THE SKELS with a Live CHEETAH (CHROME)

Text by Julia Masi, 1982
Introductory text by Robert Barry Francos, 2010
© By FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

The following article/interview with The Skels was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #9, in 1982. It was conducted and written by Julia Masi, and I was also present for the rehearsal, interview and brief photoshoot on St. Mark’s Place, though my memory of the whole experience is kind of weak.

Bassist Gerry Lambe (not to be confused with the British musician of the Skunks) died around 1986 after a long career on the New York scene. Cheetah Chrome, infamous for so many reasons, including his tenure with the Dead Boys, now has a powerful new autobiography out called A Dead Boy’s Tale, which had been reviewed last month in this blog (ffanzeen.blogspot.com/2010/09/book-review-dead-boys-tale-by-cheetah.html). In the book, there is little mention of the Skels, so here is my contribution to honor the history of Cheetah. – RBF, 2010

In a dark, musty studio on West 27th Street, Cheetah Chrome and his band, the Skels – Gerry Lambe, bass, and Jeff Miller, drums – are absorbed in practice for an upcoming gig in Baltimore. Almost oblivious to an audience of two jaded rock’n’roll journalists, the Skels seem every bit as intense, polished, and energetic in rehearsal as they do in actual performance.

But the band isn’t satisfied. In unison, they interrupt the flow of smooth-sounding “Sonic Reducer,” crack a few jokes, tune their guitars, pinpoint their problem and try it again. A series of similar stops and starts punctuate the rehearsal, magnifying the camaraderie, seriousness and sweat that make the Skels one of the tightest new trios in New York.

All three have been in bands before: Cheetah, who started out in his native Detroit with Frankenstein, and Rocket From the Tombs, reaches his peak of success with the Dead Boys in the late ‘70s; Jeff’s been a studio musician here and abroad, as well as playing with bands like Wayne County & the Electric Chairs, and the Fast; and Gerry’s a veteran of the local scene, most recently with Disgrace. From their combined experience, they know what it takes to make or break a band, and the Skels is where they put their knowledge to the test.

“Three creative people all working together. That’s a band. That’s this band, at least,” said Cheetah. “It’s a real exclusive club. The only way anybody’s gonna join is if they are brought in by another member of the band. It’s like the Guardian Angels. You’ve gotta be sponsored.” They frequently kick around the idea of having another member, but at this point it’s not in their immediate plans. “I’ve decided it’s a five piece band, ‘cause me and the drummer are both skitz,” Cheetah quipped. “Before this band started, before I had these two buys, it was a four piece or a three piece, depending on who showed up for the gig. It became a big pain in the ass for me to do a three piece. I had to sing, play guitar, dance around and balance an egg on my heard or something. It got to feel like I was doing too much work. With these guys, they’re so solid; I can play whenever I want to.

“Before I was playing in a trio that should have been a four piece. Now, I’m playing with a trio. Another guitar would be nice, but at the same time it isn’t necessary. And I like the extra bread!”

“Three piece, if you screw up it’s more evident. But four piece, it’s sloppier,” noted Jeff. “To me, it’s convenient. We only have one guy doing his job. If we have another player, what am I gonna tell him about lead guitar? What is he gonna tell me about drums? And vice versa. We each do our own thing. He can hear, obviously, if all of a sudden I screw up and I play in 7/8 when I’m supposed to be playing in 4/4.

“The thing that’s great about this group is that nobody’s retarded. Like in almost every group I’ve played there’s always been one guy you had to drag along. It’s like, ‘Duh, what do I play here?’ And you have to do [he imitates a guitar] do-do-do. ‘Oh, yeah, right. That riff.’ But everybody knows what the hell they’re doing. Like he’ll [Cheetah] start a song and we’ll come in.”

“I think the band falls into different categories,” explains Gerry. “We could do a bill with somebody like Iggy Pop and be compatible. We have the same raw energy he has. Whereas we can also do gigs with a band like the Stray Cats. ‘Federal Case’ and ‘I Don’t Know’ are basic 12 bar rock’n’roll. Or we could open for a heavy metal band.”

But the only type of music that they all feel they are incompatible with is hardcore punk. Jeff feels “a responsibility” to his audience because he knows that “there are young drummers in the audience. I don’t want them to see us and go back and pick up sloppy habits. What will it be in a year? Hardcore will be dead and we’ll have another trend. Why can’t we just have bands anymore?”

“It’s real weird ‘cause I’m the oldest in the band; I’m 27,” said Cheetah. “And when I was with the Dead Boys, I met Jeff. He was just this young whipper-snapper. He’s two years younger than me. I watched Jeff grow from this kid form Queens who used to come to our gigs and playin’ with the Fast and the Dictators, and playin’ with Wayne (County) and watchin’ him develop. And Gerry, the Dead Boys were to Gerry like the Stooges were to me: somebody to identify with. It’s great because I’m playin’ with two people that I’ve influenced, in a way.

“I met a little kid who came up to me and said, ‘I learned to play guitar to your records.’ It makes me feel good that somebody sat down with my records and took the time to learn. ‘Sonic Reducer’ is a standard for bar bands to cover. The Bad Brains, I think, said in their press kit, that the band was formed after one of the members listened to a Dead Boys album. To me that’s mission accomplished.

“Right now, we’re gonna do our gigs with the set we’ve got, but we’ll enlarge the band every time. We’ll add a couple of new tunes. With these guys, I really find myself trying to develop more as a guitar player and extending myself more, which is something I haven’t done. I haven’t felt such a creative outburst like this (before)!”

As the band evolves, they intend to get Gerry up to the mic to sing. “Yeah, let it be said,” commented Jeff, “that our bass player can sing very, very well. He just doesn’t want to.”

“If Gerry would just get off his ass…’ nagged Cheetah in feigned annoyance, “I’d get a break. This guy can sing the ‘Hippy Hippy Shake’ real good, but he won’t do it. You know why? ‘Cause he’s shy.” Although the brown-eyed bass player didn’t seem the least bit shy during this interview, he still won’t sing no matter how much this reporter begged.

“Eventually Gerry is gonna sing,” Cheetah confirmed. “It’s a fact of life he’ll just have to deal with. During the set we’ll time it so that he does the song and I’ll take a break and just play guitar. I’d like to do some instrumentals.” He also intends to incorporate more of Jeff and Gerry’s songs, which are heavily influenced by the ‘60s and rhythm & blues, into their act.

“We’re looking forward to gettin’ into that,” Cheetah noted, “but right now the main thing was to get a set down that we could stand by.

“As soon as we got this band together, all of a sudden it just clicked. And I just said, ‘Let’s get to work.’ The creative spark is there. If I don’t have a part for a song, these guys will come up with it. We don’t just rehearse together and let things happen. We talk about it. I didn’t want back-up musicians. I had that. That’s why it’s just ‘The Skels.’ Right now, it’s ‘The Skels featuring Cheetah Chrome,’ but that’s only so everybody knows what the name of my new band is. Eventually, I don’t see why it can’t be the Skels featuring all three of us.”

“We wanna be one of the top new groups,” admitted Jeff. “The problem in New York is that nobody wants to forget. I used to like the Dead Boys, but we’re not trying to be the Dead Boys. We’re not tryin’ to be anybody but the Skels.

“And there’s another thing that Cheetah pointed out at the first gig we did. He gave a rap about how there are a lot of hardcore band out there, bands that are going back to punk and ska, everything but good rock’n’roll bands. That speech was really weird, but it means something.”

What it means is that there is a rock’n’roll audience ready and waiting for the Skels, as they found out when they played Baltimore. Despite all their anxiety over a slightly imperfect rehearsal, the gig came off without a hitch and the crowd loved them.

About Baltimore, Cheetah remarked, “The band was incredible. They just kept me going. They just fired me up. It was the best gig I had since the Dead Boys. I got this rush, and I just started sweatin’. I can always tell how good a gig is by how much I sweat.”

SALEM 66: Going for Baroque

Text by Julia Masi, 1986
Introduction by Robert Barry Francos, 2010
Live photos © Robert Barry Francos
Text © FFanzeen
Album images and video from the Internet

The following interview with Salem 66 was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #14, in 1986. It was conducted via telephone by Julia Masi.

The first time I saw Salem 66 was in 1984 at the Inn Square Men’s Bar, in Harvard, on a bill with the Bristols (I believe it may have been the night the place closed). Photographer Rocco Cippilone was a big fan of the band, and took me there. He was right; they were a lot of fun. Quirky and a bit off-beat, they were one of the leaders of a style of indie pop noise that would show up with bands like Christmas, the Pixies, the Breeders, and so many others.

A year later, in 1985, I caught them again at Chet’s Last Stand in Boston, and after that in 1986 opening for Dumptruck at Maxwell’s. I know they broke up during the early ‘90s, and then seem to have simply vanished. That is, at least from my radar. Hopefully the members of Salem 66, especially Judy and Beth, will emerge again on the music scene in some form. – RBF, 2010

[Judy Grunwald, Robert Wilson (Rodriguez), Inn Square Men's Bar, in Harvard, 1984]

[Judy Grunwald, Chet's Last Stand, in Boston, 1985]

[Beth Kaplan, Chet's Last Stand]

[Judy Grunwald and Beth Kaplan, Maxwell's, in Hoboken, 1986]

[Beth Kaplan, Maxwell's]

Salem 66 is like your grandmother’s favorite china: glazed smooth across the surface yet chipped and jagged around the border. Formed in Boston by Beth Kaplan and Judy Grunwald in 1982, they have evolved from artistic abstraction to accessible avant-garde.

By their own admission they’ve always been “raw,” but a delicate tension runs through every song, like a thread that sews together a quilt of melodies. Each member of the band brings unusual to the song.

Beth and Judy come from different musical backgrounds. As a child, Beth fell in love with baroque and studied a variety of instruments, including the harpsichord. A flirtation with rock’n’roll began when she was in the eighth grade and she heard Patti Smith’s Horses for the first time. However, she remained loyal to her harpsichord until she was 16 and taught herself to play bass guitar.

Judy grew up playing the “Pumpkin Waltz” on the accordion. At seven, she decided she wanted to be in a rock’n’roll band. She came by her peculiar choice of instrument when she saw kids at a Sweet-16 party crank out covers of Rolling Stones songs on a snare, guitar, and accordion. She is also a self-taught musician who plays bass and guitar.

Rumor has it that drummer Susan Merriam never sat behind a drum kit until the day she auditioned for the band. Not much is known about guitar player Steve Smith, who joined the band last spring, and was unavailable for comment during this interview. (That’s not true; actually, I lost his phone number!)
The only thing more difficult than trying to describe Salem 66’s music is trying to track them down for an interview. They are on the road as much as is possible for a band that hasn’t quit their day jobs. It took FFanzeen two years to get the following (very expensive, long distance phone) interview with Beth and Judy.

FFanzeen: Okay, let’s start with the boring and stupid question first: what makes Salem 66 different from every other hardworking band on the planet?
Judy Grunwald: I like to think of us as interesting and melodic, yet simple. I think melody is, hopefully, our strong point. I like to sing, but the band isn’t just supporting a vocal melody. There is a lot of other stuff going on, too. We have two guitars and there usually is two melodies going there. It’s not like one is playing the exact same thing as the bass and the other is noodling around on top of it. Beth is not a totally traditional bass player. She’s good and she likes melodies in her playing. And Susan is very solid. She doesn’t rely on snare fills and stuff. It’s all very sympathetic, so it shouldn’t sound like a mess.

FF: I heard your music as melodies layered on top of one another. What’s the process or formula you use to write songs like that?
Judy: I suppose that some bands set out to do something and do it. But most bands just write songs and they’re yours so they seem perfectly normal, and you’re in a band with people because you like each other musically and personally. Whatever comes out of it is hopefully unique and accessible. There is nothing really planned about our stuff. We never really plan to make a certain song a certain way. It just comes out however it comes out.

FF: Do you and Beth write all of the songs?
Judy: Except for the covers. We’re doing a song of Steve’s now. We haven’t played it out. He wrote the music and Beth wrote the vocal part. You’re almost pressed for time sharing a practice space, touring and stuff. Because she and I write the vocal part and the instrumental part, and to bring it in is easy. I come in with a song and she comes in with a song. And then everyone else writes a part for it.

FF: Do you ever sit down together and write?
Judy: That’s what a practice is, when somebody comes in with a song. Beth makes up the harmonies to go with hers. We don’t hole ourselves up in a closet and bicker over every bar. If Beth took one of her songs to another band, or I took one of my songs to another band, it would probably be a completely different song than it is in our band. I consider it that we all write the song together, after the initial song is created.

FF: When you’re writing something, do you make a conscious effort to be either commercial or abstract?
Judy: The goal involved in writing a song is just to express whatever it is that I’ve been turning over in my mind for a while. The only thing I try to make sure of it that it has a good melody and that it’s well put together. I never think about being commercial. “Is this one going to do well?” or that type of thing. “Maybe I’d better do this so it sounds more commercial or accessible.” It’s really a natural process. If it happens to be a good tune, that hits you right off when you hear it on the radio, then that’s good. But that’s not the goal at all.

FF: How has the band evolved over the years?
Judy: I think our evolution has been good. More people have continued to like us. And I think that’s going to continue to happen now that we’ve got Steve. I think the songwriting has gotten better.
Beth Kaplan: The songs used to be pretty weird. There were, like 18 different parts. There’s something bizarre going on in every song. We have this one new song. It’s a really pretty song of Judy’s. It doesn’t have a name yet, but the bass part is really high up, higher than the guitar; it’s way up on the neck. And that’s kind of weird. It’s basically a third melody to the vocal. That’s sort of like a twist. If it were played differently it could be a basic pop song, but that makes it sort of weird. On other things there will be a really strong vocal harmony or just something unexpected. It’s never, like, “Oh well, we’d better do something weird now.” It’s never a conscious effort to be different or unusual. But in this song that I was telling you about, that is what I heard. I heard a really high melody. But it’s really odd for a bass to be playing that. It’s what I heard and what I felt should be played. Generally, they (the songs) just come out and what they are is just a mood and images that I try to express. Generally they are about love and relationships. They’re pretty personal and introspective as opposed to being about the guy I work with or something I read in the paper. My lyrics used to be much more abstract and image-oriented. A lot of people would not be able to figure out what I was talking about. Or just the image would hit home to somebody. And even if they didn’t know, particularly, what the situation I meant was, the image would conjure up something to them. And somehow the images strung together would make sense. But now, my songs are a lot more literal. There are less images and (they’re) more directly related to one topic. I think they hang together better. And it’s sort of pretty obvious what I’m talking about. And that’s something that worries me sometimes. “Am I getting boring? Am I spelling it out too much?” I think people understand what I’m talking about better now, which is a good or bad thing. Because each person should be able to bring something to it themselves. You don’t want to lay it all on the table. You want to leave something open for interpretation because that’s the mystery of the song.

FF: Maybe the greater mystery is how you went from playing baroque to rock’n’roll. How has your childhood training carried over into the way you play bass with Salem 66?
Beth: In baroque music, with the keyboard, there are four voices going. You use two hands and they’re both playing different voices. Each voice is a melody unto itself and each voice happens to be beautiful or strange, or something. Each voice could stand on its own. Or all four voices could intertwine, and that was really neat. That meant that the lowest one, the bass, could be a melody; you play it up higher and it could be the melody. And that had a really big effect on me as a bass player. A lot of standard bass players will learn to play bass by following the chords. I never felt I had to do that. I felt I could do whatever I wanted. I could just play a melody or chord and not do anything you’re supposed to do as a bass player. If it was tasteful enough, it would work.

FF: I know that Judy was a singer with another band before you formed Salem 66, but I heard that you had never sung before. How did you get the nerve – oh, I’m sorry, that sounds rude – how did you get the courage to go out there and sing in front of a crowd?
Beth: I’ve always been real comfortable performing, ever since I was little. Like, I would be horribly nervous before, but once I got up in front of people I’d feel terrific. That had always been the way it was with me. Singing – well, I never had any fear of playing. I don’t know why that is, that’s just the way it is with me. Singing, oh, God! Before I ever sang in public, before the very first Salem 66 show, I would sit up all night going, “I can’t do this! I can’t go up in front of people and sing!” I just thought I was gonna fall apart. Then I just did it and it was okay. And I felt that a lot of people would see me singing and think, “That girl sucks.” Or, “What a lot of nerve!”

FF: I didn’t mean it like that!
Beth: People would hear Judy play guitar and say, “That girl has a lot of balls, but she really sucks,” until we got better. But if you really believe in yourself, if you really believe you have something to say, somehow it gives you the confidence. Nerve is a good word. Balls is another word. It gives you that push to get up there and do it. That is a good half of what makes a good band. A lot of people - probably most people in the world - could write a good song. Or could play an instrument pretty well if they learned how. But what it takes, a good half of it, is the nerve to just push and do it. And to keep doing it, no matter what anybody says; to believe in it. And that’s a natural thing, to have that. If you want to be in a band, you have to get with somebody who has that and ride along, because that’s something very necessary. It’s hard. It’s very hard, in the face of a lot of great singers and musicians to be a real novice at it. Just to try, to get up there and expose yourself and be kind of bad, but hope that people will see through it, and that you’ve got a great idea and you’re really struggling to expresses it. I hope this doesn’t sound like I think I’m really great.

FF: No. It sounds like an intelligent answer from a woman who has just been dissected and put under a microscope. Thanks a lot for the interview.

THE UNDEAD: Just a Modern Folk Band!

Text by Julia Masi, intro by Robert Barry Francos
Article & interview © 1982; RBF intro © 2010 by FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

The following article about New York-based hardcore metal band The Undead, led by ex-Misfits Bobby Steele, was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #9, in 1982. It was written by Julia Masi.

While I never saw the Undead play (nor the Misfits, for that matter), I did get to hang out with Lori Wedding (of the band Suburban Berlin, who was Bobby Steele’s girlfriend at the time) and Julia, while Julia photographed her for the front cover of the issue. The one thing I remember her saying was that she was not attracted to handsome men (and so I hoped she did not find me winsome).

Bobby Steele is often on social networks, going off on right wing rants against us liberals (though I wonder if he would consider himself more libertarian, but I’m not sure), and for that I respect him (and not). There are actually many right winger punkers (like Johnny Ramone, for example). Whatever his political affliation, Bobby made some fine pulse-pounding music, and still does to this day. – RBF, 2010

The Undead are an uncanny mixture of politics, personality, and high-volume, high-intensity rock’n’roll. Bobby Steele, vocals and guitar, Natz, bass, and Patrick Blank, drums, who have just released their first EP on Stiff Records, Nine Toes Later, are often inaccurately pigeon-holed into the hardcore category. But they prefer to describe their music, which often incorporates a twist of rockabilly or a flair for the satirical, as modern folk.

“We’re a modern folk band,” says Natz, who tries to convince interviewers that he’s Che Guevara: “We’re, like, puttin’ the word across music.”

“Folk music used to be acoustic because the world was a lot quieter,” Bobby adds. “Now you’re competing with a lot of things in the background. You’ve got trucks and heavy traffic. You’ve got jack hammering. You’ve got atomic bombs blowing up and everything. So, you’ve gotta sing your folk songs a little louder. You’ve gotta amplify them.

“Our music is our own kind of music. We can do a soul rock song, or we can do a rockabilly song if we want. We’re not locked into a certain category. A lot of bands make the mistake of categorizing themselves, then they’re locked into that category. Then they’re stuck in that category and it’s what the people expect, like George Reeves is Superman.”

Patrick, whose lanky body and horn-rimmed glasses recall the stereotype of the Science Club president, feels that the Undead “try to avoid the trends, because trends are just that – trends.

“We’re a rock’n’roll band with something to offer. There is politics and you have to talk politics; the point is you can’t get too serious.” He sees the band’s politics as a form of anarchy. “Not like writing an ‘A’ in the circle on the corners. Only in the ideas of no rules. That’s the problem. There are too many rules.” He further explains, “We can’t get put in any groups, because once you do that you become a trend. And if you become a trend, then once you get accepted, you’ll change. And if rules weren’t observed, if rules weren’t thought about, then nothing would ever get done. The rule there is a universal rule, to reach people through quality. Quality means giving your all – 150% towards quality.”

Their ability to abandon the rules is evident in the unorthodox way that the Undead presented themselves to Stiff Records. The band had been hanging out in a bar one night last March when they heard about a private party at Stiff. Immediately, Bobby started to cook up a scheme to con his way into their consciousness.

“We grabbed this wino off the street,” Bobby remembers, “and said, ‘You’re our manager tonight.’ And we just walked up to the door at the place and told them, ‘We’re the Undead and this is our manager.’ We just went in there and we graffitied and spray painted the whole place. And then a few days later we went down there and coated the whole building with posters, and made sure we never showed our faces again.”

For months the band teased the record company by sending flyers and press releases to their office, always careful to make sure that they arrived the day after an important gig. Stiff got so frustrated by this mysterious band that they sent an all-points bulletin into the streets to find them. But Bobby’s phone number is classified information and his friends wouldn’t tell Stiff where to find him. Finally, DJ Tim Sommers brought the Undead and Stiff together, and the band was signed.

Shortly afterward, they went into the studio to record their EP, which includes their own “1984” and “I Want You Dead.” But just as the recording sessions got underway, they had to be interrupted so that Bobby could have his toe amputated. “It was rotting away and stinking up everything,” he explains. Hence the title of the EP, Nine Toes Later.

Recently, the Undead completed a brief tour of the Midwest: Dayton, Detroit and Indianapolis. The audience reception was warmer than they expected and the band is anxious to get back on the road again. Patrick is hoping that he’ll eventually play Ireland, “Because the scene is so sporadic that the kids are starved for music over there.” Bobby’s goal is a little more patriotic: he’d like to play “El Salvador. It would be fun. Join the USA,” he grins.

ED DANKY: FFanzeen on a Powertrip

Transcribed by Julia Masi and liberally edited by FFanzeen staff, 1983
Intro by Robert Barry Francos, 2010
© FFanzeen 1983, 2010
Images from the Internet

The following interview with California punk metal musician, Ed Danky, appeared in FFanzeen, Number 10, which was published in 1983.

Ed Danky was with the near-metal band Powertrip, from Los Angeles. He was also in two other bands at the same time, Würm and Reign of Terror. He was invited by or Managing Editor, Julia Masi, to come over to her house for dinner, along with two friends, Paul Sass and Susan Weisband, and myself. Also present was one of the people helping with our publicity, Laura Allgeier, and Julia’s parents, who were solid Brooklyn Italian. Both the Masi parents were sweet, but very different personalities. Her mom, Frances, took care of the house, hung out with the neighbors, and was friendly, yet reticent. She was open to what her daughter was into, but didn’t really have a deep comprehension to something so alien to her world. Her dad, Ralph, on the other hand, was solid smart-ass. He was a huge and intimidating man, both in height and girth, but I truly liked him. On one hand he kept Julia’s dates in line, yet he also baked some wicked cheesecake.

Getting back to Ed Danky, despite the metal accoutrement, inside he was solid surfer dude and flowerchild-like, totally unaware into what he was walking. Between Julia’s exceedingly sharp humor filled with highly sexually playful overtones, my own sarcastic life view, and her parents floating about, in addition to Susan and Paul, all Ed could do was try and hold on to the kitchen chair until the ride was over. And a rough one it was, too. But it was also incredibly funny. Poor boy never saw it coming.

Note that there are two postscripts following this interview. Enjoy. – RBF, 2010

I think I was asleep when he called, or maybe my brain had shorted out, but I don’t remember anything about our phone conversation except that I wrote down the address of where he was staying and… “Würm… Reign of Terror… Powertrip.”

With this cryptic message crumpled in my hand, I fell asleep until my illustrious editor, Robert Barry Francos, called to see what time he was coming for dinner, and where to pick up our friends, Paul Sass and Susan Weisband. I gave him their address and told him to pick up “somebody’s friend” on East 14th Street (in Midwood, Brooklyn). I stuffed the note in my pocket and went back to sleep.

I had a dream that the phantom voice on the phone was a psycho. And when Robert went to pick him up, he kidnapped Robert and dragged him off to some unknown territory of California.

FFanzeen Promotional Manager, Laura Allgeier, came over with her suitcase, adding to my paranoia (I forgot she was spending the night). We sat around trying to figure out who this “phantom” was. So just to be on the safe side, I decided to set up my tape recorder and bug the room. This way, if he was a musician, I’d have a story for FFanzeen. If he was psycho, I had a story for The Post.

What follows is the New York adventure of guitarist / singer / songwriter, Ed Danky.

Julia Masi: First question: what did you say your name was?
Ed Danky: Ed Danky.

Julia: Okay, that sounds good. Now, tell me the truth, did you get my number off a men’s room wall?
Ed: No, Gerry gave it to me.

Julia: Oh, that’s just as good! Gerry who?
Ed: You know Gerry [Lambe, bass player]! From Cheetah Chrome’s band [The Skels, whom Julia had interviewed].

Julia: Oh, nice guy. I think he told me about you. You’re in a band, right?
Ed: I’m in three bands: Würm, my original band with the bass player from Black Flag [Chuck Dukowski], Reign of Terror, which is my band, and Powertrip, who I came to New York with.

Julia: Well, so as long as you’re here, do you mind if I do an interview with you right now?
Ed: [Pointing at the tape recorder on the table] Is that on now?

Julia: Of course it is. Isn’t it very difficult playing in three bands at once?
Ed: I practice all the time; I try to play a lot, but we really don’t have a lot of gigs. I hope to get more when we get back (to California), but there aren’t many places to play. A lot of clubs are being shut down. The Whiskey just closed on the 18th (of September) or something. I only played there twice, but it was a great club. And this summer, four or five other clubs closed.

Julia: We’ve experienced that here, too. Why is it happening in Los Angeles?
Ed: In LA, it’s because of the police, ‘cause the gigs are really good. But the punks are either too young or too broke to get in, so they just hang out outside on the street.

Julia: You mean they stand outside the club and listen to the band?
Ed: Yeah, with the Whiskey, that’s why it closed. To get into gigs in LA, you’ve got to be 21. It’s different. It’s an earlier town. It closes at 2 AM.

Julia: Where do kids, say 18 or 19, go to listen to music?
Ed: Well, the Whiskey was the last all-ages club. There’s always parties.

Julia: Do the kids really cause so much trouble, or…
Ed: [Laughs] Cops just don’t understand punks. It’s a natural consequence. Look at what happened to Black Flag. They got so much notoriety from their gigs being shut down. Them and all their equipment, and their fans, being taken off to jail. It worked for them.

Robert Barry Francos: But how do you arrest a guitar? Do you read it its rights and put handcuffs around its neck?
Julia: Tell me about Reign of Terror. Who’s in the band?
Ed: Some guys from LA.

Julia: What are their names?
Ed: I don’t know their last names.

Julia: What do you call them?
Ed: Ed and Jessie.

Julia: I won’t ask who’s who.
Ed: The bass player is a crazed Mexican skinhead.

Robert: Always good! Always good!
Ed: He’s like Jack Bruce or something. A real three piece player. And the drummer’s Japanese. He wants to play that kind of fun power-pop or something. We actually end up playing the most with hardcore groups. There really isn't much rock’n’roll going on. Reign of Terror is a little bit behind Powertrip as far as organization goes. The other two guys don’t drive. They don’t even have a van.

Julia: What do you expect, if they don’t have last names?
Ed: We made a record, but our record’s not out yet. I wanted to come here to New York so I could get everything together.

Julia: You’ve played on records with everyone. How many labels are you on?
Ed: Würm and Reign of Terror are on Black Flag’s label, SST. And Powertrip is on Jeff Dahl’s label, Mystic. Mystic has my favorite band on it, the Mentors. They’re hooded. It’s hard to explain.

Julia: What do you mean, “hooded”? Like, they walk around in shrouds? That kind of hooded?
Robert: Sounds like the Residents.
Ed. Yeah, oh yeah. It’s a great band. [Note: Ed would briefly join the Mentors as bassist under the clever name of Poppa Sneaky Spermshooter – RBF, 2010]

Julia: There’s a guy on the “N” train like that. You should take him back to LA with you and introduce him to the band. I think he plays chess.
Ed: No. They’ll be coming here soon [he stares at Julia strangely].

Julia: How long have you been in New York?
Ed: Since Monday. We (Powertrip) played a few places: R.T. Firefly’s, and a hardcore place, A7. Cheetah jammed with us that night. It was fun.

Julia: Do you like Cheetah’s band, the Skels?
Ed: Yeah. They’re great. I’m really into that. I like what I call Detroit rock. That’s all I ever talk about when I get together with bands, that kind of really heavy bass, like the Stooges, MC5, or New York bands like the Dolls.

Julia: Do you write music like that?
Ed: Sometimes, I guess.

Julia: Too fast to be heavy metal?
Ed: Something like that. It’s like the crossover that Motörhead had. But it's cleaner than that, like Judas Priest at 45 (rpm).

Julia: How many songs have you contributed to each band?
Ed: Two for Powertrip. Reign of Terror and Würm are all my songs.

[A little blonde-haired lady, otherwise known as Frances Masi, bursts into the room]
Frances Masi: You’ve got five minutes (till dinner is ready). [To Ed] Have you got anything to say in the next five minutes?
Ed: [Looking confused] Nothing that I couldn’t say in the next five days.

Frances: Well, I’ve got to explain something: Robert, remember when I threw out my chairs?
Robert: I remember. The table went with them.
Frances: Well, I only have four chairs. So we’re going to have to try to balance.
Paul Sass: There’s no problem. Susan can sit on my lap.
Laura Allgeier: Since I think I weigh the most of anybody here, I should have my own chair. [Note: Laura is not heavy, but the rest of us are near emaciated.]
[Ed stares blankly.]
Julia: It’s okay. Robert and I can fit on one chair.
Robert: I don’t want to sit next to you.
Julia: We won’t touch.
Frances: Is anybody short? We have a step stool.
Julia: Three of us can sit on that.
Ed: You’re eating now?

Julia: Yeah. So are you. Didn’t you come for dinner?
Ed: [Staring at Julia] What?

Julia: Oh, I’m sorry. Did I inflict a traumatic experience on you or something? I mean, sending this strange guy [Robert] to pick you up and everything? That’s almost like being kidnapped.
Ed: I went along with it. I had nothing else to do.

Robert: He was just sitting in this little basement room looking at pictures of Iggy Pop and Marilyn Monroe. They were all over the wall.
Julia: [To Laura] Take the tape recorder in the kitchen. [Looks at Ed] You can talk with your mouth full, right? We do it all the time.
Ed: What?

[We move to the kitchen. Laura plugs the tape recorder into the wall. A huge chair floats to the door frame with a pair of legs sticking out from underneath and a voice behind it.]
Francs: Is anybody tall? They can sit on this
Robert: It won’t fit through the (kitchen) door [which it didn’t].
Julia: Where are the Seven Santini Brothers [a New York moving company] when you need them?
Robert: I sit at the end of the table. I’m the publisher!

[We try to shift four chairs around a very small table with six people, in a kitchen designed to seat three munchkins.]
Frances: Julia can stand.
Paul: Actually, it’s healthier if you eat while standing.
Robert: Then everything falls to your feet.
Julia: Would it stop along the way? Like at the hips?
Laura: [Mumbling to Julia] Nothing gets past your chest.

[A stout, white-haired man, known as Ralph Masi, comes in with a lop-sided stool.]
Ralph Masi: Here, somebody can sit on this. Just don’t touch the bottom. There are pins in it.
Julia: Give it to Laura. She never leans back.

[We keep shifting chairs. I get the step-stool, the rest of the crowd are sitting on chairs of various sizes.]
Laura: [Leans back on the stool and hits her head on the sink] Oh, God! I can’t sue! They have no money!
Julia: [Standing by the stove and staring at it as if it were an alien] I need help. I’m not domestic. Laura, you’re German, you should be good with ovens.
Laura: I’m good at putting things in, not taking them out.
Robert: Why do we have two plates?
Julia: The little one is for the antipasto.
Paul: Why is it anti-? Why does it have to be anti-anything?
Julia: Don’t get political! It’s just a salad. You eat it before the pasta, which is in the oven – indefinitely. I’m afraid to take it out.

[We all start eating the antipasto. Laura graciously explains its ingredients to Ed, advising him against the provolone cheese.]
Laura: Every time I come here he gives me some weird cheese. Don’t eat it. And don’t eat the Tuscany peppers.
Julia: Don’t listen to her. These things are great.

[Julia proceeds to stuff about three peppers in her mouth. Susan tries one and very politely lets out a shriek.]
Laura: She bit it! I did that the first time I was here, too.
Julia: You should have sucked it first.
Susan Weisband: Why didn’t you tell me it was hot?!
Julia: I forgot. If you kiss Paul right now, you can pass along the heat.

[Julia starts collecting everyone’s plates for the main course.]
Julia: [Pointing inside the oven] Robert, see inside there.
Robert: You’re pushing it.
Julia: I just want you to get something out.

[She opens the oven and points to a five pound pan of baked rigatoni. Robert pulls it out and puts it on top of the stove. Julia overloads everyone’s plate. We all start eating again and telling tasteless ethnic jokes for the next half hour.]
Julia: [Staring at Ed’s half-empty plate] If you don’t like that, just reach into the refrigerator and grab something. There must be something you like.
Ed: I like this. Really. I’m just not used to eating so much.

Julia: Well, it doesn’t matter. We didn’t make it for you. It’s just left over from when my parents ate.
Ed: You mean they gave up eating, too?

Julia: No, they just don’t do it in front of me.
Robert: In case you haven’t noticed, they’re Italian.
Julia: So we always cook extra, in case all of Naples should drop by. Tell me about the bands.
Ed: Würm is a little heavy metal. We’d have Würm together now if everyone wasn’t so busy. The drummer is in Slam, and the bass player is in Black Flag. Reign of terror is a little bit poppier. The other guys aren’t in any other bands.

Julia: What are some of Reign of Terror’s songs?
Ed: “Don’t Blame Me,” “Dead of Night,” “Price of Fame,” “Some Came Running”; Reign of Terror is really a funny band.

Julia: Tell me something that you do that is funny.
Ed: [Laughs] It’s just such a refreshing band. We laugh all the time. Powertrip worries too much. They’ll worry for no reason. They’ll worry that nothing is right. “We’ve gotta do this.” Really sour people. I can’t stand grumps. They don’t like me very much. That’s why they left me. They don’t understand that we’re already getting the big shaft on this tour. We’re not in a respected position. We’re getting treated like shit on this tour.

Julia: Tell me about the tour. What has happened so far?
Ed: We were on our way to Chicago for our first date and I broke the van. Accidently. It wouldn’t have made it anyway.

Julia [Laughing] How do you break a van? Did you drop it or something?
Ed: I didn’t do it on purpose, but it was an old van. It just couldn’t make it. We were supposed to go over a 12,000 pass and we only made it to 11,000 feet when the gear slipped, or something. So we got towed down to Silver Thorn [Colorado], which was about 3,000 feet, and we were gonna have to stay there for two days.

[Ralph walks in and looks at Ed’s half-empty plate.]
Ralph: If you don’t like that, look in the refrigerator. You want a beer?
Ed: I’ve got a glass of wine.

Ralph. It doesn’t matter. Have a beer [he says, as Ralph hands Ed one]. Make yourself a sandwich. [Ralph exits.]
Julia: That’s gonna keep happening. God forbid you should starve. Did you make it to Chicago on time?
Ed: We were going to Chicago a few days early. We had a few friends we wanted to see first. But anyway, we got towed into town and we were gonna have to stay in town for two days. And me and our tour manager – he’s great. We’re the only ones who are having any fun on this tour. We call the rest of the band “Misery.” They’re real frowners. Nobody else in the band gets stoned –

Julia: Watch it! Don’t tell us drug stories or Robert won’t print this.
Robert: Nothing about drugs in my magazine. No one on my staff does extraneous drugs of any kind.
Ed: [Looking shocked] Really? Nobody?

Julia: But don’t let that intimidate you. You’re the only one here that’s acting normal.
Robert: That’s the scary part.
Julia: Back to the tour –
Ed: Well, we got stuck in this hillbilly town and me and the tour manager met this guy in front of the liquor store. And he asked us to play at this party. It was in a big, old barn. So we got a gig. The next day was awful. We were stuck in hotels. We got to Chicago just about an hour before we had to play. We got poisoned in Philadelphia. We had unlimited beer. They had this ice chest – this is what we figured out the next day – and the ice and the beer were floating in this scummy water, and each day they’d throw in more ice to the old water. We all got really sick on the way to New York. Well, they got really sick. I just got a stomach ache.

Julia: Uh-huh. What’s the philosophy of the band?
Robert: “Rene Descartes is on an airplane. The stewardess comes over and says, ‘Would you like something to drink?’ Descartes says, ‘I think not,’ and disappears.”
[Susan instantly bursts out in a fit of laughter, her face turns red, and her eyes get misty.]
Robert: [Laughing] That’s great. Most people don’t get it that quickly. Took me half a second, the first time I heard it. I never got that reaction before.
Julia: And you never will again. Have you got anything relevant to say?
Robert: If you want me to leave, I will. But we’re all going to the club [Dr. B’s] in 15 minutes.

[He and Susan go into the living room, to join Paul (who had left a few minutes before) and the Masi’s.]
Julia: Okay, I’ll wrap it up. Very quickly, tell me your life story! Everything! And your theory on the end of the world!

[Frances comes in and starts making a pot of coffee. She examines Ed’s half-empty plate.]
Frances: What’s the matter? Don’t you eat? [To Julia] You’re some hostess. Half your friends are in the living room. You don’t make coffee. When are you going to get around to desert? [To Ed and Laura] I didn’t even know anybody was coming over today. Until you walked in the door.
Laura: Did you know I was staying over?
Frances: I caught on when I saw your suitcase. [To Julia] Is anybody else staying over?
Julia: Can I tell you in the morning?
Frances: Can I kill you in the morning?
Julia: [To Ed] Do you need a place to sleep?
Frances: What about the rest of his band?
Ed: They’re in Philadelphia.

Frances. Of course. [She starts to walk out the door, but turns back.] Philadelphia! If they’re in Philadelphia, how did you get here?
Ed: A girl drove me to Brooklyn.

Julia: Didn’t she like you?
Ed: Yeah, she likes me. They (the band) ditched me without my jacket. Without my phone numbers. Or money. Gerry is the only friend I’ve made here. What happened was, these girls were really cool. They spent everything they had to get to Philadelphia to see us; every cent. And this girl drove us to Philadelphia and then stayed in Philadelphia. And I called her and she drove me back to Brooklyn. The train is, like, 17 bucks [Today it costs between $80-150 – RBF, 2010]. I was spending a lot of money when I had it.

Julia: So, is the general attitude of the band a lot of ego clashing?
Ed: We have a theme song in Powertrip: [he sings] “Everything’s got be my way / Don’t wanna hear what you have to say / I’m living on a Powertrip.”

Julia: Does Würm have a theme song?
Ed: No. I forget. It’s a pretty old band, since ’76 or ’77. I can’t sing it. I just waned to come to New York and get everything set up to bring my band [Reign of Terror] here before the weather gets cold.

Julia: You don’t have much time.
Robert: [Reappearing at the kitchen door] Are we ready to go?
Julia: [To Ed] You’re coming with us, right?
Robert: Will you stop intimidating the man?
Ed: No, really, I have to get back.

[Back to where he didn’t exactly say. When we left Ed Danky, he was standing before a dark BMT subway entrance, looking like a confused version of The Little Prince, going back to his home planet holding a copy of FFanzeen in one hand and a single subway token in the other.]
* * *
Postscript 1: Powertrip Press Release from 1983: “Upon arrival back in L.A., Powertrip’s guitarist and roadie were promptly given their walking papers for unprofessional conduct both on and off stage – and for being complete pigs hygienically speaking. Powertrip wishes each of them the very best of luck for the future, but hopes to never see their ugly moronic asses again.”

Postscript 2: Ex-band mate Jeff Dahl, of Powertrip, sent me the following email after the turn of the century: “Sorry to say but Ed Danky died some years ago. OD'd, actually [in 1991, via cocaine – RBF, 2010]. The Powertrip album has been re-released on CD (Triple X Records) for the first time and has some of the demo tracks from when Ed was still in the band. (If you remember our ‘road manager’ from that tour, English Frank, or our drummer, John Bliss, they're both gone also.)”

Listen to Reign of Terror:
http://www.box.net/shared/6ijs6s39xm#/shared/6ijs6s39xm/1/6005678/55265838/1

GUN CLUB: Hot as a Pistol

Text by Julia Masi, 1983
Brief intro by Robert Barry Francos
© FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

I can’t speak much for the Gun Club, as while I own the record Las Vegas Story, I never saw them live. Now that lead singer Jeffrey Lee Pierce passed on in 1996, at the age of 37, that’s much less likely to happen. I had met two members of the band though: Jim Duckworth was in the Panther Burns when Julia interviewed them (and I tagged along), and Dee Pop, well, I’ve known since 1978, when he was drumming for the Secrets up in Buffalo, right after he left the Good (I saw a great show at Hallwalls Art Gallery then, with The Good, the Secrets, and George - for $1).

For those who were not around during the period of this interview, the Brooklyn Zoo was a club that existed for a very short time in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, and has no relation to the zoo in Prospect Park. There were some major acts who played there (for example, I saw Iggy Pop, Bow Wow Wow, and Joe “King” Carrasco), despite it’s odd location and its medium size (about half the ground level of Irving Plaza). It was, however, close to the subway, but it was a time before Brooklyn became the “cool” place, and it was way on the other side of the borough from Williamsburg. According to the Website fromthearchives.com/gc/chronology3.html, this interview took place in February 1983. But, back to the band… - RBF, 2010

Jeffrey Lee Pierce slouches in his chair, blond hair falling into his dark brown eyes, his voice softening to the beginning stages of laryngitis, as he reads the headlines from the various rock’n’roll tabloids and daily papers scattered around the dressing room of the Brooklyn Zoo.

Brooklyn was the last stop before the Gun Club (Jeffrey, vocals; Jim Duckworth, guitar; Patricia Morrison, bass; and Dee Pop, drums) hit the road again for a three month European tour. They are anxiously awaiting the release of a single and an EP, both for Animal Records. And earlier that week, they began working on a video.

Jeffrey is noticeably tired. It’s 8:45 PM, and he’s already put in a full day’s work just trying to get the band to their soundcheck. The Brooklyn Zoo is buried like a treasure, in one of the more residential sections of the borough. The cab drivers, gas station attendants and smart-mouthed street kids will point you in the direction of the Prospect Park Zoo, a real zoo, which is nowhere near the club. Consequently, Jeffrey and company drove around in circles before they finally arrived for the soundcheck a mere two hours late.

“I think we went to the Bronx Zoo,” Jeff quips. “I’d thought they’d cleaned out one of the cages and we’d have a show. Play next to the lions. It would fit, too, the way we play.”

He frequently describes the band’s unusual link in the evolution of rock’n'roll as “noise,” a humbly accurate label for the vast stretches of improvised sound that the band unleashes during each set. Could this be a delve into Dadaism? Jeffrey just won’t say, but considering the collective musical backgrounds of the band, their style seems more akin to the structured disorder of Stockhausen, or Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music, than the racket the Raincoats made a few years ago.

“I don’t see it as anything but noise,” Jeffrey says. “It’s just a bunch of noise right now. And it will be for a little while. Nothing musical really impresses me right now. I really don’t listen to music.

“Right now, I’m mostly listening to ragtime. I don’t play it. It doesn’t affect my music at all; it’s just something I listen to, like listening to Brazilian jazz.” He laughs, “It’s not gonna affect my music at all, not the way I play. It’s just not in my veins, or whatever, to do that kind of stuff. But I dig sittin’ around playin’ it. Ragtime, old vaudeville sound, all that ‘20s and ‘30s stuff. The blues; it's like any other infatuation. You just get bored. I’ve just been bored with that kind of thing. It’s sort of a natural blues influence anyway. It’s always gonna be there. But I don’t necessarily always thing of it as blues or country, or whatever, when we’re doing it. I don’t really think of it as being –“ he shrugs his black leather-clad shoulders and points into space “– standard stuff.

“Your musical knowledge is the same as your regular knowledge. It’s influenced by what you’re raised with. I was raised with lots of country music. I like it. I listen to it more than I listen to rock’n’roll.

“I kind of like all that other stuff. Hokey things with pianos and clarinets. Fats Waller and all that. I just started to really like that stuff lately. It’s sort of a side thing to the blues. All the blues (musicians) of the ’20s and ‘30s divided their time between doing blues and rags, and showtunes. Things like that. Now that they’ve already reissued all of the blues quotients of these guys, they’re still puttin’ out their dumb rags and hokey vaudeville stuff. And I like that better. I’ve even started to like Leon Redbone ‘cause he tries to re-hash all of that. All those songs about the Sheik of Araby.

“Eubie Blake!” He jumps in his chair a he reads a tribute to the late composer. “He’s another one of those dorky rag players!” His fingers dance across the newspaper as he hums a few notes of one of Blake’s chestnuts. “Da-do-din-dink – “ He stops short as his eyes fall on the cover of the New York Post. “We’re doing a video right now, and we were trying to rip off most of the video ideas from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”. And Tennessee Williams just died today! I felt like I caused it or something. I think he died because he’d seen how we butchered his ideas in the video. He killed himself over that.

We tried to do a rock video, except that we can’t do a rock video. So we tried to do Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, with this girl in a slip and I’m drinking bourbon, and a fan going, and we’re all sweaty. Then I toss her around the room – “ he flings his arms through the air miming a violent slap, “ – Bitch!

“We were trying to combine all our favorite film adaptations of Tennessee Williams’ plays. Then he dies three days later! We haven’t even finished it yet. For the very end of it, we’re just gonna have the cover of the New York Post at the end of a chair. Maybe have a dog.

“We’re doing our famous $2000 video. We’re trying to break the world’s record for the cheapest video ever made. We went to this place called the Stardust Motel. It’s a prostitute joint. But it has this big sign in the lobby,” he stretched out his arms, his finger flashing to echo his ominous words, “’No prostitutes allowed.’ When you’re silent in the room, you can hear people, like some guy (in the next room) going,” his voice becomes a screechy whine, “’You been sleepin’ with my man? I’m gonna kill you!’ A really first-class motel. We did the whole video inside it. It’s just one song. I don’t even know what song it’s gonna be.” He shrugs his shoulders again. “One of the new songs that’s coming out in a couple of weeks. We found out that two of the songs are about the same thing, so it could be a video about either one of them. Different music, but the same subject.”

Reviews of the Gun Club’s last album, Miami, over-emphasized Jeffrey’s use of voodoo imagery and the recurring theme of death. A strange contrast to this irrepressible personality and the band’s jolting sound. “It’s just kind of a subject matter,” offers Jeffrey, as he denies any fascination with the topic. “(I’m not) obsessed with death. Not any more than Skip James or Howlin’ Wolf, or anybody.”

“I love musicians who kill their wives,” Jim Duckworth facetiously chimes in. “Or at least ones who say they’re gonna kill their wives. I was thinking of Spade Cooley on my way over here today. Spade Cooley’s famous quote – he was gonna kill his wife – “ his blue eyes widen and this voices becomes a baritone growl ‘ “’I’m gonna kill her!’ And he said to his daughter, ‘and you’re gonna watch!’

“Come here,” Jim says, motioning towards his guitar case. “I want to show you something.” He flips open the lid of the case to expose its burgundy velour lining and a white patch that says, “Kid C. Powers.” It seems that when Jim was on the road last fall with his previous band, the Panther Burns, he stumbled into a dressing room where “there were all sorts of holy artifacts. Lydia Lunch’s guitar and this,” he points to the white patch. “I said, ‘Look at that! Wow! Somebody’s gonna throw it away,’ so I stuck it in there. And lo and behold, it must have been resting on the strings and that must have caused me to join the Gun Club. It’s pretty amazing. It’s enforced destiny.”

Jim decided to join the Gun Club because he wanted to play “more original music.” And the Gun Club is about as original as a band can get.

THE BLASTERS: Blast Off!

Text by Julia Masi, 1983
© FFanzeen, 2010
Images from the Internet

The following interview originally appeared in FFanzeen Number 10, which was issued in 1983.

Never saw the Blasters play, but I have a few of their vinyl releases from that period. Rockabilly was definitely making a re-swing, despite the Blasters’ comments below, which I believe are meant respectfully tongue-in-cheek.

However, I did see Dave Alvin’s Americana-style group play at the Calgary Folk Festival during the early ’90s, and they were a blast (pun intended), though I was too far away for decent photos (hence their absence here). If you want to see them in action, though, they’re right there in the film Streets of Fire pretty much playing themselves for two great numbers (one of which is at the bottom of this page). – RBF

“You don’t really think were rockabilly, do you?” asks Jon Bazz, bass player for the Blasters, the Slash / Warner Bros. recording artists who are reviving the roots of ‘50s rock’n’roll and transplanting them into the hearts of the ‘80’s record buying public. The Blasters, which include Phil Alvin, vocals; Bill Bateman, drums; Gene Taylor, piano; and Dave Alvin, lead guitar, prefer to look upon their brand of rock’n’roll as just “American music.

“For rockabilly, you have to have a stand-up bass, and the singer’s got to croon or hiccup. Our singer thinks it’s a racist term because back in the ‘50s, their influences were black (like) Little Junior Parker and Ray Brown. Then a white guy came along and put a hillbilly – because that’s what Elvis was – to it. Sam Phillips, who created the Sun sound, wanted a white guy who could sing like a black. He knew there was something to be gained by the mix of black and white when he started out.

“One of the biggest hits Carl Perkins had, ‘Matchbox,’ was an old negro folk tune out of the cotton fields. His daddy taught it to him.”

The Blasters see their music as more R&B than rockabilly, although they admit that “Go, Go, Go” is rockabilly-ish and “Rock ‘Em Pete” is jazz, and that their first album, American Music was on a rockabilly label, Rolling Rock Records.

“I liked a lot of different types of music. I’m 30 now. When I was going up in Downey (California), surf music was popular. Later in high school, I started listening to blues – post-war Chicago blues – like Muddy Waters.” It was around this time that John met Phil Alvin, another blues fan. They’d jam together and formed a band whenever they wanted an outlet for their music.

They hadn’t decided to devote themselves to music professionally until three-and-a-half years ago, when they were asked to play at a wedding reception. Phil, who was a math teacher at the time, and Bill Bateman, who was working in an amplifier company, had heard of someone who needed a band for their reception. So, they threw together an impromptu band with David and a few friends. They enjoyed performing so much that they decide to start rehearsing regularly, and organize a band.

“We played biker bars for free drinks and $40 a night. The bikers were more into their girlfriends and playing pool than listening to a band. They used to throw beer bottles. We were horrible then. We’d break strings and have to end the set. We learned a lot in 10 gigs, about how to present ourselves to an audience.”

And in their short career, they’ve presented themselves to many different types of audiences as they opened for various acts around the Los Angeles area. “We’ve always got along with the punk audience because we’re very authentic in the way we present ourselves. We were into playing the music we liked and eventually ended up on a rockabilly label.”

While out on the road promoting their independent release, the Blasters built up a following. “People liked our shows and that’s how we got on Slash / Warner Bros. I’m really thankful that the public likes our music.”

With a successful East Coast tour under their belts and their LP, The Blasters, doing well on the charts, the group is inspired with ambition. Right now, “the battle plan for the Blasters is rehearsing and getting new material. We’ve got six songs. We’re very slow in terms of putting out an album.”

But their die-hard fans shouldn’t worry, a six-song EP, The Blasters Live at the Venue, London, is soon to be released. [Note that the EP was titled Over There by the time it was released – RBF, 2010]

They’re also planning to put out a new album in February, and then get out on the road again. In the meanwhile, however, the band is looking forward to playing their old haunts in Los Angeles. “Things have split up. There are so many things going on. If we go out on tour for a couple of months, when we get back, there is a whole new generation out here.”


[Sidebar: Please excuse the dubbed dialog, that’s all I found; and note that the woman dancing is the real dancer from the film Flashdance]

PHIL MAY: Not Just Another PRETTY THING

Text by Julia Masi
Interview © 1980 by FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

The following article and interview of British musician Phil May, leader of the band the Pretty Things, was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #6, in 1980. It was conducted by Julia Masi.

Phil May, lead singer of the Pretty Things, looks more like a Wall Street banker than a British rock’n’roll star. Lately, he’s taken to wearing a three-piece pin-striped suit and a tie, “because I’m very anti-jeans these days.” He’s also cut his brown hair short so that the looks nothing like the “hippie” figure in the publicity photo that accompanies the group’s ninth album, Cross Talk. But then, one should learn to expect change from a band that has always been more concerned with innovation that commercialism.

[l-r: Skip Allen, Pete Tolsen, Phil May, John Povey, Dick Taylor, Wally Waller]

They’ve changed their line-up frequently since they began in 1964. Presently, the Pretty Things is Pete Tolsen and Dick Taylor playing guitars, bass player Wally Waller, and Skip Allan beats the drums while John Povey mans the keyboards. May still fronts and writes most of the band’s material. Over the years, they have experimented with new concepts (in 1967, they wrote S.F. Sorrow, the first rock opera) and embraced various trends. Cross Talk is receiving praise and flack from the critics because it has a sort of New Wave sound. “It’s written for the ‘80s, and if it didn’t sound like that I would be terribly disappointed,” May says. In the past 16 years, the band has been through dozens of evolutions, “some little and some big; some that I hardly noticed happened.”

He recalls that in the beginning, “We were a straight R&B band. Why we evolved from that was because you can’t play the standard numbers over and over again and still give them any kind of freshness once you’ve explored them. You know, you just start going through the motions. So, I felt that it was very important to us that we start to write and create new material which would continue to stimulate our own interest. It’s the writing that changes the direction of the band. If you write a certain kind of song this year, next year you’re gonna write a whole bunch of things that have become slightly different. It’s because of the time you were writing the songs – giving you the reason for making the songs – has become slightly different.

May thinks Cross Talk has “a lot of continuity. But we never really work the songs out in any kind of preplanned way. It comes out in the way it comes out. When you’re working on each song, you’re working with a particular kind of song and a particular kind of atmosphere that fits the songs. Take a song like ‘Edge of Night,’ which has a slight uneasiness about it. It works out that way. And, of course, when all the other tracks are banded together – we don’t even hear the album until then – you can’t really control it.” May’s primary concern seems to be in making music with “enough different things to keep you interested. I don’t like bands that just make one kind of song, slightly faster or slower on each track.”

Describing himself as “an observer,” May confesses, “I write things down. I always carry a pen with me. And other things I just retain. I think, ‘That’s interesting for a song.’ Maybe I’ll only use part of it; maybe I won’t use any of it. We’ve got a few songs that just might have been good for another kind of band. When we wrote them, we could hear the way they were meant to be done. And we could almost say what band could have done them, because it wasn’t our kind of music. We thought we couldn't get into (it). Rather than change the sound and make it playable for us, (the band decided to drop the song because) it wasn’t real. You lose the spirit of it.”

Pretty Things seems more concerned with following their musical spirit than on the bandwagon. During their 16-year history, they’ve taken a lot of risks that haven’t exactly paid off in dollars and cents. But the fact that they’ve still managed to survive and gather a following has let them to be labeled a “cult band.” May laughs at this: “Someone feels that we deserve a label. And I can’t really, without asking what he or she means by that. Cult band,” he repeats, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can think of all the surrounding things that go with that. Yes, we do have people who write mad letters and have houses that are like museums. They’ve bought all the records, have collected every video, every movie clip, even every photograph or whatever what was ever for sale, and approach you about things that you don’t remember saying. Sometimes I find them at my house, knocking on the door. They want to come in and sit and talk with you, and tape it! They’re not doing interviews. And they want to get someone to take a picture of the two of you standing together, or they want to get a picture of the two of you standing outside the house. It’s alright, you know, that’s fun, but I guess that’s one of the ways that we got to be called a cult band.” He speculates that it is not an unusual situation. “Bands from the ‘60s seemed to have created a cult situation – like the Velvet Underground were a cult (band), but I can’t quite own up to it, because I don’t know all that it entails.”

Another reason the group has been tagged as a cult band is because of S.F. Sorrow. “I set out to put a story to music. That seems everyday today. People have been doing that for years. It’s just that I did it to rock’n’roll and we were the first people to do it. It just seemed like the natural thing to do because at that time, people wanted more from music than just to dance. We thought, ‘How about if we give them music and a story content and a literary context?’” He attributes its distressing lack of success to the fact that it wasn’t promoted correctly. “The record company just released it as any other record. People said it was too early. And it was. People listened to it and were shocked. Nobody [radio stations] played it. People didn’t know it was out. People talk about it now as if it were common knowledge. But it’s only been in the last 5 or 6 years that they’re aware of it.” He also seemed amused by the idea that S.F. Sorrow may be selling better now than it did originally, “though I don’t think it’s selling millions,” he quips.

The band is hoping that this new album will break them out of the cult mold, but they acknowledge that they’ve little chance of being considered New Wave: “I think we’ve got too much history that people would probably stumble over. It wouldn’t be very long before people would be aware that we’ve made about 9 albums.” May refuses to comment on whether or not Cross Talk is commercial enough to make Pretty Things a household word. “You want to break new ground, but then you’re not talking about doing something in 8 month’s time when it actually gets on to the street and is wrapped in its cover,” he pauses. “Who’s to say that that’s not to be a really commercial thing?”

His only prophesies on music in general are that “it’ll go back to somewhere we’ve been before, again and again. But each time it comes around again, it might be the ‘50s or whatever it’ll be; it might have a new content or new circumstances, and it’ll be different from the music (before). Music is really melody, rhythm, and, in some cases, lyrical content. So you have a certain amount or degree in which you can’t do too much with it or then it ceases to be a melody. If you just played any note you felt like – somebody beats the drum and somebody sings nonsense – sure you might have a record. Somebody might say, ‘Yeah. Far-out, man,’ but I don’t think it lasts. So it’s all the extreme experiments that push the boundary a little bit further, but I don’t think it’s a direction. It’s kind of off-shoots. This is plugged into a circular vein. You just go ‘round and ‘round, going in its orbit into the phase of the moon. Softer, things come back and the old, heavy head-music will be back in. I don’t find that depressing.”

He cites that retrospection can bring a new freshness to much. “Freshness. That’s like in not hearing a Buddy Holly track for a long time. Then you hear it and it kind of gets you off. It has a quality to it, you know, it’s a spirit. Now you don’t particularly wish to redo all the old Buddy Holly numbers; what you do is get somebody who writes in that vein, which sounds fresh. Because they’ve managed to pick up what’s made Buddy Holly’s things sound so different. And it won’t just be Buddy Holly. It’ll be a lot of things.”

[Magritte’s Hunters at the Edge of Night]

May admits to being influenced by many different things. “I have other interests. Whether or not I could earn a living off of them or whether or not they’d just be my interests forever, I don’t know. I still paint. I did 4 years at the College of Art. I don’t know whether, (a) I could earn my living at it, or (b) whether I’d want to. It’s always something I’ve done. I think music is very akin to the visuals. Visual arts/audio arts –it’s very close. There’s a very thin dividing line. And most of the painters I know, the very good painters, (say) music plays an important part in their lives and a lot of the things they do.” May is reluctant to say that the reverse is true in his career. “Maybe. I just don’t see it. I think that’s something that someone else would have to say.” But his “Edge of Night” was inspired by a paining. “I think it’s a Magritte. I wanted the music to be like the painting. There’s this painting that’s very sinister. You know how Magritte sees things. It’s kind of a collection of objects. I’m trying to think of what the Magritte paining is called. I don’t think it’s called At the Edge of the Night. I think it’s called…” He hesitates, squints his blue-gray eyes, “It’s something like At the Very Corner of the World. Or something. But, I mean, I got the kind of vision of things, of the night being like a black wall and you can really get right close to the edge.” He tries to picture the painting in his mind again. “It’s just some circular things. Just full of odd objects placed (so) that it has sinister overtones. It wasn’t even figurative. It wasn’t even a face. It was an abstract statement. And suddenly I wanted one of the songs to have that quality of uneasiness about it. That’s why that song may be different from another song on the album. I believe that’s our job, to go to the next sort of musical stage. Not to diversify too much. I just hope it’s good up-front rock’n’roll with some humor to it. I haven’t written with humor in music. But this time, it’s quite nice to get turned on musically by something that’s slightly funny. It’s not a downer album.”