Excuse the way I am
phrasing this, if you must, but Woody Guthrie was punk as fuck. Perhaps not in
volume or electricity, but certainly in message. For example, he quite famously
had written on his guitar, in big letters, “This machine kills Fascists.” Woody
also had a strong influence on other proto-punk folkers like Bob Dylan and Phil
Ochs.
Most people I know who
came to punk got there through the loud guitars of bands like the MC5, the
Velvet Underground, or even KISS. For me, I grew up on folk (Simon &
Garfunkel, Peter Paul & Mary, Ochs, and others; Dylan would come later for
me, after the Ramones in 1975). For example, my very first concert was Melanie
(Safka) at Carnegie Hall in early February of 1973.
Over the next few
years, before I became obsessed with the bands at CBGB and Max’s Kansas City, I
had the opportunity to see a lot of the musicians that are on this DVD (an asterisk
will appear next to the names in the Song List below, of those I saw).
The purpose of this
tribute concert was to not only honor Woody, and rightfully so, but as a
benefit for a charity to fight the disease that killed him in 1967 by robbing
him of his movement, his voice and then his life: Huntington’s Disease.
Filmed at the
Hollywood Bowl, this is the first official release of the film. I do remember
there were showings of it in 16mm at local churches along St. Mark’s Place
(between Second Ave and Tompkins Square Park), but this is my first time seeing
it.
If you read through
the song list, you will most likely see lots that you may have heard before,
especially if you’re an older camper like me, though done by other artists. His
songs were carried forth by his fans (i.e., musicians) so it makes total sense
for the rhythm to continue.
First up is a huge
line-up for his song about a post-death heaven-bound train, “This Train is
Bound for Glory” (which Peter Paul & Mary did so well with as “This Train”).
Each musician takes a turn at a stanza; like the Traveling Wilburies, where Roy
Orbison’s voice outshines the rest, there is some of that here too, with Odetta
being the fiercest and certain Joan Baez being the highest pitched.
Between songs, there
are narrations read from Woody’s words, by Will Geer (Grandpa from “The Waltons”;
d. 1978) and Peter Fonda. These lead into the next song. For example, when the
notes read are about Woody’s Oklahoma upbringing, they slide into Arlo singing “Oklahoma
Hills.”
I am not going to
discuss every song (which are listed below), but I would like to highlight
certain points and show how prescient Woody could be beyond the grave. For
example, Baez and Seeger sing the dust bowl cry, “So Long, It’s Been Good to
Know Yuh.” This song is actually bogged down, in my opinion, by the catchiness
of the chorus (same as title), so most people don’t know it beyond that. But it
may be a song for modern times as well, as climate change is severely affecting
weather patterns to where it may occur again; last time was natural, this time
it may be induced by some governmental policies. For example, where I’m living
in the Prairies now, it’s been an overtly dry spring.
This was understandably
a large focus of Woody’s music from this period, and the troupe here follows
through with his “Going Down the Road Feeling Bad,” “I Ain’t Got No Home,” and
Arlo provides a musically updated and rocking “Do Re Mi.”
The dustbowl created a
migrant class both from the US and below the border, for which Woody addressed
with the extremely powerful “Plane Wreck at
Los Gatos (Deportee).” I first learned the song from Seeger, but it is worth
checking out the devastating version elsewhere by Washington DC-based acapella
group, Sweet Honey in the Rock (who I’ve seen on more than one occasion). Here,
Baez picks it up and gives a sincerely expressive version that is just beautiful.
In these times of locking kids in cages and mass deportations, it’s worth a
listen because things have definitely come in a sad and scary circle.
Odetta’s solo “Ramblin’ Round” shows something
I have felt for a long time. She essentially had a one-hit-wonder with “John
Henry,” but her voice is amazing, and she should have been bigger and more
popular. Her sound is to folk what Aretha was to R&B: unique and powerful.
Similarly, Richie Havens steals the scene with his “900 Miles,” as he had one
of the more unique guitar playing styles and a voice that is incredibly
different than any other artist here. He was a regular at the Bottom Line in
New York, as well as some of the Greenwich Village haunts.
For “Woman at Home,” Country Joe seems to be physically
trying to channel Jim Morrison, but his vocal tones remind me more of Johnny
Thunders.
Of course, for the finale, they all gather
together to perform Woody’s arguably most well known song (well, the first verse
and chorus is etched in the general psyche), “This Land is Your Land,” in a beautifully
shared and joyful rendition that includes all the verses.
The nearly 13-minute extra is worth
the watch. Within the backstage footage and thoughts by Arlo and Ramblin’ Jack,
there are some additional songs, namely “1913 Massacre” by Ramblin' Jack, “John
Hardy” by Odetta, and Baez covers the powerful “Pastures of Plenty.”
My only nit-picking issue is that I would liked
to have the option of playing just music without the talking, so I can just use
it like an album. The talking is fascinating, but not something I need to
listen to numerous times, unlike the music.
One last thought, while most of the musicians
mentioned above play their own instruments (yes, guitars), they are backed up
by a stellar band which really enhances the sound.
I think my favorite thing is that this is not
just a tribute of playing songs, but rather each performer gives the songs the
power and concentration they deserve. There are a couple of numbers where they
read the lyrics of a sheet, but other than that, it’s an enjoyable albeit intense
presentation. So good.
Song List:
·This Train
Is Bound for Glory: Arlo Guthrie*; Joan
Baez; Odetta* (d. 2008); Pete Seeger* (d. 2014); Country Joe McDonald; Richie
Havens (d. 2013); Ramblin' Jack Elliott; Earl Robinson (d. 1991)
·Oklahoma Hills: Arlo Guthrie*
·Pretty Boy Floyd: Country Joe McDonald
·So Long, It's Been Good to Know Yuh:
Joan Baez; Pete Seeger -
·Goin' Down the Road Feeling Bad:
Country Joe McDonald, Arlo Guthrie, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, Pete Seeger
·I Ain't Got No Home:
Pete Seeger; Arlo Guthrie
·Do Re Mi:
Arlo Guthrie
·Plane Wreck at Los Gatos (Deportee): Joan
Baez
·Ramblin' Round:
Odetta
·Roll on Columbia: Pete Seeger; Earl Robinson
·Nine Hundred Miles:
Richie Havens
·Woman at Home: Country
Joe McDonald
·The Sinking of the Reuben James: Pete
Seeger
·I've Got to Know: Arlo
Guthrie; Joan Baez; Odetta; Pete Seeger; Country Joe McDonald; Richie Havens;
Ramblin' Jack Elliott; Earl Robinson
·This Land Is Your Land: Arlo
Guthrie; Joan Baez; Odetta; Pete Seeger; Country Joe McDonald; Richie Havens;
Ramblin' Jack Elliott; Earl Robinson
This interview was published in FFanzeen, issue #9,
dated 1982, by then-Chicago-based writer, Cary Baker.
When this was first printed, he was just John Cougar, and Jack and Diane
were still in his future. While I’ve never been a Mellenhead, and always
considered him a depressive Springsteen wanna-be (to me, both are overrated,
but see below), I respect the work he’s done, considering he rose from the
ranks of the MainMan label splitting record sides with the likes of Cindy
Bullens, to the small Hoosier label Gulcher, and then onto an international
stage. – Robert Barry Francos, 2019
* * *
We catch up with John
Cougar in the environment we’re told he feels most at home – among hundreds of Harley-Davidson motorcycles.
We browse through a Harley dealer, located on the fringes of a massive car dealership
row that could be one of thousands of such stretches between Van Nuys and
Norfolk. But John has selected his dream toy: a black beauty listing for $7,000
to add to his present menagerie of bikes.
“I’m gonna get me one
of these and put new jammer parts on it, and paint over that emblem. You know
it’s a Harley – you don’t have to advertise it.”
From the street we hear
a deafening VAROOM!
“Hear that?” he asks. “That’s a Harley. I don’t even have to
look. It ain’t like a Suzuki, which goes RRINGG.
That’s not thrilling. It’s like, if you had the chance to see Gene Vincent
or Bobby Rydell, who would you go see?”
John Cougar takes his
ride as seriously as his rock. And with his unequivocal small-town veneer – a
rube’s voice that presumes him sooner a native of Raleigh then Seymour, Indiana
– we don’t doubt the rough and tumble nature of his songs come from real-life
experience. In that sense, he’s a true rock populist, a neo-Buddy Holly whose
side of the Mason-Dixon Line is at first uncertain. But Cougar, who speaks with
an emphatic drawl and in often too-emphatic
language, will be the first to point out he’s no different than any other
self-respecting Harley rider. His self-image appears to be one of a sated
Hoosier, the one-in-a-million who clicked.
“I’m no songwriter,” he
says. “When you say writer, you’re
assuming you’ve got something to say. What did “I Need a Lover Who Won’t Drive
Me Crazy” say? It didn’t say shit. Now Tennessee Williams was a writer. Let’s give credit where credit is due.
“I string some words
together. Kids and people my age might like it, but what I’m really doing is
communicating. There’s nothing wrong with communicating, but it’s a whole
different thing from writing.
“I write about very
insignificant parts of life. I ain’t got nothing to say that you don’t already know.
I may refresh your memory; but some
of these cats are heavy fuckin’ writers and I don’t want that responsibility on
my shoulders.”
We mention Dylan,
Lennon and McCartney, and Cougar is reticent to acknowledge their place in
rock’s annals, save for some early Dylan perhaps. He stops to consider our
suggestion that after five years of Fabianism, Meet the Beatles was easily on par with A Streetcar Named Desire.
“Yeah, you’re probably
right,” he acknowledges, “but I mean, ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’? If somebody
wrote that song now, we’d probably never hear it!”
John Cougar, nee John Mellencamp, is a youthful 30.
His styled, not-exactly-punkish black hair reveals sprigs of silver. The eyes
are oceanic blue and intense. The perennial 5:00 shadow is in full-bloom at
2:30 on a Saturday afternoon. Within two minutes of sitting down with him at
McDonald’s across the street from the bike dealer, there’s no mistaking him for
an urbanite. Even a few years of ripening in Europe and the dubious tutelage of
David Bowie’s ex-manager haven’t changed his headstrong outlook.
John Cougar, you might
recall, started out as a hype. He’d straggled into Tony DeFries’ MainMan
Productions around 1975, “where everyone looked like Bowie.” DeFries was about
to lose his paramount client and it wouldn’t have hurt to prove he could do it
again. Enter the then-23-year-old Mellencamp of Seymour, and soon there was an
album on MCA that displayed little more integrity than More of the Monkees.
“I had a year’s
unemployment coming, right?” he shrugs. So why not use it to become a star?
MainMan even staged a “Johnny Cougar Day” one nippy October afternoon in
Seymour, Indiana [2 hours west of
Cincinnati, OH – RBF, 2019], and wondered why half of Soho didn’t turn out.
But Johnny Cougar, MainMan and the MCA deal
weren't terribly long-lived. Not exactly crushed, Mellencamp headed for London
where he spent two years. Eventually, he teamed with producer John Punter, a
Roxy Music alumnus, and cut “I Need a Lover Who Won’t Drive Me Crazy.” The song
caught fire, so he returned to these shores, inked with the Riva division of
PolyGram and cut an album around his hit. He also shed his pristine
“next-Bowie” image, adding that, “what you’re seeing now is the way I’ve been
from the start.” What then? “I got lazy.” But by that time, the real starmaker
machinery was in motion and “I Need” was safe in bed with AOR.
The next Riva album may
not have panned out to be the smash its predecessor was, but well-espoused the
philosophy of John Cougar. It’s title: Nothing
Maters and What If It Did?
“I’ve learned it’s not
really important that everyone likes John Cougar. People’s opinions aren’t that
important, not even mine. The good news, though, is that the music’s still
gotta be good for people to buy it.”
We cite Christopher
Cross as an example to the contrary.
“I don’t like him
either and if I hear that ‘Arthur’ record again, I’m gonna puke. But there are
35-year-old women out there and I’m not gonna be the one to tell ‘em they’re
crazy for liking Christopher Cross ‘cause they ain’t.”
Cougar’s populist image
becomes intensified or deflated, depending on how one views populism, when
Cougar insists his songs are written for him alone.
“I don’t write songs
for the people. They’re for me. I don’t really think about them being hits. I
could be a hit by selling cocaine. You and me could be rich and famous much
quicker and with more leisure than this
job!”
What, we query, would
happen if Riva Records one day decided, “Sorry, John-boy, you’re too personal and esoteric for today’s
marketplace?”
“I couldn’t leave the record company now,” he says. “I already tried
and they said, ‘That will cost you $5-1/2 million’.”
But what happens – God forbid
– when obsolesces does rear its ugly
head and John’s washed up? [Note: He was
inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008, the Americana Lifetime
Achievement Award in 2010, the ASCAP Founders Award in 2016, and the
Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2018, among many others – RBF, 2019.]
“Oh, I’ve got job
security,” he chimes. “When I get tired of makin’ records, I have another job I
can do. I know this business inside and out.”
He points to the
PolyGram promotion rep.
“I know what he should be doing. I know what his boss
should be doing, and when they’re
screwed up. I met this Atlanta guy who’s the
man if you wanna get on the radio – and let’s face it, you’re nowhere if
you’re not on the radio. If I’d met this guy five years ago, I’d’ve quit the
business.”
He does a mocking
imitation of a radio programming mogul.
“’You mess with him and
your records won’t be on the radio.’
But I’m at a point where I mess with him and get away with it.”
John Cougar, his “old
lady” and the “the kids” presently reside in Bloomington, Indiana, “The Gulch” –
quieter then New York or London, but “not as embarrassing as living in Seymour.”
A college city with a music scene that now and again dents the national consciousness,
Cougar claims the locals know him and accept him as a burgher.
“”They see me so much
there that they say, ‘Oh, there’s that guy who makes records.’ They all know I
live there so it’s not any big deal,” he says.
A typical off-the-road
day for John Cougar might begin with “a few business phone calls to check in.
then I might smoke some cigarettes, sit around for a bit, talk to the old lady,
play with the kids and ride my Harley to the lake and back.”
Cougar probably loves
his Harley as much as he does music or the aforesaid old lady [second wife Victoria Granucci at the time,
but he’s been married more times since, and linked to a few others, including Meg
Ryan – RBF, 2019].
“I ain’t one of these
guys carryin’ guns, rapin’ women and shit like that. There are some who ride to
heaven – or to hell, whichever they choose – and back. For me, it’s just a
hobby outside music.”
We ask what kind of
music he does listen to at home, only
to elicit a rather surprising response.
“I’m into Paul Rodgers [lead singer for Bad Company and Free – CB,
1982]. I went into a record store to buy a Free tape last week; I’ve had
the record for 15 years. I told the guy at the counter, “It tested out;
telephone response has been great over the last ten years, so I’m buying it.”
Another jab at radio.
Cougar is hardly
considered villainous to New Wavers, but he personally deplores trendiness – a category,
which by his standards, includes Bruce Springsteen, a singer with whom he’s
been exhaustively compared. “He does have a little integrity left,” he shrugs. “I
wonder how long that’ll last [try getting a Springsteen on Broadway
ticket in 2018, ‘nuff said – RBF, 2019].
“But I make a point out
of not being hip. I’m not into Bow
Wow Wow. But don’t get me wrong – that’s only my opinion. If the kids are into
it, great for the kids. If the song is good, I could care if they have mohawks.
I had one once when I was a freshman in high school as an initiation. And I cut
it all off the next day. Mohawks ain’t
new to me – I had one for one day in 1967!”
His comment is silenced
by the thunderclap of a bike pulling into the dealer’s parking lot.
“You know,” he says, “All
the guys who ride Harleys even look
alike. It’s a little like punk rock…”
Cougar obviously hasn’t
seen the customer – squat, brawny, balding, faded denim jacket, chains, like a
Hell’s Angel 12 years after Altamont.
Savoring the $7,000
bike he’s decided he’ll eventually own, Cougar gives a sheepish grin.
This interview with Cynthia Sley was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #15, dated 1988. It was conducted and written by FFanzeen Manager Editor, Julia Masi.
The Mad Orphans quickly morphed into the Lovelies, and recorded an album
titled Mad Orphan in
1988. I had the opportunity to hang out
with then-married Cynthia Sley (of the Bush Tetras) and Ivan Julian (previously
in the Voidoids) during a taping of cable access show Videowave around the time of this interview. They are
talented Art Rock musicians who deserve more recognition than they have received.
Cynthia, meanwhile, has been back in a revitalized version of the Bush Tetras
and Ivan continues to write a produce his and others’ music at his recording
studio, NY HED. – Robert Barry Francos, 2019
Ivan and Cynthia, Videowave (pic by RBF)
“You can have so much fun with
images,” sighs Cynthia Sley, as she sips champagne and bananas, and recalls the
night she and her band, the Mad Orphans, played a gig dressed as priests.
It was during a period where New York
City clubs were experiencing such rapid personnel changes that that whoever
hired a band to play was long gone by the night of the gig, and his predecessor
would go out of his way to swindle the band. “I thought it would be really
great if we dressed like priests, as a real intimidating force coming in. We
did really well and a lot of people came. So, I felt like I blessed the gig,”
she quips.
Cynthia is a native of Cleveland,
Ohio, who initially came to New York to be a fashion designer. She did work in
fashion for a while. But while out in New York clubs with musicians she knew
from her hometown, she was persuaded to join the band the Bush Tetras [see FFanzeen article about the Bush Tetras HERE – RBF, 2019]. They became successful very quickly and Cynthia suddenly found herself with
a new career as a singer.
The way she sees it, music and
fashion are closely related and often influence each other. “It’s easier to see
in a place like London. You can tell by the magazines. All the magazines are
being taken over by fashion. I live in the East Village [which is] like the
heart of it. I see Yuppies dressing like real hipsters by night. Totally decked
out! There are all these people walking around with the right clothes. They [the
clothes] look great but they [the people] look so uncomfortable in their clothes.
I try to figure out why they’ve got on what they’ve got on. It’s really weird.
I notice it all the time.”
And she experiments with fashion all
the time.
Cynthia spends hours conjuring up
outrageous outfits for herself and the band to wear onstage. She admits that
she tries to coordinate their outfits to the atmosphere of the club that they’re
playing in, but it’s obvious that other influences, perhaps even National Geographic, work their way into
her costumes. There have been nights when she has wrapped at least 20 things
around her head, including a flashlight, to make a turban. “I gradually take
things off and I go absolutely out of my mind. At the end of the gig when we do
this Led Zeppelin song, ‘Communication Breakdown,’ I completely bug out. I
start out really controlled, then I gradually freak out. If I wear something
that I think is really outrageous, then it spurs me on to be really out of my
mind.
“I think that’s how you have fun. I
think that’s how most people do it. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re all
dispassionate about it. If you’re gonna go up there and do it, you might as
well go all the way. It’s like having sex.”
Musically, as well as visually, the
band likes to pull out all the stops. Ivan Julian writes all of the music.
Cynthia frequently contributes lyrics for new songs. The Mad Orphans’
repertoire also includes some of the songs Ivan has written with previous
bands, including Shriekback and the Lovelies.
Their songs, such as “Men so Brave,” “You
Don’t Know,” and “Overflow,” lean toward illustrative lyrics loaded with
personal politics. They show a vibrant curiosity and sympathetic flair for
people trying to find their niche or express their individuality. Musically,
Cynthia sees them as “rock, but funk rock.” But most of their fans would
probably prefer to simply label them a good live band.
One of the band’s primary goals is to
be able to write songs comfortably for a long period of time. “It’s great when
you start a band and you write these songs. But, you want to get it to a point
beyond that, where you keep writing because you have this chemistry that you’re
building. It’s hard to find. That’s what we’ve been working on, keeping the chemistry
going.
“But you have to wait for something
to happen. You have to keep yourself alive until then. I’m pretty practical. I
know what it takes to get a record deal. At least Ivan and I have some kind of
reputation.”
Sometimes Cynthia waxes nostalgic about
the old days when she was growing up in Ohio, studying art, mostly on
scholarships, and going to see bands. “I would see a band every week. My old
bass player [in the Bush Tetras, Laura
Kennedy; d. 2011 – RBF, 2019] and I used to go out every Thursday night, or
whatever it was, to see a band. And they were great bands.”
She recalls seeing David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust tour, the Dead Boys, the
Waitresses and Pere Ubu. “I realize now that there was this huge scene there.
But we were the only ones who danced. We would get dressed up – really
ridiculous – put the streak in our hair or something. It was really hard to be
a punk there. The music was always really great.”
Her early days in New York were also
happy ones until the old club scene fizzled out. “I used to think it was
gradual. Everything kind of turned towards money, especially in New York. I
think it’s really money-oriented now, where it used to be experimental. But, in
a way, that’s good in itself: experimental music will become lucrative now because
people will really want it soon. There are so many drum machines and so much of
this certain thing that’s happening. I listen to the radio very day, and most
of the Top 40 all sounds the same. But there are some good things coming out.
It’s a gradual change. I don’t know… things go like that… in waves.
“Like in the ‘70s, it’s really wild.
There are a lot of really great things out there. I think it’s gonna be a really
big turnaround over the next couple of years, where fashion won’t really have
as much influence on music. Things will get more experimental. They have to. It’s
more passionate.”
She sees music going further into the
dance scene and hopes that the Mad Orphans “get a little wilder. I think having
Ivan play guitar makes it pretty wild. It gives a difference to it. I’ve never
really played with someone like him. I’ve played with great guitar players but
there’s something that seems more commercial about his playing, to me.”
And, of course, with Cynthia’s
artistic background, the band looks forward to working in video. “There’s so
much to do with it. It’s a great thing. I want to make a low budget, really
wild video, like The Mr. Bill Show. I
like things that are really off the wall.”
Presently, however, the band has one
pressing thing on their minds: “All we have to do is make a record.” Well,
Cynthia, your fans hope you do it soon.
This was recorded at the grand Majestic
Theater in San Antonio, Texas. It’s one of those beautiful old showcases with a
huge stage, and there is lang in bare feet and her trademark pants suit over a
white shirt. This was recorded in 2017, which is the 25thAnniversary
of the album, having been released in 1992 (for those who don’t want to do the
math).
The broad curtains open and lang
starts right in with “Save Me.” No need for introductions, we all know why we
are here. She begins with the trappings of country, relying on the bridge of
the steel pedal because that’s her roots, but lang manages to transcend that
sound with lyrics that are full of emotion.
She does not merely present the
songs, she emotes them, continuing to give them life. This is why she is such a
strong performer more than a quarter of a century on in her fame. With no idle
banter between songs, she slides into the jazzier “Mind of Love.” This song, as
is most on the album, is full of longing and desire that touched a nerve, no
matter what the gender.
This makes sense with the slow ballad
of “Wash Me Clean,” as desire coils ever tighter until it nearly explodes. Rather
than loosening up the reins, our Albertan cowgirl of the Prairies tightens her
grip even stronger with “So It Shall Be,” bringing back the steel pedal for
emphasis. With some Latin jazz tones, she keeps the pressure up with “Still
Thrives This Love,” adding an element of what I can only describe as “pebble”
lighting across the wide stage.
“Reason of Hollow Soul” brings it
back to a slow ballad, comparing love to a dying tree and its living
descendants. It leads into a beautiful piano soliloquy that bridges the song
with “Outside Myself,” and gives lang a chance to rest her voice. “OM” is more
of a throwback torch song with a hint of different styles flowing through it,
but without the group of musicians, I could imagine someone singing it laying
on a piano. She just as smoothly slides into the lovely “Tears of Lover’s
Recall,” which branches into to another instrumental extravaganza with a piano
focus.
It’s not a huge ensemble, but we do
get to see them showing their individual chops, including the bass, piano, two guitars,
drums, a pair of background vocalists, and of course that steel pedal. Often
lang interacts with the musicians directly. The lighting is almost part of the
show as well, focusing often on primary colors red, yellow and especially blue.
It certainly adds to the mood of the songs and is well chosen.
Of course the key part of the concert
ends (pre-encore) with possibly her biggest hit, “Constant Cravings,” which I
still often hear over supermarket and store PA systems. I don’t know what else
to add about this song whose chorus has been an ear worm to so many, but it is
such a schmaltzy sound (meant as a compliment). The bridge is given a nice
rocked out sound, which actually works quite well.
As the end of the program proper,
lang introduces the band with some obviously pre-written bander about each member.
Most of it is pretty amusing, although it does go on a bit long.
As a first encore (though she never
leaves the stage), lang also dives into “Honey and Smoke,” which has a mild ‘60s
pop feel to it, probably due to the influences of her co-writers, including
Nekko Case. For “I Dream of Spring,” being from Alberta, it’s not hard to
imagine what is the thought behind the song (which is actually written by her
bassist). It is noteworthy that this is the first and only time that lang picks
up an instrument herself – an acoustic guitar – and plays along with the band.
She finishes off the set with covers
by three Canadian songwriters, by moving to Joni Mitchell’s amazing “Help Me.”
It’s truly hard to do justice to this song, which seems to be such a good fit
for Mitchell’s staccato yodel, but lang emotes so well to it. With Neil Young’s
“Helpless,” she does more of a job by remaking it in her own smooth style;
Young is great, but no one would call his music smooth.
For the last of the trio, of course
there’s Leonard Cohen’s monster, “Hallelujah,” which she also had a hit with,
and rightfully so. I’d go as far as to say that other than Cohen, hers is the
definitive version; this song has been covered by so many people so that’s
saying a lot.
When lang and the band return to an
obvious loud round of applause, she does the uplifting “Sing It Loud,” and the sleepy,
schmaltzy (again, a compliment) and romantic “Sleeping Alone.”
The HD is quite amazing. Crystal
clear images, especially near the end where the camera is behind lang and faces
the standing audience. You can practically see the nostril hairs on someone in
the back row. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but what you can see quite clearly
is the blue glows of the cell phones as audience members record the show.
The one extra (other than stereo
choice and chapters) is a 30-minute interview with lang by James Reed. He asks
her some wonderfully insightful questions about her relationship to the music
after all these years, what it’s like to perform them, why the Majestic
Theater, and especially about her sexuality. This album was released about the
time of her coming out, and I certainly remember the “is she?” / “isn’t she?” topic
was big around the time this was originally released, thanks in part of a picture
of her sensually being shaved by supermodel Cindy Crawford.
Anyway, this is a glorious show on
many levels, be it musically, visually, and topically.
Save Me Mind of Love Miss Chatelaine Wash Me Clean So It Shall Be Still Thrives This Love Reason of Hollow Soul Outside Myself Tears of Lover’s Recall Constant Craving Encore 1: Honey and Smoke I Dream of Spring Help Me Helpless Hallelujah Encore 2: Sing it Loud Sleeping Alone
There are no ads on this page, so no compensation is made for image use
This interview was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #8, dated 1981. It was written by David G.
To be honest, I was totally unmoved by the whole New Psychedelia sound
like this band, the Smith, Joy Division, the Teardrop Explodes, etc. as it
always seemed so over-processed; in other words, it was everything that drove
me to the striped down, bare sounds of punk. However, David G. was (is?) a
musician, and he quite fancied the esoterica of bands like this and Snakefinger
(who he also interviewed for FFanzeen). That made
him a good choice to interview the band. – RBF, 2016
Echo and the Bunnymen are looking for
answers, though they’re not sure of the questions. As part of an alleged
“Liverpool Revival,” they share, with follow Liverpudlians the Teardrop
Explodes, a fascination with Jim Morrison; but whereas Teardrop’s Julian Cope
opts for the romantic pop of “Love Street,” Bunnyman Ian “Mac” McCulloch
prefers to delve into the ominous ambiguity of “The End.” While the Bunnymen –
Les Pattinson on bass, Will Sergeant guitar, and Pete de Freitas [d. 1989, at age 27, in a motorcycle
accident – RBF, 2019] on drums – churn out a taught, rhythmic, sometimes brutal,
usually hypnotic backdrop, Mac sings about feelings that we all share:
anticipation, disappointment, disillusion, triumph. His lyrics, although
extremely vague on the surface, always manage to frame real emotions. When he
sings, “It appeals because it’s what I feel,” he means it.
The Bunnymen have somewhat of a
reputation for being difficult. I found them to be friendly, witty and, although
a little bored from a long afternoon of interviews, fairly talkative. Pete
seems the most reflective and cautious while Les and Mac don’t hesitate to say
what’s on their minds. Will kind of drifted in and out of the conversation.
They’ve been called arrogant (especially Mac), and while they do tend to be a
little into themselves (especially Mac), it’s in a warm, almost
self-depreciatory sort of way. Their charming Liverpool accents tend to help
quite a bit.
Due to scheduling problems, I was
“given” (record company promo lingo) Les and Will to talk to, with the promise
that Mac and Pete would join us after. Things got off to a slow start as I
followed several false leads (including an inquiry about the band’s supposed
interest in Apocalypse Now!, a film
Mac hadn’t even seen). It picked up a little when I hit upon Will’s fascination
with Star Trek (his favorite episode
is “The Menagerie”). After a lengthy discussion on the subject, I popped my
first big question:
FFanzeen: Will, you’ve been playing guitar for two years –
Will Sergeant: Two and a half.
FFanzeen: Tom Verlaine is a big influence, isn’t he?
Will: Probably, yeah. We just seen
Tom Verlaine. I’m really choked, ‘cause he’s my big hero. He was just walking
down the street.
Les Pattinson: I thought he was,
like, really an exclusive person. You never hardly see him; he never comes out.
Will: We’ve been told that he’s
really like a hermit type; you know, that he doesn’t come out.
FFanzeen: Besides Verlaine, who else do you listen to?
Will: Just the Velvets, the Doors.
Les likes Love.
FFanzeen: And Lou Christie.
Les: [shocked] How did you find out about that as well? Well, only, like,
selected things of Lou Christie –
Will: “Guitar and Bongos.”
Les: Yeah, “Guitar and Bongos.” It
was just like a passing thing, something to say, ‘cause nobody’s ever really
heard of him.
FFanzeen: All of your influences are integrated pretty well into your
music. How does your material come about?
Les: Mac writes all of the lyrics, apart
from “Happy Death Men,” which Will wrote. The usual way a song comes up is,
we’ll be in rehearsal and we just start jamming, you know, and we come up with
a song or a riff and work on that and try and get it to a near enough normal
arrangement; and then Mac will go away and see what kind of, uh, you know, song
he can kind of come up with. He likes to listen to the music first, and try and
get the right, sort of like, vibrations off it, and then he’ll try to put words
to it. It’s usually the best way.
FFanzeen: You originally worked as a three piece, with a rhythm box, but
no drummer.
Will: Yeah, for a whole year.
FFanzeen: Which records have that line-up on them?
Les: “Pictures on my Wall.” That was
the first single we did, on the Zoo, an independent label. And then, just
before we got the major record deal [Korova
Records / Warner Music Group – RBF, 2019], we got Pete in, who’s the
drummer.
Will: We didn’t want to do the album
with a drum machine.
Les: It’s pretty limited.
Will: There’s two songs on the new
album with drum machine featured.
Les: But also, it was getting kind of,
like, hip to have a drum machine then, so we phased it out. A drummer is more
dynamic. It really boosted the songs.
FFanzeen: Julian Cope has commented that he thinks that your songs are
kind of one-dimensional, rhythmically. Do you think that might have to do with
them being developed with a rhythm machine?
Les: I don’t know. I think his songs
are like that, actually.
Will: [snidely] I don’t think about them.
FFanzeen: You were originally supposed to make your American debut
several months ago. What happened?
Les: We couldn’t get visas.
FFanzeen: Did a lot of bands experience the same problems at that time?
Will: There’s a lot of rumors flying
round that there was too many bands going to the States at that time; there
was, like, Madness, the Fall and a lot of others, you know, so a little rumor
started flying round that they’re not letting any more in.
FFanzeen: Sounds ridiculous.
Will: Just fuck-ups. Just bad
organization.
Les: Left to the last minute.
FFanzeen: What were you guys going before Echo?
Les: I was a cook.
Will: And I was building boats; repairing
boats, you know.
FFanzeen: At that time, Mac was working with other area musicians, right?
Will: Not working. It was just something
to do while he was on the dole. Like, the reason he got kicked out is ‘cause he
never turned up half the time. Like, he never used to turn up to us; like, he’s
always late for a gig, and, like, we’re sort of stuck with it, you know, but
they didn’t stick it and they just kicked him out. That was Teardrop [before Echo, Mac worked with Julian Cope in
a band that became the Teardrop Explodes – DG, 1981]. It’s just that he’s
constantly late all the time.
FFanzeen: He’s still late?
Will: He’s late now, isn’t he?
FFanzeen: He’s supposedly finishing up another interview.
Will: Yeah, but he probably started
that late!
Les: We go around to his house, you
know, and pick him up, and you can just add a half hour to an hour to what time
he’s supposed to be ready, ‘cause he’s asleep.
FFanzeen: I get the impression that Mac spends a lot of time apart from
the band.
Will: Only ‘cause he’s got a
girlfriend. He’s always with her, and once he’s with her, he doesn’t say anything;
he just stays with her.
Les: When we’re not working, we’re
not really together; unless we go out together, you know?
FFanzeen: Why the long delay between the U.S. and English release of Crocodiles [their first LP in 1980 – RBF, 2019]? You must have a new album ready
by now.
Les: I think we were just rehearsing
it when our first album got released here.
Will: It’s stupid; another cop-up.
Les: Yeah, that’s another band
organization thing, ‘cause we’re just in the middle of mixing it when we had to
come out here; you now, the time schedule was all wrong.
FFanzeen: So this tour is supposedly to support Crocodiles?
Will: Supposedly, but we’re hardly
playing anything off it.
FFanzeen: So you’re doing a lot of new stuff?
Les: Yeah.
Will: I’m sick of Crocodiles.
Les: I think there’s about four songs
that we do that’s off the old album, the first LP.
FFanzeen: Will the new album [Heaven Up Here, 1981 – RBF, 2019] have all
those atmospheric keyboards and percussion that Crocodiles had?
Les: Well, that was mainly Dave Balfe
– Dave Balfe and Bill Drummond – the Chameleons. He kind of, like, adds
keyboards to everything he can get his hands on.
Will: Yeah, there would have been a
lot more keyboards on that, but we were just arguing all the time, like close
to fights and things.
Les: I’m always worried. Like
recording things that we don’t do live.
Will: There’s a bit of keyboards on
the new album, but we played it ourselves, just little odds and ends; nothing
much, just mainly little atmospheric bits, like you said.
FFanzeen: You must be sick of all the Doors references to your music.
Will: Yeah. We’re not sick of the
Doors, but we are getting a bit sick of all the references, yeah.
Les: The people who come backstage
after we’ve finished live are saying that they don’t see – they can’t see – any
references at all; they can’t see anything in it. They just say that it’s just
the new thing, you know, we’ve broken away from it.
FFanzeen: What’s the state of Zoo Records?
Les: That’s just management; they
manage us…
FFanzeen: There’s still going to be records, aren’t there?
Les: Yeah, there’s odd little things
coming out.
Will: There’s a Scott Walker
compilation coming out.
Will: Well, you know Julian in
Teardrop? He’s one of his main influences. He loves Scott Walker and he’s made
a compilation up, and they’ve got it licensed and they’re going to put it out
on Zoo.
Les: Will’s also going to do a solo
album.
Will: On Zoo. It’s only going to be
done on a four-track, though.
FFanzeen: How far along are you?
Will: I got, like, one song.
FFanzeen: Recorded or planned?
Will: Recorded, more or less.
Les: I’ve heard some of his ideas and
they’re good. He’s got lots of ideas.
FFanzeen: How come you can’t use them within the Echo framework?
Will: Well, I quite like experimental
stuff and it doesn’t work in the Bunnymen. I like the Residents and things like
that. The newer stuff I don’t like, but like Fingerprince, and all that stuff is good.
Les: I like Not Available.
Will: Not Available, yeah, and Eskimo.
Don’t like the Commercial Album very
much.
Les: Usually, when we’re waiting to
go somewhere – somewhere ridiculous at like 5 o’clock in the morning – we all,
like, pile ‘round to Will’s house and put Eskimo
on in the dark. With a blanket on.
FFanzeen: One of your press releases says that your album should be
played in the dark.
Les: Yeah, a lot of people say the
best time to play it is when the sun is going down.
[Mac and Pete finally
arrive]
FFanzeen: Mac, can you tell me a little bit about this Liverpool Scene
that you’re a part of – or should I say, the leader of?
Ian “Mac” McCulloch: that’s more like
it.
FFanzeen: Did it start with Clive Langer and Deaf School?
Mac: That’s where one thing ended,
really. It’s like a throwback to something else. That was good-time music; Deaf
School was like pure theatre – good times, but like no seriousness in it, and
when we started, things became a bit more serious. And Liverpool’s like that
now. It’s pathetic. A few years ago the same people would go and watch the
Accelerators or something, and like them.
FFanzeen: But is there any kind of a scene? Do various group members hang
out with each other and things?
Will: Knife each other.
Les: There were just a lot of bands
that started in one place at one time. It’s not bad now, but it was pretty intense
at one time, so I suppose people said there was a scene there.
Mac: Well, I mean if the initial
bands, like us and Teardrop and Orchestral Manoeuvres, hadn’t of gotten good
press then the other bands wouldn’t have bothered forming. It was only, like,
because these band like us were getting good reviews that they all thought,
“Well, may as well form a band,” because they were always content every weekend
to just go out and see Leeds bands and things; but now it’s okay.
Pete de Freitas: Like in the
beginning, it strikes me, there was some kind of – I don’t know – we used to
hang around with the Teardrops and, I know don’t what it was like before I
joined, but even Pete Wylie [another
former mate of Mac and Julian Cope, now in Wah! Heat – DG, 1981] didn’t
seem like so much of an enemy then.
Mac: We did used to hang out with
each other.
FFanzeen: It seems to me that the essence of a “scene” is a sort of
“familial” feeling between the bands or artists, or whatever.
Mac: It’s not like we swap
instruments and say, “Come and boogie with us tonight,” not like I imagine New
York to be.
FFanzeen: It’s not really like that here, except for a few bands.
Mac: It used to be like that, with
Patti Smith and all that.
FFanzeen: Well, I keep reading about this feud between you and Julian
Cope, the Teardrops, Pete Wylie… I don’t know if you want to talk about it.
Will: [grumbling] No.
Mac: It’s them begin petty. We really
like each other.
Pete: It’s like, more than anything,
it was just because, as the bands were growing up or something, they began to
pull apart – I think musically more than anything – and, as that happened, it
sort of happened friendship-wise as well. But now it’s like all pretty
friendly, really.
Les: Yeah, you only need to say one
bad thing in an interview, you know, one little teaser.
FFanzeen: You all still live in Liverpool. Don’t you run into each other?
Pete: We don’t see a lot of each
other because, when we’re there, they’re somewhere else.
Mac: Julian’s usually jet-setting
around the world.
FFanzeen: He says the same thing about you.
Mac: What, jet-setting? He’s the one
with the money.
FFanzeen: In the article I read, he was making references to the whole
“rock star” image, and accusing you of it.
Mac: That’s exactly what he is.
Will: He goes down to the Zanzibar in
London.
Mac: He’s just playing up to that pop
star role. It’s depressing.
Will: That’s just what he wants to
be, I think.
Mac: And he accused me of that?
Will: Let’s go get him!
Mac: That’s just pathetic, and he
knows it.
FFanzeen: I think that, realistically, there has to be some element of an
attitude if you want to be a musician, or else you’d be a clerk or something.
You wouldn’t wear your hair the way you do.
Mac: [stroking a rather flattened quiff] It’s not like it should be.
Will: My hair was longer than this
when I was working as a cook. It used to drip in the chips pan.
Les: You weren’t a “Ted” then, were
you.
FFanzeen: We’ve already covered the so-called Liverpool Scene. What about
the “Psychedelic Revival,” which you’re also supposed to be a part of?
Les: There’s a revival going on?
FFanzeen: Well, bands like the Psychedelic Furs – by virtue of their name
alone – Echo, Teardrop, U2, etc., are oft being mentioned in the same sentence
as making up a psychedelic revival in England.
Will: Well, that’s what (the
magazines) are saying, isn’t it? It’s got nothing to do with us. Just shows you
how stupid it is. Just don’t buy them anymore. That’s the best thing to do to
them.
Mac: I mean, we’re the only ones who
could possibly be, if you see what I mean [not
really – DG, 1981].
Pete: I’ve always seen U2 as more
like –
Will: – Early ‘70s rock. It’s like – err – bland.
Pete: I think it’s impossible to lump
the various bands together and put them under one title, which isn’t even
accurate anyway; it’s, like, pretty stupid.
Mac: I hate being labeled with bands,
especially U2; you know, early ‘70s (British
Prog rock band) Barclay James Harvest or something.
FFanzeen: There are some similarities between you and Teardrop. A friend
of mine describes you as being the masculine, and Teardrop the feminine side of
the same musical coin.
Les: We’re, uh, the truthful side, if
you get into things like that.
Mac: They come over like a bunch of
stylish kids. And they’re just a show band. The feminine side? I’ll agree with
that.
FFanzeen: Mac, I hear a lot of Iggy Pop, Jim Morrison and Tom Verlaine in
your singing –
Mac: Did you ever hear any Ian
McCulloch in it?
FFanzeen: Well, yeah.
Mac: [snidely] That’s okay.
Les: It’s just so easy to make
comparisons rather than having to think about what it is.
Mac: The Tom Verlaine one’s
interesting though. I’d prefer that than, you know, the others.
FFanzeen: There seem to be a few similar themes running through most of
your lyrics. Do you write about things that happen to you, or do you just make
things up?
Mac: The first album was, like, I’d
do observational lyrics; like “Pictures” was about just an observation of a
mood and of a potential situation, or something like it, without being
specific. It’s just like a mood thing. Like, most of the first album was like
that. There are, like, specific things that I’m writing about, but I don’t specify
what they are in the lyrics, and I don’t when people ask me to.
FFanzeen: The mood I get from your lyrics is one of simultaneous
discovery and disappointment, expectations, the pressure of living, etc.
Mac: Yeah, there is that. But then
I’ve cheered up in the last year, and the new album is totally different. I’ll
stick lines in there that just sound right. I mean, they don’t necessarily fit in
the concept of the whole song, but they’ll fit on the sound level; they’ll just
sound right. And, I mean, there’s a lot more free form. Well, it’s not free
form – I don’t know – it’s just, it’s not free form at all, I just stick things
in that I feel like. On the new album, it’s a lot happier, as well.
FFanzeen: There seems to be a lot of animal names associated with you. Is
there any purpose to them?
Mac: It’s just coincidence. We didn’t
realize there were so many animal names and references, but there’s, like, the Chameleons,
Zoo, Crocodiles, Bunnymen –
Les: People could think that all one
word titles and animal stuff is pretty unusual and think, “How pretentious!”
Mac: Yeah, but I mean, we’re never
pretentious. We can’t be; it’s too hard to be pretentious. We are on the film.
Les: Yeah, I mean, when we spoke
French together!
FFanzeen: I read about the film (Shine so Hard, directed by John Smith – DG, 1981]. It’s not one of those one song videos, is
it?
Pete: It’s got about five or six
songs on it; five live tracks. Most of Pride
is on it. The live filming stuff’s pretty good. It’s about 30-minutes long and it’s
finished, and there’s not really a lot to say about it.
Les: There’s a lead-in to the live
stuff that we don’t like at all, you know, pretty embarrassing.
FFanzeen: Are those the specific sequences that are supposed to represent
the personality of each one of you?
Les: Yeah, those are the bad bits.
FFanzeen: How much say did the band have in what went into each sequence?
Was it one of those “I’m the director and you do what I say” numbers?
Les: Sort of.
Mac: I don’t think the director was
thinking, “This is a masterpiece,” or anything. He thought that we probably
really liked what was happening. It just didn’t turn out that way. I don’t
know, it was one of those things; you make a mistake, and you learn by it.
FFanzeen: Will it be shown, despite your objections?
Mac: They’re just trying to get some distribution
crap going, but we really don’t want it to be distributed. Bill Butt [who photographed the cover of Crocodiles – DG, 1981] was meant to be directing
it at first; it was his idea. I just feel really trapped. I don’t know what to
say when they go on about, “We can get it distributed in Switzerland,” or
whatever, and sometimes I just don’t feel like saying, “I don’t want you to,
‘cause I don’t like it,” ‘cause I mean, people worked hard on it.
FFanzeen: Getting back to your songs, is there an interesting story
behind “Villiers Terrace”?
Mac: There is an interesting story
behind it. Do ya wanna know?
FFanzeen: Well, I asked.
Mac: It’s about Adolf Hitler.
FFanzeen: Is it?
Les: Yeah.
Will: Or A-dolf, as we prefer to call him.
Mac: Adie; he’s a good friend.
FFanzeen: What made you go and write a song about “Adie”?
Mac: Uh, he seemed like quite an
interesting bloke to write a song about; really, I don’t know. What people can
you remember in history? I think he’s like the number one, probably, that you’d
remember. It isn’t really about him; it’s about people like him, about people
who like him. About people who are the type to follow people like him. It’s not
a pro-Hitler song.
FFanzeen: A lot of critics have mentioned the drug references in the
song, but I never quite saw it that way, although it’s definitely a decadent
scenario.
Mac: It sounded like it could have
been talking about something sleazy going on, but it’s more like, you know, a
decadence thing, whatever that is. It can be drugs and it can be politics. It
was an anti-decadence song in a way, but also it pointed out the attraction of
it, which I mean, you gotta draw the line I suppose. And that’s what its’
about, I think, in a vague way. It’s up to you to decide whether I’m saying
“You’re supposed to draw the line somewhere,” or something.
FFanzeen: Well, is there anything else left that you’d like to talk
about? Anything we’ve missed?
Mac: I don’t know what hasn’t been
covered, like before I was here. Um, ya discuss Liverpool winning the League Cup
on Monday?
Pete: Did they?
Mac: Yeah, 3-1.
Pete: Great!
FFanzeen: What’s that, soccer?
Mac: You don’t know about Liverpool
FC? Let’s talk about America. Everybody shakes your hand in America, don’t
they? It's like a really good, polite gesture. They don’t do it in England.
Les: I must admit, I go to shake
hands first.
Mac: It gets a bit boring, sometimes,
doesn’t it? On everything! I don’t know if they’re more reserved in England. I think
maybe in England, people are more frightened to come up to you, ‘cause, like
me, I’ve got this reputation for being in Echo and the Bunnymen.
FFanzeen: Maybe Americans are just more forward, or they perceive you as
celebrities or something.
Will: They didn’t even know our names
half the time.
Mac: Yeah, really, people will just
come up out of curiosity, which is good when you convert them and, like, they
come back after and say, “Ah, it was great. I didn’t know you were able. I’m
going to buy your albums tomorrow.”
Les: I had that happen last night.
One of the bartenders in the club, he says, “We see all the bands comin’ in and
out of here. They all sound the same, but you’re different.”
FFanzeen: How have the American audiences been taking you?
Mac: Good, generally. Last night was
a bit weird, but the whole thing was, like, the sound was crap; we weren’t very
good. I thought we were crap.
FFanzeen: Tonight will be better, right?
Mac: Yeah, if I can get some kip in.
It was, like, the “vibes” weren’t right last night. But that’s okay. Well, it
shouldn’t, somethings, like, because we’re playing there three nights, you
think, “Oh, the first night was crap, the other two will be,” but they won’t;
they’ll be great. You didn’t go last night?
FFanzeen: No, I’m going tonight.
Mac: Okay, well, if I can get some
kip in, it should be great!
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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