuba. It’s our way to connect
with our father. It’s our way to connect with
ourselves and show people what we are. I hope
people will get that for us it’s a way to make
Yoruba known. It’s obviously not for making
money. We are afraid people will think that.
Would you ever make music that is not
connected to Yoruba?
N: It would be hard, I think.
LK: Because it’s part of us! But you never know.
For the moment I feel it’s not possible but
maybe yes, maybe in a few years we will want
to make a pop album and sing like Beyonce.
We don’t know! This could happen. I want to
write music for cinema and movies and for
dance so maybe I won’t use Yoruba songs for
that. Individually, I cannot think of that right
now. It’s so difficult to be alone in all of this.
I could not imagine myself alone without her,
it would not be possible. But yes, music for
cinema, I really want that as well as music for
dance. Maybe work with different artists. I
have thousands of names in my head!
What type of cinema do you like?
LK: I like all types of movies. I like this
kind of cinema that touches you really hard.
For example, [John] Cassavetes is one of
my favorites. I love also Xavier Dolan—do
you know him? He is amazing. He is from
Quebec. His first movie was at 17. It’s called
‘J’ai Tué Ma Mère.’ I think you can find it
with the subtitles in english. It blew my mind,
oh my God. Cassavetes and Une Femme Sous
Influence is my favorite movie. I love Gena
Rowlands, she’s my favorite actress.
I’ve seen that. Disturbing and amazing.
LK: Yeah, amazing! I love these kind of
movies that when you get out of the cinema
you’re in shock. I love for example, Steve
McQueen. I love Shame. I love this kind of
cinema. You know, if one day they ask me
to make the music of a cartoon, that would
be great too.
How long have you performed together?
N: Two years and a half. It felt good.
LK: Performing always feels good. Working
together felt weird at first.
N: We are twins and performing is easy for
us because we have an audience. When we
don’t have one it’s very difficult. When we
are together, just us, it’s a mess. It’s awful, it’s
horrible.
LK: Screams everywhere! With an audience
it’s very easy. [The stage] is our way to
communicate. We feel each other.
Why do you cover Jay Electronica’s ‘Better
In Tune With The Infinite’ live?
LK: This is one of the most amazing times for
us in the studio.
N: We were listening to alot of music and one
day Richard Russell put this song, ‘Better In
Tune With The Infinite’ and we cried. He said,
‘Do a cover!’
LK: We both cried like … [pouty face] The
truth is he said if we wanted to do a cover
and I said, ‘But it’s rap! I will not rap. I’m
not for rapping—this is not my thing.’ He
said, ‘Make a melody with it.’ I went back
home for two days—Saturday and Sunday.
Sunday I had nothing. I thought he would
kill me. He would say, ‘So?’ I’d have to say
‘I have nothing!’ I sat on my piano wishing
inspiration would come and the melody
came. [Hums melody.] I thought it was
great but the truth—this I never said to
anyone—I started singing it too high. My
mother came and said to me, ‘This is too
high! Put it lower.’ We did it in a lower
register and we thought it was great. [My
mother] has a beautiful ear—she knows.
Naomi, you were saying you lean a little
more towards hip-hop.
N: Yes! I can listen to Notorious B.I.G. I love
Wiz Khalifa. For me he’s a rapper but he’s also
a rocker. He has an energy that nobody has—I
feel he’s not in the same mold as others. I also
listen to Drake.
LK: I love Jon Wayne—he’s so good!
N: Jay Electronica, Tyler The Creator,
Chance The Rapper. I listen to everybody.
I love twerking too so I can listen to that
[music].
LK: She twerks alot. We’re always joking at
home that she will marry a rapper because
she’s so obsessed with them. She’s like, ‘I just
discovered this new guy, I love him!’
N: My new discovery is Sabba. He’s not famous
at all but he’s getting there I think.
It’s often said twins have a special connection.
Have you seen that play out in your art?
LK: I’ve played with alot of different musicians
in my life and I never experienced this kind
of feeling.
N: We can understand each other—
LK: —without talking. When we are really
concentrated, it’s like she feels what I want
when I want it. For example, we are forte and I
feel we must be piano now and she’s right there
with me. This is amazing.
N: Often we sing the same song but I’m in one
place and—
LK: —I’m in another room.
N: I go to the kitchen for example and we are
singing the same part of the same song.
LK: Another time she told me she’s at a friends
house and I was like, ‘No, you’re not!’ I can
feel you!
So you guys have no ambitions outside of
Ibeyi at the moment? There isn’t a Naomi
rap album on the horizon someday?
N: Maybe! You never know.
LK: I think if she did a rap album, I would be
around somehow. I think she will always be
around for my projects, too—but it’s true to
say that right now we’re in Ibeyi one hundred
percent.
IBEYI’S SELF-TITLED EP IS AVAILABLE
FROM XL. VISIT IBEYI AT IBEYI.FR.
27
WILLIAM ALEXANDER
Interview by Frankie Alvaro
Photography by Alexandra A. Brown
Long Beach multi-instrumentalist William Alexander Marquis released his record Girls Basketball earlier this year, and within weeks it
had graced the pages of NME, shown up on countless blogs and provoked a storm of phone calls from PR people and record labels. So
why is it that after playing music for 20 years and five releases with his previous band the Meanest Boys, his first solo record under
his Christian name William Alexander is the one attracting the non-stop attention? Let’s find out!
Where did your musical talent come from?
I can’t really say. I can say using the words
‘musical talent’ when describing me feels a
bit odd. I don’t have a lot of confidence in
my technical ability when it comes to playing
instruments. I can play guitar and keyboards,
but I feel like it’s all bullshit. I just fake it. I
never truly learned to play any instruments,
and I can’t read music at all. I took guitar
lessons as a kid, but as soon as I learned power
chords I quit! It was like … ta-da! That was
all I needed. My strength is definitely on the
creative side, like songwriting and melody.
I think it’s just natural talent though, and a
genuine love of music. I remember being kind
of obsessed with music when I was younger,
and when I started playing guitar I began
to understand song structure a lot more. I
understood early on too that your heart has to
be in it. If your heart’s not in it the listener can
tell and it’s worthless. That was a big advantage
realizing that so young.
When you are ‘faking it,’ do you ever feel
like people can look right through you?
Do you get self-conscious when you’re on
stage?
I get a little self conscious about it. I guess as long
as you’re selling it—as long as I’m confident in
it when I’m playing it and confident about the
music when I’m recording it and put it out,
I think that comes through. Anyone with a
real technical ear could probably listen to it
and tell that what I’m doing is pretty basic
on a technical ability level, but I think I have
such a good ear for tones and the sounds that
I come up with that the final product really
comes across as being something sincere and
enjoyable to listen to.
Do you remember what songs or musicians
made you feel like their hearts were truly in
the music that they were making?
Roy Orbison was someone I listened to when
I was younger—there’s something so powerful
about his voice and it’s just so emotional
that you can hear how sincere he is when he
would sing. I instantly just loved his voice and
his music—and the power and sincerity that
came through.
Do you ever feel that the music you make
you make has so much emotion and so
much of your soul in it that you almost tear
up when listening to it? Because that much
of your heart is in it?
I definitely tap into something where I can get
really lost and be putting something out there
that’s very true to who I am. There’s moments
where … Yeah, I think I’m brain dead right
now.
Want to get stoned?
28
That will probably make it worse. What’s the
question again? I’ve definitely felt exposed.
And felt that I’m putting a lot of myself out
there through the music. I don’t know that I’ve
ever teared up to one of my own songs. There’s
definitely other songs that have brought me
to that point, where it’s such a deep song that
I connect so deeply with it. I try to be very
honest with myself and not be restricted by
anything when I write so that it is truthful to
who I am, and I think it comes across as very
sincere.
When you got into punk, did you get super
into punk?
Oh yeah! All the way.
Have a mohawk?
I had spiked hair, started sewing patches
onto my jackets, and stopped showering.
[laughs] I probably went a good … I don’t
know, sophomore year of high school without
showering. I’m kidding—not that long but
there were long streaks where you could smell
me coming for sure. I drank a lot. Smoked
cigarettes.
Drinking 40s under bridges?
Yeah, definitely!
I know you have a Screeching Weasel tattoo
that makes a lot of people very excited.
I have a few music related tattoos. ‘Son of a
preacher man’—an ode to my father who is
a preacher, but to Dusty Springfield as well. I
have the notes to ‘It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll (But
I Like It)’ with a songbird, too.
What kind of music was in your home
growing up?
At that time it’s hard to say. My mom was
super into this flamenco guitar player. I can’t
remember his name at the moment. He was
really popular. Stuff like that. Nothing close to
what I was listening to.
Do you feel that flamenco artist had any
influence on you?
I don’t think so—maybe something to move
away from. [laughs] It had a bit of an opposite
affect. No one in my immediate family
plays music but they definitely appreciate
it. I remember playing 8-track tapes in the
family car. Beach Boys, Motown stuff, old
country music. My dad loves soul music and
that definitely took hold on me. It’s probably
my favorite music still to this day. I just saw
Brenton Wood play a few months ago—he
was incredible. I’m a devoted listener of the
Art Laboe show.
You definitely have the best Art Laboe shirt
on the planet. What do you love about
Art Laboe? Do you think the world would
be a pretty different place if he never got
famous?
What I love about him is how dedicated he
is to sharing music. Specifically the kind of
East L.A. soul music that he championed,
and still champions. He’s so passionate
about it. He’s like in his 80s and he’s still
on the radio every night sharing these songs.
I’ve never called in personally but it’s one of
my favorite things to listen to him read the
dedications. He’s this older man, reading
this dedication from Spider to Crazy Eyes
conveying their love for each other. And
there’s something so great about that.
I knew a girl growing up who cheated on
her boyfriend and called in and apologized
to him on the air. She recorded it on a
cassette and played it for me.
That’s awesome!
How would you describe your own voice?
A cross between Whitney Houston, Frank
Sinatra, and Gilbert Gottfried.
That is so sexy.
I tend to sing pretty softly, and that’s mostly
because I record songs in my bedroom in my
apartment building. I can’t be that loud so
I have a pretty soft voice. I don’t know who
it really sounds like. I’ve never gotten direct
comparisons before from anyone about who
my voice reminds them of so I don’t know. I’d
say it’s beautiful? Magical?
I think it’s beautiful and magical!
Sounds like an angel singing through the
clouds down to earth?
Do you think people can make love while
listening to your music?
Ooohhhhhh!
Would you want people to make love while
your record is playing? Do you want your
voice to be that smooth?
I definitely want to be the soundtrack for some
romantic occasions! I’ve never done it.
You’ve never made love while listening to
your own music?
No I haven’t! That would be the weirdest
thing ever. Holy shit! No—I don’t think I
could ever do that. That would be fucking
intense!
Has your family been supportive of your
musical endeavors?
Definitely. If I have shows, they go. I think my
dad has a creative side he was never really able
to express or pursue, so he was supportive of
me being able to express and pursue it.
I could image him being pretty proud of
you. Especially because you’re not making
death metal or something to freak out the
squares. It’s all beautiful music.
Yeah, they’re able to listen to it, understand it
and enjoy it.
And you said your dad is a preacher?
Oh yeah. There was definitely some gospel
music being listened to growing up. I
remember around Christmas time standards
being played. Bing Crosby and the like.
Were there rules to what you could listen to?
Or what he encouraged?
He wasn’t into me buying Metallica or Guns
‘n’ Roses. I remember going to a friends house
and him playing me Anthrax Attack Of The
Killer Bs and knowing I couldn’t go home and
listen to it there. There’s a song on that album
called ‘Starting Up My Posse’—the chorus
turns into a punk blast and he just rattles off
every curse word imaginable, and I knew I
could never listen to that at home. That was
up until I could start buying my own records.
Once you’re buying your own music, did
they become more lenient? Or were they still
on you for listening to ‘the devil’s’ music?
They were open to me listening to what I
wanted to listen to, and weren’t as critical—
and were a bit more supportive.
Who had the most influence on you
musically?
Getting into punk bands when I was in junior
high. It’s right when I was learning how to
play guitar and I realized I could actually play
these songs I was listening to. That was a great
feeling. Like, ‘I don’t have to know how to do
a guitar solo and I can still start a band!’ Which
I did shortly after. It was the attitude, not your
ability to play. I guess that really stuck with
me—ha. I had a pretty good ear for figuring
out songs. Well, three-chord punk songs.
When did you realize you could sing?
Probably not until my early twenties. I had
been singing in bands in high school, but I
didn’t really enjoy it. It was like an ‘If you’re
writing the songs, you have to sing them’ type
deal. Then as I got out of high school I started
listening to more and more experimental stuff.
The college rock of the time. A lot of those guys
had really unique voices, like Isaac Brock or J
Mascis. It made me realize that you don’t have
to have a ‘great voice’ or a ‘pretty voice’ to be an
incredible singer. You just have to know how
to use your own voice and have confidence in
it. I started implementing different techniques
when I would sing until I found myself
becoming really comfortable with it.
How did you figure out your own voice?
Experimenting with different volumes and
inflections. From screaming in punk bands
in high school, and singing in bands after.
Figuring out my range. I was able to hone into
the strongest part of it. I’m still using different
voices and I’m discovering the different
personalities. The song determines how I sing.
I do like where my voice is at now.
INTERVIEW
Is there something you wish you could
do with your voice? Or something you’re
working towards? Falsettos!
I’m not sure. I’ve never had a vocal coach before.
I’m sure they could give me some techniques.
I’m pretty happy where it’s at now.
John Lennon said he didn’t feel like a real
songwriter until he wrote ‘ In My Life.’ Is
there a song you’ve written that made you
feel like you’ve become a good song writer?
The first song I remember writing where I was
like, ‘Oh shit, that’s a really good song. Maybe
I CAN do this!’ was a song called ‘Apples In
The East’. It’s about ten years old now but that
one gave me a lot of encouragement to keep at
it and really try to improve. It’s funny cause it’s
a pretty sloppy song but it has a lot of heart.
And it’s sweet. Like it’s a sweet little love song.
Why was ‘Apples In The East’ different?
I think I paid a little more attention and spent
a little more time on it. And it really paid off.
Instead of just writing a song and recording it
really quickly and kind of doing it in a flash, I
really worked with the song and tried to make
it as good as a song as it could be. Even though
it’s kind of loose, there’s something about that
makes the song so special to me. It’s when I
really kind of started trying to put a lot more
effort into the craft, instead of just throwing it
out there, whatever came first. I just sat down
and said, ‘OK—what parts can I make better?
How can I arrange this so it’s a perfect song?’
Do you find yourself spending a lot more
time with a song now? Fine-tuning it until
it’s ‘perfect’?
Definitely more than I used to. I don’t think
any of them are perfect but I spend more time
with them, and really listen to them a lot. I
can listen to it one day and think it’s a great
song, listen to it the next day and hate it, and
then the following day listen to again and say,
‘Well, you know … this actually isn’t so bad. I
see what I didn’t like about it, but now that I’ve
sat with it for a little bit I know how to fix it.’ It
all evolves as I listen to the songs.
At what point do you stop and say, ‘OK, this
is done. This is perfect.’
That’s one of the hardest parts. Just knowing
when to stop. I could keep working on these
songs forever and ever and ever, but I would
never put anything out if I did that. So you
just have to get to a point where you’re happy
with it and you have to give it wings and let it
be free. It’s like sending your kids off to college,
I guess. You just have to let it go.
Are there songs you wish you’d handled
differently?
There are songs I hear years later that make
me think I should have done that chorus two
measures later, or I totally left that squeaky
guitar part in there that I should have cleaned
up. There are little things that I notice because
I’m super-critical—hyper-critical—but I’m
sure other people don’t notice those things.
And that’s why you just have to let them go.
Would you ever want to put out a record of
your songs re-recorded? Do you understand
how other musicians do that?
Yeah—you get that second chance. I don’t
know if I would do that. Maybe some day
if I had a song that I feel didn’t get my fair
attention the first go-round. And if I had
the chance to re-record it in a nice studio or
something.
30
What’s your dream show to play? Dead or
alive artists.
Modest Mouse, Built To Spill and Jawbreaker.
1997.
Why 1997? That was a great year for me
too. What happened for you?
1997 was the year I started exploring a lot
more music, instead of just really sticking to
the punk stuff I had been listening to. I started
listening to more bands like Modest Mouse
and Jawbreaker, and those bands influenced
me so much at the time—and to this day. It
was a really special time where I started finding
out about more of the obscure music that is
out there. Now those bands are commonplace,
but in 1997 no one in my high school knew
who those bands were.
At that time you could go out and see kids
and know, ‘OK, they’re into punk, they’re
into indie, they’re into emo, they’re mod
…’ Now you go out and everyone looks the
same. What did you love about those early
Modest Mouse albums?
There was just something so special to me
about those early Modest Mouse albums. Even
to this day they’re still some of my favorite
records of all time. I saw them play at the El
Rey. It was a great show.
Did you see them with Johnny Marr?
No, I know they recorded with him but I
couldn’t really hear too much of his influence
on the albums. Either way—it’s still cool they
got to play with him.
What was your inspiration for the Girls
Basketball cover?
I found that photo on the internet. It was from
a high school yearbook in Oklahoma from
around a hundred years ago. That photo was
the page leading into the photos of their girls
basketball team. There was just something
about it. The drawing and the girl in bloomers
with the basketball was a really amazing image.
And the font, too. It has that great gothic hand
drawn font. I just loved it right away and it
clicked! This is my next album cover. Done.
Was there something specific that inspired
you to write Girls Basketball or was it
compiled over time?
The songs were written over the period of a
year or so—2013 I guess. I had probably 5
or 6 songs recorded and no plan with what
to do with them. Then I found that cover
image and it inspired me to create the album.
I needed something to tie the Girls Basketball
cover together with the music so then I wrote
the song ‘Girls Basketball’ and I knew I had
something worthwhile. I think ‘Holding It’
was the last song I wrote and it felt like it was
a good closer. As far as the overall inspiration,
the lyrics are just cryptic stories from my life—
the stuff I ponder on, heartbreak, family, my
vices. I always write from a very introspective
place. You could find out a lot about me if you
studied my lyrics. Like my love of burritos.
There really isn’t anything more beautiful
than a good burrito. Who are some of your
biggest inspirations ?
Mostly food. Just kidding. Musical inspirations
… I would have to say Animal Collective.
Their album Sung Tongs really shook me up
when it came out. It was like a sound I had
been looking for but had you asked me I never
would have been able to describe it. I remember
being really moved by a lot of those songs and
it affected the way I made music after listening
to it. I’m really inspired by the local scene in
Long Beach right now, too. There’s a ton of
great bands and musicians all playing together
and everyone is really supportive of each other.
Not to mention venues like Alex’s Bar—Alex
is a great dude—and 4th Street Vine. Jim
Ritson is a great guy too. It’s got me hyped for
the future.
What are the main instruments you play?
I usually write on guitar. Yeah, that would
definitely be my go-to instrument. The old
axe. My git-fiddle. The ol’ shred stick.
On this album you played all of the
instruments right?
Correct. I played all of the guitar stuff including
bass, keys, and a sampler. I programmed most
of the drums but my good friend Shawn Cutts
played drums on a few tracks. Then I did all of
the vocal stuff too.
Tell me about your song writing process.
My writing is fully incorporated with the
recording process. If I get inspired or have an
idea, I typically start by laying down a drum
track that I can play to. It’s nice to have a
backbeat that I can try ideas out with. And
it kind of informs me what I will do on the
guitar. There are a couple of drum tracks on
Girls Basketball that my friend Shawn recorded
and I didn’t really touch them. I really liked
them and let them dictate the structure of the
song. It’s fun to work that way sometimes. If a
particular beat isn’t gelling with what I’m doing
on the guitar, I just make a new beat. Once I
have the guitar part down with a few variations
I record it over the drums. I can then chop up
parts and rearrange them till I get something
I like. Then I can start laying down other
guitar lines and bass parts. The whole time
rearranging and tweaking little parts here and
there. Once I have a solid foundation I start
working on lyrics and vocals. By this point in
the process I’ve listened to the song over and
over and have a pretty strong melody built up
for it. It just becomes a matter of writing lyrics
to that melody and that can either come in a
flash or take me months. I rarely sit down with
my guitar and write a full song. It’s happened
but not a lot.
What was the process like for making Girls
Basketball?
Me in my bedroom. I work a 9-to-5 so I
mostly get to record when I get home from
work. I’m usually really tired and usually sit in
horrible traffic on the 405, so it can be really
hard to feel inspired or motivated. I usually
have to force myself to get everything set up
but when I do it’s easy to get lost in a song.
Hours will go by in a blink. It’s seriously my
favorite thing to do. I absolutely love writing
songs and recording.
Tell me about Juniper Tree Songs.
Juniper Tree Songs is a rad tape label run by
my buddy Matt. He puts out a lot of lo-fi
bedroom stuff and was nice enough to do the
cassette release of Girls Basketball.
You have any plans for playing live?
I do! I haven’t played live in so long but I’ve
actually put together a band recently, or rather
these other guys made me do it cuz they’re
such rad musicians and I would’ve felt like a
dick if I didn’t take them up on their offer to
play music with me. Dustin Lovelis is playing
bass and he’s got his own solo record coming
out next year on Porch Party, which is a sweet
sweet label out of Long Beach. Joel Jasper is on
guitar and Zach Mabry is on drums. Joel’s got
a solo thing going on and collectively they play
as Forest Of Tongue. Zach is in like five other
bands and they all rip.
When you play live with those dudes, do
you like the way they’re translating your
music? Or would you prefer to have five
other Wills up on stage?
I definitely like the influence they have on
it. They’re very talented musicians. Much
more talented than I am. So it’s great to be
surrounded by such strong players. They bring
so much more to these songs than I originally
put into them. They sound bigger. They sound
tighter. Plus on all my recordings, it’s me
singing all back-ups and all harmonies. And
now I have other unique voices singing with
me. So that’s one of my favorite parts about it.
You’re so critical of your own music—when
you have other people play with you, do you
let them have artistic freedom?
I totally trust them. They never bring anything
so off the charts that it doesn’t fit with the song.
They have really good taste in music, and really
similar to mine, so whenever they have an idea
or suggestion I normally take it because they’re
right most of the time. I remember the first
time we played I was so excited to plug in and
jam with them that I was playing really loud,
and Zach the drummer said, ‘Why don’t we
ease up a bit and play it a little quieter?’ As
soon as we did that the song sounds a hundred
times better. He just knew right off that bat
that it sounded cool … but maybe I needed to
take a chill pill and let the song exist. It doesn’t
have to be full blast to come across.
What’s the newest thing you’ve done?
I’m working on a big batch of new songs I’m
putting out with the label I just signed with—
Yellow K. They’re going to be releasing my
next new album. I’m really excited to have that
support. And a label behind me encouraging
me, so when I’m writing these new songs it’s
nice to know they’re going to have a good
home when I’m finished with everything.
Yellow K is fairly new but the guy Josh who
runs it is just like the nicest dude and he’s
really supportive of my music. They’ll be re-
releasing my album Strangest Things on vinyl
kind of early next year. I couldn’t be happier
about it. Oh, and I’ve been talking to another
awesome label called Forged Artifacts and I
think they’re going to do the cassette release of
those albums. It’s been sort of overwhelming
after not really putting myself out there for so
long and now I’m getting all sorts of amazing
feedback from all over the world. It’s extremely
flattering and I’m incredibly grateful. Not just
to them, but anyone who’s taken time to listen
to my music. It’s so rad.
What’s different about your new songs?
I think over the years I’ve learned the process
of recording better, and my ear is constantly
getting a little better, and more finely tuned to
what my strong suits are. The songs each time
they come around they sound a little better to
me. And maybe I mature a little bit.
WILLIAM ALEXANDER’S GIRLS
BASKETBALL IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM
JUNIPER TREE. WILLIAMALEXANDER.
BANDCAMP.COM.
INTERVIEW
OPEN MIKE EAGLE
Interview by D.M. Collins
Photography by Aaron Giesel
Open Mike Eagle may be an unapologetic nerd, but his self-coined “Art Rap” ain’t for babies: he’s a rapper’s rapper, who can segue
from socio-political advice pieces to confessional laments to witty pop-cultural comparisons with the same kind of bottomless-buffet
delight that Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer only hoped to find at the Dream Café. If you haven’t seen him live, or heard his most
recent amazing album, Dark Comedy, you’ve probably heard him guesting on albums by the likes of Busdriver, Ras G, Myka 9, Abstract
Rude, Milo … let’s just say this kid plays well with others, and even with the likes of our interviewer D. M. Collins. At an Indian buffet
in Culver City recently, they exchanged these few words about art, the world and They Might Be Giants.
I liked your comments on the recent Hell-
fyre Club release where you called out No-
cando in a very loving way for saying ‘bitch’
too often—a practice he’s since worked on.
Sometimes when I think I’m making a can-
did observation about a band in a sense of
great love, they take it as an insult. Have you
ever gotten in trouble that way?
Not really. Usually when I reference someone
I don’t know, I do it in a positive light. I guess
in my earliest albums I was pretty critical,
that old backpacker attitude that you can say
whatever about mainstream dudes, and stuff
like that. I’m a little more mature in the sense
of understanding … I’d say this. When I have
issues with a thing, a physical product, that
a person makes, typically my concerns these
days are more with the people consuming it,
making that choice, than the people making
it. It’s just really difficult to make a living with
music. And if that’s somebody’s lifestyle, and
they’re making music that reflects their life-
style, I don’t have any problem with that really.
It’s just that some of the same consumers really
pretend as if they want something better, then
it’s like, okay, what choices are you making?
What are you spending your money on? What
are you giving your attention to? Because that’s
what you’re going to get back. So I’ve gotten
less critical, for the most part.
Certainly that’s true now. Back in the day
when there were only three TV stations,
sure, you could get mad about having to
watch ‘Petticoat Junction.’ But now …
Now there are so many choices! I think getting
people to understand that is the key to getting
things more open and flexible—especially in
the rap world, where a lot of people who con-
sume rap, up until very recently haven’t been
very exploratory consumers. They were more
passive consumers: turn on the faucet kind of
people. Turn on a radio, turn on TV, what-
ever’s on, maybe you like it more or you like
it less. Whereas recently, I feel like since the
younger generation, there’s been more people
trying to find different kinds of rap. In rock
music, that’s been going on forever. There’s
more people in that who have been active
seekers for a long time now.
There’s a certain narrative some people tell
themselves about hip hop. Let me know if
you think this is true: in the early 90s and
late late 80s, we had the Golden Age of Hip
Hop. It seemed anything was possible, and
it seemed like the mainstream was creative,
or at least that things could go in any way.
INTERVIEW
There was no need to be a ‘seeker’ because
Yo! MTV Raps would bring you options in
all directions. But then things in the main-
stream after, say, Dr. Dre’s The Chronic, got
more calcified.
That’s real interesting that you say that. I was
just talking to Dan Charnas, who wrote a
book called The Big Payback: The History of the
Business of Hip Hop. He’s a guy who I think
started working at Priority Records back in
the day, worked for Rick Rubin, worked for
radio: his entire career has been based in and
around hip hop. And he explained it in a re-
ally interesting way to me: that rap started out
as a public activity, how the first DJs kind of
started rhyming between songs at, like, clubs.
And then people who couldn’t get into those
clubs started setting up the jams outside, and
and doing it there, and that’s how it was born.
And it was a public activity, and it was almost
family oriented, in a sense. So the things that
were talked about were more positive lean-
ing, or party leaning. You know what I mean?
Good time stuff.
‘Wave your hands in the air …’
And then, he says, Schoolly D comes out with
‘P.S.K.’ That’s the first time you really hear like
real, exaggerated, tough guy, gangster talk, like
the way guys talk behind closed doors. Locker
room type talk. It’s the first time you hear that
on a record. And that changed everything, be-
cause after that, Ice T did ‘6 ‘N The Morn-
ing’ which is basically the same record, and
N.W.A. basically following Eazy E, and the
Ghetto Boys were making stuff. But then The
Chronic was the first time that this was the na-
tional rap album. This is the rap album that
all the black people AND the white people
are into. And it was all that side. I mean, even
with N.W.A., they had ‘Express Yourself,’ and
‘Fuck the Police.’ But there was another ele-
ment to it.
There was some Public Enemy in there.
Exactly! With The Chronic, all that is gone.
I’m not putting it down—it’s a great record.
I don’t think I’m putting it down, either, but at
the same time, I’ve never really been a fan of it.
When it came out, my whole family was into
that record. It was ubiquitous, absolutely ev-
erywhere. But it just wasn’t for me necessarily.
I didn’t really get into it very deeply. But after
that point, it was like, consumers made that
choice, and every copy of that, every offshoot
of that, really started working.
Should we be ‘blaming’ the artists who
came after that? People like P. Diddy who
abandoned even gangsta rap’s grittiness and
just had flashy videos?
But I think The Chronic mirrors into that, too.
It’s where you start to reject any positive values
and start to embrace American ideals. Like,
the real ones: capitalism, materialism, and I
think that’s where you get the offshoots, where
you get the Biggies. And Biggie had two sides
to himself, too. But, like, the bigger hit side
was more the materialism. And I think it all
springs forth from that well.
So this was all during your formative years.
Is this why you became a rapper? You didn’t
see anything reflecting your values?
But I did, because there was still Native
Tongues stuff around. I was heavily influenced
by Native Tongues, Tribe Called Quest, and
De La Soul specifically. Busta Rhymes was
huge for me, Black Sheep was huge for me.
The Wu Tang Clan was huge for me. HUGE!
They weren’t the most positive guys in the
world, either, but there was this sense of some
weird code they always adhered to. I thought
that was cool.
We don’t really have a Busta Rhymes in our
era, except of course Busdriver who runs
rings around everybody.
Virtuosity is tough in rap. When you’re a virtu-
oso, for the most part, you’re chewing whatever
the style is at the time. And, you know, nation-
al rap consumerism is very much about style
and patterns, and ... like, taking what’s hap-
pening and putting your spin on it. Eminem
was kind of virtuoso when he started.
They said on his last album that he’d com-
mitted the fastest rap on record. I was like,
‘No, Busdriver is always faster than that!’
I’d have to doubt that as well.
One thing you did on your last album that
I thought was pretty groundbreaking was
you got out of sync on purpose. That’s a
pretty hard thing to do without, you know,
making it sound like it was not on purpose.
I have a really individualistic approach. It’s
hard to remember the specific instance of that,
but…
But there’s so much cool stuff to talk
about with your last album! Like, Bus-
driver just came out with a video directed
by comedian Brent Weinbach. But you
spearheaded the trend of getting comedi-
ans on board—who is the comedian who
helped with your album?
Hannibal Buress. I went to school with Han-
nibal—I’ve known him 10, 12 years now. I
was his RA for a year in college. Really, right
when he started, we were his first go-around
doing open mikes on campus.
Both professions are kind of similar, right?
You have to think on your feet, you have
to have a lot of material memorized, you’re
going to have audience participation—
whether invited,or not!—and you’ve got to
learn to deflect that, or go with it. And you,
personally—I’m not saying your rhymes are
funny, but there’s a certain sense of humor
to them. And sometimes they ARE funny!
I definitely attempt to amuse myself! I defi-
nitely wouldn’t fault you for detecting at-
tempted humor. The thing that links them
both, to me, is that they are both very indi-
vidualistic industries. When you are a comic,
you are a one-man brand. You don’t work for
a company, ever. You don’t work for a team:
it’s just you. Being a rapper is the same thing.
Now, you can work with a collective…
A comedian can be in an improv troupe.
Yeah, right! But I identify with comics for that
individual approach to content and brand and
approach and look. All of that! And traveling
alone, and all the things that go along with be-
ing that individual, psychologically.
How have you worked on your craft since
then? How does a rapper get better?
It’s just a ten thousand hours thing. It’s funny,
you talk about where I’m at, then compare it to
someone who’s a master. Like, Busta Rhymes,
that’s mastery of craft. Or Myka 9. That’s mas-
tery of craft. It’s like, you can hear how many
hours someone has been rapping when they
start rapping. There are so many things that
only come with practice in terms of timing, in
learning your breath, in learning your throat.
What’s the most unusual response you’ve
got so far?
Okay, so the usual responses are: 1. We like
this a lot. 2. We’re okay with this. 3. We
don’t like it so much. 4. … or nobody’s
there. Sometimes I overestimate a place. I was
in Athens, Georgia, a couple weeks ago. But
it happened to be the first home game for the
University of Georgia’s football team, so there
wasn’t nothing happening on the music front.
It was all people who were in college, or used
to be, or wanted to be really badly. I am to un-
derstand that the cool people don’t come out
of the house that day. You can imagine what
kind of show that was!
OPEN MIKE EAGLE’S DARK COMEDY
IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM MELLO
MUSIC GROUP. MIKEEAGLE.NET.
33
ELISA AMBROGIO
Interview by Rin Kelly
Illustration by Emma Maatman

She’s all giddy genius and fall-down-funny profundities, posing on her album cover beneath a giant 2D Starship Enterprise in a DIY Waka
Flocka Flame mask because what the fuck yes, that’s totally how it is—and add some literature to it, too, because that’s just Elisa
Ambrogio’s brain. Here’s Raymond Carver and Charles Baudelaire in the lyrics; here’s a title, The Immoralist, taken from André Gide’s
infamous novelistic exercise in philosophizing freedom and freaking out the squares. Gide and Ambrogio, singer/guitarist and (often
impromptu, always amazing) lyricist for noisy beauty-seeking superbrains Magik Markers, share a philosophical preoccupation with
what it means to be agents of our own creation, creatures who can close our eyes and invent whatever universe we want. It’s evident
in how Ambrogio talks about her new solo record—the decision to see what it feels like to make choices alone—and in the way she
narrates her characters’ lives. “No dust can choke a man who builds a lake,” she sings on “Arkansas,” her voice delicate and dreamy,
layered and floating, gone fully Wilson Phillips at last and fuck y’all who think it can’t sound like Tiffany and floor you; “Are you so weak
to deny your wants and needs?” she asks on “Clarinet Queen,” echoing Gide’s ubermensch-aspirant narrator. The result is queer and
gorgeous, pop and profound, the work of someone who’s a philosopher-artist-goofball at all times, whether she’s questioning the reality
of free will in “Comers” or just riffing on questions of gender, chemtrails, Mike Love, and pubes.

You’re really into the kind of production
that’s being used in hip-hop right now. 
 like 2009 and 2010. That’s when the Ratchet
The other night I had to dispute a cable bill
for a long time and I opened a bottle of wine
thinking that I would be talking to the cable
person for half an hour, would have a glass
of wine and then settle down and go to bed.
Instead I ended up talking to the cable guy for
like four hours and it sucked—and by that time
the wine had been sitting there: ‘No, not until
I’m done with this conversation will I have a
glass of wine.’ So then when I was done, I had
a glass of wine and just went hard and drank
like half the bottle really fast. And when I woke
up the next morning, all that was open on my
computer was ‘Whole Lotta Love,’ the weird
YouTube video about where ‘Whole Lotta
Love’ was stolen from, and then the chords of
‘Whole Lotta Love.’ I went really deep with
that. And the other thing that was open was
the Juicy J song, ‘My weed is medical. And
I ain’t had nothing to eat but some edibles.’
‘Geeked Up Off Them Bars.’
 your ideas. There’s such interesting stuff that
I’m not a Juicy J expert.
 has happened in the world besides the Beatles.
It’s hard to be an expert on those guys! That’s
the thing about Gucci Mane too. They release
these mix tapes—it’s way crazier than the
Magik Markers CD-R output. It’s insane.
They release mixtapes every two months. Juicy
J has a thing called Ratchet Studios. He’ll put
up videos of himself in shitty Motel 6s on the
road—he’s probably doing better now; this was
Studio films are from. But he’s in a Comfort
Inn and he’s got like a digital 24-track and a
mic, and they’re just recording constantly. I
think that’s great. That song ‘Geeked Up Off
Them Bars,’ the way that it’s composed and
the way that it’s layered … I feel like there’s
these two time periods in music that achieved
this weird separation of sound and this weird,
visceral, unstoppably compelling quality.
Just the quality of the sound alone separate
from the sound—separate from anything.
Just the quality of the sound. It’s incredibly
moving in some way. I feel like it’s mid- to
late-60s production and current hip-hop.
Those are the places. It kind of frustrates me
when people who are in a certain genre don’t
listen to new music. I can’t stand that shit.
Sometimes I think it’s racist. And sometimes I
think it’s just stupid. It seems crazy to me that
you can still be looking only to the Beatles for
Even though you love the Beatles, everyone I
know. 
 just singing about the cars and the drugs.’ But
It’s just turning into your parents. One time
at a show people were being jerks, you were
getting booed, and you started telling them
that they had turned into their parents. I
think it was a Dinosaur Jr. show. 
 in any serious way, and I don’t want to go any
Oh my God, they fucking hated us! People
lost their minds with hatred. It was the most
palpable hate in the room. There were guys
who’d been practicing jazz chords in their room
for the past decade that just wanted to stick an
ice pick into us being on the stage that J Mascis
would later walk onto. They were so angry. 
 stuff, and more than one dude says to me, ‘I
The thing a lot of people—mostly rockist
white people—tend to be missing is that
hip-hop is probably the weirdest music that
is being made right now. 
 that people aren’t even aware they possess. And
It’s the weirdest! There was a Nicki Minaj song
that was super popular like a year and a half
ago, maybe two years ago: ‘Bees in the Trap.’
That song is so fucking weird. And it’s not
melodic; it’s not lyrical. But it was a top-40
pop hit, a number-one hit. It would have been
a Throbbing Gristle song in 1974 or whatever
... Something that in 1975 or 1981 it would
have sounded like art maniacs; it would have
been completely bizarre. It’s a weird racist
thing, in my opinion—a little bit. There’s also
a cultural trope of white liberals who might be
into avant-garde music being like, ‘I don’t like
how they objectify women! Lyrically, they’re
it’s just racism. I have a lot of friends I went to
college with—we’re going deep white boy right
now—who are particularly big Bob Dylan
fans. We don’t have to talk about Bob Dylan
deeper with it than that his chords are very
simplistic folk and blues-based, his voice is not
particularly sonorous or filled with a beautiful
vocal quality. And these dudes would be just
like, ‘Dylan, maaan, fuckin Dylan.’ I enjoy
hip-hop music and would try to play them
know where you’re coming from, but for me
this just isn’t music. I can sort of appreciate it
as spoken word.’ All that is is really deep racism
when it comes to lyrics, there’s that Chris
Rock thing: Women will be listening to a song
that says, ‘Move, bitch, get out the way,’ and
you’ll be like, ‘How can you listen to that!
It’s so sexist!’ And they say, ‘He ain’t talking
about me!’ There’s certain genres that have
certain tropes. A current type of protest song,
not a protest song of the 40s or of the 60s,
but a political type of protest song right now
that is indicative of what’s really happening
in America is the song that is spoken from a
point of numbness. You have somebody who
is medically anesthetizing themselves and
then expressing how they are changing their
brain chemistry to be as completely numb
as they can be. And not explaining why; not
explaining the circumstance and saying, ‘I
come from the streets, it’s hard,’ or ‘I’m poor.
Things suck.’ It’s just ‘Right now, here are the
ways in which I am numbing myself. Here are

INTERVIEW 35
the Coleridgean thoughts I am having on this
numbness.’ It’s a really pervasive, cross-genre,
cross-country thing. In 2011, Frank Ocean
had that hit, ‘Novacane’—one of the smartest
pop songs that’s ever been written. It’s a story
about going to a show, going to Coachella and
meeting a woman who says she is going to
dental school, but she’s putting herself through
dental school by doing porn in the valley. She
gives him weed to smoke—and then he’s like,
‘My face feels numb. What’s in this?’ She’s put
Novocain in the weed. He equates that, getting
stoned and the Novocain that’s numbing his
body to auto-tune and pitch-correction and
having no emotion in music—it just being
this robotic sort of numbed sound that is the
only sound on the radio. This automated,
inhuman, regenerated, regurgitated music. He
talks about his body being numb physically
and how that relates to sex or pleasure and the
distance of filming. There’s so much in that
song. It’s such a heavy song. And it’s just a pop
song! But I can’t name one friend who’s like,
‘You know who’s good? Frank Ocean.’
 this fucking show? What do they want from
It’s almost like sci-fi heaviness has moved
into R&B and hip-hop—not that it wasn’t
necessarily already there, but it’s heavy
there, this weird machine intelligence,
transhuman weirdness. 
 anonymity of internet commenting. I didn’t
Then there’s Janelle Monae—she’s got the sci-
fi concept that was a 70s white-people move.
Like a Bowie thing. She’s fuckin so cool. This is
controversial. I again have not met one person
in my life who gives a shit about this person
without thinking they’re crappy. Kitty Pryde, I
think she’s just Kitty now—she had that song
‘OK Cupid.’ She was like, ‘I’m on Tumblr!
I live in Florida!’ but now she’s more like a
grown person. She used to be a real curiosity; I
think she worked at the mall and was putting
out these songs from her iPhone, but it’s really
weird—it’s still really weird. It’s kind of like
stream of consciousness, and I think she’s a
really smart feminist lyric writer, but she’s also
kind of sweet. It’s like no-wave or something,
but iPhone No Wave. And she gets so much
shit because there’s no more sexist world than
hip-hop. She just gets a ton of shit. And she’s
really honest—I actually really admire her
as an artist. People get mad when they listen
to her, and she takes it and she just keeps
working and creating. People are brutal to her!
They’re not nice. There’s lots of people doing
amazing stuff right now. I don’t know if you
know that lady EMA—she’s amazing. She’s
a really thoughtful, intelligent, melodically
gifted musician who’s playing with things that
wouldn’t been tools at anyone’s disposal until
the year 2013 or something. Right now I feel
there’s more good music than there was ten
years ago. 
 really shitty to me after we play.’ I would just
I do too!
 game face, set up—so maybe from being not
I’m glad it’s not just a weird perception. 
 super friendly, people did not fuck with me
Weird shit is being heard by teenagers, and
they don’t even realize it’s weird. And it’s not
hard to seek it out like it would have been
a generation earlier, when tons of kids just
listened to what was on MTV.
 nice to me before I played but weren’t nice to
I’m not trying to make anything just gender
based, but I feel like there are more women
who are fronting their own projects and
making their own work that it’s just a different
voice. It’s a different perspective. It’s way more
common to see girls at shows playing guitars.
 are consummate, virtuoso-level musicians who
36
Have you watched your reception getting have been playing shows for the past 15 years You’ve been compared a lot to girl groups
any better as far as dudes trying to tune your and sound guys are condescending dicks to on this record, with the production choices
stuff for you, stepping in to set your stuff them ... There was one thing that bummed you made—layered vocal tracks. 

up like a woman can’t possibly understand me out. This was actually my friend and our Yeah, I love it. These aren’t girl groups, but this
such things? I hear that kind of thing from record label—this was probably the most production style … my first few records that
female friends. Are there fewer reviews now sexist, openly angering thing. And this was were my mom and dad’s and grandparents in
where they can’t see past the fact that you’re my friend and Ecstatic Peace label contact the basement of our house were the greatest
female?
 who did this! Early in our Magik Markering, hits of The Turtles, Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds,
I feel like being in a band taught me I was Magik Markers were interviewed by Thurston and Tom Jones’ Delilah. Literally I was five
a woman. I maybe thought I was a kind of Moore, and I talked about the first time I had or six—I definitely was still making Barbie
unusual little dude before that. ‘I’m a little ever picked up a guitar. I said that 70s guitar beds in shoeboxes, I was a little guy—and on
dude without a dick!’ I make out with dudes playing and soloing is all up and down the my plastic turntable I would listen to these
and I’m like this genderless, amorphous thing. neck and then punk is really fast. I was like, ‘It’s scratched jams. I thought the Turtles and the
Gender really wasn’t how I thought of my like the difference between a guy jerking off Beatles were the same band though, for sure,
brain. Being in a band, having people look at and a girl jerking off.’ Punk compared to arena well into like ... my teens. I love harmonies.
me and be like, ‘You are a woman!’ made it rock. It was a really momentary thought that I I love vocal harmonies with a female singer.
much more clear that I was, in fact, perceived had for one second, literally the first time I ever There was this band called the Poni-Tails—
as female. It was other people’s perception that picked up a guitar—never thought it again. It’s when I was in the fourth grade I had a crush
brought me into my status as a woman in a completely a false equivalency! It’s not correct. on a boy named Kevin Carroll, who was in
weird way. But when we first started, both Leah Thought it for a second; mentioned it for sixth grade, and the Poni-Tails had a song
[Quimby] and I were so sort of ambivalent of one second in one second in one interview. called ‘Born Too Late.’ Born too late for you
performing at all. We would think, ‘Why the Then, the person at my label smash cut from to notice me. As a nine-year-old, I really
fuck are people here? Why did they come to me saying that to me hitting my guitar with identified with that song. I loved Tiffany. I was
a beer bottle at this pretty insane show, and it probably a little bit littler when Tiffany came
us? They can do what we’re doing—why are ruined the actual aggressiveness of what was out, but she was right up there for me. Wilson
they looking at us?’ It was really baffling. I will happening musically—and it ruined the sort Phillips—those were my little-kid jams. Not to
never forget one of the first live reviews I ever of sweetness of what I was meaning to convey make this whole thing nothing but gender—
read—also one of my first experiences with the in the interview. It just made it disgusting and ‘Nuthin But Gender, Yo!’
sexual in a way that was not intended. And They do it to us. I blame the Man for this
realize that it was really a hospitable spot for in a way that diminished both sides of what I entire interview that I subjected you to. It’s
viciousness. Someone said, ‘The drummer set was trying to communicate. But, of course, it his fault.
up all their gear for them while the girls just sat was kind of salacious, so it was probably good 
I never get to talk about this shit, so I like
around curling their pubes.’
 for Magik Markers. Every fucking dumb tour it! My mom, my dad, my grandparents,
Because girls are all born with stick-straight in Europe was like, ‘Le masturbatoire guitar everybody was just like, ‘You’re a little dude!’
pubes. 
 le Ambrogio bah bah bah!’ It was fucking I remember my dad in the car, I had a cassette
It’s part of our feminine inheritance. 
 bullshit! Everywhere we went it was like, ‘Oh of Tiffany and I played it, and he explained
That’s just broadcasting that you’ve never you are masturbating your guitar.’ No! No I’m to me how it was mindless pop bullshit. And
been with a girl.
 absolutely not. That was never what I was doing. then he played me Frank Zappa’s Hot Rats. I
I didn’t even think about that! My first instinct Part of that bummed me out, because I did not was probably seven. And the vamping organ
was ‘They did not set up my shit for me!’ But see myself as primarily a gendered individual— of Hot Rats, it’s still a lyricless, weird, kind
then I was like, ‘Curling my pubes? What? as that being my number one qualifier. When I of terrifying record, but I learned really early
With a heated instrument? Or was it around was playing shows, I was thinking of myself as even though I wasn’t told, ‘Oh, you’re a girl,
my fingers? Was it spit curls?’ It was just weird, a person who was responding to the show and you can’t do this.’ Nothing like that—it was
and then it went into trying to decimate the to what was happening musically. When you’re always ‘You’re smart; you can do whatever
live show and say how bad it was. 
 doing anything right, you’re not constantly ego you want.’ I wasn’t seen as female or held to
Men just love pubes and hairy women—it’s based. That should disappear if you’re doing those standards in my family at all, but what
the one place where there’s no social pressure the right things. You shouldn’t be conscious it sort of meant is that I maybe posited male
on us to change ourselves, so I could see why of yourself at all. That’s what was happening standards as superior to female standards. It’s
you’d really want to be accentuating it.
 in that moment, and the show itself was a like when Marge and Homer are hanging out
That’s why you curl before the show, Rin! really roiling, emotional, heavy show. It was and Homer doesn’t realize that their friend
That’s why you curl before the show. I don’t super exciting and fun to play—and then to is gay. Marge is trying to explain it and says,
have time for amplifiers. I’ve got pubes! 
 be interpreted that way when it was something ‘Homer, he prefers the company of men,’ and
I have so many friends who’ve had guys really aggressive and violent and not sexual Homer says, ‘Who doesn’t?!’ That was sort of
come up and grab their stuff, put it together and not for someone’s titillation in that way my attitude: who doesn’t?! Then I got into
wrong, and then sit back like, ‘There you at fucking all—that’s probably the most sexist straight-edge hardcore in a big way, and that’s
go, little lady. Glad I could help you guys.’
 thing that’s ever happened to me. And he’s my almost exclusively male. I mean, there was riot
I really definitely in the beginning of Markers friend. grrl stuff—I was a little late, but I could have
would approach the live experience with 
I always think about race and gender as a been into that stuff. But I was like, ‘I don’t get
my game face on. As soon as we walked in I translator. You have to be translated rather it. Why would they tell girls to stand up front?
would think, ‘I know everyone’s gonna just be than taken as you are—gender is a translator I’ll just go up front if I want to go up front.
through which other people see you, and This is not tight enough and fast enough.’

you’re just like, ‘I’m screaming what I think I was like that too. ‘I’m completely
at you and you’re seeing it through this obnoxious! I don’t need to be told this!’ It
in that way. But that stopped probably after I filter!’ ‘Female’ used to be way down the list took me a while to see what other women
felt less defensive after my own ability to do of what I thought defined me. I was angry were talking about or needing. 

stuff. That’s insane to think, ‘I won’t be nice to and alien and weird! But I’ve been translated I thought, ‘Don’t condescend to me—I’ll do
people because then I’ll know that they were so many times that I have no choice. Fuck what I want!’ Also, I responded to tightness
that, I want to be heard as a voice and not a and fastness. I wanted it to be really tight
me after I played.’ That’s crazy! That’s crazy- female voice. 
 musically and really fast. It was probably the
person thinking. As I got older I thought, It’s still surreal to me because I feel if you’re exact same feelings as the audience at that
‘That’s indicative of my own trust issues.’ I mostly in your own head it’s always a weird, Dinosaur Jr concert you were talking about.
haven’t experienced a ton of it. Sound guys are new reminder when you’re interacting in a ‘Stop playing that!’ But in adolescence, or
always ... I’ve been on tour with people who body that you’re being perceived in that body. even from that first moment when Hot Rats
I’m a lady now, I get it. 
 was posited as superior to Tiffany, I was maybe
INTERVIEW
internalizing the dude standards. Let it begin.
So maybe this record was kind of a revisiting
of things I have dismissed in certain ways. And
that’s two-pronged, because there also was a
mental decision I had made early on in studio
recording I was like, ‘I will not double track
my vocals. I will not do that.’ Because women
are always—or often, not always—encouraged
to do that, and you hear more double, triple-
tracked female vocals. Men are allowed to just
have their reedy, winnow voices, and women
have to be physically denser. Their voices have
to be given artificial authority because it’s
interpreted by an engineer or producer, or even
the woman herself, as not containing inherent
authority as a storytelling or melodic device
on its own. That’s not to say every woman—if
you’re born with an incredibly beautiful voice,
that carries its own weight. I just mean for
somebody who is an average Joe type singer,
a singer-songwriter type singer that’s sort of
story based and word based, who might not
have those soaring melismas in their jams.
 beyond the grave—somebody’s talking to
A thin voice is its own instrument. 
 you and they say something true that reveals
Neil Young, Bob Dylan, the list goes on
and on. There’s so many dudes. Lou Reed is
another guy who has a really cool voice but not
an inherent singer’s voice. I thought, ‘These are
the singer-songwriters I’m listening to—this is
who I want it to sound like.’ And I realized
that I was making a decision based not only on
possibly internalizing dude standards but also
kind of forcibly limiting myself because I was
thinking there was symbolic importance to an
unenhanced, single female vocal track. Even
tuning my guitar was a giant decision for me.
Pete [Nolan, Magik Markers] and I used to
just tune to each other. We would tune to this
organ that he had. When I first used a tuning
pedal, that felt like another level of almost like
… compromise. With this I thought, ‘I don’t
want to think about anything but serving the
narrative sound experience of what the song
is.’ Whatever sounds good—and it being a
fun thing, being in a studio, not thinking of
anything but the story and the song and the
place and time. I feel like in saying that that it’s
really obvious—no shit, dude!—but sometimes
it’s been a collaborative effort of what the
whole band thought something should be like,
where with this it was dictator-style, only me.
Jason [Quever], the person I recorded with, he
played so much on the record and is a beautiful,
super-sensitive musician, very intuitive but also
disciplined crazy-virtuoso kind of dude with
a great ear for things. So him playing on the
record was incredibly great and beautiful and
collaborative. So when I say, ‘I was just there,
alone, making this thing’ I don’t mean that it
was just me no one else there, just me being
awesome. Jason was integral—I bet a lot of
the aspects of the record that are beautiful are
due to his gentle ear coming in. I feel like I’m
better at some different things, but he’s such
a beautiful musician that it was easy to make
certain things that I’d maybe have trouble with
on my own. 
 communicating. That’s the job, right? If you’re
A lot of people have said they’re hearing self-
discovery and introspection in the record. I
wonder if people are hearing that because
of the softness. Almost like it’s an aural
clue for them to look for self-discovery and
introspection that might already be there in
your other work too. 
 Can you see yourself fakin’ it? 
 do about that. It’s not primarily important
INTERVIEW
That’s one of those things like what we first
started talking about, about if it’s possible to
be a reliable narrator when you’re subjectively
telling your own story from a skewed, myopic
point of view. I have no idea! It’s so first-person
and self-revealing that at this point I’m like,
‘That’s fuckin embarrassing!’ You know as a
writer that when you’re looking at a piece of
fiction that it’s an amalgam of things. It’s a truth
you’re telling—you’re revealing things about
how you operate in the world. I love when
people can hear things you didn’t know you
were intentionally revealing. That’s awesome.
It’s cool when somebody listens to your record
deeply enough to register something like
that. But I don’t really know. I guess if you’re
working on your shit over time … everything
really good, every piece of art that’s really good,
the thing that you respond to in it, the thing
that you love about it, the thing that hooks
people together with the works that they love
is that communication. Communication from
something inside of you and teaches you
something and shows you something. I guess
if any person is hammering away at their work
in their life, writing books or writing songs or
composing pieces or fucking working on a laser
light show at the planetarium that they’re really
stoked on and deeply invested in, they’re trying
to get at some kind of level of communication.
You’re going to chip away and chip away and
keep writing and keep producing and keep
creating more and more chances that you’ll
say something that is honest and that is true
and that is a genuine attempt to communicate
something. And hopefully a successful attempt
to communicate it. I guess it’d make sense to
say that it feels like self-discovery, but probably
anyone who’s working at something that didn’t
completely suck ass hopefully is going to be
doing that on some level. My favorite concert
of 2014 was the only American show that
Sleaford Mods has ever played—in New York
City. Jason Williamson, the singer of Sleaford
Mods, has been making music for maybe 20
years, and only in the last three or four years has
his communication level reached a point that
he was communicating what he intended with
an audience. And it’s really incredible! And Bill
Callahan, he from the beginning has been able
to communicate in a really effective way, but
at this point he’s reaching new heights. Smog
was a band that for me was first encountered
as songs on mixapes by jilted wieners. I didn’t
like Smog. ‘That’s that guilty-making song that
that dude put on that tape because we didn’t
do it.’ Only in the past six years or something
have I started listening to solo Bill Callahan.
His arrangements, his words—he’s fucking
getting more masterful every year. I feel like
anyone who’s working at their own head
and their own self-deception and their own
delusions—to try to get at something that’s
actual—hopefully they improve over time at
not communicating clearly then you’re not
doing your job.
I’ve been working with my old novel and
am seeing all the things I was doing to get
around communicating that still looked
like communication. 
 to an authority who knows about what to
I was totally faking it! I could see this 22-
year-old desperately trying to sound like
Nabokov. 
 and that is where we’re at. Making anything,
Yeah! And the more direct you are and the more
honest you are and the more courageous you
are—to not be a fucking pussy about it—the
more valid. And I’m not making a judgment
on it. The more able to be an agent of your
own imagination. Even without dishonesty,
do you find with your old stuff that you can
see that you’re reveling in how much you love
vocabulary? I feel like when you love words or
you love guitar solos, you can go hard in a way
that is kind of joyful to you, kind of ‘Hooray!’
But it’s selfish. It’s not servicing your work.
 coloring that authority concept with the fact
I can see myself using the vocabulary of
others. I’m myself now, and back then I was
myself with a whole lot of help. 
 My father is so smart and so talented, loves
That’s a really good point—that you’re nothing
but weird mushy influences until you start
producing your own work. The way you don’t
see typos until the thing is published. A lot
of times when I talk to people who like, ‘I’m
working on this thing, I got this thing,’ I say,
‘Just put it out!’ It doesn’t matter if it’s ready.
Just put it out! The only way to progress is to
finish. It’s like a video game, it’s like leveling
out—you can’t get to the next level unless you
finish this level. The only way to finish this level
is to produce work and put it in the world and
deal with its presence. You cannot go forward!
I’m sure you know so many people who are
so fucking creative, you’re so fucking talented,
you’re a gifted person, and they won’t put their
work in the world—but they’re sad about it.
‘Oh I wish I was doing that. I wish I was out
there doing that thing.’ And it’s not jealousy
in a mean way. I have some bros like that, and
it’s definitely a weird ambiguity. I share it: why
do you have to put the work into the world?
Why isn’t the work its own reward? Why does
it have to be produced? But to me, for me, I
can’t get any better unless I produce work in
the world. I can’t just keep it in the box and
get anything real done. But there’s definitely
landfills with CD-Rs rotting away that I feel
ashamed of. 
 step where I could have just felt fuck this,
You put out so much stuff! You just keep
putting stuff out. That’s really inspiring. 
 ‘No! No: don’t fuck this.’ And also you have to
I don’t want to take credit for that inspiration,
because Pete Nolan is so smart and really is a
hard-working, productive person. Pete Nolan
does not look back. Just like Dylan. Just like
that Belle and Sebastian song: Pete Nolan does
not look back. He looks forward—he puts out
work, he doesn’t dwell, and he moves forward.
He’s not looking to make it just right. That’s
something Pette taught me over time. I was
like, ‘Whaaat? No! This sucks!’ And he said,
‘All right, well let’s do the next one better, I
dunno.’ It just wasn’t a thing to dwell on. It’s
taught me a lot. He’s a brave dude. And it
taught me to just be like, ‘Fuck it!’ 
 the Beach Boys together and did this sneaky
Having someone like that impacts the art
itself and the process so much. 
 ‘Suck a dick—what just got into the top 10
Authority is the first thing you have to learn
if you’re going to make something. Authority:
the author. You first have to take authority as
someone who is a creator. I feel like our entire
world is built to generate a passive observer in
every way. If your phone won’t turn on, that’s
it—your phone won’t turn on. You better go
in America to raise authorities. It’s really
good to raise a passive consumer of goods,
and I mean right down to the Etsy pressed-
flower notecard store, you’re taking authority
that you weren’t inherently given. Again, this
is subjective—I’m this working-class little
dude; I never knew people who made their
living off of art. It seemed insane to me. It’s
only a hobby for people. You get a job, it’s
nine-to-five, it’s miserable, but you get to go
to the beach two weeks in the summer. That’s
what I understood life’s structure to be. I never
knew anyone who just did art. So maybe I’m
that authority wasn’t just inherent for me in
my household growing up, being the expert.
music, loves writing, loves reading. He works
as an insurance-claims adjustor, and you know
he’s good at his job, but my whole life growing
up he said, ‘Never, never do this. Whatever
you do, don’t do this.’ Fortunately, I definitely
listened to him. He loved taking pictures—
he had a nice 35mm beautiful Canon film
camera, and when I was born he wanted to
take pictures of the birth, because he was a
hippie. He didn’t trust himself to load his own
camera. He took it to JC Penney and had
the photo technician at JC Penney load the
film into the Canon camera. Of course, this
was probably a mouth-breathing, adenoidal,
acne-ridden teen who didn’t know anything
compared to my dad, who had been taking
these beautiful pictures with his own camera
for years. He loaded the camera wrong, and
he’s still like, ‘I can’t believe it! All of the film
was exposed! We didn’t get any pictures!’ I’m
thrilled that there are no images of me exiting
our mom’s vagina, but that story for me is a
weird metaphor about authority and about
trusting someone who is an expert. We all have
that authority if we don’t rob ourselves of it or
if the world doesn’t rob us of it. If somebody
lights that authority in you, you’re really lucky.
Not everybody gets the lucky break. At every
somebody somewhere that I trusted was like,
be open I guess to hearing that person saying
that. It’s been nothing but luck, just hashtag
‘blessed’ I guess.

You’ve mentioned Mike Love and ‘Kokomo’
as having aggression like is in raging, raw
Cookie Monster music. Is ‘Kokomo’
simmering with a rage people don’t realize
they’re hearing, separate from the rage
people feel when they hear it?

Oh fuck yeah! Because Brian Wilson, who
produced every fucking hit, was off on a
beach with Dr. Landy in Hawaii, and without
his knowledge, Mike Love got the rest of
fucking underhanded thing and was like,
without you, Wilson?’ It was definitely a tale
of vengeance on the Cocktail soundtrack. 

Could you tell that there was a hostility to
it when you were young? For some reason
I was creeped out by ‘Kokomo.’ It had this
weird hostility, like when you hear grownups
talking about the adult world and you feel
this alienness about their world that you
don’t want to be part of. 

37
That’s amazing! Now listening to it there is outside of a moral, about the fact that’s it’s feel like the correction of the child, of the father’s move faster than you can decide to move
a militaristic kind of repetition of locations: not called The Amoralist. It’s someone who’s mistakes or something ... there’s a long history your body. Those things tie into this idea that
Aruba. Bahama. It’s very didactic and grumpy internalized social values and has an awareness of people in my family at least that were scared choice is something we comfort ourselves
sounding. 
 that he’s transgressing but isn’t able ... it’s not of their own authority, scared of certain risks— with, like religion or something. The idea that
This is what people like! You will like this! like the book is a joyful celebration of following and they didn’t do it. It’s a weird corrective—of we do have choice is really comforting but
If one location isn’t good enough for you, desire. Just the repercussions of following my people, who I come from, a terrified tribe maybe not true. But then on the other hand, I
here’s ten! Here’s Aruba and Jamaica!
 desire without any thought of the feelings of of cowards! I’m scared of everything. If I didn’t feel like it would be impossible if there wasn’t
You know they met with some kind of focus others or community or the social contract of do things just because I was scared of them I some part of us that didn’t get to decide things
group, actuarial social-aggregator type guy human decency. I think it’s an interesting book would literally be paralyzed in bed all the time a little—some actual choice—but that would
who was like, ‘We’re noticing an uptick in the because our selfishness as humans, we all have because everything’s kind of at least vaguely be a simplistic side of me. 

adult-contemporary demographic. Flights are this didactic self-interest, but you can’t act on scary. I can’t think of something that doesn’t You also have chemtrails in your lyrics: ‘Saw
getting less expensive. There’s a lot of travel it. This is really weird, because obviously he was have some element of that, something about the chemtrails burning in the sky/and they
to the Caribbean and the West Indies. I don’t living in a time period where the first step of living. I used to be really scared of bees as a wrote empty letters to you and I.’ What’s
know if you want to work with that.’ just simply being homosexual is being outside child—terrified of bees. I thought they were your position on chemtrails?

It’s like an insistent sex song for androids. 
 of society, against everything that’s right or going to come out of the ground and sting me, I didn’t know what they were, and I had a friend
Dude! Not to say that insistent sex songs for moral or part of the community standard. It so I sat in my room when I was six and I put who was very smart but was also so ensconced
androids are on the tip of my tongue at all was literally illegal. He starts from that point of the shades down. I closed all the windows. It in different types of conspiracy theories and the
times, but that Nikki Minaj Sir Mix-a-Lot view. What was the difference between the rest was summer! I spent weeks in a dark room! I Art Bell radio program. He was so smart that I
song, ‘Anaconda,’ that is a robot sex song. of his transgressions and the rest of his inherent was really little. I just sat there because I was kind of felt, ‘Wow, he really knows what’s up.’
A robot was like, ‘Beep! Make sex song! wants of his person when the very basis of his so terrified of bees. Then I got stung by a bee So I borrowed a couple books and read them
Popular!’
 own world was already like that? He was born when I was 22 and it’s fucking not that bad. It’s and I thought, ‘He’s a little crazy—these are
What’s the most furious, hostile pop song immoral. It’s a really interesting story in that not a big deal ... Maybe your brain tells you that weirdly pulpy, repetitive, badly written, no-
that people tend to mistake for a nice, soft way, and of course it’s still kind of shocking the worst thing in the world is that someone research-at-all non-histories.’ And I’ve read
blanket?
 because there’s so much implied sexuality. I would not like something that you made. I’m other books that certainly corroborate a lot of
I don’t think necessarily the songs themselves feel like a lot of those those Greco-Roman just- speaking sort of subjectively here—this isn’t risk different things—obviously there are so many
are hostile so much that the people who create pubescent boys and older—there’s not a lot of like being in Syria. This is very cosseted risk, things that aren’t total nonsense—but these
those beautiful songs are often just roiling rage acceptable mainstream academic novel-writing obviously. I just mean in your self-absorbed particular books he let me borrow, I thought,
cauldrons. But that’s inside baseball, nobody where there’s cute 13-year-old boys wearing brain. It was kind of cool to immediately have ‘Uh oh, you’re cuckoo.’ You’re very smart, but
cares—there’s like ten people who read rock no underpants. But for him the shocking part this weird experience where I toured almost as if you’re not reading these books critically, I
biographies ... but I love self-mythology, when would have been not shocking at all. There’s soon as I started playing guitar, and it was the feel like you’re maybe not super-smart. But
people have been mythologized by others another writer who has the ability to write worst things you could imagine people yelling there’s so many things that were treated as
and then they’re written about with this crazy beautifully and transgressively and kind of call at you. Like a nightmare about being naked wacky conspiracies that turned out to be true.
mythology. I love when it’s really kind of tunnel- your own set of standards into, not question, at high school. ‘You suck! You fucking suck! I just figure that’s hubris and a sort of godhead
vision, myopic, not-true. It kind of turns into a but into a sort of re-examining how you think You’re fucking ugly!’ All of the worst things mentality of a person who’s like, ‘I know
weird Paul Bunyan thing: ‘Van Morrison went of right and wrong or moral and immoral: happened at the first tour. Really nice things, what’s up, man, I know exactly what they’re
into the studio. And improvised. All of Astral Dennis Cooper. That’s a writer who has an too, but it was sort of like, ‘This is the worst fuckin’ doing; I’ve nailed it.’ Yeah, you’re the
Weeks. No one knew what he was doing. It was ability somehow in the modern world, when that can happen? The worst that can happen is one person in the world who knows about
crazy.’ It’s not true, but that’s the myth around you wouldn’t think you would have to put it that some wiener calls me a bad guitar player this. It feels like a weird kind of narcissism
that record. It’s beautiful, I love that stuff. 
 down because you’re so physically changed by ... not knowing why I’ve been asked to play to think number one: that man is capable of
The best mythologizer is Ray Manzarek. what you’ve just read, but Dennis Cooper can this show ... having this total silence fall after?’ that kind of high-level organization. Every
He believed that he was sitting next to do that. I’m sure when someone in the mid- Standing on stage opening for a much more other aspect of man’s community is fucked up
Dionysius throughout the 60s. 1900s read The Immoralist they probably felt popular band, not knowing why I’ve been and mistakes are made and chaos reigns, but
Him writing about Jim Morrison is amazing. the same sort of stomach-dropping feeling asked to play this show, feeling I definitely do somehow there’s this tiny cabal that’s just been
The other self-mythologizer who just goes over the crazy, different interpretation of a not have any more right to be on the stage than keeping shit so secret and doing everything to
beyond to the point where it’s thrilling—the perceived human role re-interpreted. 
 anyone anywhere, and then having this total control the world. And it gets a little into weird
David Lee Roth Crazy from the Heat biography I was thinking about Dennis Cooper the silence fall after a song and someone yelling, creepy racism and anti-Semitism. There’s lots
is the ne plus ultra of self-mythology being other day. Out of nowhere I remembered ‘You suck!’ That is a really good experience.
 of crazy aspects to certain conspiracy theories.
conveyed through narrative. All of the pictures the phrase ‘spicy-gross asshole aroma.’ It You write poetry too—is there a medium But that long answer notwithstanding, the
of himself are taken by his driver-slash- stays with you. Dennis Cooper, why did where you fight that fear the most?
 particular situation was this dude pointing out
bodyguard. There’s never friends or a lover you do that to me?
 I would have to say the unpublished writing I chemtrails to me and me being like, ‘Better
taking the photograph; they’re all credited to That’s so powerful and awful. And what’s great have is not in the world yet because I’m being check into those, that’s freaky!’ And then
this dude he’s paying. And he is the person about him too is that he does have that sort a total pussy about it. If I was treating it with hanging out with this other dude who was
who discovered punk and civil rights, which of excessive, visceral … in his choices and any kind of non-cowardice it would probably also a really smart guy, me pointing to the sky
is cool. I love David Lee Roth, and I’m not words there is that element of the shocking to be done right now. I have to put it out; I have when I saw these streaks of whatever, when I
saying it in a way of diminishing him. What’s his work, but I feel like the things that make to get it done. It’s just that idea of making saw what was referred to as chemtrails, and he
it like to live inside of his mind for one day? I him special and his fiction special are that he’s something perfect. You can learn that lesson in said it was like a letter in the sky. I thought
think it would feel so good. a master craftsman. He can write so beautifully so many ways and you can still be pulled into that was a beautiful way to put it. It’s not
The record is named after André Gide’s novel and personally. God Jr. is completely absent its dumb power. It’s so dumb! And you can’t anesthetizing drugs that make you buy flat-
The Immoralist. Are there any truly reliable of that kind of deep, sadistic, masochistic move forward until you complete things and screen TVs; it’s in fact a beautiful letter written
narrators? Can you truthfully narrate your sexuality. That’s really not a part of it. It’s really get them out of your head. It’s a pickle. in the sky. It just had a different resonance.
own life from the subjective position of good and really outside of how his oeuvre You have a lyric declaring free will a myth. Is And I guess I like the idea of false rationalism
being inside your own head?
 is perceived. The Sluts is another one of my absolute choice a myth? Does absolute free and this weird fake control you think you have
Probably not! 
 favorites, and that’s not outside how his work will exist? 
 because you think you know something. Then
I saw somebody describe that book as an is perceived. But that book is structured in an There’s the idea that every choice that is made there’s the poetic truth, and it’s different than
‘ironic monologue.’ Not just an unreliable amazing way—it’s just masterful. has its outcome, and then somewhere exists the factual truth but has a better and more
narrator but one almost at an ironic distance You’ve said that songwriting can be the opposite choice made and its outcome— meaningful place, maybe, than any facts you
from himself and lying to himself.
 terrifying. Do you throw yourself in, all possibilities are happening, always, on think you could know. Knowing something
It’s a really weird story because he almost seems wrestling with terror? Or are you the kind of some level. In that idea, there’s no choice on an intuitive or imaginative level is maybe
compelled to tell it—he doesn’t put himself in artist and writer who tries to put it off and that matters. It’s a kind of absence of free will a more true kind of knowledge than thinking
a good light. It’s still a shocking book in ways avoid terror but ultimately just can’t?
 because whatever choice you make, every you have some sort of fact.

that would have been differently shocking It’s probably both. There’s something about option has happened. There’s also the idea that
when it came out, but he has that sort of dry the idea that if you’re scared ... there’s a greater with our minds, there’s an impulse that begins ELISA AMBROGIO’S ALBUM THE
sense of humor, and he’s helplessly aware of ratio of reward. That’s like a cliché, but it before we tell our minds to do something. IMMORALIST OUT NOW ON DRAG
his own compulsions. I feel like it does show ends up true. I feel like when you’re scared of When you look at really great athletes or really CITY. VISIT AT DRAGCITY.COM/
the repercussions of someone choosing to live something, that’s what you’re supposed to do. I the best virtuoso musicians ... your body can ARTISTS/ELISA-AMBROGIO.
38 INTERVIEW
NIK TURNEROFHAWKWIND
Interview by Jonny Bell and Chris Ziegler
Illustration by Emanual Farias

Nik Turner is an iconic member of the iconic space-rock band Hawkwind. He’s at least as iconic as Hawkwind alum Lemmy—yes, that
Lemmy­—and despite all the psychedelic trips he’s taken to outer space, he’s still got a great memory. (Probably from all the time
he spent playing flute in the giant mind-sharpening orgone chamber that is the Great Pyramid of Giza.) While recent years have seen
members of Hawkwind spending as much time in search of legal harmony as in search of space, Turner continues to tour and play
and perform his own space ritual. He speaks now about all the help he got from Raymond Chandler’s cheap gangsters and confirms
that yes, he did indeed have his own orgone accumulator.

Do you have your own orgone chamber?
Nik Turner (flute/sax/vocals): I had my
own orgone accumulator for a time. I
had a pyramid that was based upon the
dimensions of the Great Pyramid, which
was made of an aluminium frame and
cotton canvas on top of it. Organic and
inorganic materials. I used that all the time.
I found it very relaxing. What I’m finding as
well is that I’m getting some sort of healing
powers. I went to Egypt and spent some
time inside the great pyramids playing my
flute and studying all the Egyptian gods.
Then when I came back, people say that
gave me healing power—I was able to heal
people. I was at some sort of conference in
Brighton a couple of years ago discussing
the Hawkwind film Do Not Panic with
an audience. They wanted to talk about it
with me, so I watched the film and then
talked about it. The people say, ‘You went
to Egypt—tell us about that.’ I’d spend so
much time inside the great pyramid, which I
consider to be an orgone accumulator in the
way Wilhelm Reich described it—organic
and inorganic alternating materials—and
you can sharpen razor blades in it.People
say you can sharpen razor blades in the
pyramids. What it does—it can normalize
the random molecules in it. The broken
edge will become normalized and become
sharp again. I’ve found that out as I spent
a lot of time lying in the in sarcophagus in
the King’s Chamber—
They just let you do that?
Playing music, serenading the gods. When
I came back to Britain, people wanted me
to heal them: ‘I don’t know anything about
healing.’ ‘Just put your hands on me.’ So I
did and it healed them. There was a woman
in the audience [of the documentary
screening] and she said, ‘I have a terrible
pain in my back—do you think you can
heal me?’ ‘Oh, I can only try really.’ I put
my hands on her and I thought about the
Egyptian gods and the other mental forces
and how I will bring all this positive energy
from the sun to her body and harmonize her
body and the pain and the stress and so on
… and she said, ‘Oh! That’s marvelous! The
healing worked and the pain is gone!’ I was
at a gig the other day and the drummer I was
working with Terry Ollis [of Hawkwind’s
early incarnations] and he said, ‘Oh I have
a really bad pain in my shoulder.’ I said,
‘Look, Terry, I’m going to put my hands on
you.’ I feel guilty asking people if I can put
my hands on them like I’m some kind of
calculating paedophile or something. So I
put my hands on his shoulder and thought
about the mumbo jumbo and the ancient
Egyptian gods and the healing power and
the positive energy and blowing out all the
negative energy and blowing it out into
the cosmos. And he suddenly said, ‘Oh
thanks—it’s gone now!’ He’s waving his
arms about in the air. I thought, ‘wow, what
a fantastic thing to be able to do that to
people.’ I don’t make a thing of it—I just try
to help people if I can. I don’t raise people’s
expectations at all, I just say, ‘Well, I’ll try to
help you and we’ll see how it goes.’ But I’m
very blessed with it.
When did you become aware of Sun Ra?
And how did that affect your music? I feel
you were sort of fellow travelers.
When I was in America in 1973, I did a
gig with John McLaughlin and I met these
very beautiful women. They said, ‘What are
you doing after the show? Do you want to
come and see Sun Ra?’ So I saw Sun Ra in
his nightclub in Chicago in 1973. What a
fantastic guy. I’m still an admirer of his—
he’s still affecting people.
What were the earliest Hawkwind
sessions like? How did all this start?
I think at the time, we were into taking a
lot of LSD and hallucinatory drugs. We
recorded stuff inspired by LSD. And magic
mushrooms and other things. Nothing
too habit forming or toxic. I couldn’t cope
with toxic drugs. I was into the quiet life.
Sedentary, you might say. Or keep healthy,
keep control of myself. I had a moment the
other day where I thought I was traveling
through time—well, I have been!—and
everything seemed to be disjointed. I find
it a bit disconcerting when things aren’t in
my control. I don’t wanna control other
people—just myself. I want everyone to be
free and express himself freely. So we went
in the studio to make the first album—we
actually played the whole album through
twice and it’s what we’d been doing at shows.
So we were quote ‘well-rehearsed.’ Because
it was not rehearsable, really! It was just
free expression! We just played along with a
couple things, and that was the album. We
did two versions, took the best bits of what
we had and that was the album.
What do you think now when you listen
back to that album?
Someone was asking me last about that
album and I said I thought the first album
was in many respects the best album we
ever did. The first album is a product of the
musicians who were in it up to that point,
and the second album is a product of the
musicians who arrived after the first album
but before the second. So the amount
of activity and experience that goes into
the second album is rather more limited
than the first. That’s what happened with
Hawkwind—the first album was really
fresh and the second was more songs, more
structure. Not less exciting or creative in
many respects, but less freely creative. And
less of a total life experience than one had
with the first album.
Hawkwind had that surprise hit with
‘Silver Machine’ from the second
album—what’s the best way to handle
sudden fame and fortune like that?
Well—I’m very free with money. I’m not
materialistic. I’m broke most of the time,
but I’m happy. I think that quite honestly,
people shouldn’t play music for money. I
mean—they can. They can get money. I
was busking and getting music for money,
but the goal shouldn’t be money. That’s
my opinion. It’s much more artistic and
spiritual. I want to heal people and touch
them with music. I go to a local school and
do career meetings with the people there,
and I tell them that if they want to run
in the music business, they should learn
to play their instrument properly and be
an all-around musician and enjoy playing
music—what they should really do is enjoy
themselves and not give a fuck.
Do you tell them that at the career center?
‘Don’t give a fuck’?
Yes, that’s what I tell them. In not so many
words. Or more words, really.
Where did Space Ritual come from?
To a lot of people that’s the definitive
Hawkwind album.
Space Ritual was recorded live and had a lot
of material by Robert Calvert who’d been
involved with the band on X In Search Of
Space, which had Barney Bubbles as art
director. They put together a logbook of a
spaceship that had become two-dimensional,
and all that remained was the logbook,
which charted the band and the spaceship’s
experience. The vinyl was all that was left
of the crew, really. Which I guess was their
minds—their collective minds. Robert

INTERVIEW 43
Calvert got together with Barney and came
up with the idea of the space ritual, which
was more like a journey through space and
time to different dimensions and planets.
Robert wrote a lot of songs but other
people did too—mine were ‘Brainstorm’
and ‘Masters of the Universe’ and maybe
‘Children of the Sun’? I was involved with
that record on a choreographic level as well.
Robert was prone to nervous breakdowns.
He had one at the time. His mother
confided in me when I met him that he had
a breakdown every eighteen months on a
regular basis. He was a very creative person
but slightly unstable. Unfortunately for
him, he wasn’t really in a position to have
complete freedom in his life. Like we’d go
around Europe and all over the place, and
Robert always wanted to come but couldn’t
because he’d have nervous breakdowns.
And they rather complicated his life. But
then he had a complicated life anyway. He
had a wife and four children when I was
hanging out with him. We’d go out and get
drunk. He was a bit like the Ginger Man—
J.P. Donleavy—have you read that? Robert
was very much like the Ginger Man, and I
was like the Ginger Man’s friend O’Keefe.
Robert turned me on to that book and lots
of other stuff. Unfortunately he didn’t really
have the freedom to gallivant off like I had.
I wish he had—I’d have been very happy to
take him along with me.
You’re also a Raymond Chandler fan. What
is the Raymond Chandler book you think
you’ve read most often, and why?
I love The Big Sleep, but I also love Farewell,
My Lovely. I read all of them about ten
times. I think I grew up on them. My
parents were into film, my uncle was a film
camera man who looked like Humphrey
Bogart, and they were all into cinema. I
used to go to trade shows when I was about
10 and my family used to go review all the
latest films, so I was brought up on that.
That’s why I started reading [Chandler’s]
Lady in the Lake. I got a bit frightened by
it—I was about 14 years old.
What part scared you? The suffocating
sense of corruption?
I’ll tell you a story. I had a record label when
I lived in London and I started it as a result
of going to Egypt and then recording flute
music inside the great pyramids. I came back
and put the show together as a performance
with dancers from the Royal Ballet. [laughs]
Barney Bubbles used to help me out with it.
Then I moved to the country and I’ve got
this offer from a company called the White
Book—a music business information
catalog offering me a free insert in their
catalog and I said OK. They said, ‘Have you
got any other companies you’d like to float
in the catalog?’ I thought that sounds good
so I made up all these titles: Money Talks
Management …
Is this like a completely fictional
company? Or is it like fictional to start,
but if someone wanted to work with it
you’d make it an actual company?’
I got all these companies. I got Little
Hallucination Video Production, Cadillac
Ranch Recording Studio, and I named my
Cadillac Ranch after the one in Texas that
44
belonged to Stanley Marsh III. And he had
those Cadillacs stuck in the ground and he
called that the Cadillac Ranch.
How did you find Stanley Marsh? He’s
an actual eccentric millionaire. Did you
just drive by and see the Cadillacs in the
ground and say, ‘We should go and meet
this guy?’
I was in a tour in America with Hawkwind
in 1973 or so. The tour manager was a guy
named Jamie Mandelkau—he was from
Canada. He was writing the book about
Stanley Marsh III at the time, and he took
me to visit. I went with Jamie and with all
his friends up in British Columbia and went
bear hunting up in the woods.
Bear hunting?
Yes, with big guns, you know. It was quite
frightening. We went hunting with all these
fanatical bikers—all these choppers and
stuff. Then he took me down to visit Stanley
Marsh III and I was a resident rock star and
he was a resident writer. So when I moved
to the country, I started all these companies
and I people them with cheap gangsters from
Raymond Chandler novels—like Dolores
Gonzales, Mendy Menendez. Moose Magoo
who was a mixture of two characters out of
Playback, I think, or Farewell, My Lovely.
Did anyone call you up asking to speak
with Moose?
Yeah, they would and I’d say, ‘Yeah, this is
him—what’s happening? This is Moose, can
I help you?’ Nobody really seemed to know
that’s what it was, you know? Then I went
to write a book and I sort of brought these
characters to life in what was a science fiction
story. It’s not finished yet, but Nik returns
to the Cadillac Ranch from Mexico, greeted
by the usual suspects and then he gets sort of
wheeled around the complex and Moose is
writing a biography about him. And Moose
says ‘Oh it’s going great, I’m going to make
some more stuff up.’ Dolores Gonzales
is like this strange alien woman so when
Nik kisses her, he feels as if he’s dissolving
into her body. It’s very beautiful. Then she
holds his hand and he feels weak because
he feels his hand is dissolving into hers. It’s
all very insidious. He manages to escape
from her but he has to sit down whenever
he comes in contact with her. Nik’s being
portrayed and described by Moose Magoo,
who doesn’t mind him looking stupid. He
lampoons him cruelly.
This reminds me a lot of Burroughs.
Did you ever meet Burroughs? I feel like
Hawkwind would have crossed his path.
I read a bit of Burroughs, I haven’t read a lot.
I read Naked Lunch. I wasn’t really obsessive
about Burrough. I just thought he was an
interesting guy but I never was interested in
heroin. Although he pushed the envelope
with all this other stuff—yage and all these
others bizarre hallucinogens that he brought
himself in America some way? He probably
had ayahuasca, I guess—probably one of
the first people to have that stuff.
You and he share an interest in pre-
Columbian theology, don’t you?
I’ve got backing bands—I have about four
of them in Finland, three in Sweden, about
five in America … I get invited all over the
place and this band from Finland called
Five Fifteen invited me to go to Mexico
with them to the progressive rock festival
in Mexicali. They said if I could get them
a gig in L.A., then they would take me to
Mexico. So I got them a gig at L.A. at what
was Spaceland at the time. I went to Mexico
to the Mexicali Progressive Rock Festival
and I did a gig with Five Fifteen and then
I got really bored and I went out into the
lobby and started busking and collecting
money from people.
What were you playing? What’s your
street corner hit?
I stand on street corners playing Charlie
Parker hits and John Coltrane and
Gillespie. And the next year, the people
from the festival invited me to come back
and busk in the lobby of the theatre. Then
I went down to Mexico City and ended up
playing with all these musicians there. And
I ended up visiting all these Mayan ruins.
I got very interested in the Mayan culture
and the fifth sun was going to end on the
winter solstice of 2006. So I became very
interested in Mayan culture and started
reading lots of books about it. I came across
a guy in Cleveland who gave me a bunch
of books while I was there. He’s a sort of
professor of mythological studies at the
university and he gave me all these books
about the Mayans.
That’s very generous of him to give you
these scholarly works before you played
your show.
Yes—fantastic. That’s how I am, you know.
Space Ritual has some deep sort of
mythological—or subliminal—concepts
in it, doesn’t it?
So consequently I ended up with Barney
choreographing the Space Ritual show and
helping out with lighting—Barney divides
the lighting based on the Pythagorean music
of the spheres. Do you know the music of the
spheres? Pythagoras devised the ideas that all
the planets vibrated at different frequencies,
and the planets were all in a chord stretching
across the universe from base matter to
spirituality. And each planet had a different
resonation—a different frequency it vibrated
at—and all the vibrations constituted the
western scale. Also central to the stage show
were the astrological signs of all the members
of the band and the corresponding colors—
they were used in the light show as well.
Barney had a very thoroughly interesting
overview of the whole thing. All-embracing,
really. That album was designed for live
performance, live promotion, live creation …
and then we did Doremi. Which was studio
recorded. That was quite interesting. Lemmy
was involved in the band—he’d joined as
a bass player and we all lived together in a
house at one point. I lived with Lemmy for
two or three years in a communal sort of
situation. Then I think came Warrior on the
Edge of Time, an interesting album. People
still see it as rather a departure from what
had gone before. Michael Moorcock was
more involved in that album. He’s a good
friend and a very creative person and an
inspiration for us all. I hope I get in touch
with him when I’m in Texas! I was hoping to
visit him. He’s still writing furiously! But he
doesn’t get around so much.
If I can ask, what exactly happened with
Lemmy and Hawkwind?
With Lemmy, it’s like … did he jump or
was he pushed? A bit of both, really. People
found him hard to work with. [We were all]
just on different levels, really. All the albums
have been very different in many ways. First
was very expressionist, the second more
structured, the third … whether Doremi
or Space Ritual …. It’s very different with
different people involved in different
projects. Then we change into Astounding
Sounds and it’s different then, too. [That’s
when] Lemmy left for Pink Fairies and we
got Paul Rudolph involved. The last one
I was on was Astounding Sounds. All the
albums are different in their own way, and
that one is different because everyone in
the band had creative input in the music. It
came around from this expressionist thing
to a thing with all the members of the band
involved in writing. I thought it was very
good, really. A quite satisfying sort of thing.
Then I left the band and went and different
stuff. It was all very creative and exciting. I
was very happy to be part of it, really!
You seem like the kind of person who
isn’t afraid to say ‘yes’ to everything.
I get very interested in lots of different stuff
like that. I have a very inquiring mind, I’ve
always been very interested in mythology
because I think those people know a lot that
we don’t know and we can learn from them.
I’m always very willing to learn. I think you
can learn from everybody. I only listen to
music I can learn from really.
Who are you still learning from after a
lifetime of listening and making music?
I listen to a lot of Miles Davis. I think
of Bitches Brew and all his surrounding
albums: On The Corner, Live Evil … People
send me all these bootlegs and remixes
from Japan. I think I listen to people like,
the people in Bitches Brew—Chick Corea
and Dave Holland. And John McClaughin
and Wayne Shorter… I play a lot of jazz.
I was headlining a jazz festival right before
I came to America this time. I go to jazz
festivals and go busk and see all these great
players. I’m doing an album with Billy
Cobham at the moment. I’m really honored
and really want it to be fantastic. If Billy
Cobham thinks it’s crap I’ll be ashamed of
myself! I’ve just completed an all free jazz
album with some people from Seattle. It’s
actually good—I listened to it in my car
and I thought, ‘Wow, this is fantastic!’
Normally I can’t stand what I’ve done.
When I can, I have moderation about it.
But I’m satisfied and I was listening to this
stuff: ‘Wow, it doesn’t sound like me—it
must be somebody else! It sounds good!’ I
try to make my shows healing experiences.
It does work. People come to me after and
say how great they feel! And I say, ‘Well,
that’s fantastic!’ I really want everybody to
be happy and harmonize and feel good and
spiritually enlightened.
VISIT CLEOPATRA RECORDS AND
NASONI RECORDS FOR THE MOST
RECENT RELEASES BY NIK TURNER.
MORE INFORMATION AND TOUR
DATES AT NIKTURNER.COM.
INTERVIEW
RED AUNTS
Interview by Ron Garmon
Illustration by Amy Hagemeier
One of the glories of the famed Long Beach punk industrial complex of the 90s, Red Aunts made five startling
albums that now boil down to an explosive 26 tracks on In The Red’s Come Up For a Closer Look compilation. My
friend Romana Machado and I sat down to talk over old times with guitarist Terri Wahl and drummer Lesley Ishino
in the back room of Terri’s restaurant (and Eagle Rock institution) Auntie Em’s Kitchen.
How did punk fandom start with you?
Terri Wahl (guitar/vocals): When I was about
16 or 17. I was in the second wave of punk
rock. But when we started we were definitely
in the second wave.
Leslie Ishino (drums): There were a lot of waves.
I was 13 or 14 when I found X, the Replace-
ments, TSOL.
Romana: How did you find them?
Leslie: Friends at school. High school.
Terri: I found out through a boyfriend!
Leslie: We had a small group of punkers at my
high school and a coupla mods. The Specials,
the Untouchables. I bought cassettes, but my
first vinyl was Fishbone.
Were you in bands prior to the Aunts?
Leslie: I was in a brief band with my boyfriend
and his friend but it didn’t have a name.
Terri: This was all of our first bands—me,
Kerry [Davis] and Debi [Martini]. All our
boyfriends were in bands so we started one.
We didn’t know Leslie. We took an ad out in
the Recycler.
Leslie: That’s true! I joined cuz I played briefly,
one time, with this band Butt Trumpet. One
of the guys said there was a girl band looking
for a drummer. They were more hardcore than
I wanted. He connected me with them.
Where was the first Red Aunts gig?
Terri: Debbie’s garage.
Leslie: Lincoln Heights!
Terri: It was for the Fourth of July. Remember
the Didjits? They’re from… Champaign, Illi-
nois! They were great! Super fast. Their show
that night got shut down so it was us and the
Didjits and about twenty of our friends. We’d
been practicing probably four months. This
was all hatched at a party. None of us had ever
played an instrument ever.
Leslie: Except me!
Terri: Leslie came to us fully knowing how to
play drums, thank God, because at least some
rhythm. We were a hot mess and had no idea
how to play. But we got better. A lot better.
Did you give yourselves the names as part of
the initial concept?
Terri: Oh my God, yes! We had the names,
the band name, we knew what we were gonna
play, what we were gonna wear.
Thought so! Like Josie & the Pussycats …
Terri: Yeah, but meaner.
Josie and the Rabid Possums, then. What
were punk venues like back then?
Terri: Dark. Dirty. Stinky. Way more boy-
oriented than girl oriented. We had to have a
rider that specified a backstage mirror, not be-
cause we wanted to snort cocaine but because
we wanted to see ourselves before we go on!
46
Leslie: Covered with stickers or graffiti.
Terri: Dirty, stinky, they all smelled like tinkle.
Leslie: They’re probably still that way now. Al’s
Bar was your typical experience.
Al’s Bar was a notorious hole.
Terri: Linda’s Doll Hut in Anaheim.
You guys would play Long Beach, the South
Bay, Orange County and L.A. Were the fans
different?
Leslie: When we’d play U.C. Irvine, we played
in a place that had a bar and these guys asked
to use our equipment. Would you ask a band
full of dudes that? Hell no!
Terri: Or guys would ask to see our tits
Leslie: Or call us ‘dykes.’
Terri and Leslie (at once): We’d get a lot of that
in Orange County!
Leslie: In Hollywood and L.A., it’s a bunch of
freaks anyway. We got a lot of girl-band geeks.
Terri: A lot of our fans were either 14-year-old
girls or 40-year-old guys. Back then that was
old. Not anymore.
The new 35. Who else did you play with?
Leslie: Claw Hammer, of course. They were
like our brother band. She was married to Jon
for a long time and Kerry went out with Rob
for a long time. They were our buddies.
Terri: They taught us to play our instruments!
Leslie: Very supportive and encouraging.
Terri: They didn’t like it much when we be-
came more popular than they were!
When did you know you were popular?
Terri: When people started showing up at
shows that we didn’t know and they knew all
the words to our songs.
Leslie: We played the Bottom of the Hill and
got $800—‘Holy shit!’ And it was packed!
This was about the time of the first album on
Epitaph. #1 Chicken sold over 36,000 records
and we were really stoked.
That’s great, especially by today’s standards.
Terri: How much did the next record sell?
Leslie: I think the last one was 15 or 16,000.
Terri: That last one was so good. Sheesh.
The compilation shows you guys went in
from the beginning with a minimum of
the uncertainty and stylistic jerking around
you hear out of most bands. You seemed to
know from the very first records the sound
you wanted and it evolved impressively from
there. Your style was precise, tight, unusual
and still evolving when you quit in 1998.
Leslie: It was basically Debbie. She wanted a
big life change and went to New York. Terri
was getting really busy with her catering busi-
ness. We knew we weren’t gonna go on with-
out Debbie, so that was it. I think that us four
together, it was just what it was.
Terri: It was magic.
Leslie: Kerry would listen to something and
say ‘I’ve got my Coltrane part’ because it re-
minded her of ‘A Love Supreme.’ Somebody
else would say ‘This is my blues part!”’
Terri: Or Nirvana part!
Leslie: And we’d call our parts whatever they
reminded us of.
You’re disappointing the hell out of rock
critics who say there’s no discernible trace of
jazz or other fancy stuff in punk.
Leslie: Oh my God, of course there is.
Terri: That’s funny. Besides jazz and blues, we
were influenced by more current stuff. Pussy
Galore, Blues Explosion, Boss Hogg, we were
just obsessed with that stuff. Lots of time and
tempo changes. We had the whole thing in
our heads.
Leslie: We didn’t like to play any one thing too
long.
How did the distortion fetish come about?
Terri: There was grunge rock happening just
then. Distortion covered up all our mistakes!
Leslie: They were coming out with so many
different pedals at that time so people were
experimenting with them.
Terri: Jon Wahl, who is a musical genius, al-
ways had a thousand different pedals.
I remember seeing some condescending-ass
remarks in Trouser Press about you guys be-
ing ‘squalling brats,’ ‘shrill,’ etc.
Leslie: We got some of that but we never felt
persecution.
Terri: We were just different and weird.
Leslie: There were only maybe ten girl bands at
that time. We mostly toured with boy bands.
Terri: But when we were on tour, if there was a
girl band in town, they’d be on the bill.
Leslie: They used to say we were screamers.
But to compare you to infants? Maybe in-
fants armed with broken beer bottles. Did
the band feel connected with the Riot Grrl
movement at all.
Leslie: Not really. We played on bills with Bi-
kini Kill a couple of times and Bratmobile and
of course we looked up to Babes in Toyland. I
don’t think any of us were big Hole fans.
Terri: No, nobody liked Hole. They were all
about hating guys…
Leslie: They had a message. We didn’t really.
Third wave feminism?
Leslie: Unconsciously I think. I think we lived
it just by being. We lived the way we lived.
How fast did your wave of punk go by? Did
it seem brief?
Leslie: No. After we broke up, it was still go-
ing. I felt like we could’ve gone with it if we
would’ve stayed together.
Terri: Yes. We could’ve definitely gone on lon-
ger but I think it’s cool we quit when we were
at our peak. We never sucked. People never
said ‘Aw, man, I don’t wanna see them any-
more! They suck now!’
A lot of bands aren’t that lucky. Did any-
thing happen on the last tour as a result of
the knowledge that This Is Gonna Be It?
Leslie: I think there were a couple of fights.
Terri: When were there not fights on tour?
Someone always hated someone on tour. I
know I always hated someone on tour! Oh,
my God! We were together 24/7 and we’re all
super strong personalities.
You could’ve all lived in the same house like
the Monkees!
Terri: We never could have! We were too ang-
sty, too stubborn…
Leslie: Too self-destructive…
Terri: We were super strong-willed women, so...
You described them as restaurant tours.
Leslie: Back then it was slim pickins for places
to eat. We’d rely on our friends a lot but finding
a good restaurant before a show in Oklahoma
City? Now you can Yelp or text sombody.
Terri: We’d ask the soundman ‘Where’s the
best crab?’ when you’re in Baltimore. We had
our cooking magazines in the van. Gourmet,
Bon Appetit. We were foodies from the start.
After the band I knew I’d do something food
related but I never thought it’d get this big.
How did you guys tie in with Epitaph?
Terri: Brett [Gurewitz] saw us at Raji’s and
asked that night if we wanted to sign to Epi-
taph, which blew us away because the only
other female band on the label was L7 and
only for one record. We were definitely the
black sheep of the label. It was pretty jock
rock. They also had Rancid. And the Off-
spring, which weren’t jock rock at all, but the
money they made put us on tour. Brett would
take the money he made from the big bands
and send the baby bands like us out on tour to
try to get them popular. We’d have forty, fifty
thousand dollar tour budgets. It was fun.
What next for the Red Aunts?
Leslie: We’re split on two coasts and waiting to
see if anyone cares!
One last question, punk rock is back…
Leslie: Oh yes! I think it’s great! I still play mu-
sic but I don’t have a band right now. I’m al-
ways looking to be inspired again and mature
and modernize the sound.
RED AUNTS’ COME UP FOR A CLOSER
LOOK IS AVAILABLE ON DEC. 9 FROM
IN THE RED RECORDS. INTHERE-
DRECORDS.COM
INTERVIEW
 ALBUMS FILM
50 ALBUM REVIEWS 68 PULP: A FILM ABOUT
LIFE, DEATH AND
52 THE BANGLES
Daiana Feuer
SUPERMARKETS
Rin Kelly

53 Dr. John
Kristina Benson

56 THE INTERPRETER:
CAL KING 72 COMICS
CURATED BY TOM CHILD
Curated by Chris Ziegler

60 ONE REPORTER’S OPINION

Chris Ziegler

61 Ariel Pink
Chris Ziegler
BOOKS
74 SPOT: SOUNDS OF
TWO EYES OPENING
Chris Ziegler
64 LIVE PHOTOS
EDITED BY DEBI DEL GRANDE

CRAFT/WORK
CURATED BY WARD ROBINSON

66 EVIL SPIRIT ENGINEERING

Frankie Alvaro and Kristina Benson MICHAEL BARRAGAN of EVIL SPIRIT ENGINEERING
by WARD ROBINSON

COURTESY ARTIST
AHKATARI
self-titled
The Jazz Diaries
The Jazz Diaries are swinging
for the fences with their label
releases. From the distorted
soul of Jitwam to the earnest
electronica of Only Rays and
now the smokey, gritty hip-
hop of Ahkatari, convention
be damned! Coming from the
Motor City, Ahakatari is a proj-
ect of the Butter Made crew, a
small collective headed by Ahk,
one of the most skilled gurus of
the mic that you’ve probably not
heard. A cousin of Black Milk
and close associate of Dakim,
Ahk been had a sharp sword and
on this joint, he’s slicin’ heads.
The concept album narrates the
Ahkatari’s journey from Detroit
to Jamaica to handle some busi-
ness a la a ghetto James Bond.
Along the way we’re treated to
some of the most playful and
melodic flows this side of the
Pharcyde, beats with grit remi-
niscent of RZA’s angel dust days
and song structures that give a
feeling of uncompromised free-
dom in music. Equal parts Blax-
ploitation, dub-homage and fu-
turistic 90s throwback with an
extra side of grime, this album is
a must have for those of us that
love the dirt. Floating in the
internet out there is a Kutmah
mix of Ahk’s tunes that opens
with our auteur reminding us
that his work is soul music—
not in the sense of conked hair,
heartbreak or doo-wop, but in
that it’s music with a spiritual
center, borne from genuine cre-
ation and for no other principal
purpose than to share an expe-
rience. The Ahkatari’s journey
is one every music head should
take.
—sweeney kovar
50
ALBUM
REVIEWS
LILA ASH
ALLAH LAHS
Worship the Sun
Innovative Leisure
Early on the Allah Las established
themselves as the preeminent
California surf and garage band.
Their sound encapsulates the
endless summers and sun-soaked
beaches that Los Angeles resi-
dents get to enjoy daily, if they
are so inclined. And their newest
release Worship the Sun continues
with trend of soulful surf and
moody sounds but also finds the
band experimenting a bit. Open-
ing track “De Vida Voz” sets the
stage with a fuzzed-out drone
that gives way to high-pitched
guitar harmonics, quickly devel-
oping into an extremely catchy
tune that seeps into your veins.
“Recurring” and “Nothing to
Hide” are a beach dweller’s take
on a more San Francisco-style
paisley-psychedelic sound, with
“Nothing” in particular deliver-
ing a slow and deliberate guitar
rhythm evoking a lazy summer
feeling. The heart of surf-influ-
enced music is the instrumental,
of course, and there are great ex-
amples here. “Ferus Gallery”—a
reference to an L.A. art gallery in
the 50s and 60s that gave rise to
the “California cool” art scene—is
especially enjoyable. The bells—
xylophone?—on this track have a
rolling quality to them that puts
you off balance in a good way.
“Yemeni Jade” is a dreamlike in-
strumental, with a western and
surf influenced sound provking
longing for endless sunsets along
the road. Worship has a slightly
heavier feel than their debut, but
while they’ve lost a touch of their
pop elements, they’ve gained so
much more. The growth and ex-
perimentation on this album is
exciting to experience.
—Zachary Jensen
WALT GORECKI!
ARIEL PINK
pom pom
4AD
How the intermittent flogging a
now-Haunted Grafittiless Ariel
Pink takes in the music press as
everybody’s favorite “beta male
misogynist” will affect reception
of his seventeen-track solo debut
is anyone’s dartboard guess. Well,
Mozart’s public behavior rarely
inspired confidence and you can
count on the fingers of one stump
the times Frank Zappa failed to
offend the record-buying public.
This stupendously whirling calli-
ope of songs for cynical children
will sweeten whatever our Indie-
lake boy’s indiscretions sour; if
not make the judicious concede
the guy might have a point. Kim
Fowley co-wrote “Plastic Rain-
coats in the Pig Parade,” a glori-
ously silly ditty with ambitions
to join “Uncle Albert/Admiral
Halsey” in the gallery of great
pop WTFs. Its hard to tell where
Fowley’s deadpan outrageousness
takes up and Pink’s all-purpose
perversity leaves off until “White
Freckles,” an irresistible gem of a
rouser and an album (if not ca-
reer) highlight. “Four Shadows”
startles as a Diamond Dogs-era
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
release in L.A. RECORD, email advertise@larecord.com
Bowie pastiche and “Not Enough
Violence” works Sisters of Mercy
into Madchester for a great early
Nineties dancefloor anthem that
wasn’t. After these four raveups,
the set begins to branch and me-
ander Sandinista!-style, with the
slight commercial romanticism of
“Put Your Number in My Phone”
highlighted by a Silver Lake shout-
out and the wispy atmospherics of
“One Summer Night” coming off
as something less than a Zombies
B-side. “Nude Beach A G-Go”
is a bouncy theme for an imagi-
nary AIP Beach Party movie and
no preparation at all for “Goth
Bomb,” a goshwow mid-Sixties
psych nugget as accomplished as
anything by XTC in their Dukes
of Stratosphear drag. The crazed
Zappaesque antics of “Dinosaur
Carebears” usher in “Negativ Ed,”
a series of Beefheartian eruptions,
like two flamingoes in a grenade
fight. At this point in proceed-
ings, the listener is dazzled and
ready for anything and that any-
thing comes as the ancient blues
riff opening “Sexual Athletics.”
This track drifts Doc Benway-like
into unwholesome Vaseline mus-
ings before herald angels chant
and lyrics describe the arc of a
typical low-rent rendezvous con-
ducted somewhere east of West-
ern Avenue. After this cankered
McCartney is “Jell-o,” a suburban
satire also co-written with Fowley
and “Black Ballerina” the kind of
goofy synth-dance tune you’d hear
in during disco scenes in low-bud-
get comedy-horror films of the
Eighties, with matching dialogue
babbled amid a demented chorus
of “Elevators, manufacturers.”
“Picture Me Gone” is a glistening
dirge that sets up the big fat joke
fantasia of “Exile on Frog Street,”
with its croaking Pet Sounds and
1968 fakeroo ending. This sixty-
nine minute aural circus needs a
purple burst of sunshine pop as
a closer and “Dayzed Inn Day-
dreams” supplies it, dispersing
residual hipster cynicism through
Dennis Wilson’s third eye. The
good grey men at the music in-
dustry’s accounting division may
be ready to declare the rock LP
format dead, but Ariel Pink keeps
proving it is far from finished as
an art form.
—Ron Garmon
COURTESY ARTIST
BAMBU
Party Worker
self-released
Party Worker is the fourth solo
album from Oakland-based,
LA-bred rapper and activist
Bambu De Pistola. An inten-
tional concept album set to ex-
plore the breadth of experiences
of working folk, Bambu’s tracks
are framed around the guise of
a social justice group meeting’s
agenda. Those that frequent these
circles will get a chuckle out of
self-referential jokes like two-
hour long meeting check-ins and
accommodating dietary needs on
a budget. But that’s just the gar-
nish—the meat of the album is
plentiful and hearty. Bambu puts
the energy and fervor we’re used
to seeing devoted to lewd bragga-
docio into animating the experi-
ences of working class Americans.
It isn’t convoluted or trite—it’s
heartfelt and honest. He finds
space to celebrate the joy of fam-
ily and community while remain-
ing critical and most importantly,
never missing a beat or letting a
bar go to waste. What pushes the
album over the top is the way
it was made. Truly a man of the
people, Bambu ran a successful
kickstarter campaign to fund the
ALBUM REVIEWS
album and surpassed his goal by
almost double. He’s shot a video
in Manila, widening the scope of
the album’s impact and doubling
down on the local/global connec-
tions in the music. Very much the
thinking person’s gangster music,
Bambu doesn’t let his militance
and mission prevent him from
making the most creative hard-
core hip-hop possible.
—sweeney kovar
BRIAN BROOKS
BELL GARDENS
Slow Dawns For
Lost Conclusions
Rocket Girl
Bell Gardens’ sound is something
of an anomaly in today’s music
scene. Instead of in-your-face
garage rock or heavy electronic
beats, this duo’s newest release
Slow Dawns For Lost Conclu-
sions is an atmospheric journey
that seeps into your soul. Subtle
ambient electronic elements are
combined with a folky Ameri-
cana guitar and vocal styling that
gives rise to something like ambi-
ent electronic folk rock … if that
is even a thing. Think Spiritual-
ized on Ladies and Gentlemen…
and early Black Rebel Motorcycle
Club and you might get a small
idea—but that does not do these
guys justice. The album starts
with notable track “Darker Side
of Sunshine,” which begins with
a somber piano melody joined
shortly by a beautiful guitar har-
monics. When the intro fades and
the verse kicks in, you are swept
up in the sheer spiritual feeling.
Second track “Silent Prayer” picks
up where the first left off but with
heavier Americana elements and
a moving bridge. The rest of the
album is a seamless succession of
well-composed ephemeral gems,
with great guest appearances on
this album as well—notably Stew-
art Cole, trumpet player from
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic
Zeros, and Lauren Chipman of
the Rentals providing strings that
add to the heaviness of the music
experience. Overall, this album
requires your full attention in
order to process its sheer magni-
tude and weight.
—Zachary Jensen
ALBUM REVIEWS
BRIAN BROOKS
BELLA NOVELA
Telemetry
self-released
At first, Bella Novela might sound
more like an L.A. than Long Beach
band, what with its arena-ready
riffs, dramatic Queen-loving vo-
cals and galloping beats played by
a pretty girl who is usually wear-
ing something with sequins. But
one listen to Telemetry, the band’s
first album in three years, where
an ingenious combination of pop,
punk, metal, rock and even Spanish
classical guitar are all on display, it’s
easier to understand how these di-
verse influences could have only co-
alesced in diverse-as-hell LBC. Bella
Novela has always been known for
taking the basic power-rock recipes
followed by other female-fronted
bands like Heart and making them
their own, and on Telemetry they
are even more comfortable with
their own brand of it. The album’s
cover shouts out to Thin Lizzy, the
first song channels what Gwen Ste-
fani would sound like if she fronted
Dragonforce, and everyone from
Iron Maiden to the Motels are ref-
erenced in the other eight tightly
packaged three-minute tracks
(“Lenora” is an 80s power ballad
transported to Baja). The songs are
decidedly new but entirely familiar,
making Telemetry—even without a
zombie-apocalypse narrative pres-
ent in 2011’s The Archeress—an easy
album to listen to and an even easier
album to love.
—Sarah Bennett
COURTESY ARTIST
BRAIN STORY
A Natural Phantasm EP
Relleno Records
Brain Story plays a style of music
that borrows elements from differ-
ent 60s movements from around
the world. Their debut release A
Natural Phantasm EP—one of the
first offerings from Chicano Bat-
man’s new label Relleno Records—
gives the listener a solid taste of
what this band and Relleno Records
have in store for Los Angeles. The
album starts with an instrumental
intro titled “The Sunrise” that plays
with the harmonics of the psyche-
delic movement in a spacey sort of
way, leading you nicely into the first
track. “The First Yesterday” contin-
ues mild psych elements via spacey
keyboard melody and ambient
notes, but furthers their exploration
with heavy samba guitar and jazz
drumming that flow well with sub-
tle and smooth vocals that become
more and more enjoyable with re-
peated listens. This is parlayed into
the next track “A Wonderful Why,”
where the jazzy elements are con-
tinued in the guitars but with a ga-
rage rock tinge and reverbed vocals.
The song is something akin to the
now-familiar 60s revival scene, but
with a Brazilian twist to make the
sound new. The next track “Olde
Valley” plays with a more Beach
Boys’ “Surfer Girl” type of sound,
with an unexpectedly heavy elec-
tro space approach. The guys reach
some good harmonies on the song,
too, which is refreshing to hear. The
band does a good job tying together
so many diverse sounds, granting
this EP an unexpected and power-
ful cohesion.
—Zachary Jensen
COURTESY ARTIST
CASHUS KING
CHURCH [...of the good
thief]
Public Axis Recordings
Leimert Park’s own CashUs King
(fka Co$$) is a firestarter. His
verses are acerbic and intricate,
usually bringing light to dark
experiences. Since well before
Kendrick widened the breadth
of conversation for L.A. rappers,
CashUs has been examining the
toll of the young Black LA ex-
perience through his own bars.
CHURCH [...of the good thief ] is
CashUs’ umpteenth project and
official sophomore LP. As the title
implies, religion and organized
faith is the crux of the album.
Ambitiously, each track is pre-
ceded by a piece of dialogue that
frames the particular track, from
pastors to community leaders to
slackers and stoners. Some tracks
tackle specifics of religion head
on, others wax poetic on the con-
cept and a few use parts of religion
as metaphor to traverse in less di-
rectly related terrain. While one
man’s fruitful indulgence can be
another listener’s overkill, I appre-
ciate the bold effort to tackle the
topic of a higher power in an hon-
est and complicated way. At parts
contradictory and meandering,
passionate and poignant, cynical
and skeptical, there’s something
here for any hip-hop fan.
—sweeney kovar
COURTESY ARTIST
CHERRY
GLAZERR
“Had 10 Dollaz” 7”
Suicide Squeeze
Quite a bit has been written
about Cherry Glazerr already
but if you’ve missed out on the
hype, the long and short of it is
that they’ve quickly gained a ton
of recognition as the hot young
trio from Silver Lake (ish) who’ve
struggled with the trials and trib-
ulations of juggling high school
while carving out a place in the
L.A. rock scene and beyond. Their
sound is heavy but soft, and dis-
torted yet polished with elements
of indie rock, garage, shoegaze,
and punk. “Had 10 Dollaz” fea-
tures catchy lo-fi riffs are tightly
blended with lead singer Clem-
entine Creevy’s dreamy, ethereal
vocal style and simplistic mini-
malist lyrics in a way that bal-
ances out the raw-garage pop in-
strumentation and gives it a very
refined (and almost sultry) feel.
B-side “Nurse Ratched” is harder
and a bit more melodic, and goes
into a more heady poetic direc-
tion both lyrically and musically.
Both tracks highlight how much
they’ve grown together in their
musicianship and the progress
they’ve made as they mature as
a band. If this record is an indi-
cation of what can be expected
from their next full length, then
be ready for a real step forward.
—Desi Ambrozak
BRIAN BROOKS
COLD WAR KIDS
Hold My Home
Downtown Records
Some say Cold War Kids will never
beat their first full length, Robbers and
Cowards. But this band has done a
lot of amazing things since then, and
this new album Hold My Home—
while not as raw as Cowards—is just
as strong if not stronger from start to
finish. Never has this band released
such a consistent piece of work.
Starting with the brutal “Hotel Any-
where,” Nathan Willett’s trademark
howl is front and center and stronger
than ever: “Hold me down, I wont
float away,” he screams/ sings. “I find
beauty in everything.” It’s as if he’s
asking the listener to stop complain-
ing and really listen to this album—
and stop comparing this band to the
band they used to be because you’re
missing out on how great they are
now. The album moves from there to
a soft keyboard-fueled slow-burner
“Hear My Baby Cry” and is followed
by anthemic heartland rock-sound-
ing title track—somewhere between
Bruce Springsteen and the Killers, we
find Cold War Kids making a new
home with this bass-driven beasr. But
“Drive Desperate,” the final track of
the album, showcases the most raw
and true aspects of who this band
is. With a foot-stomping beat and
Willett’s howl in full force atop the
band’s classic deliberate-as-molasses
rhythm, we’re confronted with this
final reflection: Cold War Kids
haven’t really changed that much.
They’ve just grown up a little bit.
—Daniel Sweetland
COURTESY ARTIST
COULTRAIN
Side Effex of Make-
Believe: Divided for
Love’s Sake
Fresh Selects
51

COURTESY THE BANGLES
THE BANGLES
Ladies and Gentlemen ...
the Bangles!
DownKiddie! Records
These fabled L.A. New Wavers are
now touring and celebrate with
this assortment of glittering rari-
ties from the band’s glory years.
Produced by the great Craig Leon
and flung into shops some thirty-
two years ago, the five tracks
from the long out-of-print Bangles
debut EP show the band (then
known as the Bangs) firmly an-
chored in the then-reigning Pais-
ley Underground aesthetic. “I’m
in Line” stands alongside pretty
much anything by the Plimsouls or
the Three O’Clock and their cover
of “How is the Air Up There?” is
a convincingly snide and punky
blast at local celebrity culture.
The Bangles keep the mid-Sixties
freak flag waving with covers of
“Outside Chance” by the Turtles,
Paul Revere’s “Steppin’ Out” and
a live pass at Love’s immortal “7
& 7 Is.” “Getting Out of Hand”
and “The Real World” are pre-IRS
Records singles and the crunchy
“Bitchen Summer” is off a long
out-of-print Rodney Bingenheimer
comp from 1989. This is a signifi-
cant addition to an already impos-
ing legacy.
—Ron Garmon
52
THE BANGLES
As someone who broke her hand doing “Eternal Flame” at karaoke, I can speak to the special place the Bangles hold
in many of our hearts. I only wish I had been more than an embryo when the band first emerged in Los Angeles playing
punk shows in the early 80s. The band’s new Ladies And Gentlemen… The Bangles! collects some of these early tunes,
when they were called the Bangs and played a formative part in pioneering the Paisley Underground scene to which so
many of today’s bands pay homage. You might not hear it in the big hits that made them 80s superstars, but these ladies
have always been rockers. Here we talk to Susanna Hoffs about getting a milk carton thrown at her head opening for the
Blasters, and whether or not Olivia Newton John really recorded all her vocals naked. This interview by Daiana Feuer.
It’s so cool to look at the rocking roots
of the Bangles. What is it like to revisit
that sound?
Susanna Hoffs (vocals/guitar): It’s been
really life-changing, in a way, to go back
to where we started. When we decided
to do these Paisley Underground reunion
shows, that put us back on a stage with
bands that were part of the local L.A.
club scene that we started out with. We
decided to revisit all our early songs—
our first creations as a band. It felt so
authentic playing this music. We had
this long standing plan/dream/concept
that we would figure out a way to re-
release the material because when we
started out there was no internet, no cell
phones, no digital media. We realized
for people to discover this music they
had to search on YouTube, which is
probably where anyone who has heard
this material found it. We realized it was
pretty obscure stuff and yet it was the
most authentically Bangles stuff I think
we probably ever did. Of course, these
aren’t the songs that people know the
Bangles by. Those who know the Bangles
know us from the hits from the mid to
late 1980s. But when we play this stuff,
everything makes sense to me. It’s fun
and bizarre but cool at the same time.
Do you have any regrets or nostalgia
with regard to the band going pop?
Even though obviously you went on
to become one of the quintessential
bands of the 80s—and that’s no
small feat.
I don’t know if I would characterize it
as regret. As an artist and even as a
human being, it’s such a challenge to
figure out how to process why things
happen the way they do and the
decisions that you make. It’s kind of an
ongoing experience of being a human.
Then add in the factor of trying to create
something and know when it’s finished
and know if it’s any good and wonder
if you should release it to the world or
keep it hidden. Looking back I think
the Bangles morphed into something
else and that was a byproduct of just
in a sense collaborating—if you can
call it a collaboration—with a record
company, interacting with other forces,
and even just the forces within the
band, and just the journey that the
band took, which was what it was. In
other words, we were on the road for
years and years and years. At a certain
point I would say we were sick of each
other. So when we went to write we
worked with other people. We were
together like a marriage of four people
24/7 for a few years on end. It was
a natural trajectory for us to go, ‘Oh
we’re home now—wait, should I get
up in the morning and see the same
people I’ve been basically living with
in airplanes and busses and on stage
and off stage?’ So I think it makes
sense that I went off and wrote songs
with Billy Steinberg and Tom Kelly and
from that ended up with ‘In Your Room’
and ‘Eternal Flame.’ And the Petersons
went off and wrote with other people.
I think it just happened the way it was
going to happen. But nostalgia … yes,
I do feel tremendous nostalgia for the
early period of the Bangles. And also
pride. I look back and we were these
radical chicks trying to do our art.
There’s so much talk about different
forms of feminism and we were just
in the world of our form of feminism,
just doing it, not thinking of ourselves
in that way—especially having been
the daughter of a real 1970s feminist
mom. In the early period of the Bangles,
we were just an arts collective of who
we were. We literally banded together
to create something larger than any
of our individual selves, and tried to
project something that was honest and
true for who we were at the time. When
I sing songs like ‘Real World’ now, I see
the younger me—but it’s still me. It’s a
really interesting period that we’re in
right now—going literally full circle to
where we started and it makes a lot
of sense to me. I don’t even know if
nostalgia is the right word. It just feels
very right.
In the first stages of playing clubs and
punk and rock shows, did you experience
a stigma of being a ‘girl band?’
I think so. There weren’t that many
all-girl bands then. Obviously there
was the Go-Go’s. Frankly they were a
big influence on me. They were really
inspiring. The press could never say a
single thing about the Bangles initially
without commenting on the Go-Go’s
too or comparing us two. So that was
something we dealt with. We wanted to
feel like we were not ‘just a girl band,’
but ‘just a band.’ Meaning that we
didn’t want to be considered a novelty
act. That felt less than what we were
hoping for. But at the same time we
had a lot of spunk and a lot of drive
and a lot of don’t-take-no-for-an-answer
attitude. That aspect of who we were is
something I’m really proud of because
we just kept going. We were like the
little engine that could. It’s amazing that
we got signed at all. Columbia Records
was the only label on earth that wanted
us. Luckily that happened and we were
able to branch out from our local club
scene. We hit college radio initially and
then expanded eventually to Top 40
radio and then word got out about who
we were and we started making videos.
It was the golden age of MTV and we
were part of that. So I guess we often
had to deal with the fact that there was
a little something, I don’t want to say
a stigma, but a kind of ‘Oh, you girls
play okay for chicks.’ I know it sounds
so dated.
Not really. The music industry is still a
man’s world. From people working at
venues, the people running labels and
higher-ups. That’s not exactly gone
away.
That’s why I feel most comfortable in the
indie/DIY scene. I’m very fortunate that
I’m happy and content to be an indie
artist now. It makes things so much
easier to not have a committee hovering
over our decisions, or dealing with the
man’s world, or to have to go through
hoops or approvals to do what we wanna
do now. It feels much more comfortable
to me. But it was definitely something
we had to deal with. Probably a part of
me blocked out some of the bad part
of it, the uncomfortable part, but it was
definitely there.
Then you became the wet dream of
every teenage guy in the 1980s. So
there’s that.
Oh my God. You know what, you always
feel like you’re you and the same
person. When people say stuff like
that I sort of can’t grasp it. It does
not compute. It’s a bizarre thing for
me to try to understand. But whatever
happened with the Bangles image,
whatever we projected, or whatever
connection people made to us or with
us, it’s interesting looking back. I’m
grateful that there’s continuing interest
in the Bangles to be honest. I feel like
I can finally enjoy looking back and still
having the opportunity to continue. The
show we played a few months ago at
the Troubadour was just about as much
fun as a person can have. I’ve been
fighting to stay in the smaller intimate
venues because I think we make sense
there more than anywhere else. For me,
for sure, and I think Vicki and Debbie
agree. Then I think about the Bangles
that were ‘pop stars’ in the mid-80s, it
still seems surreal to me.
ALBUMS

Well, yeah—you were a person doing
something, but then there were all
these other people doing things with
the brand they created about you.
Which is crazy!
I know! That’s why it’s challenging to
create stuff. There’s a lot of risk-taking
that happens and loss of control,
especially when you collaborate with
other artists and a record label that
owns the product and markets it. Its
just part of it. The way I’m approaching
things now, I just try to look at it like
it’s all much more about the process.
If you don’t do that you can spend your
entire life saying why did I do that? Or
why was this thing perceived that way?
Then you’re not moving on to the next
thing, which is actually much more fun.
What amazes me more than anything is
that whatever we were then still means
something to people. People still like the
music and are connected to the songs.
Whether people are going back now and
discovering our early stuff—and we’re
giving them an opportunity to do that
with re-releasing it—or whether they’re
actually coming to see us in the clubs
now, it’s gratifying. I see it more from a
global vantage point. Like, wow this is
cool to do this and let’s keep going.
In addition to the Paisley Underground
stuff, you played punk shows in the
early days. Tell me about that!
Our first real gig was playing at a No Mag
event and we were opening for a bunch
of punk bands from the South Bay and
Orange County area. It was our first real
gig. The only other gig we played was a
party at a movie lot where Vicki had a
secretarial job. We really had to earn our
stripes and not have things thrown at
us. So we played our pop songs with our
four-part harmonies really fast, with a lot
of energy and attitude. And we went over
really well with this hardcore crowd. We
played a lot of shows in the early days on
the Sunset Strip in Hollywood and in the
Valley and outlying suburbs of L.A. with
punk bands. We were sort of punk power
pop in a sense. It was really nice. There
was just such a great scene going on in
the clubs. We played with Red Cross, we
played with the Circle Jerks, Black Flag,
and lots of bands. It was a really cool
period of time with a lot of crossover
between genres.
You didn’t get things thrown at you?
Not then but we definitely got things
thrown at us later on. We did a show
in San Francisco, someplace big, with
the English Beat and the Blasters, who
were a super huge popular rockabilly
band at the time. Someone threw a milk
carton at my head and it was bleeding.
I came off stage with bubblegum stuck
in my hair. It was really not great, but I
remember it now fondly. That’s what you
go through when you’re opening for a
band with diehard fans! We did a lot of
gigs opening for other bands, even when
we had hit singles. It was how it was. I
don’t know if it had something to do with
the fact we were girls. It’s something I
speculate about now. We were sort of
ALBUMS
‘always the bridesmaid never the bride.’
Eventually we graduated to our own gigs
but it took a while.
The weirdest thing about this story is
who takes a milk carton to a show?
I know—what punk drinks milk? The
irony of being a punk at a punk show
and throwing a milk carton! It’s fun
to think back on the poetry of that.
Thank God it wasn’t a beer bottle.
But when we used to play Birmingham
and Manchester we had a really
good response. They really liked the
Bangles. The Go-Go’s had a tough time
breaking into the English market, as
they say, but the Bangles were very
well-received which was incredible for
us. We were such Anglophiles and
Beatlemaniacs and loved all the British
Invasion bands. I can’t remember if it
was Birmingham or Manchester that
when they show affection they spit on
you. Like—hock loogies at you. It was
so gross. That was a little disturbing.
Robert Plant used to come see the
Bangles at clubs. It’s crazy! We used
to call him Space Bob. He showed up
three times at really out of the way
towns.
Did you record ‘Eternal Flame’ naked?
That would have to be a yes. It is a long
story, but basically we were working with
this great producer, Davitt Sigerson, and
recorded all the tracks with the band.
Then when it came time to fine-tune the
vocals, each girl would book a night and
go in for our session. He really wanted
everyone to feel comfortable and it was
really a practical joke that was played on
me. He and the engineer said they had
just done this Olivia Newton John record
and they said, ‘She never sounded
better, and we think it’s because she has
been singing naked.’ And I did get voted
most gullible in my middle school poll.
So I thought they were being serious. I
said, ‘You’re kidding—best vocals ever,
naked?’ That sounded intriguing. And
just so you know, they couldn’t see me
because they set up one of those big
sound buffer screens in front of me. So
it became the running thing. That whole
album was recorded naked or in scant
articles of clothing. It was the Naked
Album.
Did it work?
I don’t know! I would describe the
feeling of it as being both vulnerable and
exhilarating. Like skinny-dipping. When
you go skinny-dipping you feel vulnerable
but also exhilarated. I’d say the whole
album was recorded with that feeling
going on. Isn’t that crazy? I was just a
wacky crazy girl back then. For the record,
Olivia didn’t do that. They were telling me
a complete fake story and I bought it.
THE BANGLES’ LADIESAND GENTLEMEN
… THE BANGLES! IS AVAILABLE NOW
FROM DOWNKIDDIE! RECORDS. VISIT
THE BANGLES AT THEBANGLES.COM.
DR. JOHN
If there is a living person who embod-
ies the spirit of New Orleans, it’s Dr.
John, guitarist-turned-gunshot-victim-
turned pianist who supercharged jazz
and funk with his own special blend
of mysticism, R&B and rock’n’roll. His
new album Ske-Dat-De-Dat: The Spirit
of Satch is a collection of songs by
and associated with Louis Armstrong,
featuring the Blind Boys of Ala-
bama, Arturo Sandoval, Bonnie Raitt
and more. He joined us by with his co-
producer and arranger Sarah Morrow
to talk about livers, kitchen knives and
arguing with that Spiritualized guy.
This interview by Kristina Benson.
You make it look so easy when you play piano. I know that the piano isn’t your
first instrument. How long did it take you to feel comfortable?
Dr. John: Well, after I got shot in my finger—that had a real bad effect on me. Back
in the day, in Jacksonville, Florida, this guy was pistol-whipping this young singer
with the band.
Sarah Morrow (co-producer): Literally with a pistol?
Dr. John: Yeah, and I was trying to get the gun out of his hand, cuz the singer
with the band was Ronnie Barron and his mother had told me ‘If anything hap-
pens to my son while he’s on the road with you, I’m gonna cut your cojones off.’
She was cutting some meat when she said that, and I saw this the knife she
cut the meat with. Wow. I remember that—right when he was pistol-whipping
Ronnie I thought, ‘Oh man, I can’t let this happen!’ His mother Miss Mildred
was really a good lady, and I respected her a lot. It was a blessing because I
did the best I could. I thought my hand was over the handle but it was over the
barrel, and that was a mistake.
Sarah: Oh my God—you mean it was like a direct shot? I never knew that.
Dr. John: Yeah—it went just right through my finger. And my finger was hanging by
a piece of skin.
Did you just shove your finger back on the other part of your finger?
Dr. John: No. They put it back on in the hospital and they sewed it back on very
poorly and it never did work right.
Sarah: That’s why it’s crooked now. And it’s like a piece is missing. Oh my God. So
how do you play piano so great? You need all your fingers to play the piano.
Dr. John: I try to avoid that finger when I play the piano. Bending strings with
that finger on the guitar caused me a lot of problems on the guitar, and it still
does.
You played piano with Spiritualized. You have such different styles—how did you
fit together?
Dr. John: Did you know that I always argued with this guy from Spiritualized? I
can’t think of his name now, but we could argue forever and it wouldn’t be an
argument, it would always turn into something … we both learned something
from it. That was something I enjoyed. This guy was in my life just to argue with
me and that’s a blessing. I remember this guy Santos. He used to be always
arguing with me about anything. I told him, ‘Oh man, you can’t do that.’ He
says, ‘Come by my gate and I’m gonna show you something.’ He worked in the
morgue and he pulls up a liver and says, ‘See this liver? It has cirrhosis. You
probably have cirrhosis.’ And I did have cirrhosis of the liver. And wow. How did
he know that? I enjoyed playing on that record with Spiritualized. I played on
so many sessions, it’s ridiculous. I mean, when I think of—wow. Playing those
sessions, you name somebody—Aretha Franklin or Dolly Parton—I worked on
sessions with them.
That lesson about the dangers of liver cirrhosis sounds very effective.
Dr. John: I had a bad case of that. The next stage was death. And so that’s where
my liver was at that time. But now my liver is not detectable. Your liver is the most
healing organ in the body and one thing I have studied a lot of about is my grand-
mother knew a lot of things, she was a blessing. And I loved her very deeply, but
she always would make me laugh even though she would get mad at me and tell
me, ‘Go get that bamboo in the backyard and get one that’s got a little sting to
it.’ She would whip with me that, and I would rather my dad whip me. That’s how
life was back when I grew up. Everything has changed in ways that I don’t feel is
a good thing.
DR. JOHN’S SKE-DAT-DE-DAT: THE SPIRIT OF SATCH IS AVAILABLE NOW FROM
CONCORD. VISIT DR. JOHN AT NITETRIPPER.COM.
53
Coultrain has always aimed for the
cinematic. A songwriter first, his
tales have always been dense narra-
tives using the full capacities of the
English language to dissect love and
loss. He’s shone as part of Waajeed’s
Platinum Pied Pipers collective and
as the cornerstone of the Haw-
thorne Headhunters. Along the
way he’s pieced together the meta-
story of Seymour Liberty through
solo projects. His latest EP via
Portland-based blog-turned-label
Fresh Selects is a tenuous finale to
his years-long tale, as well as some
of the best music I’ve ever heard
from him. Hawthorne collabora-
tor and hometown friend Black
Spade aka Stoney Rock is behind
the boards for this odyssey, creating
a soundscape that’s angelic without
forgetting the all-important drums
and low-end. It’s surreal R&B. A
magician of make believe, the songs
and his singing often sound eggnog
sweet but Coultrain foregoes flat
representations of romance. These
are stories of a complicated love—
otherworldly, lusty and difficult.
Initial listens stay on the sonics but
at a point the nuance in Coultrain’s
writing penetrates. This is modern
soul music get hip to it.
—sweeney kovar
BRIAN BROOKS
DRINKING
FLOWERS
Shadow Show EP
Lolipop
SoCal psychedelic rock/shoegaze
group Drinking Flowers is back just
a year after the release of their break-
through debut EP Sanity Restored
1972 with Shadow Show. Put sim-
ply, this collection of five brand new
brain-bending tunes is an acid trip
in musical form with its droning
vocal repetition and Hendrix-esque
thunderous walls of guitar buzz
and fuzz. More conceptually tied
together than Sanity, Show delves
into how institutions—whether it
be relationships, the music indus-
try, drug culture, government, or
society—all seem to lobotomize
us into cooperation and how we
just can’t seem to escape their grip.
Starting with “Understand,” Flow-
ers lay down an instrumental haze
54
as thick and heavy as tar, pierced
by the warring calls of lovers plead-
ing with each other to stay and go.
This tortured back and forth is also
present in “Pop Underground” a
threat to abandon an Orwellian re-
cord industry set to an eerily sunny
and mellow melody à la the Beach
Boys. Things really start to teeter on
verge of chaos with “Rabbit Hole”:
the guitar seems to spiral and melt
and the listener can’t tell if they are
flying or falling into another world.
Drinking Flowers is more than just
mind-melting music—it’s an explo-
ration of the brainwashing found
our everyday culture. It is truly con-
sciousness altering.
—Emily Nimptsch
JARED PITTACK
HANNI EL
KHATIB
Moonlight
Innovative Leisure
There are only a select handful
of musicians from Los Angeles
today who have the abilities and
sheer presence to be instantly
recognizable from their sound
alone—and Hanni El Khatib is
definitely one of those musicians.
His music has a raw power and
grit that evokes the spirit of what
rock ‘n’ roll is all about, without
sounding dated or cheesy. Work-
ing with Dan Auerbach from the
Black Keys on the production
of his previous album proved to
be a great pairing. However, on
Moonlight this powerhouse de-
cided to take the reins produced
something himself—and while
it’s similar to his previous work,
it’s also an evolution and an even
truer creation. This album is a
moody and spiritual reflection of
life, love and all the regrets and
problems that come with it. At
the same time, it seems to be a
celebration in a sense—possibly a
celebration simply of being able
to carry on. The title track is a
revelation, opening with a heavy
blues guitar riff mixed with very
hip-hop inspired drumbeats.
One can’t help but be moved.
Once the vocals come in with
“Hate me… OK / I’ve seen this
all before” in that signature raspy
voice, you’re immediately drawn
in. “Chasin’” is another enjoy-
able track that evokes a bit of
soul, which pairs nicely with the
Southern blues elements that ap-
pear on many of the songs. Bal-
lad “Mexico,” which starts with
a mariachi field recording, is a
powerful song that turns into
the most straight-up rock song
on the album—and the bridge is
quite haunting. Many tracks em-
ploy false endings that kick you
with full force right when you
thought they were over. Moon-
light is a powerful and engaging
album by one of L.A.’s most vital
contemporary musicians. An in-
stant classic.
—Zachary Jensen
COURTESY ARTIST
IBEYI
self-titled EP
XL Records
The self-titled debut EP from
Ibeyi, otherwise known as Lisa-
Kainde and Naomi Diaz, is mini-
mal: three songs with two alternate
versions. The sound intentionally
borders on bare as Lisa and Nao-
mi’s voice and percussion work are
front and center, accented only by
sparse electronics. The world they
create is stark but warm, and all
songs come from a deep and per-
sonal place. The EP opens with
a heartfelt lament towards their
mother’s pain and that emotional
missive is followed by tracks about
spiritual cleansing and submission
to a higher power. Their Yoruban
way of life acts as moral and lyrical
compass throughout the short but
affecting journey. Though nearly
all of their mentions in media have
immediately linked them to the
legacy of their father, late Cuban
percussionist Miguel “Anga” Diaz,
the pair don’t seem interested in
repeating as much as in breaking
new ground. Their music draws a
line between Yoruba, Afro-Cuban
percussion and the modernity of
electronic and hip-hop music. A
bold introduction fitting for old
heads and new jacks, this first EP
creates an appetite for their proper
debut LP, set to emerge in 2015.
—sweeney kovar
BRIAN BROOKS BRIAN BROOKS
MARIACHI EL
IL SOGNO DEL BRONX
MARINAIO III
Canto Secondo ATO
Clenchedwrench
For its third album, Mariachi el
Bronx has gotten a bit more gran-
Canto Secondo is the second al-
diose and added just a touch of
bum from Il Sogno del Mari-
electronics to its signature sound.
naio, Mike Watt’s occasional
Though every song is outfitted
project with two Italian musi-
with the trumpets and guitarróns
cians: guitarist Stefano Pilia and
implied by the band’s name, this
drummer Andrea Belfi. Its ten
record goes well beyond mariachi
mostly instrumental songs con-
and shows that Mariachi el Bronx is
sist in general of alternating mo-
an indie rock band at heart. Rather
tifs from which variations are
than just appropriate traditional
constructed and to which the
Mexican music, they also add ele-
players often return. The music
ments reminiscent of their anglo
is not popular music so much as
SoCal forebears Sublime and the
it is chamber music with rock
Eagles to craft their own unique
music bones, a la the progressive
rock of the 1970s. As with any style that sounds tailor-made for the
chamber music, the important morning drive show on KCRW or
as the soundtrack to sunset hacky
question is whether the music is
sack game at Huntington Beach.
interesting. And such a subjec-
tive question can be addressed, “High Tide,” with its smooth and
if at all, by highlighting notable catchy hook, has huge crossover
elements. This album is notable single potential, while the near-
foremost for Mr. Watt’s unique ballad “Eternal” makes it hard to
bass stylings: as on“Mountain believe that this band is technically
Top,” the contrapuntal vamp- an offshoot—or “alter ego”—of
ing he perfected as a youth has hardcore band the Bronx. Unlike
smoothed into an expressive, most hardcore bands, these guys’
sonorous use of his instrument’s biggest strength is their prowess
middle range that is Hancockian with orchestral arrangements. This
in its singularity. Also notable is
the chameleonic guitar work of
is best displayed on songs like the
soaring “Wildfires,” the sweeping
Mr. Pilia, which shows famil- and intricate “Raise the Dead,” and
the spaghetti-western-esque “Right
iarity with a range of styles—
from Spanish to West African to Between the Eyes,” all of which
highlight the group’s ability to spin
American—as well as a techni-
cal deftness which luckily does its source material into something
not deafen his ear. Finally, Mr. expansive, interesting, and new.
Belfi’s drums play the key role —Geoff Geis
of creating cohesion. That Mr.
Belfi is successful at the task on
tracks as technically challeng-
ing as “Skinny Cat” gives testa-
ment as much to his taste as to
his technique. Both are in ample
supply. In all, the cohesiveness
of the ensemble performance of
this album is a pleasant surprise,
and attests to Mr. Watt’s talent
for choosing collaborators. On
Canto Secondo, he and his Italian COURTESY BAND
fratelli have created an album of
rock chamber music that is—at MIKEHUDSON
the very least—consistently in-
teresting. ANDTHEPAGANS
—Josh Solberg Hollywood HIgh
Ruin Discos
ALBUM REVIEWS
Twenty-seven years after the Pagans
scorched their mark into punk rock
history, the band’s troubled and
brilliant front man is back at the
mike. Fronting a glossy new line-up
that includes veterans of Dio, Geor-
gia Satellites, B.B. King, and Etta
James, Hudson’s distinctive gravelly
voice sounds a little more tired and
a little weaker—occasionally even
shakier—than when he was in his
prime, but the pain and turmoil he
expresses are still as evident as ever.
Backed by an ace L.A. studio band,
he may be a long way from his early
stomping grounds of Cleveland,
Ohio, but the results are surprisingly
authentic and heartfelt. A love letter
of sorts to Hudson’s onetime muse,
Evita Corby—most famously the
model for Iggy Pop and James Wil-
liamson’s Kill City LP—Hollywood
High is about as tender as Hudson
has ever been, but that doesn’t mean
he’s in the least bit sentimental. For
the most part the songs are slower
and moodier than previous Pagans
output, although there are a couple
of rock monsters included to let you
know Hudson hasn’t lost his fire, in-
cluding the blazing “I Just Got Up”
and the greasy guitar-driven “I Want
a Date,” plus a strutting new version
of the old Pagans classic “(Us and)
All of Our Friends are So Messed
Up.” Highlights, though, lie in the
dark, meditative notes of songs like
the cover of blues classic “Death
Letter” and the sad and bitter “Fame
Whore,” the ultimate tribute to his
former love.
—Jason Gelt
COURTESY ARTIST
MINNOW
Trembles and
Temperance LP
Anchor Eighty-Four
It’s been nearly two years since the
indie/atmospheric rock band, Min-
now released their self-titled debut
EP and the L.A.-based sextet is fi-
nally back with a full-length album
entitled Trembles and Temperance.
Produced by Jack Shirley (Whirr,
Joyce Manor and Deafhaven) this
assortment of eight contemplative
tracks is a cohesive unit of ambient
emotionality reminiscent of Tycho’s
Awake. It also possesses a solid dose
of indie rock that somehow avoids
ALBUM REVIEWS
hipster pretension and clichés.
Opener “This Love is a Bridge”
bursts forth with a soaring melody
about a doomed love affair. Here,
vocalist Nik O’Hara admits that the
relationship is a “bridge burning at
both ends.” The track swings back
and forth from heartbreaking slow
burner to an outright blaze of glory.
“Coyote (Goodnight)” is much
softer effort, one that sounds a great
deal like the Radio Department’s
“I Don’t Like it Like This.” Amidst
howling guitars, O’Hara yearns
for connection: “I’m no coyote…
/ I’m no mountain lion / I’m just
a stranger who sees a reflection of
myself in your eyes.” In “Red River,”
Minnow reflects on the future and
you can practically hear the flowing,
trickling water in this melancholy
tune. Full of angelic harmonies and
references to the Book of Revelation
with its false prophets, trumpeting
angels and bloody streams, “River”
sets a bleak tone with the speaker
begging to go “back to the very be-
ginning.” This longing for a simpler
time is carried over into “Indian
Summer.” Beginning with Curtis
Baxter’s lullaby-like xylophone play-
ing, the track recalls the innocence
of childhood as native-sounding
drums swell. With the world aflame
around us, Minnow’s futuristic mu-
sic searches for a dapple for hope
while romanticizing the past.
—Emily Nimptsch
WALT GORECKI!
THE MELVINS
Hold It In
Ipecac Recordings
Last year the Melvins celebrated their
thirtieth year as a band—no small
feat in the realm of independent
rock ‘n’ roll. While other bands have
come and gone, or come and gone
and reformed when they smelled
comeback cash, Buzz Osborne has
soldiered forward on his righteous
mission. The band has taken a circu-
itous route to be sure, jumping from
label to label over the years, and even
enjoying the glow of major label suc-
cess after Nirvana touted it’s talents
in the early ‘90s, but its commit-
ment to hard-driving, no-frills rock
has never wavered. Buzzo’s crazy
shock of hair may be white now, but
his guitar playing and singing are as
Sneakers
Sneakers
Omnivore
This 1976 EP is an oft-cited starting point for
what would later be known as indie rock—a
savory foretaste of the dreamy Southern An-
glo-pop that would dominate first Dixie, then
national rock airwaves over the next decade.
Future dB’s Chris Stamey and Will Rigby were
part of this short-lived power pop act and
producer Mitch Easter would go on to found
Let’s Active and producing R.E.M.’s first two
albums with partner Don Dixon, engineer for
these sessions. The charms of the original
7” are still considerable, with six Stamey
originals displaying a talent for addlepated
love and jangly feel-good pop fully formed by
the time the songwriter met Peter Holsapple
and the rest became cratedigger history. The
three bonus tracks are of little consequence
except for “Nonsequitur,” which hits like a
great lost Tommy James Cellophane Sympho-
ny joint.
The Flesh Eaters
A Minute to Pray A Second to Die
Superior Viaduct
When you hear crusties speak (perhaps
through slashed vocal cords) of the Flesh
Eaters, they’re basically talking about this
1981 scorcher, long considered a founding
document of L.A. punk and still one of that
moment’s most accessible listens. The lineup
of musicians—Blaster Dave Alvin, John Doe
and DJ Bonebrake of X, future Los Lobos key-
board man Steve Berlin—put up a dense hail
of sound fit to swallow anyone but mainman
Chris Desjardin. Instead, his demented lyrics
dominate center stage even as his oversized
personality does handstands in the orches-
tra pit. Chris D.’s phrasing and attitudinizing
influenced countless many, far inferior vocal-
ists who should learn to write Burroughsian
art splatter before attempting to sing it. His
turns on “River of Fever” and “See You in the
Boneyard” sound like not so much evidence
of a B-movie obsession as products of living
a B-movie scenario in fragmented, media-
saturated Los Angeles. The last shout is “Di-
vine Horseman,” seven-minute-plus of addled
street preacher histrionics with Berlin’s sax
blowing sarcastic counterpoint to the poet’s
whooping and glass-gargling. This is one of
those albums oft-deemed underrated because
you don’t see the cover on that many t-shirts.
Game Theory
Dead Center
Omnivore
Scott Miller’s passing last year put a long over-
due reevaluation of Game Theory on the front
burner and Omnivore’s ongoing reissues of GT
will doubtless keep it there. Along with other
80s unclassifiables like Bongwater, Timbuk
3 and the Minutemen, Game Theory was a
vice of many a middle-aged rock critic’s youth
and part of the soundtrack of a certain long-
gone time and place. Reissue of this ten-track
1984 French compilation LP reframes nuggets
from the band’s early EPs (Pointed Accounts
of People You Know (1983) and Distortions
(1984) also out on Omnivore) and documents
the band’s early professional evolution with in-
triguing demos and adventurous live passes at
“Gloria” by Van Morrison, “Mother of Pearl” by
Roxy Music and R.E.M.’s “Radio Free Europe”
with Miller taking each apart before Theorizing
reassembly in front of paying customers. Best:
remastered studio nuggets like “Shark Pretty”
and “Nine Lives to Rigel Five,” both vehicles for
that puckishly winsome spite that was the stuff
of Reagan Age daydreams. Scattered through-
out are hints of the dense obsessive melodi-
cism of Lolita Nation, the band’s 1987 master-
piece due reissue next year. No music of the
era better deserves rescue from obscurity.
Red Aunts
Come Up for a Closer Look
In The Red
This all-female Long Beach punk act formed in
1991 at the outset of the first punk revival and
in the middle of the burgeoning riot grrl move-
ment. The Aunts got a bit lost in the brief flurry
of hype surrounding the movement so this ca-
reer survey serves as reintroduction as well
as reevaluation. These sick 26 tracks, culled
more or less evenly from their four LPs and
sporting ageless bad-girl razor romps like “De-
troit Valentine,” “Poison Steak,” and “Freaka-
thon” show a band still evolving at the time of
their 1997 breakup. Later stuff on Epitaph is
better than earlier sides but even those have
a freshness and inventive energy more in line
with third-wave feminism than retro-obsessed
second-wave punk and indeed were probably
too good for their reactionary era. The Aunts
never won the commercial blessing afforded to
Pennywise and the Offspring, which counts for
a lot until you actually listen to all three bands.
No punk, quasi-punk or fellow traveler should
be without this bracing viciousness.
55
THE INTERPRETER
CAL KING
Curated by Chris Ziegler
Photography by Debi Del Grande
GUY CLARK OLD NO. 1 (RCA, 1975)
“The first time I heard ‘L.A. Freeway’ was one of those moments where
I truly felt someone was telling my story. ‘If I can just get off of this L.A.
Freeway without getting killed or caught’ is crazy genius storytelling and
the spirit of lyrics like that have definitely found it’s way into some of
my own songs. Plus no one can listen to ‘Rita Ballou’ without smiling.
One thing you all should do is get lost in the Hill Country of central
Texas while listening to this record—it is damn near magical and will
make you want to live off the grid forever.”
MERLE HAGGARD BACK TO THE BARROOMS
(MCA, 1980)
“Growing up in the late-70s version of the Inland Empire was way more
country than it is today, and Merle was the local hero by about 100
miles or so. That being said, every truck-driving piece of white trash on
my block had this album. I personally found this one in the country
dollar bin at Amoeba Records in Berkeley back in the mid-90s when I
was drumming for a metal band—of all things—and just spent months
with it, listening over and over. The fact that the record kicks off with a
solid tear-jerker like ‘Misery And Gin’ is bold as hell and just locks the
listener in emotionally. I kind of lifted the groove from ‘I Think I’ll Just
Stay Here And Drink’ for my own ‘Shit Just Got Real’ and I’m totally
not ashamed to admit it.”
MOE BANDY HERE I AM DRUNK AGAIN
(COLUMBIA, 1976)
“Moe is kind of a country clown like me—one of his first hits was
called ‘Bandy the Rodeo Clown,’ come to think of it. And this record
is full of those songs that are funny country let-downs with lyrics like
‘If I had someone to cheat on / I’d go home tonight’ or ‘I’m not holdin’
the bottle / the bottle’s holdin’ me.’ His band on this one, though,
is chock-full of Nashville A-teamers like the Jordanaires, Bob Moore
(bass) and Johnny Gimble (fiddle) and Pig Robbins (piano), which
is awesome for a funny little record like this. It’s good drinkin’ music
like my own ‘Car Trouble’ and I would be lying if some of Moe’s vibe
didn’t make it into that song.”
WAYLON JENNINGS MUSIC MAN
(RCA, 1980)
I don’t hear Waylon fans talk about this album much—they always rave
about the Cowboy Jack albums—but I love-love-love this one. It was a
huge hit in 1980 having The Dukes of Hazzard theme song on it plus
a bunch of other covers on it from songwriters like Kenny Rogers and
Jimmy Buffett. There are two songs on this record, however, that qualify
it to be on this list. The first is his cover of the Steely Dan song ‘Do It
Again,’ which is amazing because I love the Dan and Waylon equally
and you have to be a bit of a nerd to appreciate Fagen and Becker lyrics.
The other is his version of the Ernest Tubb classic, ‘Waltz Across Texas’ in
which he abandons the waltz time altogether and plays it in 4/4. So again:
nerd. Or maybe they were just really fucked up.”
RAY CHARLES CRYING TIME (TANGERINE, 1966)
“Ray was one of my favorite country singers of all time. His version
of the Buck Owens classic and the title track from the record is better
than the Buck version and I never sing the Buck version in my head
when I think of this song. [Check out] Ray and Buck singing this song
together—that’s some crying time for sure. Not to mention that this
one also has ‘Let’s Go Get Stoned,’ which should always be the secret
track on your gettin’-high mix.”
INTERPRETER
Cal King makes hardcore shitkicking 70s country like his daddy
was Jerry Jeff Walker and his mother was one of those undefeat-
able women from Terry Allen’s Lubbock (On Everything), and if
there’s a line from another guy that’ll lead you to the heart of
his sound, it’s from Guy Clark: “If I can just get off of this L.A.
freeway / without getting killed or caught…” His new Shit Got
Real EP is full of the kind of bitter-but-better-for-it humor that
happens at last call and he talks now about the albums that
showed him the way down his particular country road.
HANK THOMPSON A SIX PACK TO GO
(CAPITOL, 1966)
“At some point, the beer cans on the cover of this album had to exist,
right? Where on eBay are they? I just really dig this record and Brazos
Valley Boys are some of the best players from that era. It all sounds like
slowed-down Bob Wills, which is great if you’re drinking or you want to
play Western swing and can’t keep up like they did.”
KRIS KRISTOFFERSON & RITA COOLIDGE
FULL MOON (A&M, 1973)
“These two have always been my favorite couple-slash-singing-duo in
country music, no contest. Above Johnny & June, above Waylon & Jes-
si and so on. Rita’s voice works so perfectly with Kris’ stumbly drunken
singing so much that I can’t get over it. And you can tell that they were
in love on this album which is so cool—how many people get
to record an entire album with their true love? Not many. I think that
when the new generation of desert-loving Joshua Tree road-tripping
couples think that they want to be Gram and Emmylou, I think, ‘No,
man... you really want to be Kris & Rita.’
AL GREEN CALL ME (HI, 1972)
“Well—first off, you can’t fuck with Al Green. He’s amazing! But even
more than that, this record has two epic covers of country songs that
you can’t ignore: the Hank Williams classic ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could
Cry’ and Willie Nelson’s break-up revenge hit ‘Funny How Time Slips
Away.’ Being from Memphis, Al was only a couple hours drive away
from the country music capital of the world so it’s clear that he was
listening to and being inspired by all that music, even as a child. For me
personally, Al is a great way to cleanse my musical palate when I need
inspiration. Some days I’m so buried in honky tonk music that I have
to reboot and recently this album has been how I do it.”
LINSDEY BUCKINGHAM LAW AND ORDER
(ASYLUM, 1981)
“I go through phases on listening to this album, but what caught my ear
the most on this last round of songwriting was ‘Shadow Of The West.’
As weird as this record is, that song is really good country music and one
day I hope to cover it with my band. I’ll have to throw a capo somewhere
on the guitar because I’ll never sing as high as Lindsey. He also does a
great rendition of the gospel country classic ‘A Satisfied Mind’ which tells
me that his head was surely in the country when he did this album. And
what is up with the bronzer coat on his face and shoulders on the cover?
Like the song on the record says, ‘That’s how we do it in L.A.’ I guess.”
VARIOUS ARTISTS ANY WHICH WAY YOU CAN
SOUNDTRACK (WARNER BROTHERS, 1980)
“Something was happening in the late 70s and early 80s where you
could pair up an actor with a chimp and you had a hit—which is true
because this album was the musical companion to the sequel starring
Clint Eastwood and a primate. As a kid, the songs that make this album
such a treasure were on in the car quite a bit: from Glen Campbell’s ver-
sion of the title track to Fats Domino’s clunky boogie-woogie ‘Whiskey
Heaven.’ Even Clint and Ray Charles have a duet on this one, called
‘Beers To You,’ which I can kind of tell was written with the intent of
being licensed for a beer commercial. My all-time favorite on this one
however is the David Frizzell and Shelly West song ‘You’re The Reason
God Made Oklahoma.’ It’s the perfect homesick-cowboy-in-L.A. song
and that opening arpeggio was the inspiration for the same on my own
‘Texas (Wasn’t All That We Needed).’”
57
PORCH PARTY RECORDS
GOLDEN
DRUGS
PREGNANT LONG BEACH VINYL
THE NATIVES
TAPES
DUSTIN
LOVELIS SHOWS
RUDY DE
ANDA
JOEL
JASPER PORCH
GREATER PARTY
CALIFORNIA RECORDS
FOREST OF .COM
TONGUE
RAINMAN
fiery and immediate as ever. He and
fellow founding member, drummer
Dale Crover, are joined by Butthole
Surfer members Paul Leary and Jeff
Pinkus on the band’s umpteenth
long player Hold It In, a rollicking,
irreverent sonic ride that is every bit
as good as their earlier output. Songs
lurch from one style to the next, but
without losing the necessary sense of
cohesion that makes a record great.
There’s a heavy, crunchy rock beast
“Bride of Crankenstein,” an airy pop
number “You Can Make Me Wait,”
an experimental instrumental jaunt
“Barcelonian Horseshoe” and the
grungy, hilariously titled “Piss Pis-
stoferson,” to name just a few. Pretty
much something for every taste.
—Jason Gelt
JARED PITTACK
MODERN
PANTHEIST
Sun Abuse
self-released
Modern Pantheist is a strongly guitar
driven band but don’t think for a sec-
ond that means they don’t have some
crazy strong keyboard grooves, with
great simple organ riffs and noise lit-
tering the album from the opening
line and some amazing complimen-
tary slide guitar work and tremolo
drenched open chords, too. Still, it
really is the rough and rugged guitars
that fuel this vehicle’s psychedelic
(and catchy as hell) rock ‘n’ roll. The
band is so connected with one an-
other that it often sounds as close to
being overly rehearsed as you can get
before getting boring, but I doubt
that’s really even possible. With great
breaks and dynamics, stretches of
bass-driven verses and riffy choruses,
and atmospheric keyboard and drum
work a la the Black Keys or even re-
cent Beck, there’s always something
happening. Modern Pantheist is on
to something.
—Daniel Sweetland
COURTESY ARTIST
NEIGHBORHOOD
BRATS
Recovery
Deranged Records
The rich history of late 70s/early 80s
L.A. punk is what spurred my move
from the least coast to the best coast.
I’m talking the fast, furious, fuck-
you bands with one toe in the pop
waters like X, The Screamers, The
Weirdos. Neighborhood Brats could
get middle-aged me to move most
anywhere if only to cozy up to their
rip-apart sound. It’s not just that the
music is fists-in-the-air anthematic,
it’s the infectious and confident dick
swagger of singer Jenny Angelillo
and her lyrical snark punching you
in the face. Based on song titles
alone, how could you not want to
drop the needle on “Fifty Shades of
Fuck You”? Even the (wordless) “Es-
cape the City” has desperate allure.
And while the songs on Recovery
aren’t breaking any molds, they’re
certainly giving the sound of L.A.
a much-needed ass kicking. There’s
a lot of kiss or kill packed in these
two minute song bursts, so pucker
up and get rad.
—Kat Jetson
COURTESY ARTIST
PISCES
self-titled
self-released
Pisces is a folky psych jazz project
from Sarah Negahdari, the sweet
voiced leader of the Happy Hol-
lows. A lot of people have been
waiting for this album for quite a
while, and the reason is simple—
it’s a damn good album. With a
simple pop sensibility to the vocals
and an eclectic tapestry of sound,
Pisces is a welcome collection of
strange folk tunes. With reverb-
drenched “oohs” and “aahs” etched ROXY MORATAYA
into the backdrop and some beau-
tiful droney keys, this is an album
SPACE WAVES
for the dreamers. The album opens Sing My Song LP
with a few very pretty songs. “Be- self-released
ing With You” is a strong lead track
Shoegaze and its derivatives are
with a great beat and some wonder-
making a big comeback these days.
ful lyrical prowess, followed nicely
Many a big name from the late
by the vibey “Voodoo” and “Glen
80s and early 90s have been play-
Echo.” “Winter Horse” breaks
ing some major shows. At the same
through midway into the album
time there have been a slew of L.A.
and is a perfect example of how far
based bands keeping the dream
this project can go sonically. Ex-
alive. Space Waves plays droned-out
ploding from the softness and sim-
pedal-powered jams infused with
plicity of the fingerpicked “Paint
dark psychedelic undertones that
A Rocket” and the big but simple
for the most part is quite enjoy-
“Wicked Fun,” it breaks the album
able. The band’s third release Sing
open and grabs hold of you. With
My Song is a little less experimen-
fierce guitars and a heavy drum
tal than their last, but that seems to
line, this song is the one time that
work in the bands favor. The heavy
it feels as if Sarah really let herself
and slow ambience of many of their
go. Still, the strongest piece of writ-
ing might be a few songs later with
earlier tracks has been exchanged
the timeless “Punch Love Drunk,”
for more straight-ahead distortion
and dazed sounds. As usual, the pair
a song of majestic catchiness. This
album has a little of everything
of Sarah and Kelley take turns with
vocal duties and that can provide
you want from an indie-folk-pop
release—it’s a great combination of
for a strange dichotomy at times.
On tracks where Sarah sings—
the strange and lovely!
namely “Beach Cemetery”—there
—Daniel Sweetland

Scott Walker may very well possess one of the
single most exalted and enduring male voices of our
time. From his 60s chamber-pop crooning while front-
ing the Walker Brothers to the pedestal shadows cast
from his first five subsequent solo albums—even all
the way through the awkward contractual obligation/
reunion 70s country/AM radio efforts, and then to his
decades of silence and his 90s-2000s experimental
re-invention, it is Scott Walker’s voice and uncompro-
mising sensibilities that set a high-water mark many
strive to replicate but few ever quite touch. It’s a voice
that communicates a profound strength and fragility,
often in the one breath billowing from unknown yet
magnetic depths.
Since re-emerging with Tilt in 1995 with his fiercely
avant-guard approach—once compared to “Andy Wil-
liams re-inventing himself as Stockhausen”—Walker
has replaced the verse/chorus of morose orchestral
pop with surrealist nightmare soundscapes, aban-
courtesy artist doning the strumming of guitars (or any solid rhythm
whatsoever) for sporadic industrial clanging—as well
ing the proverbial abyss and working to expose the
writhings of his cold-blooded animal, something so
dependent on the atmospherics of his albums that
it tends to affect the listener’s actual outlook and
mood. As proud as I am to own 2012’s Bish Bosch,
I confess unabashedly that I have listened to it only
three times since its release, often hesitating when
I grab it from my stack as I ask, “Do I really want to
go there today?” (Let us consider this refusal its own
act of communion between us and Walker—all who
proudly wear the Loop of Sensitivity!)
Thankfully, it seems his collaboration with Sunn0)))
was almost made for this very bracket of his follow-
ers. While it may have seemed like an unlikely pairing,
Walker’s operatic ephemera benefits greatly from the
anchoring of Sunn0)))’s perpetually distorted drones
(has Walker even had a guitar on a record since Mark
Knopfler on Climate Of Hunter in 1984?) and walls of
synths without compromising his own stark vision. In
five songs that seem to complete a thematic arc of
drowning and intoxication, there is more of an actual

SCOTTWALKER as recording the sound of punching slabs of raw meat

and deploying strategic, unnerving silence, cut up
with archaic lyrical fragments that often repeat the
musical conversation happening, a call and response
between the collaborators, resulting in a gradual
swelling of climaxes that are slightly easier to hold

AND SUNN O))) same note over and over. These are all bold, almost
self-sabotaging gestures from a man renowned for his
staggering vocal range and steady hand when sculpt-
onto and more importantly, actually recall after the
listen. Soused masterfully fills in the cracks of the
oblivion that is strived for, and the result is a smoother
Soused ing divine pop masterpieces. ride with other passengers—rather than the doomed
Many Walker-devotees would admit that these re- Walker merely taking us through that same Willy
4AD cent records cut so deeply to the marrow that they
are actually hard to listen to. It’s clear he’s excavat-
Wonka nightmare tunnel on his own again.
—Gabriel Hart

ALBUM REVIEWS 59

AQUADOLLS
So Stoked
Burger
Yes, there are so many bands clogging up “the
beach” right now that the poor seagulls don’t
even have an open space to crap in peace—
just kidding, they love a target-rich environ-
ment—but Melissa Brooks’ Aquadolls are way
more sophisticated than most of this wave.
There’s a few types of songs here: Go Sailor/
Rose Melberg jangle-pop like “Guys Who
Sk8” or “Mine,” lightly paisley-fied power
pop like “Wander” or opener “Don’t Mean
Jack,” weirdo goof-offs like “Tweaker Kids”
or “Wacky Surf Trip” … but even the obvi-
ously jokey ones aren’t fucking around. (Well,
maybe the Descendents answer song “I Like
Fruit”: “I like fruit / cuz fruit is good!”) They
got unexpected hooks and surprise produc-
tion tweaks and more plot twists in the chord
patterns than you’d expect, even if they’re done
with so little showing off that you might not
notice. And then there’s the standouts: let’s
pick three. “Cool Cat” is the surprise deep cut
it’s a beast: in-the-red Pandoras garage-rock
with a ridiculously hook-y chorus. “So High”
(no relation to Best Coast) is a Mazzy Star-
style zone-out that even echoes those Hope
Sandoval vocal catches, and “Our Love Will
Always Remain” is basically the Aquadolls
song from which all others Aquadolls songs
derive—harmony, hooks, heartbreak and hap-
piness and every other aspect of Aquadollism
in up-and-down succession, delivered in a
somehow not-boring four minutes. Very solid
record with unexpected stand-outs. If bands
like this still got hit singles … well, you know.
When I hear them on TV, I’ll remember the
night that I typed all this.
COTILLON
self-titled
Burger Records
Debut opus from bummer-pop iconoclast
Jordan Corso, now under the most appropri-
ate guidance of producer Chet “JR” White
from Girls—who makes sure no sound or
idea on this album lingers too long. Here,
Cotillon are focused through a host of post-
VU experiments on this corrosively intimate
excursion into heartbreak. Does that mean
it’s got some moments of frightening Jona-
than Richman-style earnestness? Of course:
“Asteroid,” worrying cousin to “Astral Plane,”
in which Corso grinds out likely the mean-
est riff here and explains how even if he be-
came a ghost, he’d “still try to keep an eye
on you.” (In fact, this gets into Gary Wilson
60
territory pretty quick—no one does spurned
like Gary!) There’s also Suede, Teenage Fan-
club, Nikki Sudden, lots of the Only Ones’
Peter Perrett in his pre-hit mode as England’s
Glory, even a dissipated Stones as smothered
by decades of déclassé 70s glam. I think few
songs from the 2012 Votive Flower EP have
returned here, at least in spirit—like “Lyman”
with a Bandwagonesque guitar intro and an
upgunned chorus, or “Infection,” sounding
more like an Only Ones B-side than ever …
until it turns in a Syd Barrett space-out. Cor-
so has always had the ideas and the person-
ality, delivered in purposely fractured songs
that seem more like exorcisms than declara-
tions of love. With White at work, he’s more
powerfully unpredictable than ever—like the
kinda unprecedented piano and sax interlude
“Left Bank.” If it was too easy to listen to, it
wouldn’t be as interesting.
GIRLPOOL
self-titled EP
Wichita
Extremely heavy EP that’s like Bratmobile
re-arranged to fit the Fabulous Stains—no
drums and no distortion, but everything
else is intensely punk. “Slutmouth” is like a
Raincoats song but sharpened as far as it’ll
go: “Sometimes I wanna be a boy / never re-
ally wanted girl toys / … / I don’t wanna get
fucked / by a fucked society / … / I go to
school everyday / just to be made a house-
wife one day.” (And more, with no wasted
words.) Everything these two women do
here is broken down to the elements: bass
to backbone the song, one or two guitar
tracks to reinforce, double vocals used as
much for rhythm as melody and screaming
dive-bomb hooks. (You can hear why they
get compared to Sleater-Kinney.) Each is a
triumph of indie duo design, with zero dis-
tractions and zero equivocation. Here’s the
story, and actually here’s the moral, too, like
from “Jane” who never had the answer til
she punched the guy who wouldn’t let her
talk: “Girls and boys if you are listenin’ /
don’t ever feel imprisoned / … / you were
born for a reason, share all your feelings / if
you are a Jane, put your fists up too.” The
music is so clear it’s startling, but the lyrics
are even more pure. That’s rare—this is a
gut reaction from them to you.
GOLDEN DRUGS
In The Midnight Sun or Stubbornly
Persistent Illusion
Porch Party
Couldn’t find a single comparison to any
other band that ever existed in the press for
Golden Drugs, so shouts to them for being
so aggressively extraterrestrial. And … let me
give it a shot and say this obsessively maxi-
mal fractalized prog-pop-folk-sperimental
album is like … Neutral Milk Hotel trying
to be Tago Mago Can? As in: drum nods to
“Mother Sky” and “Halleluwah,” with lyr-
ics that get viscerally surreal and melodies
triangling between delirious, desperate and
numb. Midnight Sun is ‘ONLY MEANT TO
EXPLORE THE STRANGE CHARAC-
TERISTICS OF “REALITY” AND THE
HUMAN CONDITION INSIDE SAID
“REALITY,’ explain its creators—warning
or invitation? Because Golden Drugs are very
obviously exploring the strange, with songs
that don’t so much change as cycle every two
minutes or so and proggy guitar fingerings
that probably tab out to look like DNA he-
lixes. ‘Struggling Attacker’ is the songiest song
on here, and even that’s a paradox: gentle folk
guitar, frantic busy drums and some mod-
est and even sweet man/woman harmonies
about going home until the guitars suddenly
go electro-intricate and then everything gets
permanently unexpected. It’s hard to slice this
into songs because Midnight Sun is really a
single piece cracked into song-shapes, each of
which cracks into smaller more-detailed song-
shapes and so on until reality and humanity
both are documented at the molecular level.
It’s exhausting just for being so imaginative,
and for never letting a single thing sit—but
there’s beauty in waves there, too, if you can
handle this disorientation.
GRINNING GHOSTS
Yesterday Tomorrow
unreleased
Young band from OC trying on styles and
shaking out their own real voices from all the
good records they’ve sung along to between
birth and recording session. The basics—
punk fundamentals like the Clash and the
Buzzcocks and emerging character kinda like
Paul Westerberg, both in the nuthin-to-do
and nuthin-to-be-done modes. (Example A:
“Ecstatic Tumescence,” with the lines “Friday
night, got no date / gonna go to Del Taco,
gonna masticate,” delivered way more like
Replacements than Descendents. Example B:
“Losers For Free,” about how college is so use-
less they might as well have spared themselves
the loans and stayed … yes, losers for free! Or
maybe ‘Duller Than Death’s simple ‘Please
tell me / what’s it all for?’) They’ve got obvious
imagination and a promising ability to fit pop
into punk songs, and even though the vocals
are a little tentative, you can (thankfully) tell
there’s an actual person or two in there. And
across these 15 (!) songs, they start to wander
toward weirder places, from Dead Milkmen
to Newtown Neurotics and a breathless Dolls-
style cover of the Shangri-Las to a downer
closer with John Cale strings or something
quivering in the background. But there’s
two things that happen when you’re working
yourself out in public like this. First: you get
shy about the editing! More than half of these
songs are at or over three minutes—yeah, you
got stuff to say but imagine how much harder
it’d it if you only kept the best two outta three?
And second: you sometimes luck into the
uncharacteristic eureka that leads you to the
future. That’s Yesterday’s hit: ‘Joan’s Already
Dead,’ noisier and looser than anything else
on here with a riff right out of Dead Moon
and energy enough to carry its own weight.
Almost broken but better for it a la the Swell
Maps when they get fighty and a telling pre-
chorus of: “Nonsense makes the world go
round!” (Real chorus: “She’s dead, so dead!”)
Quick, interesting and they sound like they
mean it the most: more of these please! And
yeah, I know this review is long for a demo
but what can I say? I ... believe in ‘em!
ITASCA
Unmoored By The Wind
New Images
Precise and desolate guitar-and-voice folk that
everyone says sounds like Sybille Baier, which
is right and wrong at the same time—Baier’s
Colour Orange is loneliness compounded
upon loneliness til it becomes more like an-
esthetic than music, and while Kayla Cohen’s
Itasca is fearlessly lonesome and sad, she stops
long before that point of paralysis. What she
does share with Baier, however, is a kind of
total fluidity of delivery, where she sings any-
thing she sings and the music slips and flows
around her. Put it this way: once there was
a song called “Walking In The Rain,” and
that’s her style of playing now, too. The open-
ing interlude and the instrumental passages
here recall guitarist Peter Walker in contem-
plation—sharp, deliberate, suggestive in its
minimalism—and, well, that’s Cohen’s voice,
too, except for the sharp part. She’s more
agile than Baier but just as direct, and when
she lattices her vocals on songs like “Buzzard
Gulch Well” or closer “Glass,” you’ll think of
Linda Perhacs, too. Unmoored By The Wind is
a funny name for this album, since the music
here is anything but flying wild and fright-
ened free—instead, the photo on the back is a
better tell, with silhouettes of mountains split
by sky and empty space. But maybe the title
means the state of mind: as she sings on “Na-
ture’s Gift,” “I was staring at these windows
for hours … I was just looking for a sign.”
PEG LEG LOVE
Until The Night Time
Death Records
Great sound / heavy vibes from this L.A.
trio who soldier forth with what you might
call dark (as in “was the night, cold was the
ground”) punk that spills forth from the
same primordial source as the Gun Club, the
Cramps, the Swampland Scientists and the
Birthday Party, who get respects paid here
with two ferocious covers. Singer/guitarist Ilir
(who has been leading this band since ever)
seems like he’s way into Jeffrey Lee Pierce and
maybe wants to sing like Ian Curtis, but it
turns into a Dave Vanian circa-Machine Gun
Etiquette voice: theatrical, yeah, but tough,
too. Opener “Captive” is the brightest track
here—sounds like Zounds gone just a little
goth, with whipcrack drums from the wrecker
J. Explosive and guitar reverbed to the point
of ricochet. From there, though, it just gets
darker. Another stormer: next track “Black
ONE REPORTER
Widow.” A viber: “Until The Night Time,”
hauled fresh from that “Swampland.” And a
closing-credits bummer: “We Never Existed,”
which answers the Weirdos song with mon-
ster-movie organ and an unhappy ending as
Ilir explains how he “was dead before I was
born.” But the cover’s got ships at sea beset
by angels blowing storms, and the insert’s got
skeletons getting drunk, so lemme say I fig-
ured that was where we were going along.
THE SHRINE
“Waiting For The War” 12”
Tankcrimes
Acid-punk Venice Beach magic-power trio
the Shrine cover French obscurite de anne
pastoire Soggy, whose heavy metalloid “Wait-
ing For The War” rocketed to pocket inter-
national fame thanks to an amazing circa
1980 shirtless video in front of a psychedelic
greenscreen, and also because it ripped like
undiscovered hype records too seldom rip.
The original: NWOBHM via the High Time
MC5. The Shrine version? Well, there’s two.
The regular: Shrine-d the fuck up, with some
wasted-spaceman reverb on Josh’s vocals and
a nice wipe of SST/Media Arts-grit across the
instruments, an outro that sounds like some-
thing from Black Flag circa ’82 and a lot more
added chances to scream / shred. (Estimate:
like 30% more of each. Bonus: clocks in just
over 4:20) This is such a natural cover for them
that Soggy might as well sign over the pink
slip. Instrumental on the flip is just shame-
less—what do you think? Solos to the event
horizon. B-side “Rare Breed” has one of those
descending-staircase Maiden-style riffs and an
outta-nowhere break where the bottom of the
song falls out. If not an outtake from album
Bless Off, it would’ve fit there nicely.
UNCONSCIOUS
COLLECTIVE
Pliestocene Moon 2XLP
Tofu Carnage
Texas instrumental free-jazz trio concept
piece about the anthropogenic destruction of
the world. Or I think that’s what this is, and
I know I’m at least 2/3rds right. Pliestocene
starts with like coyote howls—they’ll survive
whatever’s coming, they’re letting us know—
and then the Unconscious Collective wakes
and howls back with an opening song that
sounds like Dub Housing Pere Ubu getting
heavy with Miles Davis’ Rated X. And this
is the gentle one. “Tribe Apini” introduces
shock instances of Greg Ginn-style electric
guitar self-harm and Moon rises from there,
grasping at Mahavishnu Orchestra on its way
to a Sonny Sharrock Monkey-Pockie Boo blast-
off on “Methane Rising.” (Naturally—that
is of course the point of no return.) There’s
false respite somewhere in there and then the
grinding halt with “Greedy Tongues,” where
nothing but machinery is still at work. Per-
cussion on the drum rims and stands, pro-
cessed guitar—or something—that’s beyond
all recognition. In the end, artificial appetites
are all that’s left. Good job, I learned some-
thing. The packaging on this is beyond su-
perlative—it’s a museum piece, really—but
I wanted to make sure these guys got some
lines on the music, too.
ONE REPORTER
ARIEL PINK
Ariel Pink’s newest album pom pom (4AD) is two LPs of Zappa-doing-Fowley-
doing-Bowie why-the-fuck-not rock with zero adult supervision. Besides hospital-
penned lyrics by Fowley, he’s got unpredictable input of all types from Don
Bolles, L.A. impresario of the utmost notability, as well as a support from likely
every still-fighting member of the L.A. freak scene. He talks with us now to as-
sure us that he’s still Ariel Pink. This interview by Chris Ziegler.
Are you actually turning into Kim Fow-
ley? ‘Sexual Athletics’ is credited to
you, but it sounds like … him.
It’s my best impersonation of Kim.
It worried me. I saw a photo of you
with ‘70s Kim bangs and wondered if
he was doing a soul transfer to a fresh
new vessel.
In so many ways, dude! Down to the
weird controversy … me presiding over
all this … if I’m not Kim Fowley now, I
will be after the whole record cycle. I
could not hope to equal the powerhouse
force of inspiration that is Kim Fowley by
any stretch of the imagination. But I can
somehow have a diluted sort of … this
is really to the core of what I’m always
going on about. If I could just freeze-
frame time and actually NOT change,
not do anything and stand still and pre-
serve some of history’s moments just
for the sake of doing something differ-
ent, rather than doing the usual, that
would be an accomplishment.
In terms of physics, that’s the hardest
possible thing to do. You’re standing
alone against the forces of time and
entropy.
There’s all these forces for change ev-
erywhere and everyone’s always talk-
ing about it. There’s no need to try for
change—why don’t you stop and sit
down for a second and harness your
thoughts on a single thought for more
than five seconds and think before you
do it? It’s amazing what you can accom-
plish. Especially nowadays! There’s sort
of an usurping—or dethroning of au-
thority of some sort. We’re poised here
with the Internet and the social media
stuff which is the domain of the younger
generation, and they rule it with an iron
fist. We’re right there in the middle! The
forgotten generation. We still use our
hands and our tools, but we’re discard-
ed in some way. We’re not making mov-
ies like we used to. And there’s not that
many of us! There’s baby boomers who
still buy everything even though they’re
60 or 70, and there’s a whole shit-
load of millennials around now. There
weren’t very many of us. We’re not very
materialistic, as far as generations are
concerned, but millennials … I pray for
them. And I don’t know if it’s helping!
We’ll be like interesting relics of the
olden times.
Not really! Maybe? If we’re seen as any-
thing worthwhile! I could see them col-
lecting us like they would a discarded
dungheap on the side of the road. If
they don’t preserve the idea of history
… I’m sure everybody over 60 years
old is like ‘Get me out of this place as
soon as possible … before they drag
me into the street for things I said in
1967, and girls I fucked …’ Whatever!
I’m a nice guy! I don’t strike an impos-
ing figure. Maybe online, where I seem a
little more caustic and intimidating. The
Wizard of Oz! This tiny little top hat dude
behind the whole scene.
How did you communicate what you
wanted for this record to Don Bolles? I
DJed a Fancy Space People show and
he was playing every guitar solo off my
records note-for-note during warm-up,
so I assume he knows almost every-
thing in or around rock.
Don is the archduke muse on this
whole record. The guy’s really special,
and we’ve all known this forever. He’s a
personal hero of mine. The Germs are
my favorite band ever. L.A.’s finest. I saw
him at FYF Fest not like two years ago.
So Don sauntered up to me like, ‘Hey!
What’s going on? I got a new set of shiny
whites!’ And flashed me his new smile.
It seemed like he was doing really good.
And when it was time to record the new
record … he essentially bullied his way
in. I would have loved to have been in
a band with him, but I wouldn’t have
considered it prior to this episode. He
really had the wherewithal and the drive
to really push me and push at me … ‘I
really really wanna work on this record,
man!’ ‘Yeah, yeah, of course!’ I sorta
dragged my feet the way I do, but he’s
one of the most restless people ever so
he pushed it and with Kim Fowley on the
other side also pushing it—
You, Don and Kim—that is some set
of dudes.
Don will say his icon is Kim Fowley. I
think they both have an appreciation for
ambition in music. It’s something you
wouldn’t necessarily have thought when
you think of them. We’ve been in a mis-
anthropic shooting-ourselves-in-the-foot
kind of age, where we despair about the
current state of the music industry and
don’t have too many promising things
to invest in. For people like them, I think
they were probably resisting the idea
that time might have passed them by.
I’m just happy to be a conduit to helping
these guys get a new lease on life. Don
is particular is definitely my guru.
He definitely has a guru-esque hat.
That hat is legendary. He’d float into the
ether if you took it off. It’s a weird halo.
A hairy halo?
The hairy halo of entropy that keeps him
squashed and earthly in this demonic
realm. His interest and enthusiasm in
the whole thing was the Popeye spin-
ach that got me excited about making
a record again. He’s all over the record.
I get a real kick out of it. The ages flow
through him.
You’re collapsing all these generations
of music into one record.
It’s fast forward! A petri dish where an
ecosystem flourishes.
What was left off this record? Is there
anything that just wouldn’t fit?
No—there is none of that. The record
only came about because I got word
from 4AD that if I had any intention of
releasing this record this year, I’d have
to turn in whatever I had in the next
three weeks. So I made the executive
decision to say, ‘OK, guys! Enough fun!’
I would have been totally happy just re-
cording and never releasing the thing.
And never sort of sitting down and cre-
ating new stuff. Not even a month be-
fore, I was like, ‘I’d be happy if I never
released this.’ But we ended up taking
all the things we’d amassed and set
them on the fast track to close all those
loose ends and use everything we did.
We spent nine months doing it in my
off time at various stages with various
people at various time, and nobody re-
ally involved at all times except for me.
If you want filler, there’s my entire back
catalog.
It’s pretty focused. It’s not as drastic
as Sandinista!.
No, but it is a little Willy Wonka. It has
a weird winding through … it’s like the
Secret of NIMH. A ouvre or overture—
Did any lab rats have to die?
In metaphorical form. A lot of Chinese
food was eaten and a lot of animals
perished. And a lot of kales were con-
sumed. Don had to have a smoothie
every fucking morning.
We had a big talk about Phil Ochs once
before. How close are you to covering
his ‘Love Me I’m A Liberal’?
Funny—I’ll probably be doing ‘Rehears-
als for Retirement’ before that one.
There’s a backward trajectory here. We
wanna die as an orgasm! And spend
our retirement in kindergarten. Look for-
ward to the past. The future is behind
us! And spend the rest of our lives be-
ing a premonition.
ARIEL PINK’S pom pom is AVAILABLE
NOW FROM 4AD.
61
is a dark quality that seems to sum-
mon the sounds of Shocking Blue,
and a sweetness there that is almost
sinister. Then when Kelley sings—
such as on the opener “Jupiter in
a Bottle”—his voice is heavy and
raspy and that makes the songs a
little abrasive … but mixed with the
faster paced melodic tune, it blends
nicely. The mix between the two
singing styles gives the album an
up and down quality that strangely
works—a rollercoaster ride through
the minds behind this talented
3-piece.
—Zachary Jensen
DUS T’
SPACESHIPS
self-titled EP
New Professor
Four new songs from L.A. guitar/
drums duo Spaceships, now dialing
down the noise and discovering
their own pop songs. Like Wavves
or (the early in-the-red) Best Coast,
Spaceships are all about the ocean
as both state of mind and sense for
production, so if they sing about
the beach, they’re gonna make it
sound like the waves are crashing
right into the tape recorder. But
this EP is like see-through clear
compared to their blown-out (but
lovely in moments, like “New
Wishing” and “Limit”) album from
last year. Stand-out is “Washed
Out” with a slo-mo tempo and
bubblegum chord progression
that both fits and flatters guitarist/
singer Jessie Waite’s voice and
drummer Kevin LaRose’s style.
The result is a Muffs-y kiss-off with
a love-it-or-shove-it hook. “Boys”
hits the same space but faster and
harder; here and in this EP’s best
moments, Spaceships are figuring
out an interesting concept of pop-
but-sorta-not that’s something
between the Leave Home Ramones
and like … the Adolescents’ blue
album? Or the Weezer blue album?
Or something where they make
sure to never pick the easy way
(cheesy way) through the song,
even if that means they sometimes
get hung up on those high notes.
Another forward move from a
band that’s always moving forward.
Keep sending the records!
—Chris Ziegler
62
COURTESY ARTIST
VINCE STAPLES
Hell Can Wait
Def Jam
Vince Staples’ Hell Can Wait is what
happens when hyperlocal hip-hop
meets mainstream’s production
masters—12 well-spat songs that
give block-by-block run downs of
North Long Beach’s social misgiv-
ings atop New York City beats fit
for Jay-Z. And frankly, it’s about
time. Since collaborating with sev-
eral of the more low-maintenance
members of Odd Future and releas-
ing his first own solo mixtape, Shyne
Coldchain Vol. 1, in 2011, Staples
has been a powerful-yet-under-
appreciated voice in contemporary
hip-hop. But until now he’s never
really received the production value
that his harrowing anti-gangster
gangster rap deserves. On Hell Can
Wait, his Def Jam debut, however,
Staples’ nonchalant retellings of
gang shootings (“65 Hunnid”), tales
of poverty-stricken youth (“Screen
Door”) and harrowing first-person
accounts of parental drug use and
police racism (“Hands Up”) are
backed up by wailing trumpets, hi-
fi sirens and sludgy industrial breaks
made for him by big-money names
like Anthony Kilhoffer, No. I.D.,
Hagler and Infamous. With the
same producers as Kanye, Drake,
and Lil Wayne behind him, Staples’
reality-driven (“It’s not conscious,”
he says) songs finally have the head-
bobbing prowess needed to reach
wider audiences and put reality
(and Long Beach) back on the rap
map.
—Sarah Bennett
DUS T’
STERILE JETS
Liquor Store
self-released
Hailing from Long Beach, Sterile
Jets, plays an aggressive and in-
your-face style of music that cel-
ebrates the degeneracy and poet-
ics that life can sometimes bring
all at once. Still, Sterile Jets are
one of those bands that are slight-
ly hard to define. While heavily
influenced by early punk rock,
there is some metal, math rock,
and no-wave elements that come
into play, resulting in a familiar
sound that still offers enough in-
dividuality to sound somewhat
new. Liquor Store is an explora-
tion into the themes of boozing
and losing, love (or a lack there
of ) and general angst and desper-
ation of life, presented to the lis-
tener in a myriad of ways. Open-
ing track “To the Bars” starts out
with a very no-wave almost art-
rock like drumbeat and a simple
guitar strum, then quickly twists
into a punk rock alcohol anthem
with extremely distorted bass
lines and abrasive vocals, and
then returns to its experimental
elements as it closes. Other tracks
like “Bender. Day 15” and “Alt
Rock is a Coma” stay more soni-
cally stable, with the first heavily
steeped in punk rock and the lat-
ter more dirty and metal-influ-
enced. The experimentation can
be a little jarring at times, giving
the listener their own case of the
drunken spins. But regardless of
the different musical directions
the songs take, there is a gritti-
ness throughout that gives this
album its own deep cohesion.
—Zachary Jensen
JARED PITTACK
TALK IN
TONGUES
“Still Don’t Seem to Care”
7”
Fairfax Records
This sunny Los Angeles four-piece
has apparently caused quite a stir on
the interwebs with its debut digital-
only single, “Still Don’t Seem To
Care.” With dreamy, swirling gui-
tars, soaring falsetto vocals, a glittery
mid-song breakdown, and a delib-
erately abrupt conclusion that shuts
the song off like a slammed door,
it’s no wonder Talk in Tongues have
been hyped by Vice (“your new fa-
vorite psych-rock band”) and that
their agent hopes to one day hear
their songs blast from the Coachella
main stage speakers at midnight.
The song is a capable enough meld-
ing of slick indie rock sensibilities
and glossy psych-rock flair – the
kind of marriage of styles that may
indeed win them legions of adoring
fans worldwide, especially after their
debut album releases early next year.
For those who take psych-rock seri-
ously, the word ‘wimpy’ will most
likely spring to mind after listening
to the song three or four times. Talk
in Tongues count the Thirteenth
Floor Elevators and 60s Pink Floyd
among their influences, but you’d
be hard-pressed to hear any of Roky
Erickson’s wild grit or Syd Barrett’s
experimental lunacy in this track. It
shimmers and sparkles like a Dis-
neyland river, but it sounds more
like Tears for Fears than anything
resembling rock ‘n’ roll.
—Jason Gelt
COURTESY ARTIST
THEE
COMMONS
Rock is Dead: Long Live
Paper and Scissors
self-released
Rock is Dead: Long Live Paper and
Scissors is a comprehensive anthol-
ogy containing 20 tracks hand-
picked from East L.A. band Thee
Commons’ nine EP discography.
For the first time in their relatively
short (but extremely prolific) tenure
as a band, they’ve released a compi-
lation that brings together the best
of the best from all of their mini-
volumes into one CD, chronicling
their growth as musicians and track-
ing the various influences that have
shaped their unique style along the
way. Here, they bring together a very
diverse array of elements including
60’s-era garage riffs, strong surf-gui-
tar melodies, cumbia rhythms and
vocals heavy with retro-Latino flair.
“Mal Por Bien” is one of my per-
sonal favorites, along with “Y Tu,”
both of which are more traditional
sounding. “Avispa Del Amor” is a
Latin adaptation of Shocking Blue’s
“Love Buzz” that seeks to bridge
the original with Nirvana’s version.
“Selena Punk” features Los Saicos-
esque vocals and is very catchy with
a Los Detestellos type of vibe. And
just when you thought it couldn’t
get any more interesting, they’ve
also included their elusive Volume
VI: a radio novela in the spirit of the
a 1920s radio show that aired on
KXLU and KPFK but was never re-
leased on CD, LP, or digital down-
load.
—Desi Ambrozak
WALT GORECKI!
YACHT
Where Does This Disco EP
Downtown
“Where does this disc go? Ain’t rock
roll, ain’t disco,” Claire L. Evans
sings, not only omitting the “n” but
evoking the image of a flummoxed
record store employee struggling
to make sense of YACHT’s new
EP. Meanwhile, in real life, there
are only 500 physical copies of this
thing and everyone’s pretty com-
fortable with the idea of those two
genres mixing. Nonetheless, she
paints a fun picture. “Where Does
This Disco?” comes at the end of a
year in which Evans and Jona Bech-
tolt have gotten lots of attention
for reasons other than how good
they are at music—they released
an excellent smartphone app called
5 Every Day that tells users about
35 cool things to do in L.A. ev-
ery single week, partnered with an
eyewear company to release a col-
lection of designer sunglasses, and
soundtracked a Google Chromecast
ad. (And while that commercial
includes “Works Like Magic,” it
also reduces the song to its Zapp &
Roger-esque hook in a manner that
belies the complex and funky na-
ture of the full version that appears
here.) But the music IS good. Along
with “Terminal Beach,” a midtempo
rock song that sounds like 80s girl
power pop but with angular guitars
and truly bizarre background vo-
cals, “Works Like Magic” makes the
remainder of this four-song offering
worth adding to the online playlist
you have that already includes the
title track. Of course that’s how you
listen to music, which is why it re-
ally doesn’t matter where the disc
goes anyway.
—Geoff Geis
ALBUM REVIEWS
LIVE PHOTOS WINTER 2014 ONLINE PHOTO EDITOR
DEBI DEL GRANDE

Meg Meyers MS MR
September 2014 November 2014
The Troubadour The Roxy

DEBI DEL GRANDE CORTNEY ARMITAGE

King Tuff
Daniel Lanois
November 2014
October 2014
El Rey
La Bella Vista

DAVID VALERA DEBI DEL GRANDE

No Silver Bird The Moth and the Flame

October 2014 October 2014
Pappy and Harriet’s Club Nokia

MAXIMILIAN HO CORTNEY ARMITAGE

64 LIVE PHOTOS
 The Bixby Knolls King Tuff
October 2014 November 2014
Pappy and Harriet’s El Rey

DEBI DEL GRANDE

Nick Waterhouse
October 2014
Mayan Theater

MAXIMILIAN HO

Lou Man Group

October 2014
The Fonda Theater

CORTNEY ARMITAGE

La Sera
November 2014
El Rey

DAVID VALERA

Young the Giant

November 2014
BArker Hangar

CORTNEY ARMITAGE DEBI DEL GRANDE

LIVE PHOTOS 65
EVIL SPIRIT ENGINEERING
Interview by Frankie Alvaro and Kristina Benson
Photography by Ward Robinson
Michael Barragan and his Evil Spirit Engineering build and restore custom bikes that look like that they came off the set of Easy
Rider—even though they might have once been sitting patiently as a pile of parts under some dirty tarps for longer than he’s been
alive. He recently won recognition at the Born Free Fest for a bike brought to light by what he calls the bike-building gods, and he
talks with us now about music, motorcycles and how he hopes the industry is going to belong to the people again.
How long does it take you to build a bike?
Like the one in the Born Free builder com-
petition a couple years back.
That bike for Born Free, we did in about four
months. That‘47 knuckle was what they call a
‘basket case.’ And that basically means ‘com-
pletely disassembled motorcycle.’ There are dif-
ferent levels of basket cases. This particular one
was disassembled as far as you can take a bike
apart. It was mismatched, it was incomplete,
and the engine was mixed up—it had two rear
heads instead of a front and a rear head. And
I ended up building the motorcycle with two
rear heads. I’m one of those people like, ‘Oh,
it’s a sign! The bike-building gods want me to
build a motorcycle with two rear heads on a
‘47 knuckle, and that’s what why they gave it
to me in this state.’ I bought it from a friend
when we got talking about building my next
motorcycle. He told me he had a knuckle and
within two sentences I told him I’d take it.
How far would you go for the perfect part?
I bought that bike in Japan. The guy I just
mentioned, Dean—him and I are pretty good
friends and we just hunt for them. He’ll call
me in the middle of the night and say, ‘Hey
man, I gotta go look at this ‘32 coupe in Oak-
land tomorrow—will you come with me?’
And I’ll jump in the car and we’re on our way
to Oakland, which becomes an all day trip
with us smoking and drinking and listening—
we’re both musicians, you know—so we’re just
listening to really cool tunes on our way up to
Oakland and talking about music and building
motorcycles and building cars. I mean, that’s
just fun. I bought a ‘34 Ford Coupe and I got
it just outside of New York through a newspa-
per—from an old man out there. I think [the
guy I bought it from] was the second owner,
but I have the title with the original owner’s
name on it. I think he bought it from the orig-
inal owner and never registered it. It was com-
pletely in pieces. I still have it in my shop. My
friend who lived in New York drove to go see
it for me and said, ‘It’s good.’ I bought it sight
unseen—spent like fifteen grand. This whole
thing is a labor of love. It started as a hobby. I
do this for a living now, but I did music first.
I played in a band called Plexi in the 90s. We
were signed to Sub Pop records and got trans-
ferred to Atlantic and toured and did great—
it was awesome. When I would come home
from tour, I would play with cars and motor-
cycles. I had this fascination with American
50 and 60s hot rods, which actually started
with motorcycles a little bit, and it went back
and forth. When I got out of high school and
I couldn’t get into a rock ‘n’ roll band, I just
CRAFT/WORK
bought a Harley. The next best thing. If you
can’t get a rock ‘n’ roll band, just get a Harley.
I mean—why do you want to be in a rock ‘n’
roll band? Why do you play a guitar? Why do
you wear your guitar low and grow your hair
long? It’s more than looks cool. It feels cool, it
sounds cool. It’s Easy Rider.
It’s tough to imagine Easy Rider without
motorcycles.
Even if I think of the Who and the thing they
were doing in England—their scene was on
mopeds, you know? But there was some type
of shit about that, you know? It’s just collect-
ing stuff. It’s just mechanical stuff. Like being
in the wind. Technically, you’re in the wind. If
you’re in the wind, you’re in the wind. If you’re
on a dirt bike or a moped, on a Harley on a
Honda, it doesn’t really matter. I’m very spe-
cific to Harley Davidson on some level, but I
can also just appreciate the freedom within all
of it. All these vehicles, or even just American
Graffiti … it’s just cars. It’s just learning how
to make them run and keep them moving.
I build bikes for people sometimes who are
like, ‘Hey, we want that bike—when is that
bike going to be done? How long is it going
to take?’ Sometimes I look at them and go,
‘You’re missing all the fun.’ It’s great to ride—I
love riding—but sometimes the fun is the cre-
ation. Or just keeping it running.
What kinds of mistakes did you make when
you first started building bikes?
I don’t think any of the motorcycles I’ve built
had mistakes. Because of the learning part—I
wouldn’t call it a mistake. There was so much
experience gained. I guess one of the mistakes
when I was like, ‘Holy shit! I just spent a ton of
money.’ I mean … yeah, I’d love to have a car
right now—a ‘31 Ford that I put on the drag
strip every once in a while.
You race it? They’re such beautiful cars—is
part of you afraid the car will get wrecked?
Yeah—yeah, even selling it is the same thing.
I think of selling and I’m like, ‘No, I’m just
going to park it.’ Or: ‘Oh, I can build it again,’
I’ll build the ‘34, and I’m like … it took me so
long to build this ‘31—could I do that again?
It seems like a lifetime. I can build for custom-
ers quickly, but when I’m building for me, it
seems to take so much time.
Because you want it exactly how you want
it—because you can.
Right—yeah.
Are you teaching your kids to work on cars?
Yeah—they kinda do what they want. They’re
just little kids, but we play with Legos and we
use their imagination to build, just like I do at
work. My daughter … she loves my race car
and she loves to drive and ride in it. She knows
I built it. I told my son we’ll build his car.
Has the culture changed since you got into it?
You know how fashion changes, and then
changes back? I’ve seen it do that. When I first
moved back to Los Angeles—coming here to
play music when I was 17 or 18—I arrived
and struggled getting into a band and ended
up getting a Harley. The place was loaded with
Harleys. The Sunset Strip is filled with them.
Were they vintage? Or were they new?
I think at the time the brand new bike was
the Softail. The Evolution motor had just
come out for Harley Davidson, so that was
a new switch. And there were of course the
guys who had the bikes built—when I got my
Harley, I got my first shovel in it and I really
worked on it and I got it for $2500 and it was
a 1978 … it was the coolest chopper ever and
it was built by somebody in the 70s. An old
custom, but I was currently riding it. There
was a bunch of young people—it was really
free. It just seemed like the people owned the
motorcycle industry. Almost like rock ‘n’ roll.
You know when you have a bunch of bands
and it just feels like it belongs to the people
and then TV gets involved and the media
gets involved and they take it? And it’s not
the people’s anymore and you’re like … what
happened to my fuckin’ punk rock? That’s
how motorcycles were when I got here. I was
a part of something that was just starting that
nobody fucking knew about, but everybody
knew about. We were having a fucking blast,
we were driving everywhere—it’s all we’d ever
do. I didn’t even need any money, and I didn’t
have any. The guy who sold me the bike for
$2500 was taking payments. And my friends
looked at me … when I’d say I didn’t have any
money they’d put the $2 in my gas tank that it
took for me to ride all day. Then we’d go to the
restaurant and we’d know the waitress and eat
for free. We’d do this all week long—over and
over and over, up and down the Sunset Strip
with different passengers on the back. It was
unbelievable. At that moment, motorcycles re-
placed music for me. Because I couldn’t get in
a band, so the motorcycles replaced music for
me. But as soon as I started riding, a band took
me away from my motorcycle. It’s the same
way when you get a girlfriend when you’re not
looking. Here she comes! So I had this whole
life of music and [then] I stopped playing
again. I immersed myself in motorcycles and
now I’m doing both at the same time. When
I first started riding, it belonged to the people.
And as it progressed and grew, it became so
popular and things became very expensive and
you know—you needed to have motorcycle
builders and builders were the ones building
bikes for people. Builders weren’t building
bikes for people when I was on a bike. It was
a guy in a garage. There was way more people
building bikes for themselves and it seems
like what happens now—and what Born Free
represents—is builders building motorcycles.
People build motorcycles for themselves. You
mentioned Born Free so you must realize the
mass amount of people at that show? 20 or
30,000 people at that show. To me that’s the
people taking the bikes back from Harley. And
guess what? Harley was there because we took
it back. They were like, ‘Hey, wait a minute—
what are you doing? Can we be a part of it?’ I
think a lot of that is because they are trying to
pay attention to what the youth is doing. They
kind of snubbed everybody. Guys drove their
bikes from New York City to California and
their bikes were pieces of shit—just thrown to-
gether by them and their buddies on borrowed
money—but what they lack in flash, they have
in heart. That to me is what it is all built on.
I showed up around 17 or 18, which was like
late 80s or early 90s—but if you rewind to like
1969 and 1970, that’s what was happening.
Bikers were riding bikes and guys were com-
ing out of the military, and it was a different
type of rock ‘n’ roll happening but it was still
music and motorcycles and you couldn’t tell—
like are you a biker or a rocker? What are you?
Where does your inspiration come from
when you build a bike?
I build motorcycles like I make music. I look
at every bike almost like it’s a song, you know?
Like you build a song and it’s like … it’s upbeat,
fast, it’s kinda like angry and you’ll use your
anger and it’s the same thing. You just look at
it and you know that’s the feeling you want to
evoke. The only difference is that I get to build
these things for customers. For people, which
is pretty interesting to do because I have to get
the thing I want selfishly—which is to get my
part in the bike. It’s like you’re collaborating,
like you’re in a band again. To get my sound
on there. But then I have to make it really fit
them like a custom pair of jeans. And when I
go down the street with three or four or five of
these guys I look over and I’m like, ‘Wow, this
is insane—it’s so cool to watch these guys tool-
ing around on things I’ve created.’ I love what
I do, I really do. I’ve told my son that: ‘You’ll
never work a day in your life if you love it.’
VISIT MICHAEL BARRAGAN AND
EVIL SPIRIT ENGINEERING AT EVIL-
SPIRITENGINEERING.COM.
67
PULP: AFILMABOUTLIFE,
DEATH,ANDSUPERMARKETS
Interview by Rin Kelly
Illustration by Jared Pittack

Pulp began in post-industrial Sheffield—Jarvis Cocker’s steel city of cooling towers, deserted factories, “pudgy 15-year-olds addicted
to coffee whitener, courting couples naked on Northern Upholstery, and pensioners gathering dust like bowls of plastic tulips.”
Filmmaker Florian Habicht’s career began to take off after Milli Vanilli appeared to him as angels in a dream, desperate to confess
that they were only miming along to their music, ultimately inspiring his out-of-sync, out-of-its-mind musical, Woodenhead. Paired
together, Cocker and Habicht dreamed up Pulp: A Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets, a documentary full of commoners singing
and dancing to Pulp, some choreographed, some spontaneous, some screaming ecstatically at the band’s 2012 hometown show.
Where other rock docs would have talking heads, Habicht’s film has Sheffielders talking about themselves and about their city—even
the film’s poster skips the band altogether in favor of a pair of elderly ladies with scarves knotted at their chins just so. It’s a film
about Pulp, but it’s the story as Cocker wants to tell it: with both concert footage and footage of him re-enacting a dream about
changing a tire. Habicht talks about knife-making, nut allergies, and Jarvis Cocker’s favorite bus stop.
This movie began with you deciding to in- What did you have for breakfast? I was on the airplane just like a day after we things and scribbling down comments; that
vite Jarvis Cocker, whom you’d never met, I had coffee and lebkuchen. It’s like a big bis- put that on the film—I was on the plane and was my little guide. There was a bus shelter he
to the London Film Festival screening of cuit—it’s like traditional German Christmas we had to have an emergency landing because really wanted me to see. I remember arriving
your prior movie Love Story. Why did you food. In Sheffield I always asked people what a girl had a nut allergy. at this bus shelter in the rain. There was like
pick him out of everyone on Earth? they had for breakfast, and the replies I got Fame kills! But it also inspires people like no one there but I figured something must
Florian Habicht (director): Freddie Mercury’s were amazing. I can’t believe they’re not in the one of your most memorably awesome have happened to him there. Jarvis thought it
not alive anymore. I would have invited him film. It tells you a lot about a person straight commoners, faux-fur-and-lipstick Bomer, was like I was being dropped from a helicop-
as well. I invited some friends too, but I don’t away. who once broke out of a mental hospital so ter without a map.
know too many people in London and Pulp The film is full of ordinary people who eat that he could listen to Jarvis Cocker’s Sun- Are there key things about Jarvis Cocker
are one of my favorite bands. I thought they remarkable breakfasts. Why did you and day Service [on BBC Radio}. and Pulp that non-Brits can’t entirely
might like the film. Jarvis Cocker decide to make ordinary lives Yeah! get if they don’t know Sheffield and the
And Jarvis did like it to the extent that he of ordinary people your subject? What else did you ask people—sometimes North? If they’ve never heard of ‘Oop
wanted to make a film with you. What was We don’t find them ordinary. We kind of find people who had never even heard Pulp— North’?
it about that prior film and the aesthetic them extraordinary. other than what they’d eaten that day? It’s just that understated thing—that some-
you have that fit so well, that made him— Rather than having the thirty millionth If they believed in an afterlife. I was asking thing can be really amazing and people will
for the first time—actually want to see a talking-head interview with Thurston people outside the ladies’ toilets while the say, ‘Eh, it was alright.’ When the band
Pulp documentary made? Moore you had people just living. Why is concert was going on. I got some beautiful watched Love Story, for example, they weren’t
It was unconventional. He didn’t want to have that right for a film about Pulp? responses but they’re not in the film. like, ‘Yeah, this is a great film!’ I actually didn’t
a conventional film about Pulp. He thought I I don’t find Pulp a pretentious band; they’re You can put them on the DVD: Pulp, Death, know if they liked it. That kind of Sheffield
was an interesting filmmaker, and he he also not this kind of huge force, and for me it and Breakfast. And details of the lyrical ties thing. Americans are kind of the opposite.
liked that I was a bit risky. In Love Story I put felt more appropriate interviewing real peo- to Sheffield: Jarvis gave you a book of his When I made Love Story in New York, I had
myself in situations like jumping into a taxi ple rather than celebrities. I went to Jarvis lyrics with various things underlined and this little device where I wore pink pants.
with strangers and filming them. I also gave Cocker’s birthday party in London a year ago with notes in the margins, a guide to the Holding a camera in New York City wearing
him some cake. Red velvet cake. and for some reason I thought, ‘Oh, this is kinds of things and the places he thought pink pants, I was like a magnet for people, for
Love Story tells a fictional story but also going to be like a venue full of celebrities.’ got to the essence of things. interesting, great characters. I met so many
has you on the streets of New York asking And when I got there I was really pleasantly We met up at a café in London and had flat people like that and filmed them, interviewed
real people what should happen next in the surprised. It was all kinds of real people and whites, which is a New Zealand coffee. It’s like them, whereas I tried that technique in Shef-
fictional story—like a Choose Your Own artists and musicians. But it wasn’t what you a cappuccino without the foam, and it’s a lot field, wearing pink pants, and people stayed
Adventure movie driven by strangers. So in expect. They’re quite real people. Jarvis says in stronger. He went through the book, which a mile away from me. ‘Who’s this freak with
that spirit: What should I ask you first? the film that fame didn’t agree with him. is great because you realize how great the lyr- a New Zealand accent, tall guy wearing pink
You can ask me what I had for breakfast. He compares it to a nut allergy. ics are—like stories. But he was underlining pants?’ It didn’t work.
68 FILM
There are people who think songs like
‘Help the Aged’ are sardonic and nothing
but, that it’s exclusively a mean-streak aes-
thetic like Mark E. Smith’s—then you see
Jarvis Cocker talking and see the approach
you guys take in the film. It’s probably a
revelation for people that there’s real affec-
tion there.
That wasn’t a surprise to me, but definitely.
That take on the band is similar to the
take people who really like the mocking,
Roger and Me documentary aesthetic seem
to have on any documentary that features
regular people as the heroes of life.
Someone wrote in a review that the elderly
ladies are clearly actresses. What? They don’t
get more real!
You have a lot of elderly people—elderly
Sheffielders going about their lives—for a
music documentary. Aging is a theme but
you approach it from a completely differ-
ent direction.
I have this side of me, and I don’t know if it
was my marketing brain or what, but I keep
thinking it’s going to have this young ener-
gy—it’s got to appeal to young people because
it’s a music film. But it wasn’t actually honest.
They’re an older band. They’re actually not
together anymore, all these things. And I’m
going to embrace these things. That’s why you
see the two elderly ladies on the poster and
not Pulp, not a sexy young Jarvis in his twen-
ties. In a way, it’s quite un-rock-n-roll, having
old-age pensioners singing in a café.
Old people are necessary to the portrait of
the city—it’s a portrait of the city in a lot
of ways.
When I met Jarvis that first time, when we
said goodbye to each other, that café is in the
Curzon Cinema in Soho, in London, and
we were about to exit the door and I opened
the door and there was like a whole clump
of pensioners, like fifteen or twenty people,
and it was quite beautiful. Just waiting to get
through the door—it must have been a sign.
The movie has these wonderful staged per-
formances where a group of elderly people
in a cafeteria sing ‘Help the Aged,’ where
a women’s choir performs Pulp, where a
youth dance troupe performs to them. Why
did you guys choose those over including
more concert or archival footage?
In the beginning I didn’t want there to be
any archive, and that was because I wanted
to make the film in the now and not be like
a retrospective look at Pulp when they were
young. And to also look at the theme of ag-
ing, getting older, that kind of thing. The only
reason that archive footage ended up in there
was because Jarvis gave me these VHS tapes
and one of them had this concert that didn’t
work out, the one where they tried to make
it snow. And the fact that they made it snow
indoors was kind of a nice story.
Where they were trying to make the fake
snow flurry with a hairdryer.
When I met Steve Mackey, the bass player,
he told me that what they love about con-
certs is that they’re such communal events
and they bring people together—and for
me that’s what I find magical about music
is that it can bring people together. One of
the things I like exploring in the film is the
power of music, bringing all these different
70
types of people together, and that’s why I
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Did they have wings? — L.A. Weekly
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Something really crucial to the film is that of homegrown content including definitive and daring inter-
you don’t play the regular people’s inter- views; full-page, original art and photography; the most com-
views or the song-and-dance numbers for prehensive compilation of Los Angeles album reviews ever
irony—you don’t go for that sneering sort
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Do Pulp really sponsor a kids’ soccer team?
With shirts and everything, funded by
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Nick Banks, the drummer, his daughter is on
the team—they played the morning of the
concert and he seemed to be more nervous
about the girls winning the game rather than
the gig at night.
There’s an amazing, documentarian’s dream
guy in your film, a knife maker who’s made
knives for Elvis’ band and for the Crick-
ets. Sheffield is known for knife-making,
but whythe hell did these guys need giant
knives? How did he end up with a reputa-
tion that would draw the Crickets to him,
thinking ‘We’re not leaving Britain without
one of this guy’s knives?
Embarassingly, I still don’t know why they
need the knives. I guess they hang them on
the wall, right? It’s still a mystery to me.
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72 COMICS
 73
TOM CHILD SPENCER HICKS
ELANA PRITCHARD

COMICS
THE SOUNDS OF TWO EYES OPENING
PHOTOGRAPHS BY SPOT1969-1982

Interview by Chris Ziegler

Photography by Ramon Felix

Spot has his fingerprints all over punk, of course: he was the engineer with his hands on the boards at sessions for albums by the
Descendents, the Fix, the Dicks, the Misfits and Black Flag. (And so many more, too.) But he’s also a preternatural musician—Henry
Rollins says he’d stand in for Greg Ginn at the Damaged sessions, and pull it off effortlessly—and now with the release of his Sounds
of Two Eyes Opening book, he’s revealed as a gifted street photographer. As punk and skating came into their own and old-school
California beach towns slid into history, he was there with a camera on his hip. He speaks to us now from the offices of the Easy
Reader, the venerable South Bay newspaper that had him doing music reviews way back when this whole thing was starting. Enjoy
a small gallery of excerpts from the book after this interview.
How did you end up in the South Bay in No—we were in it for the fun. Maybe every In the the mid- to late 60s, there was a At one point in the book, you say you felt
the first place? You’ve said Hermosa was a once in a while we would play for beer or huge outbreak of different kinds of music like the punk story has been told to death.
really special little town—why? something, but mostly we were just fanatical opening up—the birth of freeform radio, And I really liked how the punk photos
I’ve always kind of missed Hermosa because about it. We never did it for money—we just and music had changed to where it wasn’t are just a part of the book—it’s presented
that was … living there was actually the best wanted to do it to beat other people. just your standard pop music format as just another part of life, instead of the
time of my life. There was a time back in So just for the pure foosballing. You weren’t anymore. There were a lot of longer cuts, focus. Why did you want everything mixed
the beat area where there was like a network a foosball shark. album cuts, concept albums ... different together like that? Instead of just giving the
of coffee houses all around the country. I’ve I was pretty good on defense and this other kinds of music that would never had been world ‘Punk Photos by Spot’?
talked a lot about the guys who were a part guy who was a slot machine mechanic from considered for pop radio or TV [before] I realized in the beginning that presenting
of that. In a way, it was kind of like the first Las Vegas was real good on the front side. came to the fore. But in the 70s freeform one thing or another was just kind of boring
internet. There were so many guys doing It’s interesting to me that your foosballing radio became formalized into the classic and didn’t really tell the story. Before this
the On The Road thing. And traveling from was so pure in motive. You kind of bring rock format that shoves the same old stuff book thing came up, I had been writing my
town to town, all they had to do was say, that same purity to a lot of your work and at you incessantly. Actually in the 70s there story about all of the music stuff—going in
‘Oh yeah, Dave such and such or so and art. The pursuit of the thing instead of the were even more significant bands than there depth about it—and I had planned on using
so did this …’ and everybody would find profit from the thing. Where does that were in the 60s. But none ever made it to a bunch of my own photos. And then I was
out what was happening clear across the come from? radio. Radio had locked down the format realizing that a bunch of the stuff I was talking
country. Hermosa had one called… I think It was probably just mostly from music. just to make money. I think kinda the same about, I hadn’t even been shooting pictures
it was the Insomniac? That was like right Everything is all about music, you know? thing happened with film. Hollywood then … so I’m going to have to get photos
down by the pier. It was practically across And when I learned how to play music that’s broke out into experimentation and low- from other people. And then to try to put
the street from the Lighthouse. You know, all I wanted to do. Then there were all these budget work where actors were willing to all the skating stuff in there too? That’s just
the jazz club. Right by the Mermaid. And other things that kind of came around that I work for free just to work on work they not going to belong—and just to try to tell a
of course it was always a surfing center so based it all on. My parents weren’t crazy about liked and then that tightened up. story about the skating stuff didn’t really have
somehow surfing goons and beatnik goons rock ‘n’ roll. In fact, they didn’t even like it. So how did you resist? the universal appeal. I don’t really think for a
were kind of part of this same time and They were from the whole big band era, so I refused to give up on the idea of photo book there’s really any way to make it
space. I grew up listening to a bunch of old big experimentation in music. I just wanted to be one thing or another. All of this stuff relates
A world of goons. band. Count Basie, Ellington, Glenn Miller, see music open things up rather than become to all of the other stuff.
So I don’t remember the first time I was ever Tommy Dorsey. My parents loved jazz so formulas that were super marketable. In the The same thread is going through all the
in the South Bay but I remember Hermosa there was always jazz playing in the house at 70s, at least where I was living, there were photos, whether a band, a shot of the pier,
Beach and Manhattan Beach feeling like no a time when there was no such thing as FM one or two freeform stations playing a lot of people hanging out—it even ends with the
other place in the L.A. area. And when I was rock, and AM radio was really good. To me, all European prog rock and still playing a lot of ‘Closed for Business’ sign. So what’s the
a teenager, I was really interested in cars and music was really about the same thing. I hated good stuff. They didn’t have the best reception connection? Is it the story of you hoping to
girls and surfing. it later when people started saying, ‘Oh, well in the world—one was KNAC in Long open things up?
The California trifecta. that’s country.’ ‘Oh, well that’s rock ‘n’ roll.’ Beach, I think. But then you really had to go You’re right about that very last photo. It took
Exactly. So Hermosa Beach was where me ‘Oh, well that’s jazz.’ I’m like, ‘Wait wait wait and search for it. By that time most people about two years to put the book together.
and my friends would choose to go when we wait wait a minute!’ Listening to Johnny Cash didn’t want to put the effort into digging and Basically having lived with all the photos for
could take a beach trip. We would go and gave me the same thrill as listening to John a lot of drugged-out hippies from the 60s so long, I really didn’t have any perspective any
fantasize and geek out and ask all kinds of Coltrane! I just didn’t put any boundaries—I thought that once Jimi Hendrix and Janis more on it. Those guys—Ryan Richardson,
stupid questions. And then go down to the enjoyed it all. And there were other activities Joplin died there was nothing else good. And Johan Kugelberg, Bryan Cipolla … Ryan was
beach and try to talk to girls and swim. There to do. I did a little bit of skateboarding back in to me it wasn’t as interesting. I just wasn’t a the guy who instigated the whole project cuz
was a time when a friend of mine and I—we the 60s. It was a very heavy time and there was fan of commercial stuff. I would consciously he knew the photos and I hadn’t had much
were big foosball players and there were a just so many things in the 60s musically that search out the interesting music. One thing luck with getting anybody interested in doing
huge bunch of foosball tables. We would go blew the culture open and then unfortunately that most people don’t know: in L.A. the early anything. He showed Johan the stuff and we
and dominate them. in the 70s they tried to nail it all back down. I 70s, the country stations were playing a lot of got all the negatives scanned and they made
Would you classify yourself as a foosball resisted it being nailed down and kept looking really good stuff—Waylon Jennings, Tom T. their choices and started throwing design
hustler here? Blowing into an unsuspecting for more ways to open it back up. Hall, guys that still had some guts. I listened passes at me. The first design pass really
town and foosing up other foosball How’d they nail it down? What do you to a lot of that when I couldn’t hear rock ‘n’ sucked. [laughs] I had to let them know, ‘You
players? mean? roll. guys have got it all wrong.’ I remember there
BOOKS 75
was one design pass they threw at me and it
was the one with that very last photo. When
I got to that, I suddenly realized … okay,
now it actually is starting to feel like what I
lived. That photo was real significant to me.
But when I was taking photos I didn’t plan
anything—I just took the photos and jut
made them. I knew what the connection was
I could never verbalize it. I just took pictures
of what was happening.
Is this book more documentary, or more
autobiography? I’m curious.
It’s autobiographical in a way that I didn’t really
expect it to be. I had a different idea of what
I wanted the book to be, but I compromised
a lot. Like a lot of the things they did, maybe
I don’t really understand why they chose this
photo or not. And a lot of my absolute favorite
photos didn’t make it into the book and a lot
of photos that I actually didn’t really care for
made it in—but somehow after a while I
realized, ‘Here’s a narrative that I never really
counted on.’ I was satisfied in the end. There
were a few things I had to fight tooth and nail
for, but in the end it came out good.
What made you want to put certain photos
in? What kind of qualities? What kind of
memories?
There are some images that mean and meant
a lot to me or just kind of sum up an idea
that I don’t think anyone else could have or
could have seen. A time and place thing. But
also in the process I found a whole bunch
of photos—photos that I didn’t realize how
much they meant to me until they were just
suddenly there. There might’ve been photos I
was looking at for a long time, but it forced me
to look at a lot of the stuff a lot more critically
than I had ever done. And having some other
people involved exposed some things that
maybe I hadn’t thought of it or seen it in that
way. It’s like … somebody added a chord to
the opera. [laughs] So it kind of made you
have to rework the libretto a little bit. I’ve
always approached music from more of a
… looser rather than more rigid standpoint.
Even though I’ve gone both ways there.
I love that photo with the girl with the
broken arm and the L-shaped cast over
her head. And the one with the girl skater
standing toe-to-toe with the cop.
That’s the same girl that’s on the cover.
She seems like a bad-ass.
Yeah, she was! Young and reckless. The funny
thing about that photo … That cop was
actually really cool. I mean, he looks like a
bad-ass, too. Being a cop, he had to give some
people tickets every once in a while. But he
didn’t flinch at all when I started taking photos
of him. A couple of months later, he saved my
ass from going to jail. I had to use a friend’s
car to drive to L.A. to pick up some recording
supplies. One of the engineers threw the key:
‘Take my car!’ So, I’m driving up Pacific Coast
Highway and the cop stops me. I didn’t know
that the car was unregistered and was illegal.
They’re convinced that I had stolen the car.
They had their guns drawn on me. I mean,
it was obvious—they’re taking me in. But
that cop—a motorcycle cop—comes up at
a perfect point and says, ‘Hey, isn’t that Spot
there? He’s a fine citizen!’ And they let me go.
Are you telling me that your art saved you
from jail?
76
I guess so. Most of the cops down in that area,
we got to know each other and… Usually,
unless we were really fucking up, they were
just kind of like our friends, and helping us
not get into trouble and occasionally saying,
‘OK, look we got a complaint—you guys just
chill for a bit. We’re going to go away in an
hour, we don’t know anything about it.’
What’s the story behind that cover shot? It
captures this moment between flight and
impact, or accident and consequence. I
feel that sets a tone for the book. There are
lots of transitional moments —one is even
captioned ‘Adulthood, still in transit.’
Oh, so you’ve actually read those little things
in the back? Originally all of those little
wisecracks I had … I originally wanted those
to be on the page with the photo, written
really really small almost to where you cant
read it. But they didn’t want to have any words
on the thing so we just put them in the back.
But the process started being fun for me when
they did the design pass for that first section
of punk rock stuff there and I was looking at
it and just one night all these little thoughts in
my head—I just wrote them all down for all
the photos. There was a story there. I wrote it
down and suddenly it wasn’t just old photos I
was looking at—it was suddenly alive again.
‘Wow, this is saying something completely
new!’ [laughs]
It makes it a moment, instead of just an
object, if that makes sense.
I just wasn’t sure putting all of those little
lines in the back of the book was going to be
effective. But I guess I was wrong.
You were the author of the secret messages
in the run-out groove of tons of the SST
records—you have a history of getting your
message out in this surreptitious way.
Yeah—it was nice to have the last word.
I was looking at my copy of Damaged which
says ‘the whole gelatinous thing coming at
ya.’ What does that mean? Will you ever
put out a book of Spot’s secret messages?
Which version of the book did you get?
People are always asking me what’s on the 45.
And I just tell them it’s a surprise. But what it
actually is … I dug into all of those run out
messages that I wrote. I mean—I wrote them
all down. They’re all in notes from sessions
and what not. Pretty much all those things I
made up in the mastering room while we were
actually cutting the record. John Golden who
worked at K Disc at the time. He was so much
fun to work with. I went through all of those
run outs and messages and edited it down
to a kind of a story—or poem or whatever.
I don’t know what you call it. I edited it down
to where it had an interesting narrative and I
spoke them over a recording of a sound check
of a band—that odd strange little thing—and
the words fit. That’s the 45.
What’s the last line? The last word of Spot’s
last words?
S: Of the the 45? [laughs] ‘LIFE IS A
TRAVESTY MUCH MORE THAN AN
OLD JOKE.’
SPOT’S SOUNDS OF TWO EYES
OPENING IS AVAILABLE NOW
FROM SINECURE BOOKS. SOME
COPIES INCLUDE EXCLUSIVE 45.
SINECUREBOOKS.COM.
BOOKS
BOOKS 77
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