More often than not, Joe Louis Walker
goes by the moniker JLW, and so I will respect that. He is usually referred to
as a blues artist – which is hardly surprising as he has been inducted into the
Blues Hall of Fame – but seriously, that is a bit short-sighted.
JLW crosses genre boundaries left and
right, fret by fret. Sure, there is a definite undercurrent of electric blues
with JLW at the helm on his flashing guitar, but his style sways to boogie,
blues rock, funk, soul and so on. He’s part Prince, part Jeff Beck (or any of
the other Yardbirds' guitarists…do I seriously need to name them?), even a bit
of Hendrix, and a smattering of Joe Tex.
He starts off strong here, but for
me, it really starts to roll on the second song, the blues rock “Rain in My
Mind,” followed by the rockin' R&B of “You Got To Lose.” Of course, every
song is punctuated and taken to an aerie place on the tips of JWL’s fingers and
he does not just finger his guitar, but takes it to a whoh-nutha-level.
Listen, I’m not one for endless guitar
solos, and usually tend to find them kind of whatever, but JLW’s fretwork is
more than impressive. A good example of that is “I Don’t Know,” whose solo is
nearly as long as the rest (and for some reason, part of the solo is shot from
the back). But that’s not to say that the band, the Roadmasters, just backs him
up, as they also have their moment to shine, especially during the band member intros
of “Funkin Blues,” including Mike Eppley playing the Hammond XB-2 (he’s
talented, but man, the only place I can truly appreciate an electric piano is
on ‘60s style garage rock and Tex-Mex), who has a wailingly long time to strut.
On rhythm guitar –also getting a
chance to show off – and is Tom Rose, who may look like he stepped out of the ‘70s,
but holds his own on guitar. Bassist Tony Saunders shows off some funkification
right down to the classic wah-wahs, though I could have done without the
orgasmic face and tongue action, honestly (Eppley is guilty of this, as well). He
starts of a bit perfunctory, but Saunders knows his stuff and through employing
a series of petals, he takes the bass into many different strata, all of which
have a wow factor. Similarly, drummer Curtis Nutall starts with a simmer and
brings it to full boil.
“Bluesifyin” could have been right
out of the BB King playbook, with its screaming guitar that you can’t take your
eyes off of, not that you would want to do so. Walker’s finger slide works
overtime in Bonnie Raitt style (as a descriptor). “Play’em Where They Lay” is
straight-from-the-1980s rockin’ boogie R&B. I can easily have seen this song
up as music video from back then.
After that heavy number, they come back for a two-song encore, starting
with “Lost Heart” and finishing with “Hidden Feelings,” both of which has a
strong, later Motown vibe. With a leaning towards the Four Tops, they made me
smile.
The sound is exceedingly clear, but
the visuals are a bit fuzzy, seemingly shot on VHS. That being said, the
further back of the room the camera is, the harder it is to see, and that seems
to be from cigarette (hookah?) smoke. I remember those days, trying to take
pictures of bands in clubs as the air visibly drifted by, in a way reminiscent
of the bathroom scene in Rock and Roll
High School.
The songs are all upbeat, bypassing the
ballad for the quicker pace, making this eminently danceable at the most, and some
serious foot tapping at the least. I may have made some comments about the
physicalness of some of the musicians, but it’s kind of a moot point, because
if you plug this in and just listen to it like an LP (or its digital equivalent),
it’s the sounds that come out of the speaker that count. With the resonance being
jacked and the music worthy of multiple listens, that’s my strong recommendation
on how to get the most out of this DVD.
Band:
Joe Lewis Walker: vox / guitar Tom Rose: rhythm guitar / back-up vox Mike Eppley: keyboards / back-up vox Tony Saunders: bass Curtis Nutall: drums / back-up vox Set List: Can’t Get You Out of My Mind Rain in My Mind You Got to Lose Street People I Didn’t Know Bluesifyin Funkin’ Blues Play’em Where They Lay Encore: Lost Heart Hidden Feelings
Text by Julia Masi / FFanzeen, 1983 Intro by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2015 Images from the Internet www.waltersteding.com
This article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #10, dated 1983. It was written by Julia Masi.
Currently, Walter Steding is a painter and actor who writes film scores
and is in the group Crazy Mary, based in New York City where he resides. – RBF,
2015
On the cover of his new album, Dancing in Heaven, on Animal Records,
Walter Steding, in an oversized pair of rolled-up bluejeans with his violin in
hand, is suspended in an extracted hop, like the Pied Piper ready to dance off
a cliff, or Peter Pan flying back to Never Never Land. A confusing change of
image for those of us who think of him as the black-clad figure of the concert
stage.
Dancing in Heaven is light-years away from the Walter we once knew “wheezing and wailing”
to home-made bio feedback machines. He’s still inviting us to experience his
different reveries, but now with 11 simple, lighthearted, commercial songs, his
daydreams have become danceable.
“To me, the cover would have been
this hat,” he points to his large, black felt fedora that looks like it was designed
for a Pilgrim, “the darkest glasses you could find, and just skulls and daggers
all over the place. He holds up the cover for careful inspection. “At first I
didn’t like it; but now I do, now that everybody is telling me that they like
it. The back is the history,” he flips over the cover. ”I never have to talk
about my past again. It’s done. It’s documented,” he says of the black and
white montage that traces his career. Although he’s only been performing since
he came to new York in 1976, the photos on the back of the album read like a
Who’s Who of rock‘n’roll. He points to the center picture of himself and his manager,
artist Andy Warhol. “Andy was posing, and I said to him, ‘Well, we have to do
something. Why don’t you put your hands by your ears?’ Did he go for that in a
hurry! It looks derogatory, like, ‘Why is he doing that to Walter?’, but it was
my idea. He rests to skip over the pictures of himself in his early days as a
one-man-band, wearing electronic gadgets around his waist that looked like
Batman’s utility belt, but his past is too interesting to ignore. Even as a kid
growing up in Harmony, Pennsylvania, his background was always art. “Remember
the kid in high school who always went around and painted the twelve days of
Christmas on his windows? Well, that was me.” He temporarily put down his paint
brushes in the late ‘70s to try his hand at performance art. “Just ‘cause I saw
something happening.
“It was an era when new technologies
were being introduced to the masses, and it was a time when bio-feedback and Rolfing,
and any kind of New Age idea was really out there. But I just didn’t see any
aesthetic in it. I saw that the more that we define existence by finite terms,
the less we really see it. You can use any kind of formula you want to start defining
existence, but all you’re doing is making it real; making it physical. Unless
you put those physical symbols in some sort of aesthetic means, you’re not
really describing what’s there.”
At this time, Walter had been working
with the Mankind Research Center in Washington, D.C., and was in close contact
with the Menninger Foundation, so he knew a lot about bio-feedback. “As people
were going on and really thinking they were discovering something new, it just
was the phoniness, the unreality of it. It was new at the time as far as the
masses were concerned. I was using it as a means of expression. So instead of
working with bio-feedback as though it were something real and tangible, I
needed something to play against, so I took the bio-feedback and made it into
sound, and then used the violin on top of that.
“Working with color and working with
animal sounds, I learned a lot about how the sound would affect your brainwave
output. Not only brainwaves, but EKG, too. And Galvanic skin response. Any kind
of monitored bodily functions. I took a generator to a lake in Pennsylvania
where these spring peepers were coming up, and played a concert along with
them. That’s another reason why the violin was a good instrument, because it
didn’t have frets or finite points. So I could really deal with sounds and
sound like the noises that animals make; wolves and whales. You’ve head those whale
records and things? So I was playing along with those, but I knew what kind of
range those kinds of sound existed in. They’re all over the place. They’re not
necessarily concerned with stops and finite points. But it does develop into
patterns from that.
“And then, from that, I kind of go
into – holistic is the word – where you don’t have the stops. I could transfer
that into music because I knew a certain pattern that I’d be playing that would
follow along with the noises that the whales would make. And then I knew
instead of sliding my finger and going from one step to the other step, I could
break that into steps, so I could play a song very similar to the noises a
whale would make without actually trying to make it sound like a whale.
“You have different reveries in your
different states of consciousness. Like, if you go into the deep Delta region,
in this Delta it reverts to neuronal bursts per second. It’s actually (that)
you send out these signals, and they can really be monitored. You’re sort of
in-between Alpha and Beta, and you’re conscience and think about things, like
your motor actions, like moving your hands. That is more in the Alpha region,
and those (signals) are amplified. It’s a real minute signal. I built little
amplifiers so that I could convert the signals into sound. I did that by taking
the electrical impulse and putting it through an LED. The LED would charge a
photo-transistor, and that photo-transistor would change the rate and the pitch
of the synthesizer.
“I used a homemade synthesizer just
built for that.” He learned to make his musical equipment from scratch, “just
by reading schematics and things.” And by “working with chips,” he says
nonchalantly.
“The tools and things are out there.
You can go to an electronics store and just buy all these parts. You could buy
a clock – it’s called a clock (but) it’s not really a clock; it’s a little
chip, a timer. And they use it for everything. Not necessarily for music. Once
you understand the basic principles of how a chip works, you can apply it to anything.”
Walter chose to apply it to the violin because he felt that the “violin
epitomizes music.”
His first concerts were very short
and very avant-garde. “I thought it was art! I mean, I was doing it at art
galleries.” And even though he describes those performances as “wheezing and
wailing,” he did gain a certain respect for music, and command of his
instrument. “That’s how I started getting more and more musical, learning about
notation; different stops and points, with Western scales broken down into all
those finite points. The more I learned about that, the more I learned how I
could use it.
“I’m definitely trying to create a
mood with the notation. Certain things do create a mood. The sounds that whales
make do have an effect on the human body, even though it might not be aware of
how that sound is. Even without hearing whales, a person is still affected by
their sound. There is communication between all living things.
“I use the 4/4 beat. With the 4/4
beat, I try to find a more universal kind of sound, even though it’s relative
to the 4/4 timing. It’s kind of scaleless.
“I like to think of the violin
without any frets, and how it can transform that mood into a sound. And then I
like to transfer that into a progression. A real progression in the 4/4 format,
starting with the root note, and then going to the 4th and 5th – you know, real
traditional progressions. So it comes from a thought and I just keep working it
out until it becomes a tune.
“Right now, today, I got this line
that goes,” he sings, “Do, do, do, cha,
cha. I’ll take that line and I know how I want it to go, but I know that I
have to put it in a format where the bass can play along with it and the
keyboard player can play along with it. So, I’ll take the rhythm machine and
set it to a counter, where it counts off 4s. Then I’ll rearrange the idea that
I had in my head to fit that format. Then I’ll arrange it so that the bass can
play his full measures, do a turnaround, and come back in again. So it starts
with just an abstract idea, but then you keep going over it and over it, until
it becomes a song.
“The songs I write anyone can play. I
keep them simple. And I can make tapes where everything is separated. I don’t
even have to rehearse. I can give someone a tape of what it’s supposed to sound
like, and give them a tape of what their part is so they can listen to these
tapes and learn the part exactly. And never come to a rehearsal and (still)
play with the rest of the group. And then show up for a concert and know all their
lines. Like the bass player. I’ll give him a tape of the song, how it should
sound with everyone together, and then a separate tape of just his part. And
the same with the keyboard player and guitar. So there is no question then of
what they should do.”
Lenny Ferraro, drums; Paul Dugan,
bass; Karen Geniece, vocals and guitar; Mark Garvin, lead guitar; and Robert
Arron, sax, keyboard, vibratone and guitar, accompanied Walter on the album,
which he produced himself. “I wanted help. Really. I would have liked to have a
producer,” he says modestly as his big dark eyes widen. “At the time, Chris
(Stein, of Blondie) wasn’t feeling very well. I learned; I’m glad for the
experience. I learned ‘cause I had to. I really would have liked to have
someone professional come in and say, ‘This and that has to be done.’ It’s just
like, there are rules that you have to follow. The bass beat is on the one, and
the snare is on the two. Until I learned that, I didn’t write songs that way. I
put the snare wherever I felt like it. Someone could always tell something was
wrong with it. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. So it
would be good to have a producer who could say, ‘Why don’t we write a harmonic
part that goes with the 4?’
“I don’t want to do something
deliberately wrong when I know it shouldn’t be that way, just because it’s been
done by so many other pioneers of electronic music and avant-garde musicians,
like Cage and Stockhausen; people who have designed instruments, like Bookla
and Moog, and all. That’s been done before.”
Right now, he can’t see himself
returning to the avant-garde, using music as an art form. “It doesn’t make much
sense for me to stay at one level and just deal with the emotion.
“The last concert I did, people liked
it. I’ll keep going in that direction.”
This interview / article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #15, dated 1988. It was written by Dawn Eden.
The only time I ever had the opportunity to see a version of the Turtles
was when lead singers Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman had their bookended Flo and
Eddie stint, opening for Alice Cooper’s Billion Dollar Babies
tour at Madison Square Garden during June of 1973. Eventually, they returned to
the Turtles name, after their Greatest Hits CD helped make Rhino Records a solvent company. Also, a good friend of
mine interviewed Kaylan at some point, and when asked why the name return, he
was quite open, stating how much they earned as Flo and Eddie compared to
payments for the Turtles.
One of the more interesting aspects of this article is that it is usually
Kaylan who does the interviewing, but here, Dawn manages to strike up a convo
with the wild-haired Volman.
On that note, Kaylan recently released an absorbing autobiography,
co-written with music historian/mensch Jeff Tamarkin, titled Shell Shocked: My Life with the
Turtles, Flo & Eddie, and Frank Zappa, etc. [reviewed HERE]. – RBF, 2015
Then
In today’s incestuous Top-40 world,
musicians switch from one band to another faster than you can say Sammy Hagar.
It’s rare for a band to stay around for 10 years, let alone 25 years. And the
number of successful bands whose members have played together since high school
can be counted on the gaps between David Bowie’s teeth. Which makes it all the
more unusual to look at Flo and Eddie, the nucleus of the Turtles.
FFanzeen caught
up with Mark “Flo” Volman in his suite at Atlantic City’s Trump Plaza the day after
he and partner Howard “Eddie” Kaylan played there.
Volman and Kaylan met in their
Westchester, California, high school’s a
capella choir. In 1962, Volman joined Kaylan’s surf band, the Crossfires,
who became one of Redondo Beach’s most popular groups. The Crossfires were the
house band at the Rebelaire Club when they were discovered by White Whale
Records in 1965. After changing their name to the Turtles, they recorded a
cover of Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me Babe,” and almost instantly found themselves elevated
to the ranks of rock and roll royalty.
Volman reflects fondly upon the
Turtles’ early, innocent years: “When you think [about] what happened to us,
and how few bands that happens to in history – how you start as a high school
band and years later, find your songs making it into the Top-10 and competing
against the biggest in America – you don’t really consider that plausible. That
is a dream. When you’re in high school, your main thing is to get out of high
school. I mean, for me it was to get out of science class.”
Now
Recently, “Happy Together,” the
Turtles’ 1967 No. 1 hit and biggest seller, was being revived in a number of
forms. It was used as the theme song of the film Making Mr. Right,
and a video of the song mixing scenes from the movie with live Turtles footage
was added to the VH-1 cable station’s playlist. The single was also reissued by
Rhino Records, the label that reissued the Turtles’ entire catalog of albums.
Oddly enough, “Happy Together,” which
is still Our Song to millions of love-struck
couples, is really about unrequited love. According to Volman, “A lot of people
overlook one very important part of the song. Even as we made the record, we
may not have been concerned with its actual philosophy… It starts out, ‘Imagine
me and you…’ If you say one thing [about] that record, all we’ve immediately done,
to anybody who’s really listening, is paint a picture that this is all a
fantasy. It’s all make-believe. It’s the story of a boy who’s fantasizing over
a girl who he doesn’t have. ‘Imagine
me and you…’” Volman repeated. “There is no relationship. They are not ‘together,’
but, ‘I can’t see me loving nobody but you.’ Lyrically, this record never pays
off. The boy never gets what he wants.”
After the Turtles broke up in 1970,
Volman and Kaylan performed and recorded with Frank Zappa’s infamous Mothers of
Invention. During the same period, they released several solo albums. Because
legal hassles prevented them from recording under the Turtles’ name at the
time, they took on the nicknames of their former roadies: Flo (short for “The Phlorescent
Leech”) and Eddie [The Best of Flo
and Eddie, on Rhino Records, is an
excellent introduction to their solo career – DE, 1988]. They also embarked
upon a second career, that of singing back-up on other artists’ albums. Volman
and Kaylan backed up just about every major artist, from John Lennon to Bruce
Springsteen.
Ronnie, Bruce, Howard and Mark
Volman says that he and Kaylan met
Springsteen by a fluke. They were friends with his road manager, who
invited them to attend a Cleveland concert on the Born to Run Tour. Volman picks it up from there: “While we were at
the soundcheck, Bruce called me and Howard out of the audience and asked if we
wanted to join him, singing [back-up] with Ronnie Spector. I was real surprised
he even knew who we were. We rehearsed right there at the soundcheck, and we
ended up singing with him and Ronnie in that night’s show! It was real fun.”
Volman and Kaylan later did several more shows with Springsteen, and even sang
on The River [1980].
In light of the recent commercial
that uses “Happy Together” to hawk Golden Grahams,
Flo and Eddie have truly come full circle. More than a decade ago, on one of
their classic albums, they performed a sketch about a practice that was almost
unheard of then. Volman recalls: “What Howard and I were raving about was
taking rock and roll and using it as a commercial product. We were saying, ‘What
if you took Fleetwood Mac’s big hit and used it to advertise McDonald’s Big
Mac?’ It was [meant as] comedy. You go back and listen to it and it’s not dated
at all. It’s me and Howard singing to ‘Rhiannon’: ‘You deserve a break today,
so come to McDonald’s.’”
JJ Grey and MOFRO – Better Days: The
Live Concert Film
Directed by Spookie Daly Alligator Records / Thunderbolt
Productions /
Madison House / Flying Pig Studio / MVD Visual 119 minutes, 2011 / 2013 www.mvdvisual.com
Up
North, JJ Grey and MOFRO are not as well-known as some of their other Southern brethren
that walk the path of rock, blues and country. Part of this concert documentary
is musicians, including members of the band, describing MOFRO’s sound and
everyone has a different slant to it. So, what the hell, here is mine.
I
definitely would not call it Southern Rock. I can see them as more Skynyrd than
the Allmans, with some of Jim Dandy’s growling Blues and less tight pants, but
not as much rock. Swamp rock is a good descriptor, but more if it had more
classic R&B and Gospel. And for good measure, as one member of the band
says, add a bit of “J[immy] Reed.”
The
reason why all these are accurate, is because they refuse to stay on any one
highway line, but move from lane to lane, keeping it interesting. For example, “DirtFloorCracker”
is solid Southern Rock, even though, as I said, I would not classify them as
such. Another, the title cut “Brighter Days” sounds to me like something out of
the John Mellencamp – er – camp.
This
documentary is a cross between a concert and talking heads. The live music
part, which is a complete concert, was taped at the Variety Playhouse in
Atlanta, GA, on January 22, 2011. It’s not too far up the swamp from where JJ
grew up near Jacksonville, F-L-A (same town as Tom Petty, who followed a very
different musical path). You can hear it in JJ’s voice, as he says the lyrics
with a deep drawl, “Ain’t but one thing dat’s foww showw / Ev’rybhudy wants
sommoww.”
Before
each song, there is an interview part, mostly with the tall, lanky and graying Grey,
which beautifully sets up the meaning and tone for the song to come. All the music
is shown completely, thankfully, though the one where he introduces the band
seems to go on a bit.
The
MOFRO’s behind JJ are phenomenal musicians, especially Dennis Marion’s trumpet
and Andrew Trube’s lead guitar. The whole band gets more than one solo throughout,
and each one shines without trying to top the rest. It isn’t a contest, it’s an
expression of talent.
I
wasn’t familiar with MOFRO’s output before, but I may keep my ears perked up if
they come my way to play. The closest I knew was Bodeco (who I have seen live,
and they killed), and the Formerly Brothers (Amos Garrett – Doug Sahm – Gene Taylor),
which by coincidence was what I was listening to the day before playing this
DVD, but it’s nice to add to the repertoire.
If I
had any complaints about the documentary, they are small and petty. For
example, I would have liked to have had the song titles come up as they
started, and as with most of these kinds of films, the talking head interviews
are identified once, and then you just have to remember who they are, which
makes it harder if they are (a) less known and (b) there are many involved. As
I said, petty.
If
you are into this kind of sound, I recommend this highly. If you’re bored by
Southern Rock as it stands and prefer a more raw sound that has a bit more country
and R&B to it than the rock, check ‘em out. This film can easily hold you
until then.
Text by Joe Viglione and Eric Brown / FFanzeen, 1983 Images from the Internet www.robbykrieger.com
This interview was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #11, dated 1983. It was written by Boston-based musician, music
historian (and so much more) Joe Viglione and Eric Brown. – RBF, 2015
Robby Krieger, guitarist / song-writer
for the Doors, was, and still is, one of the most influential and creative
guitarists in rock’n’roll.
The 1982 Robby is a mellower, wizened
musician, not content to stay within the safe boundaries of commercial pop
which he helped establish, and which in 1982 – more than 12 years later – is
suddenly chic and very popular.
In the heat of the Doors revival,
Robby Krieger has emerged with a hot band, a surprisingly different direction
for those unfamiliar with his post-Morrison works, and a new album on Passport
Records, entitled Versions.
We caught Robby’s soundcheck and show
at the Channel Club in Boston, on October 23, 1982, and again at the Peppermint
Lounge in New York, on the 28th. Along with some instrumental originals, jazzy
versions of Doors songs like “Crystal Ship” and “You’re Lost Little Girl,”
there were rocking versions of “Love Me Two Times” and “Roadhouse Blues.” At
the Peppermint Lounge, Eric Bloom of Blue Oyster Cult jumped onstage for “Roadhouse”
and got the place jumping with his earthy vocals. Thankfully, someone at the
Peppermint had the good sense to videotape the night.
Despite the zillion interviews (in
fact, MTV bumped this interview up a day and a half) and hectic schedule (like
speaking at the College Media Brainstorm
2 Convention at the Sheraton up the street); and being, along with David
Johansen, the most interesting guest at that otherwise boring affair, Robby
proved to be one of the more easygoing and polite musicians around. Despite
that, I was a nervous wreck conducting this interview: talent and legend are
hard to take in one sitting.
Special thanks to Robby’s manager,
Richard Linnell, for making this possible.
-Joe
Viglione, 1983
FFanzeen(* = Joe Viglione): When did you decide to put a new band
together and to tour?
Robby Krieger: Well, after I finished
the album, I decided to – to get the album going. I’d get out and tour. That
was about a year ago, I guess. It took a while to find the right guys for the
band.
FF*: How long did it take to conceive Versions and put
it out?
Robby: To do the whole thing, about a
year. I took my time doing it. I had a bunch of other stuff I was doing at the
time.
FF*: I see you’re still playing slide guitar onstage.
Robby: Not a lot of slide. I play as
much as I can. Unfortunately, my slide guitar broke that night [at the Peppermint Lounge, October 28 – JV]
or it was broken. The neck started to
get a crack on it.
FFanzeen(# = Eric Brown): That’s the black Les Paul?
Robby: Yeah, the Les Paul. It’s too
bad. It held up last night. I hope it’ll be okay for the rest of the tour, but
there’s a definite crack in it.
FF*: Why did you produce Versions by yourself?
Robby: If I could’ve gotten someone
like Tom Dowd [d. 2002 – RBF, 2015] or
somebody, I would’ve gone ahead with that, but I’d rather not do it myself
‘cause it’s a lot of work and it’s – you don’t get the perspective that you really
need when you do your own thing. But I’m happy with the way it came out.
FF*: How do you choose your guitars? Why a Les Paul?
Robby: Les Paul I use for slide and
the reason I chose that is ‘cause it’s real heavy; it’s the oldest one they
made, which is a ’54, I think. It’s like a big tree. It’s a Black Beauty. The
neck is like a tree trunk. For regular playing, I use the 355 guitar, which is
a Gibson. And it’s a mono 355; most of those are stereo. For some reason I
found this mono and they’re a little heavier than the 335, so…
FF*: What do you use for effects?
Robby: For effects I’ve got a Chorus,
a Digital Delay, Analog Delay, a Distortion, and a Slow Gear, which makes it
sound like you’re using a volume pedal; kinds of cuts off the first part of the
note.
FF#: Yeah, I kind of noticed that.
FF*: What kind of amps? Robby: Twin reverbs, pretty much. I
was going to try this Acoustic. They’ve got a new amp out that’s comparable to
a twin reverb, but I couldn’t get it working right before the tour.
FF*: How long do you see this band staying together? Another LP?
Robby: It’s hard to say. It’s going real
good right now. It could last for a long time.
FF*: You’ll be planning another tour?
Robby: Well, when we get back to
L.A., we’re going to start going out again for the rest of the year.
FF*: How did you find your manager?
Robby: Well, I’ve known Rich Linnell
for a long time. He went to school with my brother. He ended up promoting some
Doors concerts when the Doors were playing. I’ve just known him for a long
time.
FF*: What is his function as a manager? And what do you see as the role
of a manager for Robby Krieger?
Robby: He’s got to work with the
record company, with tours, promoters, agents – he’s the buffer between me and
all these types of people. Plus he has to be creative in thinking of different
ways to get me working.
FF*: How about the creative moment with Robby? Do you have to put
yourself in the right frame of mind to create a great song, especially songs
like the old Doors hits of which you wrote a major portion?
Robby: You can’t put yourself in a
mood. It’s pretty hard, unless you have the right drugs [laughs], but usually it doesn’t happen that way. You have to be in
the mood.
FF*: Do you turn the recorder on?
Robby: Usually I don’t ‘cause I figure
anything that’s good enough to be a song I’ll remember when I play it. Although
I think I have forgotten a lot of good songs so I have started using a recorder
lately.
FF*: What do you think of the stage of the art of recording today? Do you
have the same feeling that you did about production when you approached a
record in the ‘60s as you do now?
Robby: It hasn’t really changed that
much. The tape recorders are basically the same. I haven’t tried the digital
stuff yet. That’s more gimmicks now, but you can only use them in certain
instances, I think. In fact, I recorded this album 16-track, which I hadn’t – I’ve
always been using 24 for years. Everybody has but – I figured I could get
better sound by going with a 16-track with two-inch tape because you have more
space on each track. Since I wasn’t having vocals I know I wouldn’t need that
many tracks anyway. We did it on an Otari 16-track machine.
FF*: You produced the Tan, a Californian band?
Robby: They’re from Santa Barbara,
actually. They’re sort of like a New Wave surf band. They’re really good.
FF*: Did you see them in a club or did they approach you?
Robby: …I played with – I had this
group, Red Shift, in L.A., for a while, and we played opposite them on a bill
in Santa Barbara one time. It turned out my friend was managing them, so I
happened to get involved with them.
FF*: I’ve got a couple of albums here that you might remember [two Butts
Band LPs on Blue Thumb Records – JV]
Robby: A-ha!
FF*: I remember you guys played the Performance Center in Harvard Square,
Cambridge (MA). It no longer exists; it’s now a shopping mall.
Robby: Really, that’s too bad.
FF*: How long did the Butts Band last? I know there were two different
albums.
Robby: Well, it lasted for two
albums; two or three years. As you said, there were two different bands, one
with some English guys. John Densmore [The
Doors drummer] and myself were the nucleus of the group. Then we decided
that was too hard to keep together so we went ahead and formed an American
version. And we got caught up in record company bullshit. Blue Thumb got sold
to U.A. or something like that, and we just sort of got lost in the shuffle
over there. It’s too bad; we had some pretty good songs on both those albums.
FF*: I really like the Other Voices and Full
Circle albums by the [post-Morrison]
Doors. What are your feelings on that material?
Robby: I think there’s some good
stuff on those albums. I think we probably shouldn’t have come out so soon
after Jim’s death with those. Maybe the public wasn’t ready for it yet or –
probably should’ve waited about five years or so.
FF*: Maybe, but you were great on the Boston Common in the 1972 Sunset
Series [August 17 – JV].
Robby: Oh, yeah.
FF*: That was just wonderful
Robby: Yeah, when we were in Boston,
I walked through that place.
FF#: I remember reading somewhere that when you first started, you used
to play Flamenco. When did you get involved with jazz?
Robby: Well, I always liked jazz, so
I’d say around ’74 or ‘5. I got real interested in playing jazz. I met a bunch
of jazzer-type guys in L.A., and started learning about it. I didn’t really
know enough about playing guitar to play jazz when I started out, ‘cause I was
only – I started when I was only 16. And when the Doors hit, I was like 19, so
I just was playing the Doors’ stuff for a couple of years; about five years
there. But then I deicide I wanted to get into it.
FF#: That’s great. On your earlier albums, you could hear the influence.
And now it’s really blossomed out. I watched you on TV in Boston, 5 All Night Live [the night previous to the Channel gig on October 23 – JV]. I didn’t
know what to expect from you, but liking jazz fusion myself, it was a pleasant
surprise.
Robby: I get kind of tired of it
after a while, y’know. Just people soloing for hours and stuff, but I think –
my approach is being a rock’n’roll player going into jazz, which not many
people do. Most of your fusion players are like jazz guys, and they try to play
rock’n’roll, and it doesn’t come off too great a lot of times.
FF#: There’s a difference. You use real heavy rock’n’roll rhythms under
the melodic stuff.
Robby: Right.
FF#: The way you use the harmonies with the two guitars, it’s very –
Robby: Yeah, Barton [Averre, former guitarist with the Knack –
JV], our other guitar player, he can play. Anything you tell him to play,
he can play.
FF#: You guys seem to work with a lot of communication. The harmonies are
real different. The off meds and the off notes are really – you end up on
certain notes, not harmonies. It sounds terrific.
Robby: We use a lot of sixths in our
harmonies.
FF*: It seems like you’re heading in a direction started with Full Circle. It was starting to get jazzier.
Robby: Hmm, a little bit, I guess.
FF*: With songs like “Mosquito.”
Robby: “Mosquito,” that’s true. You
know that “Mosquito” was a giant hit in Europe.
FF*: Really.
Robby: Yeah, and South America,
‘cause I guess it was, y’know – I spoke Spanish a little bit in there, and
people loved that.
FF*: You spoke Spanish in the song?
Robby: Yeah: “no mes moleste mosquite.”
FF*: “Get Up and Dance” [Full Circle] was a
minor hit in Boston, and “Tightrope Ride” [Other Voices] was a big hit.
Robby: yeah, “Tightrope Ride” was
good. Yeah, it’s too bad it didn’t really – there were some good songs on that.
“Piano Bird” also was a good kind of jazzy one. “Piano Bird” has two basses on
it [The LP credits only one, to Carole
King’s ex-husband, Charles Larkey – JV]. It has one played by Willie Ruff –
who’s like a jazzy guy. He played the upper register – and this Wolfgang Metz
played the lower bass.
FF#: Wolfgang!
FF*: [To Eric] Yeah, Wolfgang, he’s great. He used to play with Gabor
Zabo. He’s this little German guy with this really thick accent. Robby: I liked the souped up version
that that (the) Knack song, “My Sharona.”
FF*: [To Robby] It was a blessing for you that the Knack broke up.
Robby: Yeah, really [laughs]. Well, I knew Bruce Gary [d. 2006 – RBF, 2015], the drummer,
before the Knack ever started, in L.A. So it was kind of natural when they broke
up. I’m sure some super group will probably snap him up one of these days.
FF*: Someone like ASIA. Hey, thanks a lot for your time, Robby, and good
luck.
Directed by Doug Hawes-Davis High Plains Films / Big Sky Films / MVD Visual 93 minutes / 2013 www.mvdvisual.com
In a time of really bad music, where
the Top-10 is proliferated with the inanity of the likes of the Bieber, the
Perry and sadly, now the Swift, it’s great to continue to hear great music,
even if it’s from the past.
And speaking of inanity, in the
center of that plus insanity, or as I like to call it: Texas, thank God for
Austin, a sane safehouse for a state known for religious fanatics, Southern
rock, and future fucktard failures to run for President.
Thus we come to the Gourds, a “genre-blending”
band that they call (themselves) “just a rock and roll band,” but I would call
them Country Rock and Roll. But mostly I would call them a shit load of fun.
But I’m gettin’ ahead of myself.
These guys, who imply the standard
instruments plus a variously an electric keyboard, fiddle, mandolin and
accordion get down and have fun together. In their current form, they’ve been
together since 1999, but they’ve been playing since before that and have over
10 albums out there. Coming from different parts of Texas and Louisiana, they
settled in Austin and not only made it their home, have come to be identified
with the city, often showing up in bar, clubs and especially SXSW.
Just as important, the quintet seems
like a nice bunch of guys, and they certainly seem to get along pretty well.
They also share lead vocals between the four front guys. Some songs are
straightforward country/Americana, there are also songs about fruit and other
seemingly random topics. That’s not to lock them in, though, because their
cover ofSnoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice”
went viral. But the shots of them playing on stage, which are many here, they
certainly seem to be having a blast.
Building the story of the band, both
indivudally and as a group, there are one-on-one interviews, and also radio
interviews (videoed during the talks). They explain how they are in a
relationship, and it’s easy to hurt each other because they know each other so
well, but choose not to do that. That’s a brotherhood.
What’s nice is a llot of the
interviews are mixes from the last few years, rather than all new stuff, so you
can see the changes over time. For example one member is show with his toddler
in 1998, and then you see him in recent footage. We follow them on tours, in
local clubs, at home, and other music-related situations, such as playing and
interviews at radio stations, as I said previously. This is usually something
bands hate for someone to say, but I get the impression that the band is their
career, because no one talks about other jobs. That they make enough from these
tours to survive means they are in nearly constant motion (tours)
One section shows them recording with
Larry Campbell at Levon Helms studio in Woodstock, NY. This is introduced by
the announcement of Levon’s passing, and the recording session, etc., is in
flashback. It’s pretty obvious this documentary is many years in the making.
There are three sets of bonus
material, including Deleted scenes, and alternative ones. What got me smiling
though, were the 12 complete live songs. It’s all about the music, ain’it?
While this could actually have been
trimmed a bit (by 20 minutes, perhaps?), but their joy is infectious, and that
we get to hear so much music helps promote the band as much as their
personalities. As someone says at about the halfway point, “Our greatest asset
is that we’re fun, we’re happy, and we’re having a good time.”
This interview was originally printed in FFanzeen, issue #11, dated 1983. It was conducted
and written by our Managing Editor, Julia Masi.
Perhaps Divine (d. 1988) is where my respect
for Drag Queens began. Though, to be fair, calling Divine a drag queen is not
inclusive enough, as she was so much larger than that (pun not intended),
including having some hit recordings and being a media darling. Over the years, there have been a number of
books about Divine (including one by his mother), a documentary, and even
spoofs.
What
I find interesting, in McLuhan-esque rear view mirror thinking is that throughout
the article below, Divine is referred to as “him.” To be fair, even John Waters
uses the male pronoun in discussing Divine to this day. For myself, I have
always called Divine “her” and his male counterpart, Harris Glenn Milstead as “he,”
as seems to be the current way to differentiate between the actor and the “persona.”
I never met Divine, but did once serve ice cream to Harris in the very hot
summer of 1976 while working at a long-gone West Village Baskin-Robbins on 7
Ave South and Grove St. (there is a restaurant there now). A friend who also worked there, at another time after I
left, got his autograph (as Divine) and gave it to me. Yes, I still have it. – RBF, 2015
Capturing
the title of “The Most Beautiful Woman in the World” is no easy feat,
especially if you happen to be a 300 lb. gentleman. But as the comic sex symbol
in most of John Waters’ satirical films, Divine was defined his own overstated
sense of drag chic that has been immortalized in a paper doll book, Simply Divine (St. Martin’s Press), and
helped him land a contract with O Records.
His three
singles, “Night of Love,” “Shoot Your Shot” and “Shake It Up” have provided Divine
with yet another way to win fans and influence critics. Virtually unheard on
American radio, Divine’s voice has been saturating the European airwaves for
the past year. His move into music began when record producer Bobby Orlando
started searching for new talent. “He was a fan,” recalls Divine, “and he
thought I had the charisma and stage presence to put a song across.” At first
Divine was reluctant. “I was told for so many years that I couldn’t sing, that
I started believing it.”
So he made
an agreement with Orlando that he would try his hand at recording, but if the
demos didn’t turn out to his linking, they’d just scrap them. First they recorded
“Night of Love,” which turned out better than they expected. It hit the European
charts quickly and stayed there for 22 weeks. Shortly afterward, “Shoot Your
Shot” was released to similar reception. Last Fall, Divine was asked to tour
Europe because he had a record in the Top Ten, when “Night of Love” suddenly
shot up to the No. 3 spot. His latest single, “Shake It Up,” went from nowhere
to No. 15 the first week it was released. “It was quite exciting. It was like
being the Beatles or Elton John. I couldn’t believe the popularity. They [the
live audiences] just went crazy.”
Back on Divine’s
home turf, Key West, Florida, he’s best known as a cult move star. His more
memorable roles in Pink Flamingos (1972),
and the first venture into odorama, Polyester
(1981), brought him a wider audience and his first taste of mass-appeal
stardom. It also helped cement a bond of loyalty with John Waters.
He called
Waters “a realist,” insisting that “he cannot cheat his audience. If something
is supposed to happen, it does. If it looks like something is going on in the
film, I can tell you it actually does. If someone is supposed to set themselves
on fire, then John has found some fool who will do it.
“He’s
interested in his career and he’s interested in my career, too. He’s interested
in Divine. I’m very lucky to have that. To have somebody that you can really
trust.” He feels that their mutual admiration comes across on the screen.
That’s one of the reasons the films are so successful. I can take his written
word and give it life. I know exactly what he wants without asking. I’d always
work for John. The only reason I wasn’t in Desperate
Living (1977),” he says almost apologetically, “is that I was doing a play [Women Behind Bars – RBF, 1983].” That play toured Europe and gave Divine his first
shot at something he’s always wanted, “to become an international star. I’d
wanted to go to Europe. I’d never been out of the States. And the films hadn’t
been released there until just recently. To this day, I never know whether I
made the right decision. Maybe I did the right thing. I’ll never know, but it
all worked out.”
He compares
his relationship with Waters to the old movie studios of the 1940s. “They made
your career. They got you work – they could ruin you, but they kept you
working.” He praises Waters because, “He actually created a star of sorts; in
my case out of a complete unknown without he the major backing of a major
studio, and without the money.
“They’re
very sophisticated films. Some of the new movies that are coming out look like
they were made by fools. I shouldn’t say that. I haven’t actually seen them,
but the ads and things are enough to keep me away. Of course, the ads for Polyester weren’t that good. But what
I’m trying to say is that John deserves more credit for his writing. John’s
writing is just so –! I can read [other people’s] scripts and not know whether
or not I’m supposed to laugh. I read his scripts and be hysterical.”
His favorite
role to date is Dawn Davenport in Female
Trouble (1974). “It was fun because it kept changing. It was her whole life
story, which allows for different looks and different costumers, which allows
for more fun. I’m not saying it was my best part. I was at my best in Polyester, because it was a completely
different kind of role for me. It was the exact opposite of glamour and
everything that the Divine character stands for.” Film critics also found this
to be his best role, and the first where they actually took notice of his
acting expertise. “I’ve always been typecast. They say, ‘Oh, well, here’s
Divine. All Divine can do is play fat women with big teased hair and tight
dresses.’”
Unlike most
leading “ladies” he does not mind being called sexy. “I try to be at times.
There are all sides to the character.” What he feels makes the character sexy
are “the size, the volume, the attitude. You’ve’ got to think sexy to be sexy.
To do it, you’ve got to be it. It’s easy to get into.” But the essence of
Divine’s sensuality is “the sense of humor. It’s not like,” he lets out a deep
animal-like pant, “a maniac who jumps on anything – a fencepost. The sexiest
thing about a woman is a sense of humor.
“I’m real, I
think. The character makes people laugh. There are no holds barred, says
whatever comes out of the mouth. Nonchalant. I think more people would like to
be like that.”
The matinee
goddess that Divine most admires id Elizabeth Taylor (d. 2011), who he has idolized since he was a child. “I met her at
the Roxy Roller Rink in New York City, at a party for her daughter. It was
about a year-and-a-half, or two years ago. I don’t know what she thought of me.
It was like looking in a mirror.”
Last Winter,
Hollywood excreted Tootsie (1982) and
began flirting with the ideas of transvestite heroes. More commercial film
scripts are called for actors to get dressed up, a trend that is very upsetting
to Divine. “They’re trying to ruin my business. He (Dustin Hoffman) didn’t wear
one pretty dress in the movie. With their budget!
“And now I
hear that John Travolta is dressing up like a girl [I’m not sure to what Divine is referring, but Travolta actually played
the Divine role in the musical remake of Hairspray in 2007 – RBF, 2015]. He can’t need the money that badly. Come on,
boys! I could understand the feminist movement and feminist consciousness, but
there’s no reason for our sex idols to dress up like girls.
“I honestly
find it shocking. I’m here and I could do it. Maybe I’m just jealous. It sounds
like sour grapes, doesn’t it? But nothing really happens in that movie (Tootsie). At least with a John Waters
film, for one-and-a half hours you can’t stop laughing. It’s action-packed.
That’s what movies are all about.
“I guess
Richard Burton will be dressing up next,” he muses. “I’ll have to play men’s
parts. I guess women will have to play men’s parts. I guess I’ll be out of
work.”
Unemployment
is hardly an immediate threat for Divine. After another brief tour of Europe
this Summer, he’ll begin recording an album [My
First Album – RBF, 2015]. And there’s
a new John Waters film in the planning stage (Hairspray, released in 1988
– RBF, 2015]. “I can’t tell you anything about that except it’s his best
one yet. That could start any time. I’m up for three other films, but you never
know. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Currently living in Saskatoon (email at RBF55@msn.com for address). From 1977-88, I used to publish a print version of a music magazine in New York called FFanzeen, which dealt with the wide-ranging independent music scene. I also photographed many bands from the period (and since). Now I write this blog. And the beat goes on.
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