Chewing Pine

Jay Reatard – Q: Do you smoke? A: Fuck no.

(This originally appeared in Skyscraper)

The only overtly southern aspect to the person that is Jay Reatard, over the phone at-least, is the way in which he pronounces New Orleans. On the tongue of Southerners, it becomes one, lackadaisical, charming word and concept. In the name of this one city is intoned decades of a lifestyle that are as distinct as any other culture in the country. To hear the “Night of Broken Glass” record from Reatard, one gets the impression that he might not consider himself a southerner, but he does.

“You can go further south, but Memphis and New Orleans – it doesn’t get too much more south than that as far as cities go,” he mumbles via cell phone. Sitting outside of his home, the occasional stray notes of birds sporadically lend illustration to his surroundings – no matter how bizarre imagining Reatard amidst nature may seem. But in this one tableau, Reatard sounds relaxed, confident of himself and assured of his career. And even though, it may appear odd to chalk up a career to punk rock, this guy has done so. For about a decade Reatard has created punk in various shades that has been unequivocally devoured by fans.

In a time before electronic connections made discovering any obscurity possible, there was written correspondence. Anyone that grew up listening to punk did mail order and had some sort of correspondence with a musician they looked up to, even if frequently it was only a thank you note to accompany an order. Reatard lucked out, happened to live in the same town as the Oblivians and apparently writes a compelling letter.

The Oblivians – “The Leather”

Reatard begins, “There was this record store called Shang-ri-la, and when I was probably 13, I started going in there. I saw the Oblivians for the first time in probably about ’95. I was 15 and didn’t really know who they were. They actually didn’t even say who they were; they got kicked off stage for being too drunk after three songs.”

“Don’t Let Him Come Back”

The reminiscing continues, “I just went to the record store and asked who they were. This girl sold me all of their records for like 30 bucks. I pretty much got their discography at the time. Before e-mail, there was this mailing address on the back of their records. So, I mailed them a letter and gave them my phone number and Eric, the guitar player, called me. He would come pick me up on weekends and bring me to shows, to barbeques or we’d listen to records. He was my gateway into knowing that there was anything outside of whatever I’d read about in Maximum Rock n Roll or Rolling Stone or something.”

Every musician has some sort of watershed moment: this was Reatard’s. Without the randomness of life providing for a musical guide, he may have continued listening to what he termed “mall punk”. And while that does sound horrifying, he managed to include the Ramones in this category even though Bedroom Disasters, a 2001 Reatards release, boasts a cover of “Listen to My Heart.”

The inadvertent lessons learned from the Oblivians, most likely good and bad, have in some way sent Reatard into a non-stop recording frenzy. Fronting and participating in an endless list of bands has shoved Reatard into a business that at times is nothing more than that. While there obviously have been a number of high water marks, dealing with the time not spent creating or performing music is ostensibly a bummer. Even with Reatard’s underground success, there are still detractors which inevitably necessitate pedantic diatribes on punk, something that probably was never intended to occur.

“I could be signed to Universal Records if I wanted to be,” proclaims a defiant Reatard. But along the way to the deal that never transpired lay innumerable bizarre situations that almost relegated him to a subservient role.

“There’s a lady, that’s roughly around 60 years old, that kinda runs the whole show there – President of Universal Records. The Vice President had already okayed the deal and was ready to fax it over and she said, ‘Well, I’m not so sure about this guy. Before this kid can be signed, he has to fly up to New York….’”

What was then requested of Reatard was a private performance – just for her.

“There’s no way a 60 year old woman…is going to tell me how I’m supposed to make music. That would’ve been the first of many things I wouldn’t have wanted to do,” he figures.

He’s probably right. Punk and other underground musics are often perceived to be spoiled in the light of major label support and greater exposure. Recently, Reatard was featured on an MTv News segment about bands that dwell under the umbrella of lo-fi. Reatard was accompanied by Times New Viking as well as Tyvek in the story. When questioned about a backlash from the underground community and a new, higher profile, Reatard couples his response with a comment regarding his presence on the Matador roster.

“If that’s their mentality, and they’re threatened by these more mainstream media outlets – exposing people to music they like, they’re idiots and I really don’t care about their opinions anyway.”

This lone moment of elevated emotions continues, “Kids just don’t have punk records fall into their lap. It’s a process of discovering music through things that are more accessible. It’s a system of rivers, where it keeps getting smaller and something branches off into something else. Basically, those people can fuck off and die,” Reatard demurs. But he’s right and that’s why being introduced to the Memphis scene by an Oblivian was such an important moment at the dawn of Reatard’s career.

As with any situation, there will be those that are critical and those that are out for a dollar. Musicians are a commodity and all too frequently are treated as such, without consideration for where this marketable talent comes from or how life affects him or her.

“Usually, you just use your gut, you know? In the end, anything business wise, whether it pertains to your art or your business, whatever you’re doing you always have to go with that,” Reatard philosophizes. Unfortunately that doesn’t always work. But as of yet, Reatard apparently hasn’t fallen into any traps.

“You have to be incredibly cautious every step of the way with anything or you might fuck up and sign something that’s going to compromise you.”

Regardless of the deal that he signs, or what imprint is assisting Reatard in disseminating his schlock, this musician relishes opportunities to work within different settings and expand on whatever ideas may occur to him. One of the most far flung experiments that Reatard has been involved in was the Lost Sounds. While maintaining the sheer aggression of his previous work, the Lost Sounds incorporated a synthetic influence into its music. The final recordings of the group occurred in 2004.

Lost Sounds – Live @ VPRO

“That was a really conscious effort to do something completely different – something to never be repeated,” Reatard comments in seemingly negative terms. And even with his previous and subsequent success, this group too had fans as well as a fair share of detractors. Clarifying, Reatard continues, “Oh, I liked it, but it was an experiment that went on for too long.” Some would agree, but what isn’t debatable is the fact that the Lost Sounds raised his visibility within an increasingly diluted independent music scene. As another outlet for Reatard’s ceaseless writing, the Lost Sounds furthered his experience touring and recording while gaining new fans that would most likely bolster the success he would have for his solo projects.

With output ever increasing, and quality never in question, Reatard continues to release an amazing amount of work. To collectors, the countless Reatard related pieces of vinyl floating around point only to a shared obsession, but those geeks would be incorrect.

“I really don’t collect records. Lately, I’ve gotten into it a lot more. I really don’t take care of things so well. If there’s something I really want, I’ll buy it, but if I think that someone else is gonna get it – I don’t know…I stopped collecting records years ago. I just can’t keep up with things,” Reatard laments.

That last statement seems to be a confounding one. It is understandable, to the segment of the population that heedlessly acquires record after record, to propound exhaustion at trying to locate an Italian single by whatever psychedelic godheads are lauded this month in the press. But Reatard is one of those goods that are sought out. Does his output interfere with his ability to enjoy other music? Probably not, but it does keep him more than busy.

“I’ve always been putting out singles. I’ve probably put out six singles a year for the last 10 years. So it’s really nothing different than what I’ve been doing, except that these are all gonna be on the same label as opposed to spreading them across a bunch of obscure international labels,” Reatard figures as he moved seamlessly into a discourse on the relationship he has struck with Matador. “I think they just looked at how I’ve worked in the past. And since the ‘90s the seven inch hasn’t really been a format that they’ve done.”

With the wealth of touring slated for the summer and his recording obligations to labels and to a lesser extent the aforementioned geeks, time might be a fleeting thing.

Reatard continues, “I can make one in a day, ya know,” referring to recording singles. “I can think of an aesthetic that I want to stick to and eight hours later have it finished as opposed to an album where I spend six months.”

The math doesn’t add up. If between 10 and 20 percent of an album can be completed in a single day, a full length disc shouldn’t take too long.

“I guess I’m just harder on myself about ‘em. On a [full length] record, I might re-record every song three or four times and take the best take. It might take a month to record the basic track. I might overdub for a week. Then I get frustrated and move on to another song, and spend another week on another song. Eventually, I just end up with a buncha songs; try to figure out which ones fit, the order, making sure that the cover art works and everything is just cohesive. It’s just a longer process. I think Blood Visions…I recorded that entire album three times before I settled on a version.”

“Blood Visions”

The process that Reatard describes is most likely a good part of why his first solo disc is so consistent. Listening to the entirety of that effort is almost disconcerting. In a seemingly endless barrage of pop hooks filtered through disgust and nervy contemplation, the sheer amount of disparate melodies is somewhat shocking. But again, the vast amount of effort put into this work supplies an ample explanation.

In the past, working on other projects, Reatard used the same recording methods. In these situations his censors weren’t his band-mates or even himself, resulting in frustration and eventually pushing him to venture out on his own. Explaining his frustration with the Reatards, the head retard explains, “With a punk band there’s not a lot of room to expand on anything without losing your audience. Not to sound arrogant, but at some point that band turned out to have the lowest common denominator type audience. People just wanted to see violence and listen to the same song written over and over again.”

Forcing Reatard to self asses, having stated that he wanted, to a degree, to escape from what he had been forced to do, Blood Visions is for all practical purposes a punk record.

“For some reason, all kinds of different people like it. This is a punk record, but it’s not for punk rockers. It might be the token punk record in somebody’s collection that doesn’t even like the good stuff. In that sense it’s not a punk record, but the music is totally punk rock.”

Within the genre of punk, much like any other, a huge portion of the lyrical content seems to focus on girls and relationships. Given a superficial listen to any Reatard lyric, this concept can be applied to his writing. That application would be incorrect – to the writer at least. Obviously, whatever it is that one takes away from music is right to the listener, but not necessarily intended by the man or woman who penned the tune.

“It’s kinda weird, people always think I’m writing about girls in a romantic sense,” he begins, but concludes in a succinct response, “It’s about my views on life.”

If what we can expect from the future releases of Jay Reatard are further ruminations on how life works, how people interact and the social distance that we may feel from others, the next four Matador singles should be as interesting as the first few. But what musical form are they going to take? No one can answer that question as of yet, mostly because Reatard hasn’t had eight hours to work it out. But also because we haven’t sent out that four dollars – including postage, of course.

The (International) Noise Conspiracy: A Heedless Dissection

(This originally appeared in Skyscraper)

Whether you’re watching a film, reading a book or trying to deconstruct the meaning behind your favorite album, the best of creations include some sort of frame. Citizen Kane, while vastly overrated as entertainment, functions more than appropriately as a well told story. As a viewer, the summation of Kane’s life is already a foregone conclusion. He’s dead within the first few moments of the film, but his journey to arrive at his death propels the plot. Without the narrative frame, that film simply becomes another shot by shot account of a man’s life. And no matter how interesting his life may have been, linear narratives, even in film by 1941 had run their course.

So, in what manner can a band of any ilk work toward their own unique frame. How is one garage band different than the next? The Spits dress up in any variety of ridiculous costumes dependent upon their mood. The Mummies, dressed up, well, as mummies. And even earlier, the Monks all sported tonsures before disappearing into the annals of rock music. Given that these frames, née, gimmicks have been utilized in the past, what angle can now be appropriated to lend a band some mystical and unique quality?

Being proponents of situationism, which seems to either be easily disproven or just as easily accepted as the norm, the members of the (International) Noise Conspiracy really give themselves to the rhetoric of socialism in a very base sense. On every album that the group has recorded since the early ‘00s there’ve been countless tracks that aim to propel listeners towards some sort of realization that government should work for people and be based upon their needs. Of course, there probably aren’t too many folks who would disagree with that point of view and when one slaps that notion with the label of socialism, it becomes the frame that sets t(I)NC apart from their peers who ply the depths of garage at this late date. Of course, The New York Dolls and L.A. punkers The Dils may have utilized socialism for shock value as much as any other reason 30 some odd years ago, but t(I)NC fervently believes in it. And the belief that one has, or constructs, can become as good as the truth.

William Burroughs, who really seems to be as quotable as any other American writer, figures that as long as an individual appreciates this truth that has been constructed around him or her, outside obfuscations cease to matter. He stated that a bit more succinctly by saying, “Virtue is simply happiness, and happiness is a by-product of function. You are happy when you are functioning.” Applying that to any band, but specifically here to t(I)NC, we can conclude that their persistence as a musical outfit, is to garner some sort of self fulfillment. When the band plays, they are filling the space that they aimed to occupy, sloganeering and all.

Front man Dennis Lyxzén believes that “the time of the great tribal gatherings of music and politics are over, but there is still a possibility to touch and affect people” and continues tirelessly work towards creating a better future for the world’s citizenry.

Given his reticence to believe that rock ‘n roll can any longer be utilized as an avenue for social upheaval, though, Lyxzén explains that “real social change comes from places other than musical youth cultures. But hopefully we can inspire some people to be a part of that real change and give them strength and hope by supplying some danceable music.”

Part of that inspiration actually works backwards and comes from his past. Lyxzén, coming out of the Refused as well as a number of other punk inspired groups, learned some of his defining philosophical points of view from the Clash and other populist bands. And on the band’s latest full length The Cross of My Calling (Vagrant, 2008), there are ample instances of t(I)NC using the standards that the Clash began to further its own ideological beliefs.

Both “Arm Yourself” and “Washington Bullets,” from this new disc, include readily identifiable segments of work by the Clash. And in keeping with the expanded sonic palette of Cross when compared to earlier efforts, there’s even a nod to The Rolling Stones on “Satan Made the Deal.” When asked about the appropriations from The Stones, Lyxzén plainly answers, “‘Satan Made the Deal’ is a bit like the Rolling Stones to start with, so why not accentuate it a bit extra?”

His nonchalant perspective on originality, though, is one that can only come during an age where information, of all sorts, so pervades our daily lives that breaking free of tradition seems an all too difficult task. That being said, the somewhat plain effort to shock on “Black September,” stands alone on an album rife with lyrical content that’s been contemplated elsewhere.

The vague poetry of that track alludes to the inhabitants of Gaza. In the lines “We’re just sacrifice/Born into a wasted life/Brought on by religious plight,” the author seems to simplify a dramatic situation. Lyxzén fails to take into consideration the militaristic threats made by Egyptian President Nasser during the ‘60s, who himself was a proponent of Arab socialism. Lyrically, the track also ignores the right of a nation to defend its citizens and its borders. Of course, no situation warrants rounding up a people and imprisoning them, but as the lyrics continue to unfold, the people of Gaza are referred to as “A surplus population.” But if the population growth rate gets even a superficial examination, the rate of Gaza’s population growth more than doubles the rate of the rest of the world.

Obviously, it’s everyone’s right to reproduce as they see fit – well except in China – but, t(I)NC’s lack of objectivity diminishes its utilitarian philosophies. As a band though, it’s used this frame of social equality to make the statement in a succinct rock track while simultaneously creating a product that they believe is valid as art as well as political commentary. Band members are functioning within the roles that they, themselves, have defined and are thusly contented.

That one song, though, despite it’s disconnect from reality, sports the most characteristic screaming from Lyxzén even as the music falls just short of the classic garage and punk of Survival Sickness (Epitaph, 2000).

On the band’s first pair of full lengths and the First Conspiracy compilation (G-7, 1999), t(I)NC engineered a sound more stripped down and aggressive than what can be found on either its latest effort or Armed Love (Reprise, 2004).

Perhaps due to the presence of original keyboardist Sara Almgren on portions of Armed Love as well as the band’s earlier recordings, t(I)NC then worked in short blasts of garage inspired pop constructions. The political content was as plain as it would become. And on the Bob Dylan inspired A New Morning, Changing Weather (Burning Heart, 2001), the unequivocal line “Take action, take aim and sing this new blues,” unmistakably points the direction forward, not just for the band, but for the down trodden.

Leaving during the recording of Armed Love, Almgren’s exit contributed to a period that Lyxzén refers to simply as a “weird time.”  It did result, oddly enough, in Billy Preston filling the keyboard seat for portions of that recording. The album, though, marked not only a line-up shift, but a drastic alteration in aural presentation. Armed Love became the dividing line of what t(I)NC was and would become.

Unfortunately, due to major label squabbles and shifting parent companies, Armed Love saw a drastic delay of its release date in the States which resulted in the album missing its chance to impact American culture. Partially due to that album’s lack of success here in the States, Lyxzén frequently encourages fans to download the album via the internet in lieu of paying for it.

“Well, that is a tricky question,” the singer begins when asked why. “I like the idea of file sharing as a political form of resistance – as a way of challenging the capitalist structure that we live under, to have an economy that is not controlled by the big corporations and such.”

The reasoning that moves behind Lyxzén’s advocacy of downloading media works towards further solidifying the frame that’s been used to characterize his band. And the fact that Armed Love is t(I)NC’s only album to be associated with a major label might contribute to why other albums by these Swedes have not seen the same request go out from the band.

Lyxzén continues by explaining the cultural import of his request, “Downloading, as the world looks today, also raises numerous practical issues for bands, filmmakers and cultural workers.” Advocating for the creative forces behind all of entertainment, he hypothesizes, “If we are not showing solidarity with the people that are creating the music, the movies and so on, there will be no more music to download and there will be no more movies to watch.”

The 2004 sessions that make up Armed Love, available for download on better interwebs near you, were the first meetings of producer Rick Rubin and the Swedes in a studio setting. A great deal of vitriol that earlier work swam in remains intact. And even the production by Rubin couldn’t subvert the grit in Lyxzén’s voice, the distortion of Lars Strömberg’s guitar or the propulsive quality in those organ lines, regardless of who was plying the keys. Even in this time of dramatic change for the band, it didn’t shed its political observances. Instead it began mixing its politics with a vision of love connected to its revolutionary posturing.

The lyric “When I think about the revolution you’re still in my dreams,” from that first collaboration with Rubin, stands firm with a foot in the sappy classic rock trope of love songs, but obviously also references the political hopes of Lyxzén and his band. This 2004 album might be the moment where the t(I)NC actually realized how to disseminate its subversive political message in a neatly wrapped package. Eschewing the stark imagery adorning the band’s first two full lengths, Armed Love is splashed with an inflammatory red, hinting at the clutch of love songs that the album holds within.

Even with this stylistic realization, t(I)NC always has and will continue to deliver their message of change in the English language. But why would Lyxzén choose to traffic in the tongue of the West’s two most powerful capitalistic societies?

One potential way in which to reason through that conundrum is to figure that considering English serves these two international powers, it also represents the citizenry that most needs to hear this message of change.

Regardless, though, it would seem that t(I)NC would still like to see this revolution of the common man in its lifetime. The consequences of that paradigmatic shift in economics as well as its social implications probably haven’t been laid out in detailed fashion by the band though. And really, upon any close scrutiny, the band’s lyrics call for insurrection, but decline to define how to go about it or what the results might be. The vague quality of this call to arms oddly mirrors what Obama was criticized for while running for president: lofty rhetoric doesn’t necessarily portend change. If in fact this world wide revolution came, t(I)NC as we know it would cease to exist. The frame of the socialist upstart would be shattered, leaving just another rock band.

Of course, that revolution isn’t actually afoot. There are countless grass roots organizations working towards social equality and the like in this country, but they hardly amount to a group powerful enough to overthrow the government. With Lyxzén’s predilection towards demonstratively characterizing the US as “a very juvenile country,” he continues to parade socialist rhetoric in an attempt to function as a revolutionary – a construction that he and his cohort have themselves created. But they are functioning. And according to Burroughs, as long as one functions within their own accepted boundaries, that person is happy. And happiness is that individual’s virtue.

The Hunches: A Non-Existent Future

You know what happens to a band that doesn’t get the attention it deserves. They break up…check EBX.

BLOGLOAD:  The Hunches Call it a Day

The Stitches Won’t Suffer

Best punk band from the ’90s. No discussion. Check EBX…

BLOGLOAD: Arrested Development

Skerik’s Distillation of Punk

Easily one of the more interesting jazz players around today…no question. Check EBX for more…

BLOGLOAD: Skerik’s Distillation of Punk

No Hand to Hold: The Vaselines Neuter Rock

The Vaselines and the Dutchess and the Duke don’t sound alike. Really…but they’re both still way better than The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. Check EBX.

BLOGLOAD: The Vaselines Neuter Rock

Wooden Shjips: An Understanding of the Earth

(This originaly appeared in Skyscraper #29)

There is something indiscernibly different about San Francisco. You can’t head down any street in the Bay Area and not wonder what event transpired there that in some small way managed to unknowingly affect your life. Looking up at the row houses, ornamented and displaying a cache of personality not found too many other places in the US, one should wonder, “Who lived here?”

The answer to that question might not be one to shake humanity, but the city itself shakes alone. Precariously perched upon destruction, daily life sweeps the specter of earthquakes and fire underneath the constant activity of the city.

The Wooden Shjips, though, aren’t so easily dispensed. Birthed from equal parts of a by-gone ‘60s idealism and the dirty underbelly emitted from the dry prose of Dashiell Hammett, the quartet of Ripley Johnson (guitar/vocals), Nash Whalen (keys), Omar Ahsanuddin (drums) and Dusty Jermier (bass/trumpet) don’t seek to disrupt social or musical notions. They just want to play music.

A 2006 single, “Dance, California” b/w “Clouds Over the Earthquake,” commemorated the centennial of an early 20^th century quake that left San Francisco debilitated. But why would the Shjips dedicate two sides of a single to such an event?

Over the phone keyboardist Whalen recalls, “Earthquakes are one of those things that are just here. I first moved to San Francisco in 1989 – I experienced the Loma Prieta earthquake first hand and saw the destruction. There were dozens and dozens of aftershocks for months. Almost twenty years later, that whole experience stayed with me. I always just think about the power of the earth and what it can do. And how it really, if it wanted to shake things up and take us out – it could.”

In listening to the Shjips various singles collected on Volume One (Holy Mountain, 2008), there is a rather developed consistency that runs through not just this compilation, but the band’s Self Titled (Holy Mountain, 2007) album as well. The melodic concepts are virtually indecipherable from track to track, largely due to the great amount of reverb and fuzz doused on each note of the guitar. The uniformity found in each of the Shjips songs is actually just the band hinting at notes and dancing around discernable melodic lines. But it is very possible that Johnson and his cohort have some abstruse notion about how songs actually work.

A telling quote culled from the vast tubes of the internet finds Johnson explaining that his main goal as a member of this band is really to create dance music – something to make concert goers sway.

“We do have an element who come out and dance and it’s really great especially when they’re right in-front of the stage and your able to see them responding,” Whalen emotes, working to confirm Johnson’s direction for the band and its music.

This statement of purpose from Johnson rings true. From the initial bass thud that announces “We Ask You to Ride,” the opening track of the self titled disc, there is a non-stop rhythmic pulse ideal for dancing. Whether conscious or not, a great number of the titles from this same album hint at motion – riding, bending and dancing all encourage listeners to let go and simply allow the repetitive, simplistic statements to be physically manifested in dance. What again obscures the purpose of the music are its other elements.

The ceaseless low end pulsations driving dancers, guitar feed-back that imbues each track with texture and the indistinguishable vocals compound the mystical and undefined aura that surrounds the Shjips. But these aural inclinations, at least, have a very definite source: High Rise. Johnson’s professed admiration for the Japanese psych band and specifically the group’s disc entitled II, is instantly sensible given the aggressive guitar tones, fuzz and confusingly unclear vocals. Here too, acknowledging a concrete link to an esoteric act, which hasn’t released a recording in over a decade, Johnson explains the band in terms that few can readily conceive of.

Possibly amplified by Johnson’s references to obscure acts, Wooden Shjips have found themselves unable to escape from comparisons to the tripped out sounds that sprung from 1960’s San Francisco – or even the ‘60s in general.

Jefferson Airplane too frequently has been made a touchstone in this guessing game, linking the band to a bygone era. So too have the Doors, a Southern Californian group, whose only commonality with Wooden Shjips is the darkness that its sound exudes.

Yet due to cultural elitism, the Dead have some how managed to evade being thrown into this equivocal ring of comparisons. On the Dead’s eponymous 1967 debut, “Cream Puff War” sits one third of the way through offering some of the most aggressive and electric moments from the band’s studio history. Springing forth from this single track is the fuzz that current garage bands fawn over alongside political discourse masquerading as an interpersonal relationship. Here, Wooden Shjips can perhaps be figured to have been birthed. In the dominant discourse of current indie music, though, the Dead are too frequently marginalized. Of course, the comparison, like previous links to the past aren’t necessarily confirmed by band members, but it isn’t dismissed either.

“In our band, we have no distaste for the Dead,” begins Whalen.

“Ripley will still put on some bootleg from the ‘70s or ‘80s that he’s always liked and listened to for decades. It’s nothing that we’re afraid of,” he continues amidst some of his most assured rhetoric. “They were a melting pot of American music anyway. There were so many different elements in their music that it’s easy for us to draw from that and still draw from the Velvets frame work. I know that stigma, we don’t worry about that,” he concludes confidently.

While discussing the tendencies of the Dead to play loose with its song structures, Whalen is able to differentiate between his group’s studio efforts and its sound during live shows as he guesses, “I think that we do something different live, but it’s still true to the music. It’s just a live experience…I don’t think that we play our songs twice the same way.”

In noting differentiation in the band’s songs, Whalen again moves towards defining the group through the vagueness of experimentation. Not experimentation in the sense of something wholly different and new – Wooden Shjips are, after all, a rock band. But referring to a “live experience” serves to explicate the lack of totality in its musicianship. Songs may have structure, albeit unrefined, but given to live environs, the songs do as they please.

Further verbal dissections of individual songs lead to questioning how the process of song writing and the group’s creative tendencies actually work.

The notion of jamming seems to be recalled repeatedly by Whalen. Revealing that each song can’t have “too much or too little” of any one element. Whalen meanders to the point that, their process is almost a non-process: one where musicians are musicians and songs simply begin and end.

Everything about this band – its initial inclination to give away records for free, lack of domestic touring, and strict adherence to the most vague of musical codes – screams obscurity. Even the cover of its self-titled album depicts the quartet seated nonchalantly in front of a rather standard looking San Franciscan home replete with a short flight of steps up to the front door. Each band member’s face is ominously distorted so that no singular feature can be surmised. The drab black and white of the photo seems in direct contrast to the psychedelic music it purports. The album’s physical presentation is misleading, but so too are assumptions that may commonly accompany popular underground musical acts.

This vagueness persists in the uncertainty of much of Whalen’s discourse which eventually leads to his feelings towards the area that the band finds itself living and how the vast differentiation from other parts of the country affects the players in this ensemble. This realization, of course, comes through the back door of his collegiate studies in Geology.

“I have a great understanding of the earth now. And geologically. San Francisco is a unique place,” he proclaims. “There are very few places on the earth where there’s a fault that runs right by the city and could knock it all down at any point. It gives a different edge to things here,” waxes Whalen.

He continues unwaveringly, “When I’m in the Midwest – or even on the East Coast – I do feel that things are a little safer. There’s not the same energy coming out of the earth in that sense. It’s just a more stable place back there.”

This description of the Shjips home – or at least the discourse that’s utilized for it – plays on the notions that the rest of the nation may have of the Bay area and the people that call it home.

More importantly than cultural perspectives on music, San Francisco’s unique communities can alternately nurture creativity or stilt it as a result of ridiculous living coasts. Attempting to explain the intangible Whalen adds, “There’s a mystique about being from San Francisco that seems to help us.”

In Whalen’s use of the term “mystique,” he has at once defined San Francisco in ethereal terms, but again also explained the Wooden Shjips’ cultural import. They remain undefined. It might be that “mystique” that the band attributes to its relatively high profile for such a new act. The group, despite having released music over the last two years has as of yet to extensively tour the US.

“It’s nothing that any of us understand either.” Whalen begins. “Essentially, our first record came out last September and it seems that new people keep discovering it. There’s definitely a life to it that doesn’t come from us touring all the time.” If the band’s relative popularity has come mostly from its recorded efforts, it’s safe to assume that the Shjips hitting the road in the states will only help its cause.

“Right now,” reveals Whalen, “we’re in the process of trying to decide what we’re going to do next year. But we’d like to be doing a US tour.”

Exuding this hope to better explore the country in the coming months, Wood Shjips have finished recording a new treat for concert goers to pick up. “We’ve laid ‘em [the tracks] all down on tape. And right now Ripley and Dusty have been doing the mixing and getting ready to turn that in. So we’re hoping for February [to be the month of the record’s release].”

The Shjips, however, aren’t the only group to mine the fuzzy depths of this much loved genre. Two New York bands can claim a similar sound to that coming out of San Francisco. Both the Religious Knives as well as the Psychic Ills tout sounds that are in more than a few ways concurrent to the Shjips. There are obvious differences. But one similarity is that none of these groups seemingly have all that much a predilection for clearly enunciated lyrics. The Knives’ latest release, The Door (Ecstatic Peace, 2008), and the Ills’ last full length, Dins (Social Registry, 2006), seem instep with the Shjips predilection to focus on simple, pulsating rhythms accompanied by layers of distorted melody.

Some might be moved to proclaim a renaissance for this type of music, but not only would they be wrong, seeing as the stylistic flourishes have never completely receded from recorded music, but they would be missing the point. The four that make up the Shjips seem wholly unconcerned with comment from the outside. More so, the members seem enchanted by their fleeting chance to play music culled from their record collections. All the better, these sounds make the hips of the hippest concert goers shake like an earthquake – albeit a mild one that San Franciscans are accustomed to. That seems enough for right now. Maybe seeing the world fly by through the window of a van as they commence a fuller touring schedule will change their collective perspectives – but hopefully not.

Psychic Ills – Mirror Eye (Social Registry, 2009)

There aren’t too many records that can actually compare to Dins (Social Registry, 2006). It’d be nice if there were, but music geeks just aren’t that lucky.

After that first full length, the Brooklyn based Psychic Ills saw fit to issue some previously recorded work in the guise of Early Violence (Social Registry, 2007). That disc, while still tangentially related to what fans heard on Dins, was more tied to sad-sack Brit rock than anything. And while it was a decent listen, Early Violence was never intended to compete with the band’s first full musical statement.

The release of Mirror Eye, though, has come to mean more than just a continuation of where the Ills were a few years back. Out of the eight tracks that make up this new disc, only half could have made an appearance on Dins. That’s not to say that the other four offerings are detached from their musical lineage, but simply different.

“Mantis” and “Meta” begin the album in typical serpentine fashion, gliding just above what rock music is supposed to be, even touching on electronic gadgetry. But what this disc accidentally asserts is that there will always be a cottage industry of record freaks pushing out original music. And even beyond that, there’ll always be a market for this type of work.

If half of the album is tied to previous efforts from the Ills, then the other tracks may well be the footing for the band to move onto something new – to them at least. The mostly instrumental and overwhelmingly minimal constructions of various tripped out sounds and bizarre instrument voicings don’t mark a new period for the grand tapestry of music, but instead show these Brooklynites further incorporating disparate and difficult influences into their work.

As a result of this perceived mutation in its aural approach, it might well serve the band to examine how this new clutch of tracks affects fans. While Dins sported what could only loosely be referred to as songs, Mirror Eye is even less concrete. The band’s guitarist Tres Warren figures that “Structure can exist in different ways and it doesn’t need to always exist.”

With his vague and philosophical understanding of music, it would be reasonable to believe that fans of the Psychic Ills might have some of the same perceptions. However, the work spring forth from Mirror Eye sounds strictly tied to studio gimmickry in a number of ways.

When asked about performing these new constructions live, bassist Elizabeth Hart explains, “We haven’t played all the songs on the record out because some of them were created in the studio and would not necessarily translate live,” which sounds rather sensible. But also because of the improvised nature of the band’s music, she concludes that, “we are not trying to replicate the songs that we do play live, we leave a lot of space to see what happens or how they will unfold in each particular setting.”

That response, though, seems as good a reason as any other to hunt down the Ills at their next performance and hear how the band re-imagines its newest work.

Live @ the Funhouse

A History of Stealin’

There are probably more beautiful songs. There are songs that more people can probably sing along to. But the way in which “Stealin’” was written and has subsequently been performed makes it an American standard. Of late it seems to have been getting its due as well.

Recently, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy took to the stage in NYC and luckily enough the folks from Aquarium Drunkard were there to capture the performance. During the set, BPB and his cohorts included a few versions of old tyme classics – “Stealin’” was one of them. You can find the tracks here.

But if we’re to look at where “Stealin’” has ended up culturally, then we need to go back to the source. There is some argument as to who actually penned the tune originally, but most frequently the song is associated with the Memphis Jug Band who recorded the song in the late ‘20s. Will Shade (1889-1966), the man here credited with the composition, has seen that song in the hands of countless other players and assimilated to a vast number of genres.

The Jerry Garcia version, recorded for the 1996 album he put together with David Grisman, finds “Stealin’” being kept rather intact seventy some years after it was initially recorded by Shade and the Jug Band.

Jerry Garcia and David Grisman from Shady Grove

And while the Garcia and Grisman version is a beautiful and lilting rendition, with the vocals sounding brittle and vulnerable, there are some more aggressive renditions of the tune as well.

The Mojomatics – Live on Radio Onda D’Urto

The above punk version obviously deviates from the other performances discussed herein. But the Mojomatics, hailing from Italy, actually serve to illustrate the point that “Stealin’” is a song that everyone can understand. Everyone can relate to the simplistic and common story being revealed through the lyrics. And beyond “Stealin’” just being good music, its power to connect people across the world is what actually matters – not who wrote it first.

The Paste Top Albums of 2008: A Refutation

This photo was cold-jacked from Zack Arias

Allow me to say that I really enjoy reading Paste. I, however, hate year end lists more than I hate wearing tight pants in general – but specifically after a huge meal. Anyway, Paste, much like every other media outlet in the world has compiled their favorite discs from the year 2008.

Considering that the way in which human beings arbitrarily defined time, year-end lists seem ridiculous. But also, considering the fact that Psychic Ills, WAVVES and dälek amongst others have already swamped the press with soon to be released 2009 discs, I feel like any list compiled now would contain glaring empty spaces with those discs not included.

These are my points of contention with Paste and its list.

#15: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!: I’ve really tried to like the music of Nick Cave. I probably should, but I can’t. And watching him release this disc as well as Grinderman, really just aggravates me ‘cause I won’t be listening.

#12: Of Montreal – Skeletal Lamping: These folks might be the biggest hoax currently being perpetrated on the indie-record buying public. You know who’s got cooler out fits? KISS, that’s who.

#06: Fleet Foxes – Self Titled: What qualifications do any of these bands have to be touted as great? All I know is that I’m pretty sick of seeing this band’s name everywhere I bloody look.

#03: Vampire Weekend – Self Titled: Seriously?

Instead of compiling some noxious list of ephemera, I just asked the folks in the Psychic Ills to give me a list, any list, of stuff (or even things) that they’ve enjoyed over the last year. This is what they got back to me with. And if you’ll notice,  Santogold are glaringly absent.

Tres Warren (guitar):

La Monte Young live at the Dream House, June 20th, 2008.

Juan Atkins live at Studio B, June 21st 2008.

Jimy SeiTang (guitar):

Omar S. live at the Beach (Queens), July 16^th, 2008

Elizabeth Hart (bass):

Burial – Untrue

Excepter – Debt Dept

The moon on December 12th. It is the closest it has been to the Earth in 14 years!