HEALTH
Los Angeles-based HEALTH are surely one of this year’s biggest break-through bands. By now, if you haven’t heard them or at least heard of them, you’ve been living under a rock. Actually, you’ve not even been living. HEALTH’s melodic noise and diversely amazing new album Get Color (Lovepump United, 2009) is pure, fresh goodness.
Just 48 hours after HEALTH played a party on the Williamsburg, Brooklyn waterfront late last summer, I met with the band even further down the East River. It was one of the hottest days of the year and HEALTH had seven continuous hours of interviews, of which this was the last. They’d been out ’til 6:30 a.m. the night before and were in rough shape, so much so that Jake Duszik, lead vocalist and lyricist for the noise group, had left the previous interview half way due to extreme dehydration (an otherwordly hangover). Half an hour before my scheduled meeting with the band in Greenpoint, Jake tweeted, “I just did a photo shoot where I felt like I was going to shit myself and puke at the same time… and I was weeping.” Unsure of how to respond, I asked if they’d like beer. They did. And so, Jake, Benjamin Jared Miller, John Famiglietti and Jupiter Keyes broke through a rusted chain link fence and chilled on a dilapidated concrete dock behind the old, abandoned American Envelope Factory, got drunk, discussed interstellar traumas and pissed in the East River while seaplanes landed and took off behind us.
This is probably one of the longest conversations with HEALTH you’ll ever read. ’SUP chats with HEALTH about a number of things including the Smell, first shows, tacos, golden tickets, bombing the moon, Segways, gay Twitter hijacking, cuddling chemicals and more.
It seems like everyone has a eureka moment with noise music. When did it hit you? Or what hit you?
Jupiter: One of the eureka moments for me was watching Toxic Loincloth play, who is a friend of ours, Cole, who is this awesome, really charismatic performer. He would make this nasty ass fucking sound and he had these toys that he made that were supposedly creating the sound or were making the sounds. He had all these bizarre set ups and he’d make all these nasty fucking sounds and it would take like a minute. Then he’d just get all the shit and go ballistic and there’d be this crowd around him and he’d just go fucking nuts, rolling on the ground, breaking everything. I’m describing it really poorly. It’s just one of those things that when you saw it, because he’s such a charismatic performer, it was like ‘Holy fuck, this is incredible.’ What he communicated was pure angst and aggression and it was really beautiful because – I don’t know. I’m describing it –
John: Like a bullet! Pure! Crystalline! Diamond bullet!
BJ: If you really want to see it, it’s on 40 Bands 80 Minutes!
Oh, the Smell movie?
John: Yeah. I mean, he does perform in it, but it’s way different when you’re standing right next to the guy.
Jupiter: But that was the performance. That was my ‘Holy shit. Wow’ moment.
John: My moment was – I was never excited about new music ever. I was sort of a naysayer when I was 17 and there was a show right next to my house that was Arab On Radar, Lightning Bolt, Locust and the Blood Brothers. I didn’t know any new bands that I liked and I saw that show and I was just destroyed. Covered head to toe in sweat. Arab On Radar was the craziest fucking thing I’d ever seen and from then on I was excited about music and was ready to be in a band. Pretty sure I was 17.
Had you played an instrument before?
John: Yeah, yeah. I had a high school band. We played punk, rock and classic rock. Anything rock. I hated the ’90s so I just listened to everything rock up until like ’94. I just hated that shit. Ah, the bad alternative error. I had so much angst as a kid and I was so depressed about music because I was so obsessed with music. I couldn’t believe it; it was like everything just fucking sucked.
Jupiter: I actually stopped listening to current music all together for a certain time.
BJ (laughing): I just listened to the Dave Matthews Band.
I can see it in your style.
BJ (laughing): Especially today.
John: But yeah, after that Arab On Radar show, I was like, ‘Wow, there can be modern music that’s really fucking crazy, that’s getting me off.’ It was intense. And I don’t even know what the hell they were doing. Thinking, ‘What the fuck are they doing? That doesn’t even make sense. That’s so awful.’ And then –I’m a bass player and I saw Lightning Bolt and I remember thinking ‘Oh, fuck. Oh. My. God.’ That show just destroyed me.
I’d read that you guys had a hellish time recording your new record.
John: Ugh. Not this one. Well, hellish, mentally.
Jupiter: The recording itself wasn’t hellish. That actually went pretty smooth, as far as that all goes. We had some guy helping us out with the recording.
That was something new for you?
John: That was new. We recorded our first album ourselves.
At the Smell, right?
John: Yeah.
And that involved bringing all your gear in, loading it out, day in, day out. What were you recording on? 16-track? 24-track?
John (laughing): Yeah, right. There is no way we could’ve had a five hundred pound tape machine in there. Are you insane?
Jupiter: Nah, a friend of mine gave me this thirty-forty-year-old Tascam mixer.
[A sea plane descends behind us]
Holy shit, is that plane going to land here?
John: Wow.
BJ: Whoa.
Jupiter: Can we get a picture of us standing in front of that landing?
John: Holy shit!
[The sea plane lands directly behind us in the East River]
Have you guys ever been in a seaplane?
John: Nah.
Jupiter: No, have you?
Yeah, once in Canada when I was a kid. My brother threw up all over the place.
Jupiter: The landing must feel really cool.
It’s sort of bumpy, but, well, it’s a lot like a regular plane. Just more fluid.
Jupiter: So, what were we talking about?
Your friend gave you–
John: Oh yeah. Right, right.
Jupiter: Right, so our friend gave us this thing and it looked really cool and it got a sweet sound, so we used this really shitty mixer and plugged that right into our computers through a pre-amp that went directly into our computers. Not the ideal way to record but we were on a very strict budget.
You guys were recording onto tape individually and then transferring digitally and then back to analog?
John: Yeah.
BJ: Yeah.
Jupiter (yellling directly into the microphone): DON’T EVER DO THAT. ANYONE. EVER.
BJ: Don’t ever do that.
Do people do that often? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before.
John: Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t know.
Jupiter: We have a tendency to do things like that, where looking back you think ‘Wow, that really didn’t need to be done that way. That was really inefficient.’
John: Totally. The guy editing our music video right now just said, ‘You know what I like about you guys, you guys never do anything the easy way. Never. I’ve worked with a lot of bands and you guys NEVER do ANYTHING the EASY way.’
BJ: It’s true.
John (laughing): I was like, ‘Thanks Luke.’ Also, ‘You guys are fucking crazy. And not in a good way.’
BJ: ‘I love your craziness, you crazy bastards.’
Seems like every time I read an interview with y’all or an article about HEALTH, it always mentions playing disparaging venues; how you guys play a lot of house parties and warehouse shows but you’ve also opened for Nine Inch Nails and played big venues like the Pool Parties. Is it hard for you to go from playing a venue like the Schmarket [a.k.a Bushwick, Brooklyn’s Market Hotel] to a stadium in front of rabid Reznor disciples?
John (laughing): Ugh, no. I feel like with our band it’s mostly the same thing. It’s mostly the same thing in terms of what we have to do.
Jupiter: Unless it’s loading up a flight of rickety stairs at the Market Hotel, it’s mostly all the same.
John: Or sweating, like dying from lack of oxygen, heat exhaustion.
Jupiter: Yeah.
John: At the Market or the Smell, or places like that.
That seems to be appropriate for your sound though.
BJ: Really?
Yeah.
BJ: It’s not fun though.
John: No, we’d like to make it not appropriate for us.
Although, Market Hotel has air conditioning now.
John: Yeah, I just heard that.
BJ: What?
They just installed it last weekend.
BJ: (laughing) Market? Pshh. Okay, I’ll play there again.
John: We are very big proponents of the Smell getting air conditioning, and they can. They can get the system for free, but the problem is that the bill is very expensive. We will definitely join the effort to play benefit shows to cut the bill for air conditioning.
Jupiter: Totally. Air conditioning in the Smell. We’re in.
What’s the deal with that place anyway? You always hear it mythologized around here and all these crazy stories, but I don’t really know much about it. What’s its back story? Like a sort of Todd P thing in L.A. or something?
John: Yeah, sorta. Jim Smith and I think three other people–this is way before my time–started the Smell in the Valley and then they moved it downtown, where it’s currently been for many years. I think the total lifespan of the venue has been about 10 years, but I’ve only known it since it moved downtown. And it is L.A. It is the L.A. scene. As far as good music is concerned. But there are a lot of other good things going on.
A lot of people talk about the Echo Park, Silver Lake area.
John: We live in Echo Park.
Jupiter: We all live a few blocks from each other.
John: I love Echo Park (Yelling directly into microphone) I LOVE YOU BABY! Taco Zone!
Jupiter: May I have another beer please? It’s really helping my anxiety.
Sure. Go for it.
BJ: Quote for the books right there. ‘Beer for my anxiety, please.’ Jup, you’re killing me.
What have you guys been doing since you’ve been in New York?
John: Hanging out on the East River, pretty much. Shit. We played just right over there.
That’s true; you literally played right over there.
John (laughing): Oh shit. There’s our trailer.
You sold out all your t-shirts at Pitchfork last year. Going back on tour after that, I’m guessing you didn’t have any to sell.
John: Yeah, we were in the middle of the tour and all of the sudden we didn’t have any fucking shirts. We’re like, “Where’d all the shirts go?!” So, we had to get some crazy shit sent out and picked it up along the way. It’s okay though, because our next show after Pitchfork was in Oklahoma City and–ugh–we didn’t sell too many shirts there (laughs).
Jupiter: We did get to meet Wayne Coyne though.
John: Yeah, that was awesome.
No shit.
John: Yeah. He came to the show. Such a nice guy.
What kind of venue?
Jupiter: Just some kinda bar, warehouse kinda place. Not too many people were there. Only 20, maybe 30 people were there. And after the show, this kinda older guy with grey-ish hair walks up to us and says, ‘Hi! I’m Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips!’ He was super friendly and kind. Asked us about our pedals.
BJ: He asked us to play more (laughs).
John: Can I talk about the golden ticket?
Sure. I’m guessing this is sort of a HEALTH take on Willy Wonka.
John: Yeah. It’s not that high budget, but that’s the idea.
So what happens?
John: The winner gets flown out to L.A. for three days and two nights to spend at HEALTH headquarters.
Are you serious?
Jupiter: Yeah.
John: Dead serious.
Jupiter: The winner gets to come out to L.A. We’re gonna fly you out. You get to stay on our couch.
BJ: You get to stay on my couch.
Jupiter: We’re gonna make you food. Breakfast in the morning. We’re going to take you on a hike. We’re going to take you to all our favorite places, like Taco Zone. We’re gonna buy your burritos.
John: And we’re going to fucking Magic Mountain motherfuckers!
Jupiter: Magic Mountain!
John: Tatsu!
Jupiter: It’s going to be the most fun ever. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Tatsu, but you’re actually dangling in the air and it’s the most beautiful backdrop of the mountains and it’s just shooting you around. It’s one of the coolest rides on Earth.
John: Yeah.
Jupiter: We’re gonna take you on Goliath.
BJ: We’re gonna go bankrupt.
John: We’re gonna take you to Wally World.
Jupiter: There may be mind-bending things involved. If you’re of age, we’ll buy your drinks. It’s gonna be a good time.
John: It’s gonna be so much fun. So, that’s the grand prize. There are a ton of other prizes. Everything is personalized. We’ve hand signed everything. We handmade all the tickets. It’s all directly from us.
How many are there?
John: Sixty-six.
Wait–66 people are going to be crashing on your couch?
Everyone: NO!
Jupiter: There are a bunch of different color tickets. The color of the ticket will correlate to a specific prize.
John: My mom painted a picture of a certain celebrity. Jup’s mom will call you and give you an astrological report.
Jupiter: She’ll read your astrological chart based on when you were born and where you were born at.
That’s really fucking cool of you guys. That’s like 22nd century business shit.
[Jake shows up, talking on the phone.]
Jupiter: So Jake was really hungover in our last interview and decided to head back to Lovepump Headquarters and logged into Jake’s [Friedman, HEALTH’s Manager, Head of Lovepump United] computer, which happened to still be logged in on Twitter. So Jake took the liberty of–
Jake: I was just super hungover in the last interview, on the verge of heat stroke, so I’m like, ‘Dudes, I gotta go back to the apartment’ and I get back and I sit down and check my email and I login to Twitter and Jake’s still logged in. Jake Friedman and Mookie run our label, so we have this running joke that they are gay.
Jupiter: They’re not gay, but they’ve done some gay shit.
Jake: So I wrote ‘I’m not sure how I feel about it yet, but Mookie and I finally made love.’
(Everyone laughs)
Jake: And immediately, Mookie posts back ‘You are getting fucking curbed.’ So I post back, ‘Just once, I want you to tell me that you love me.’ So he writes back ‘Maybe, just maybe, I’ll talk to you again before you die.’ So I write ‘At least I know what your eyes look like when you climax.’ (Erupts in laughter)
Jake: And Friedman just showed me that someone re-tweeted that with the note: ‘I don’t know who you are, but your last tweet was really honest and tender.’ (laughs) All this controversy.
Do you guys use Twitter a lot?
John: For the most part I do the band Twitter.
Yeah, I heard you were about to shit and vomit at the same time or something. Hence, the Modelo.
Jake: Seriously, it’s gotta be one of the hottest days of the year and first thing I did when I woke up sweating was go for a walk in the hot sun. ‘Great guys. This is awesome. Let’s go answer some questions.’
Jupiter: We offered to rent him a Segway, but–
Jake: Dude! You offered, but you did not come through. Believe me, I would’ve been cruising down the strip with a big smile on my face.
You guys have a lot of pedals.
John: Yes. Yes, we do.
BJ: I’ve got a broken pedal right now.
I’m assuming you guys break pedals all the time.
John: Oh yeah.
Jupiter: Yesterday–or two days ago–when we played on the river was just a nightmare. John’s pedal board went to complete shit.
John: I swear to God it’s not the fucking board. There’s fucking crazy shit going on. The eclipse.
Jupiter: The eclipse, yeah.
John: Black magic voodoo eclipse.
Jupiter: There’s actually been an eclipse, vortex going on for the past–
BJ: You know what? There’s always a fucking eclipse going on. That’s what I hear every time [laughs].
John: Every time something goes wrong, it’s the fucking eclipse, man.
Jake: The sun in the moon. When is it ever like, there’s nothing going on this week?
Jupiter: So anyway, John’s pedal board went to complete shit. Two or three songs there was just no John, just him ripping cables and trying to get a signal from something.
There was a lunar eclipse just the other day.
Jupiter: This is true. It was the longest eclipse this century. Six and a half minutes.
John: I really hope there are sea monsters in Europa.
Jupiter: They are trying to figure out the technology to drill through the ice and then go down into the water because they think there is a really good possibility that there are creatures down there.
You know we’re bombing the moon, right?
Jupiter: What?
A lot of people claim that the state of the economy is directly related to NASA, because so much of the technology that drives spending, and therefore the economy, was developed by NASA during the Space Race.
Jupiter: There’s just no innovation anymore.
John: The ocean frontier people are really smart. They say it will take one percent of NASA’s yearly budget to find out everything they want to know about the ocean in 10 years. Ten years!
Jupiter: Did you see that TED Talks? [TED: Technology, Entertainment, Design. TED is a non-profit academic organization and conference.] Fuck man, it was incredible. By the guy who discovered, ya know in Planet Earth where the electric creatures who live in underwater volcanoes–
Yeah.
Jupiter: He’s the guy who found out all that stuff, the world’s leading expert on the ocean and he says there are endless resources and all these things that could be done and we could be living in the ocean for a fraction of what it costs to go to Mars. Ted.com for all you readers.
BJ: Did you guys see that thing on the airplane about the chemical they found in the brain that actually causes you to cuddle? The cuddle chemical.
John: Cuddle juice. BJ: They broke it all down. There is actually a specific chemical that makes us cuddle. John: I love to cuddle. That’s all I do. Fresh laundry, just wanna curl up with it. BJ: It’s crazy because there are only three animals that mate for their entire lives, humans, something else and then this rat. And this species of rat actually has the same chemical that causes humans to cuddle in its brain. I’m dead serious, too. It’s fucking nuts. Oh, shit. That plane’s taking off now.
Toddla T
It’s been a big year for Sheffield-bred DJ, Toddla T. The 24 year-old dancehall / hip-hop / dubstep / grime / garage / rave selector has played countless festivals and hit the studio with UK MCs Roots Manuva and Tinchy Stryder. He’s released two records including his own Skanky Skanky (1965 Records, 2009) and the truly banging Fabriclive 47 mix. If that weren’t enough, he’s also hooked up a regular radio slot on BBC Radio 1 and just finished his first US tour.
All this bigness has taken its toll though. When ’SUP caught up with Toddla (known as Tom Bell to his mum and girlfriend, Radio 1 DJ Annie Mac), a nasty case of the swine flu kept him away from legendary UK festival, Glastonbury, while a freak bout of the mumps canned his Bestival appearance. Over iced lattes in east London nightspot, Cargo, Toddla tells ’SUP in his distinctive Northern accent and charming style about the early days, his thoughts on the current state of UK dance music and why he rates Biggie as the best rapper of all time.
How was the festival season this year? Where did you have the best time?
Probably Creamfields in Liverpool. Cream has quite a super club vibe. It was started by two guys in Liverpool and now it’s just massive. They’ve got a festival and record label now. It was like a big dance festival. It was right good. I was on after Jack Beats and it was a right good big party. That was probably my most famous festival this year.
You missed Bestival, right?
Gutted. I wanted to go ’cause I’ve never been and I missed Glastonbury as well. So the two big festival. Glastonbury is my favorite festival, and then Bestival I didn’t get to see either.
How about the US?
I’m going there for my first tour in two weeks. I played in Miami at the Winter Music Conference earlier this year, which was wicked. I played three parties: one on a beach, one in a club and one by a pool. It was proper like, P. Diddy shit.
How was the response there?
Wicked! There were a lot of English people there so that helped, but I love it. Dubstep was really big over there this year as well.
It’s finally really expanded in the US. What do you think about that?
It’s mad, innit? Skream’s over there at the minute. And he says it’s a right good old time. Plastician was there too. A lot of them dubstep people are getting the love over there right now.
Why do you think it took so long?
I think it’s such a British sound and it’s quite pure and undiluted and it’s kind of taken the rest of the world a while to get their heads around it. It’s very out there.
How long do you think until Kanye gets his wobbly on?
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already at it–getting T-Pain on there. People are doing it, aren’t they? Benga’s just done a track for Busta and Rihanna, and Eve, obviously. And Chase and Status are doing stuff with Rihanna. I love the fact that Benga’s doing stuff like that because Chase and Status are quite diluted in my opinion, whereas Benga’s full-on and very out there and pure. It shouldn’t be poppy, but he’s makin’ it poppy and I love that shit! I love it when stuff like that happens. It’s so honest. He says he’s been on video shoots with Busta and Pharrell and that. It’s madness.
You’ve been doing a lot of grime production lately. How’s that going?
I’ve done stuff for Bashy’s album. I just did Jammer’s new single, and he just got signed to Big Dada for three albums. I’ve done stuff with Wiley. Actually grime is our hip-hop. We didn’t really have a grime scene in Sheffield like down here [in London]. I used to watch it on DVDs and think it was right exciting. It was like this mad world that I’d never seen before and they were all like celebrities to me. Now I’m producing them all! It’s amazing. I’m loving it. And they’re coming to me as well and that’s flattering. Grime hasn’t crossed over to the States in the way everyone expected it to. There was that little boom where everyone got excited for a minute, but it didn’t really happen. Again, it’s so British and raw. You have to understand the lingo, the history–garage and that.
And you’re also doing a lot of radio right now?
I love it! I’ve never really done it before and I love it. It’s given me a whole new lease to get new music and a whole new excitement around contacting producers and be on stuff way before it even gets promo’ed. I’m enjoying it.
You’ve said that these days your audiences are into a range of genres, whereas in the past people were very divided by subcultures. Why do you think there’s more crossover now?
There’s more room to explore music now. Before, you bought one album a month or a week with your pocket money. Now because of the Internet, I listen to new music all day long. I go and check Myspace and stream things on Spotify and that. You don’t just have to buy what you know you’re going to like. And it’s also now acceptable to be into bands as well as hip-hop and dance music. Much more than it was before, anyway. I think it’s a wicked time, especially at the minute. Everyone seems to want to dance again.
What kind of music got you into music?
Hip-hop. I was right into hip-hop from about 10 years old. That’s all I could fuck about with.
Who was your favorite MC?
Biggie. He sounds amazing. His delivery is amazing and his lyrics are amazing. It’s not too deep or too poppy. It’s bangin’. Not too complex, not too simple. It’s perfect! His voice sounds amazing. When I was 10, my cousin gave me his record, Ready to Die (Bad Boy, 1994) and we went to me nan’s house, ’cause we used to go away every summer to see me family. Me nan’s were like, a bit boring, so I just locked into that. And I was like ‘Whoa!’ I was about 10. It’s jokes, innit? I just dabbled a bit but then got right into it by 15.
Was there a hip-hop scene in Sheffield?
Yeah, well, like anywhere else. A little circle of MCs and DJs but the standard wasn’t great. There was a couple groups who did alright and they were alright, but never really amazing. Hip-hop was my first love.
Then you got into a lot of other stuff?
When I was about 15 or 16, I started moving in different circles and making different friends and going out to different parties and clubs and bars and stuff. That’s when I got into dance music; hearing it in the right context rather than on MTV, where it was a bit rubbish. My biggest influences were the DJs back home when I started listening to different sorts of music. When I was coming up at 17, developing a taste and a sound–there was one called Pipes, who I still speak to a lot. He’s like me mentor. And there’s Winston Hazel, another DJ from back home.
Who do you think is the most important figure in UK dance music history?
Fuckin’ hell. Probably Pete Tong. Because he’s obviously massively known and has–for the last 20 years–had the most important time slot on national radio for dance music and he’s always been quite cutting-edge. He’ll not just play your big main room stuff. He’s actually quite specialist. I’m not saying he’s really out there, but his position was and is very powerful. It would be easy to play fuckin’ Tiësto all night, but he doesn’t. He may not have been given the chance to be very important, but he has been in terms of the development of dance music and to spread it nationwide over the last 10 or 20 years.
If you could only play one kind of music for the rest of your days, what would it be?
Garage. Because it’s that wide. I could play grime and two-step and 4/4 and niche. It’s wide innit. There’s loads of genres within it.
As a massive fan of Jamaican music, have you had a chance to visit the country?
Yeah. I went two months ago. It was the time of my life. I recorded in Kingston and spent three days in the studio. Then went to Negril and lived the high life–literally–on the beach. For real. It was incredible to go to where the roots lie of reggae music, which I just love so much. To me, reggae is the top of the tree of British dance music: jungle, garage, house that I like. A lot of the stuff trickled down from reggae, the big basslines and stuff like that. So to go to the place where it’s pure, where the artists work, was just amazing. And then the culture side of it, seeing how the people live. I came away with a lot of different thoughts about general life shit. I’ve seen how people live over there: It’s just mad.
Where are you based now?
I’m still in Sheffield, but I’m looking at getting a flat down here. I’m thinking North London. Sheffield’s a shithole. Some of the areas I grew up were right shitholes, so it’s not really about the area. It’s about the location. I’ll keep my studio in Sheffield, though, and take artists up there to get away from London a lot.
Do you prefer to be in the studio or on stage?
Studio. I love nothing more than making a song for people.
The Fiery Furnaces
The Fiery Furnaces released their first record in 2003 on Rough Trade and have been steadily releasing albums about once a year since then. I’m Going Away (Thrill Jockey, 2009) is their seventh record and is arguably their least orchestrated. The band reached international acclaim with Blueberry Boat (Rough Trade, 2004), which is a lush, orchestral masterpiece full of meticulously arranged, seemingly endless ephemeral pop songs. But I’m Going Away is stripped down and shorter, with more attention paid to simpler presentations of the lyrics.
Eleanor and Matthew Friedberger are the brother and sister team at the center of the band. However, their website lists over 25 other “personnel” that include the extra players in the band (they often tour with a different crew each time), along with illustrators, recording engineers and video-makers. No family is an island.
We met at the crux of lower Central Park to hang out and take photos on a rainy, grey day. Eleanor and Matt wore ’SUP’s complimentary plastic ponchos. After doing a shoot on a big rock and the shore of an algae-filled lake, we tried and failed to go and hang out in the Park Plaza Hotel to do the interview, but instead opted for a nearby coffee shop. Matthew schooled me on American history while Eleanor sat across the table and never took off her classic tan belted trench.
When did you guys move from Chicago to New York?
Eleanor: I moved in March of 2000. And Matt moved in October or November of 2000.
I’ve noticed with your records that there is a really unique sense of place with your songs. The most obvious early example of this is “Tropical Icy Land” from Gallowsbird Bark (Rough Trade, 2003). That’s about a real place, right? Or is it?
Eleanor: It’s 100 percent real. It’s about a week-long trip to Iceland I took. I stayed with a friend.
Have you been back since?
Eleanor: Yes, twice.
I’ve heard since the bank collapse everything there has gotten significantly less expensive.
Eleanor: Well, like I said, I was staying with a friend whose mother worked in a cheese factory. So when I was there, I ate nothing but cheese from the factory and canned tomato soup. And bread.
No putrefied shark?
Eleanor: No, but I did see a goat’s head in a deli case, but I didn’t eat it. That’s the first line of the song.
Do you feel like there are songs with a real connection to place on your new record?
Matthew: Not like on Rehearsing My Choir (Rough Trade, 2005). That was specifically about a place.
Eleanor: I don’t have the tracks in front of me—
I have them [taking out a copy of the CD, the paper case recently damaged in that morning’s rainstorm]. Sorry about the disrespectful condition.
Eleanor: Oh no! Okay, personally, “Ray Bouvier” is a true story about my first–
Matthew: And last–
Eleanor: Yeah, and last time I ever fired a gun. It happened in Texas, where a friend of mine has a large collection of guns. I think I only know one person in New York with a gun. It seemed like a thing that would only happen in Texas. The song is about my friend’s lawyer, who won the Texas State Lottery. And “Charmaine Champagne” is set in New York, in the West Village. Each song has a setting for me, but maybe it’s not completely obvious.
I saw you at the Brooklyn Pool Party a few weeks ago and I noticed you were playing a good amount of your old material. Things from as far back as Gallowsbird Bark, which is what, six years old now?
Eleanor: Yes.
A lot of bands get tired of playing their old material. Yours is clearly re-worked, but it’s kind of unusual for bands to play things that old unless their fans demand it because they have some big commercial hit.
Eleanor: We get around that by playing it different.
Do you have a new way of playing songs every tour?
Eleanor: Pretty much. We don’t do songs the same way for more than, I’d say, about two years.
Matthew: We feel obligated to do it that way. We think that’s what people should do. A song isn’t necessarily identified by its arrangement–the specific arrangement–on the record. Otherwise it’s not much of a song. The modern sense of the song as an artifact has bands often performing them exactly as they are on the record and if not, sometimes people feel cheated. But we think you should give a song something to do. We are being affectionate to the song. Taking the song out into the world in a new outfit.
If the song is, as you say, an independent artifact, it’s interesting to me that all of your records always feel united, very whole objects. Was there a uniting principle in the new record?
Matthew: It was supposed to sound casual, like people playing in a basement, so I guess it was unified in that way. We didn’t necessarily arrange it that way, as with a key change at the end of a song so that it flows into the next song. Although, there is nothing wrong with that and we’ve done it before.
Eleanor: There’s not really another way to describe it that I can think of.
Matthew: I wouldn’t say that it’s laid back, because there are some aggressive bits. We also tried to make it sound like we’re supposed to be trying too hard to sound casual. Some songs have not as much going on in the arrangements as we’ve done in the past and we wanted people to listen to that.
Were you influenced by other people’s records at all?
Matthew: I don’t want to name names but we were going for a ’70s sort of record, maybe a TV sound like the Welcome Back Kotter theme. Have you ever heard the Italian term “sprettura zura”?
No. What is that?
Matthew: It means this aristocratic casualness, a specific kind of not caring. Rock music tries to show this kind of casualness a lot–not trying to think about it too hard. These days, everything is about geekiness. If you are obsessed with details, you are OCD. You are geeking out on something you really like. But from the Bowery Boys in the 1830s to the Beatniks in the 1950s, there have always been people that forced that cult of casualness.
Eleanor: ‘Cult of Casualness’. Ooooh.
Matthew: It’s like Chris Penn says in that movie, the one after Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
You mean Sean Penn?
Matthew: No, his brother, Chris Penn. I can’t remember the name of the movie, but all through it he has this catchphrase: ‘It’s casual’. Instead of saying, ‘It’s cool’, or ‘It’s neat’, he says, ‘It’s casual’ [The Wild Life, 1984].
Funny that you mention the ’70s because my editor and I both agreed that the new record has some strains of Patti Smith.
Matthew: Like the third record, where it’s all singer-songwriter? I don’t remember the name of it. [Easter, 1978]
Eleanor: I’ve never listened to Patti Smith.
Really? That surprises me a lot.
Eleanor: I didn’t even know what she was like, what her personality was like, until I read a story about her very recently. What I was surprised to find out is how ambitious she was. Extraordinarily ambitious. But I get compared to her a lot.
What are you reading at the moment?
Eleanor: Right now, just the New Yorker. There were three issues in my mail from tour. [To Matthew] But you’re reading about Walt Whitman?
Matthew: Well, 1830s and ’40s New York.
I don’t know much about that period in history at all. Before the Industrial Revolution?
Matthew: Before the second Industrial Revolution. It’s interesting because during that time in New York, Brooklyn grew tremendously. I think it grew to four times its size between 1820 and 1850. They called that revolution a Commercial Revolution. Subsistence farmers had to adapt to the new kinds of commerce. Walt Whitman’s father had to adapt and he couldn’t do it very well, and so he wasn’t very successful. It also coincided with the religious revolution—ending the era of the ideas of Payne and Jefferson—which maybe wasn’t felt as much by the general population, but it had a large impact on artists and writers and the elite.
You guys tour a whole lot. Do you like it?
Eleanor: For the most part. Like anything, it has its upsides. We keep it really low key, do everything modestly. We don’t have a tour manager.
Matthew: Eleanor’s the tour manager. She books the hotels, she takes the money. And she’s the main attraction!
Eleanor: Yeah. I’m the singer. We have our own van. It’s just the four of us.
Do you have any kind of traditions that you like to do in certain cities? For instance, whenever I’m in Portland I try to walk over a bridge because I like the bridges there and the Willamette River is really pretty.
Eleanor: We had a half-hour free in Nashville and I went to a vintage clothing store I like there. I spent about 25 minutes shopping for clothes. But tour’s nice now because we know where to eat. We know where the good bookstore is in the towns we visit.
Matthew: Maybe it’s less exciting.
Eleanor: No, I like it better. On this last tour we had one night off and we spent it in Savannah, Georgia.
That’s not really a big rock ‘n’ roll town, but it’s really pretty, huh? All the weeping willows and large columns.
Eleanor: Yeah, I don’t know why they don’t have a venue because there is that big arts college.
Matthew: That town was built on blood money.
I’m not a Southerner so I don’t want to make any assumptions, but it has always seemed to me that they are more at peace with their past than people in the North.
Matthew: Yeah, I don’t know either.
This interview is making me want to read more about American history.
Matthew: Well, you shouldn’t!
Why not?
Matthew: Well, don’t do it if you don’t want to.
No, it’s interesting! I am kind of reading a history book right now, I guess. Nabokov’s Speak, Memory.
Matthew: (scoffs)
Do you think he’s pompous?
Matthew [sarcastically]: Pompous, Nabokov? No. That book is kind of his apology for himself. But he was skilled and hardworking and a lot of people that read his books have that as a reward.
You can’t deny that.
Matthew: There are some writers I like from right now. Tony Harrison, he’s an English author. Jeffrey Hill, he’s English, too. Do you think bands should do genealogies like that?
I guess it depends on the family.
Matthew: Why? Only interesting families should have genealogies?
No, no. It’s more like not every family can find out all the information as completely as he could. For instance, my family came through Ellis Island and I know approximately when, but I’ve looked into it and I can’t find the records. And there aren’t enough people still living who have the information.
Eleanor: You could make it up, which would be more fun! Maybe only sibling bands should have genealogies.
Matthew: No, then it’s boring, because it’s the same. But yes, a lot of genealogies are about filling in the gaps. For instance, there is a book called the Hemmingses of Monticello. Sally Hemmings and her family were owned by Thomas Jefferson and the family of course had lots of… different kinds of interactions with him. [Sally Hemmings bore some of Thomas Jefferson’s children, a fact recently confirmed by genetic testing.] There is a lot of information about them, but still, you have to suss out what is plausible, you know?
Eleanor: Our dad is a historian. Maybe we should pay him to make our family genealogy and put it up on the website. Maybe just like five dollars an hour.
Less than minimum wage! Almost indentured labor!
Eleanor: Well, he’s retired so it would just pad his fat Social Security check.
Neon Indian
Eight months ago Neon Indian barely existed as a band. Earlier today they played a last-minute set filling in for the Raveonettes at the Austin City Limits Festival in front of 10,000 people. If ever there were a poster band for the immediacy of popularity the Internet can create, the swooshed-out bliss pop of Alan Polomo’s Neon Indian is it.
Created as a means to escape the polished and restricting world of dance music – which Palomo’s other shining star, Vega, wiggles around in – Neon Indian thrives on musically throwing caution to the wind. Learning to allow himself the level of carefree tenderness that rests in the songwriting of his disjointed acid-pop was a mandatory lesson for Palomo. With his own creative voice finally discovered, a tour schedule for both of his projects that sees him traveling around the world at least three more times before the end of the year and a growing demand as a remixer, Palomo is quickly separating himself from the kids who sit at the popular table at Internet High School.
Lets talk about your childhood for a second, if that’s cool. Did you watch a lot of Nick Jr. cartoons when you were young? I hear a deep Doug Funnie vibe running throughout the album.
Oh yeah. Hit the nail right on the head. Nick Jr. and PBS always provided a few interesting gems to grow up with, in particular Wishbone (laughs). It wasn’t until discovering the mid-’90s Nickelodeon roster that I think much of my sensibilities developed. Are You Afraid of the Dark, Rocko’s Modern Life and The Adventures of Pete and Pete were probably the most memorable. It’s strange to think that the people behind these shows were secretly throwing in obscure cultural references for you to revisit later.
I only recently discovered that Iggy Pop and Steve Buscemi had reoccurring roles on Pete and Pete.
A lot of the episodes also featured some amazing tracks from The Magnetic Fields. The sense of bemusement they had for romanticizing experiences you’d have growing up in the suburbs really spoke to me then.
It seems like that has transferred over into the over arching idea of Neon Indian. Is there an importance of connecting an emotional theme through both visual and musical experiences for you?
Absolutely. It’s hard to divorce visuals from music for me, given that my background is predominantly in film. Even growing up, music was always a passive experience for me. I tended to bond more with my mom who was heavily involved in television and radio and over time, it seems like music for me – at least the music I write – has become a conglomeration of those childhood experiences.
Then you think you fell into music accidentally? Growing up with a musical father [Alan’s dad is Mexican singer Jorge Palomo], was there ever pressure or an expectation placed on you to get into music, or was there more of a leaning from them to have you avoid it all together?
I always had an interest in it. I really wanted to bond musically with the rest of my family, but I always sort of struggled with how to make that happen. I didn’t know how to get into it. I was always more fascinated with old synths rather than the guitar. There was this one time when I was walking around San Antonio with my dad and we walked into Crazy Cats Music, which is this little vintage music shop. I remember seeing this Oberheim OBX sitting in the corner. I turned it on and began playing around it with it, and in that moment I knew that what I had been looking for – to have my own musical voice in my family – was the odd creative power behind these old synths. Which is also when my love for dance music began as well.
Which then led you to your first band Ghosthustler, I take it?
I wanted to take this newfound love and turn it into something. At the time my only real reference for synth-based music was New Order. I was so intrigued by the incorporations that an indie band would have with synthesizers in their music. I think at this time I was a sophomore in high school and really into the Unicorns. I remember being very curious about the reasoning behind a lot of the sound production choices they made. Blending this sort of garage rock production with indie-driven dance music was fascinating to me. It really wasn’t until I got to college that I wanted to really just make dance music and work exclusively with synths and explore their limits. I think Ghosthustler was the end result of that. Vega and Neon Indian have been kind of a discovery process for me. It took quite a few songs and attempts for it to form its own sound, but I do think that where Vega is now, and what Neon Indian has become is totally the end result of what I’ve been trying to achieve. I finally have a sound that’s private and intimate and comes from a process of sincere songwriting.
Do you find that now working alone as a songwriter has become more liberating?
I think that Ghosthustler was really restricting. Everyone really had their own distinct vision – or lack thereof – of where they wanted it to go. We were shooting down each other’s ideas and not growing. Over time a huge gap just opened up creatively. We were all listening to different kinds of music. We became less a band and more a strange collective of people trying to write music together. That was the main point of Vega: to experiment with writing by myself and let things grow naturally. It was so much more of a relief.
Then what need does Neon Indian serve for you as a songwriter, as opposed to Vega?
I think that what it serves for me as a songwriter is that it allows me to write with transparency and expression. The only way I can explain it is like this: I feel like I’ve had certain cathartic moments through the evolution of Neon Indian into what it’s become. Originally it just began as a creative exercise. Then writing “Should Have Taken Acid With You” became such a liberating experience for me. It felt so different. It was one of the first times that I wasn’t concerned with references. In fact it didn’t have a reference point at all, just a few very ambiguous sensations I was trying to communicate with Alicia Scardetta who at the time was helping to create visual counterparts to the music I was working on. That writing style then became a daily exercise for me. Trying to write a new song everyday and not allowing myself to be concerned with the aesthetic. Then I would go back to those ideas later and create the commonalities to give those songs the Neon Indian sound. Now that I’ve had time to listen to the album objectively and not be so tied to it, I realize how personal that situation actually was for me.
In the past I felt like dance music restricted me. Working on dance music felt so mechanical, this idea of trying to replicate ideas and emotions with chords and sounds just doesn’t feel artistic. It feels like a trade school. Neon Indian, on the other hand, feels like expression. I’m actually creating something and it’s the first time I’ve made music that feels that way. I’ve had to completely reconfigure Vega to fit that purpose as well.
Neon Indian definitely seems–not more mature–but mature in a different way than Vega. When I first met you I remember you had this new Vega project and you were so stoked on it, and you told me how it was a continuation of what you were doing with Ghosthustler. I don’t think Neon Indian was even a thought for you yet was it?
Ha. No it wasn’t at all.
That was only a year ago exactly to the day, oddly enough. It’s interesting to me that in six months you’re able to find this new, more artistic voice for yourself.
Well honestly I think a lot of that had to do with moving to Austin. I feel like it put me in a situation where all I had to do was write and that’s where 80 percent of my time was spent outside of school. Moving here wasn’t really initially what I expected it to be. I came to Austin with the expectation that it was going to be a lot more socially liberating. I’d meet more people, be forced to interact with them in a musical community and learning from them in that sense. However, when I got here it was bizarre because in a lot of ways it was alienating. Everyone tells me you have to be here for a while before you get into the groove of things, but I feel like arriving in Austin and being completely stoked on what I was doing with Vega–having this mapped out vision of what I wanted to do with that project and where I wanted to take it, then getting slowly disenchanted with that idea, and feeling stuck in Austin, and stuck in my classes at ACC [Austin Community College], and realizing that pulling myself out of the shadow of Ghosthustler was going to be its own tricky maneuver – led to oddly falling into what I’m doing now with Neon Indian. I don’t really think would have happened if I hadn’t moved to Austin.
It sounds like Austin has been a little bit of a negative experience for you. Is that what you’re saying?
Definitely, but I feel like as a result of that it created a new artistic channel for me to write through.
That’s interesting, given the community of young Austin bands that are doing well right now and are proud to consider themselves Austin bands. Then from your experience of living here would you consider yourself part of that community, or do you view yourself as a musician who just so happens to be living in Austin at the moment?
Well (laughs).
(Laughing) I guess you’re not really living in Austin lately given your insane tour schedule.
I was going to say, I’m not really living in Austin at the moment. I guess it kind of depends on who’s asking to be honest. For example, today we played the Austin City Limits Festival, filling in for the Ravonettes. Right before we went on stage the announcer pulls me aside and says, ‘So, hey man, you’re from Austin right? The whole band’s from Austin too right?’ I explained to him that really the rest of the band was from Dallas and Denton so I’m not really sure what’s the most appropriate thing to say. The announcer says, ‘Well, you can say that you’re from Austin and people will be a lot more receptive to you and everyone will have a good time.’ I tell him that I kind of just wanted to say that we were from Texas, but you know, fuck it, if it’s going to make for a better show. So the announcer runs up on stage and says, [Alan slips into his best announcer/morning radio DJ voice]‘ ‘Alright everybody, give it up for a brand new band from right here in Austin, TX: Neon Indian!’ The very first thing I see when we get off stage is this Dallas Observer tweet that says: ‘Neon Indian, a new band from Austin? What the fuck!’ So you know, everybody wants to claim us as their own (laughs).
You know I love Austin. I love living here, but I understand it’s very hard to feel like you’re taken seriously sometimes to the rest of the world. Lets be honest too, there are a lot of great bands here but sometimes the desire for them to break out of Austin is difficult to fully realize, because it’s so comfortable here.
Exactly. That aspect of it was really kind of tough. I feel like there are a lot of really great bands here and a lot of really fantastic people. From being sort of alienated from the community though, the Austin scene is a little bit niche-oriented. It is something that speaks to a certain time maybe. I just remember moving here and saying to people, ‘Hey man, let’s go jam,’ then having this moment of realization that you’re the awkward guy at the party who just wants to go home and bang chords out on the keyboard.
I completely understand that. It’s hard doing these sorts of things living in a city that’s known for its blues and indie rock.
Absolutely. It seems like much of the level of comfortableness that people have around you either speaks to being some kind of patron of the city, or there is some specific thing that people can associate you with that sort of speaks of your motivations or your personality. I’ve never really experienced that here until Neon Indian has kind of taken off. I haven’t really spent much time in Austin, but it’s weird going out to Spider House [a local coffee shop and bar] and having people saying ‘Oh, you’re that Neon Indian dude.’ It feels very different from when I first arrived here.
Do you find those comments to be genuine?
I’d like to think so. Who knows though. Sometimes in a musical community it gets weird, and it’s about status and ego and it’s kind of tough to differentiate those things. I could never take myself so seriously that it affects the way that I interact with people, especially when it comes to music. The history of music is so long and rich. In the grand scheme of things, everything we do has the possibility of being completely irrelevant years and sometimes even months from now.
The popularity of things ‘breaking’ on a national level over the Internet is becoming the undeniable way many bands are reaching their level of success these days. With that, bands are being discovered and loved intensely for six months, then, something else that sounds just enough similar and just enough different comes along and that first band is long forgotten. Are you worried about that?
I think it’s a double-edged sword. Do I use that to my advantage? Do I recognize that I have this really amazing medium that exposes my music to a wide audience instantly and do I use it? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? It seems like in the past people had moments with music or particular pieces of art and those discoveries felt like a very natural process. With the Internet though, people are constantly hunting for a true genuine moment with every link they click. Discovering it on the Internet almost falsifies it to an extent, though. I feel like whenever someone’s telling you, ‘This is the next band that’s gong to fucking blow your mind. You’re going to put this band on all your new road trip mixes that you listen to on your way to the next big music festival. Then when while this band is playing at the festival you’ll propose to your girlfriend and it’s going to be amazing!’ I realize how ridiculous that sounds but I feel like those are the kind of expectations that people are putting on music today and it’s very unusual to me. People aren’t saying, ‘Listen to this band. They’re really awesome.’ They’re saying, ‘You have to listen to this band because it’s so cool right now. They will change your life.’
I feel like a lot of people aren’t looking for their new favorite record that’ll stick by them for years. They’re looking for their new favorite download on Monday morning. That idea is really depressing to me.
Well, it is. It’s almost as if they are trying to create the same expectations or feelings they had the first time they heard [My Bloody Valentine’s] Loveless (Creation, 1991). I think the context of where it used to exist as opposed to where it is now with the Internet is mutating by the day. People have such grandiose expectations for every new thing they grab off of the Internet. They run the risk of blowing through what’s truly good, what’s truly unique, so much quicker. It’s not something that naturally grows on you. It’s not an album you’ll hear passively at first, then you’ll start getting into it later, then realize that you keep coming back to it as the years pass. I’m afraid it’s not like that anymore. People go into records now just because it got a 9.7 and not because they genuinely are passionate about that record.
Is this new attitude towards experiencing new music affecting the way music is evolving in terms of genres you think?
I do think that it’s affecting the way in which music is evolving. There’s such a wide community out there, and it’s all internationally known and connected through all these places and people you never thought would be involved in this sort of world. They’re all shaping these sounds and genres, which seem to be exhausted far more quickly than they used to be. For Neon Indian it’s so weird that people have tacked on terms like ‘chill wave’ and ‘glo-fi’. I don’t feel that Neon Indian is anything new by any form of the imagination. Of course the approach is very intimate and personal, but I could tie it to things like Ariel Pink and Magnetic Fields’ Holiday (Merge, 1994), which is a record that’s very near and dear to me. I hear more of that in the music than something like Memory Tapes, which I like, but I find it strange that these days you don’t get to pick the musical movement you want to be a part of. It’s already determined for you. A friend of mine stated it perfectly when he said, ‘Music journalists want to be the first people to coin it and the first people to hate it.’ It’s as if they can tell that this new form of getting music out to the world is a process and they want to usher something in, then push it along as quickly as possible.
I think the key there is progression. If you don’t want to be an Internet star for three months, on everyone’s favorite blog for a season, you have to allow yourself to progress as a songwriter. I feel like hype is a very interesting and danger-ous thing.
To further that, I think you have to do it on your own terms as well. There’s another kind of progression that happens in blog culture that’s bad, which seems to happen more in the world of electro and music like that. These producers will change their sound or their style because certain production techniques or sounds are more popular on the blogs this month than they were before. So you get a producer that started doing bangers, then a few months later he realizes to up his downloads he needs to throw in more disco hi-hats, then it’s some warbly dub-step bassline all just to maintain relevance on the internet. I understand that the best thing an artist can do is to evolve, but they should do it completely divorced from outside influences. Also what’s sort of wild about it – before blog culture became what it is – you had the freedom to evolve over a couple of albums. Now I feel like people have much greater expectations of you. They expect you to completely reinvent yourself from one album to the next. I wonder quite a bit what the second Neon Indian album is going to sound like. I have general ideas and outlines in terms of what I’d like the album to tap into and even maybe connect it with a screenplay I’d like to write, and fall more into the world of film.
That would definitely fall into the realm of progression, if that were to come about.
Moving onward and upward I guess (laughs).
UK Reggae Special
TIPPA IRIE
Tippa Irie is sitting in the dining room playing with his cat. He is currently unable to walk without limping so ’SUP has trekked across London to visit his home in a quiet residential area of Thornton Heath.
A black BMW stands in the driveway, a proud testimony to his success in an unforgiving and volatile British reggae market. In the living room his wife is watching the Michael Jackson tribute concert on TV. Occasionally we can hear her singing along and Tippa bangs on the wall shouting: “Debs, I’m doing an interview!” with affectionate comic severity.
While he may look the jovial family man, Tippa Irie, a.k.a. Anthony Henry, is also one of the UK’s most well traveled and renowned dancehall MCs. In the early ’80s he came to prominence on the legendary sound system Saxon Sound International, along with fellow wordsmiths Papa Levi, Smiley Culture and Peter King. As the sounds of dancehall transformed reggae culture Saxon dominated the British scene, causing even the leading lights in Jamaican music to take note.
In 1986 Tippa hit the top 10 with his single “Hello Darling” which led to a groundbreaking appearance on Top Of The Pops. Ever busy, and ever in search of new ideas and challenges, he has recorded some 15 albums and collaborated with U.S. artists including Jurassic 5 and the Black Eyed Peas.
Lighthearted, good humored, but deadly serious about his craft, Tippa seems happy to discuss a diverse range of subjects. These include his many musical projects, football and cosmetics, and the ups and downs of British reggae today.
What happened to your leg?
I had a concert in Sardinia and the marquee was tiled. My engineer gave me some water to drink, I put it down and the water seeped over. I was just performing as normal and didn’t see the water and fell and hit my knee and twisted my ankle. So it’s been in a cast for two weeks and now I’ve taken it out and I’m on the mend. I’ve got a brace for it but I’m not wearing it today. But it’s just healing so maybe about another three weeks I should be back to normal.
But you’ve been keeping busy? What are you working on now?
Well, I have a record label I run with a friend of mine called Dominic Walch and another partner called John Mitchell. I had JC Lodge in the studio yesterday and her daughter, a girl called Gia. And last week I had Maxi Priest in. So I’m just busy recording new stuff for the label and we just released a rhythm track called the “Sweet Jamaica” rhythm, which is a compilation album on the “I Shall Sing” rhythm. I have people like Little Hero, Little Kirk, Peter Hunningale, Peter Spence, Nereus Joseph, Vivian Jones, artists like that on the label. I just released it on iTunes and all the other download portals and we also did some 7-inches which were manufactured by African Beat. Last week I went to Dub Vendor to drop off some 7-inches. So we’re just busy making the new stuff and promoting the stuff we’ve already got out plus whatever gigs come in.
You’ve been working with U.S. producer Yeti Beats.
I just did an album with Yeti Beats. It’s like underground hip-hop. We’ve got people like Chali 2na from Jurassic 5, Rakka from Dilated Peoples, another guy called Dr Ringding, and another girl called Kelly Love who I’ve done duets with. But mainly the album was done in California with Yeti Beats. He’s just done an album with Sizzla and he’s done a lot of hip-hop. He’s worked with Fatlip from Pharcyde and people like that. I was on tour in California and I met him there. He was part of this group called the Gingermakers and he actually promoted a gig with me in Los Angeles where his band supported me and he kept in touch. Then he came to London and said he’s got some beats and he wants me to do a track with him. So he came to my studio and we recorded a tune called “Tell Dem,” which he was going to put on one of his compilations and then he loved my work so much he said we should do an album. So he came to London again and we did some of the work in my studio and then the rest of the work we done in L.A. and we produced and mixed the rest of the album in California. So the album is finished now and it’s called Slave To The Norm. It’s basically like a hip-hop contemporary thing and it’s very good [laughs]. I like it! It’s very different for me but I just do music. I can’t be just sticking to one style.
And you’ve also been working with Germany’s Far East Band on an album?
Yeah. I’ve done fifteen or so tracks with them and I actually think this album is my best work. Reggae-wise I should say because the other album is hip-hop, rock kind of influences. Reggae-wise I would say this is definitely my best album. It’s all live – live drums.
Do you prefer live instrumentation?
Yeah I do. I prefer performing live with a band than I do hip-hop type shows. But this album is really interesting in its lyrical content. I wrote the whole album in maybe about a month? And I find when you have a good riddim lyrics come easier. They just sent the tracks over to me. I kind of picked the first things that came into my head, the first vibe that I came up with, and it just seemed to work.
How did you link up with Far East Band?
Management, innit? I mean I know Gentleman. He’s a friend of mine that I knew before he blew up in Germany. And I know Gentleman’s manager, this guy called Stephan Schulmeister; he was a friend of mine and a fan. So I met him back in the day and just stayed friends and then I linked up with them on the road. You meet artists in your travels and that. So I become friends with the drummer of the band, Marcus, and he and they used to listen to my tunes like “Hello Darling” back in the day. So they built a track that was similar to “Hello Darling” and I wrote this tune called “Just My Lady”. And they loved it so my manager said ‘You should do an album with these guys’. So I did. I’ve done my part now, they’ve got to just mix it and get it sounding right and then we should be away. But yeah, it’s gonna blow up, hopefully, if I get the right funding behind it and push behind it. I just need to get the right label behind it and it should do well.
Last year some people were saying France was the centre of reggae in Europe. Would you say Germany is taking over now?
Well what I like about France is that they support their own. They’ve got their French-speaking artists that are doing well within France. I wish it was like that in UK! But Germany, I think the biggest festivals like Reggae Jam and Summer Jam are there so I would say you may be right. They have a real love for the music and the dancehall scene. You have sounds like Sentinel and all these kind of sounds. I don’t really like Sentinel that much but I like that in places like Berlin there’s a lot of sounds. You’ve got fifty, sixty sounds maybe more. And plus I have a German manager so something must be going on over there [laughs].
I think you’ve pre-empted my next question. What are your thoughts on how things are going for reggae in the UK?
Me personally, I’m always flying the flag for UK artists and UK reggae. I kind of see myself as one of the trailblazers and one of the people that will always fly the flag for the music that’s made here. ’Cause there’s a lot of talent here and a lot of people that do have the gift and the ability. But obviously the structures are not here anymore. One of our main distributors, Jet Star has gone, and then Greensleeves since a few years ago has only been dealing with music from Jamaica. So it’s pretty hard. You got people in the UK scene like Ariwa and he’s doing a lot of dub music but it’s mainly his own stuff so for young reggae artists, there’s not a lot of places for us to take our music to anymore. Unless you’re like me that’s had maybe one or two breaks – with the Black Eyed Peas and people like that – that’s given me a little change so that I can physically do it myself.
This is why I started Lockdown Productions because I wanted to show people that we’re still here. There’s still talent here and people wanna hear it. Right now my tune that I did with Brinsley Forde from Aswad, “Long Time” on my “Sweet Jamaica” riddim, and it’s number one in the German chart now. In fact all my “Sweet Jamaica” riddim tunes are one, two, three and four in the African Beat Chart. So things like that are giving me the impetus to say that it’s a good thing what I’m trying to do.
But the scene?
You’ve got people like Macka B in the Midlands, who’s still touring. You’ve got people like Pato Banton, he’s not really here now. He’s gone to America, and he’s touring out there. Then you’ve got the lovers rock scene. People like Carol Thompson and Janet Kay, they’re still doing their thing. Carol Thompson has her Lovers Rock Lounge and she’s started this thing called Colour Telly. They’ve got a little scene going on so people like Peter Hunningale, Peter Spence, Winston Reedy, there’s still like a little network of people that love that type of music and support it. So there are people there doing things but obviously if anything hasn’t got the support then it’s not going to be at the forefront. But I’m just going to keep doing the things I’m doing so that people will start to take notice.
More and more young listeners are discovering the ’80s sound system era through the Internet making sound tapes available. Do you think file sharing can be a good thing in this regard?
In one sense it’s good and in another it’s kind of killed our business. Because I’m a young label, even though I’m 44 years old now, and what I find is that back in the days when it was just David Rodigan and Tony Williams everybody just used to tune in to them. Then they’d go out on a Monday and go and buy the music. And that’s what the problem is now: music is too easy for everybody to get so nobody wants to pay for it any more because they can get it for free. And that’s what file sharing does: you get the music for free and then we don’t make any money. The only way we can make money now is if we can get our music on rotation. So it’s even harder for us to survive now because back in the day if we had a hit tune we could press it up and sell it. Now if I produce an album then 800 people can download it for free and file share and that’s 800 sales that I’ve lost. The radio is controlled by these small amounts of people so I don’t get played on Radio 1 unless it’s a specialist show. So how am I going to make any money if I don’t get played on Capital and Radio One and Kiss and all these stations? And my music is as good as anybody’s. People come to my studio, whoever the artist is, and I just sit and I write and in a short space of time [snaps fingers] I come up with ideas and I come up with songs for them to sing. So I know that I’ve got the ability and I know that the music is good but if it doesn’t get heard then you know that I’m not really going to make any money. So file shares, yeah, in the sense of there’s a lot of young people that might get into the music – but they’re not buying it so it’s not helping me.
Give us a flavor of what your writing process is like.
Well it varies. Sometimes people send me beats. Every other week or month somebody will send me a beat and if I like the beat something tends to appear in my head. And once it appears I just write: I find the hook, I put my hook down, and I just work from there. Then other times – it’s like my wife was talking the other day about make up, and there was no music being played – you find a topic and you work from there. She was putting make up and I go: ‘Bloody hell you have to go though that every morning. You get up and you’ve got to put all that stuff on. You got to put foundation on, you got to put eyeliner, and then you end up with lipstick.’ So then I thought ‘You know what? I’m gonna write a lyric about that.’ So then basically I just explained everything I see her do, where it comes to dealing with her make up. So it depends. If somebody gives you a riddim, you feel the riddim and whatever comes into my head from what the riddim’s made me feel, then I just write about it. So I don’t know if there’s any particular formula: sometimes you get the beat first and write to a beat, and then sometimes somebody gives you an idea and you just create something off of the idea.
What’s your favourite classic rhythm? The easiest rhythm to chat on?
The “Punanny” Riddim. That was done by King Jammys. Admiral Bailey, “Give me Punanny” [laughs]! That’s my favorite dancehall riddim. Then you have riddims like “The Answer”. “Real Rock” is one of my favorites. “Stalag” is probably one of the most classic, that Winston Riley beat. “Sleng Teng” is okay. I got a bit fed up of that riddim. I think I even made a tune about it called “Sleng Teng Finish Already” (laughs)! I’d say the “Punanny” is my favorite dancehall riddim but It’s a bit hard to say because there’s many!
What’s your favorite collaboration of all time?
I’d probably have to say “Raggamuffin Girl” with Peter Hunningale, which went to number one in I think 1989. I mean me and Peter just kind of like became brothers so I had a good bond and relationship with him. It was a pleasure working with him and I just admire his talent and his song writing abilities and his vocals – just his all-round ability basically. He’s an all rounder: he can play anything, engineer, great voice.
My favorite is “Stress (Miserable Woman)” with Lloyd Brown. How did this collaboration happen?
The producers of that tune was called the Administrators, they’re actually a lovers rock group. They did a tune called “It’s A Love Thing” and Lloyd just asked me saying ‘Tip, I got this tune and I think you would complement it nice.’ So they just phoned me up and I went down there, heard the track, and just wrote my parts there and then. Then, because “It’s A Love Thing” did so well, me and Lloyd done “Stress” together, and that did even better. Then we made an album called Combination and we got a deal with Arista which was cool and we made a track called “Babymother” which was the first single. The guys that signed us were nice guys, good people. But it turned out that the guy who works at BMG was not into the vibe. And he was a black guy! So when Chris said to me: ‘This is the guy that’s gonna do your work’ I thought ‘Woy! A brother!’ But he turned out to be whiter and more racist than the white guys that signed us! (laughs) I don’t remember what his name is. Saw him the other day on TV judging some competition and I thought ‘There’s that dickhead!’ But they did nothing. I mean they made a video but they didn’t really give it the full hog and then nothing happened. What I find with these guys is they like an easy life. This may be straying from the question but he brought us into his office and showed us a video from TLC, “Waterfalls” or whatever. I think that’s how they like it. They don’t really want to break anybody or promote anybody from here. They’d rather just get something that’s hot in America, the work’s already done, and they can put it out. That’s what me and Lloyd kind of fell into. But Lloyd is a great talent man. He’s a great voice, great singer, great songwriter.
What do you think you’ve achieved in reggae?
Well, I would say I’ve helped towards it or helped to fly the flag for UK artists. And when people think of UK artists one of the first artists they’d probably think of is myself. In the ’80s there weren’t many of us on TV then. So I can say that I’ve definitely helped. I mean, I respect people like Steel Pulse, Aswad and people like that, but as a UK DJ and MC, when Busta Rhymes and KRS One, those guys meet me, they have a lot of respect for us because they respect what we were doing. Because we were original and everybody were following us. So at that time, LL Cool J, all these guys, they had respect for us.
Do you think you’ll always stay living in South London?
It depends. I might not stay in this country forever. My mum’s got a beautiful place in Jamaica now so in December I’m going there for six weeks to take a break and do some recording. One day I might sell up and go to the Caribbean – not necessarily Jamaica, just somewhere warm – and live a different lifestyle. But I kinda like it here. I got my business here, I got a nice little studio, me and my friend, and my wife’s got her little business here too. So we’re surviving and I’m happy here. It’s kinda peaceful. It’s near the city but it’s peaceful so I can just go in my garden and write some lyrics or just chill out with my cat, my slippers and my pipe [laughs]! Just joking! But yeah, who knows, maybe I might move one day, but for now London is cool. It’s expensive but hey, where’s not expensive these days? Maybe when I get a bit older – not too old – I’m just going to head out but I’m not sure where. Because I can do my music anywhere so I can live anywhere. I like California quite a lot. I like the Caribbean a lot. I like Jamaica but sometimes with Jamaica it’s just the hostility. I’m not feeling that. I don’t like the burglar bars everywhere. It’s like you’re living in a prison and I don’t like that somehow. Even though anything can happen anywhere in the world, because there’s some mad things happening in London. But for me, I’m kind of all right here.
Final question, so you can throw me out for asking this, but as a South Londoner, how come you support Arsenal?
(Laughs) I don’t know! I think it was in the ’70s when I saw Charlie George. Paul Davis and Kenny Sampson went to my school so I think it was partly because those brothers were at my school. Especially Paul Davis because I actually kicked about with him. Kenny Sampson had just left. So I think that connection got me into it and I just kind of went that way. But even from before I went secondary school, as a little boy about six, I saw Charlie George in the FA Cup Final, he scored that goal and then Pat Jennings and all those brothers, I just got into Arsenal. And I ended up doing a song for them, for Wrighty and Kevin Campbell and all those guys. That was nice. So I’ve just been a Gooner since then and still a Gooner today. You don’t support Tottenham do you?
MACKA B
Cultural reggae artists tend to hold strong opinions on quite a few subjects. But one performer who takes being outspoken to a whole new level is Birmingham’s Macka B. Dubbed The Teacher, this uncompromising DJ has a Rasta-informed view on everything from diet and fashion to politics and music. If someone has done it, Macka is likely to have cut a song about it in a career stretching back into the ‘80s.
In those days, fast chatting hard dancehall (or “ragga”) and conscious roots and dub were headed in opposite directions. Yet Macka B, along with frequent production cohort the Mad Professor, fused the two styles into one sound. Since then he has taken his verbose vision to every corner of the globe: even conquering uncharted territory as the first reggae act to tour the Balkans.
Lately, however, relations haven’t been so sweet at home. Disillusionment with the decaying UK scene has led to the lion’s share of his time being spent on the continent. Back for a one-off gig in London with his friend Afrikan Simba, Macka B granted ‘SUP this rare interview. Unsurprisingly he had plenty to say.
Your latest album More Knowledge (Humal Records, 2008) has a library on the cover. What are you reading right now?
Well, if you come to my yard there’s so many books it’s kind of mad, you know? There’s too many! I read a lot of conscious books. A lot of books about African history. Some metaphysical books as well. There’s books like Blacked Out Through Whitewash which is a very deep book. There’s also Iceman Inheritance. I am reading a journal by a Rastaman in Bristol who is writing a new book which gives a very different slant on how people see Rastafari. He is showing a different slant from an original perspective going right back to ancient Egypt and ancient I-thiopia and before Israel. I also read a lot of health books: I am reading Nutricide by Dr L. O. Africa. I am reading a book called How To Stop the Doctor From Killing You by a man called Vernon Coleman. I read Marcus Garvey books. I read the autobiography of His Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie. There are too many great books. I have hundreds of books in the house.
Do you ever have time to re-read anything?
I read them and I go back over them as well because sometimes you have to read them again to feel the vibes. Sometimes things happen and you realise the vibes have taken you back to the book. Or maybe you are reading another book and that relates to a book you have read already. Because it’s all about knowledge and the people who write the books they are imparting their knowledge onto us. Some of them have passed away but it’s like the writer of the book is your brethren, you know?
Do you think people read enough these days?
One thing they used to say is ‘If you want to hide something from black people you put it in a book’ because black people are not supposed to read so much. But times are changing and wisdom and knowledge are increasing so it’s time for the people to read more. There was a time when the masses weren’t supposed to read. It was only supposed to be for the gentry, for the aristocrats to read. Now everybody can read so they can’t hide the knowledge any more.
Let’s talk about your music. You’re doing a lot of concerts on the continent. It’s a better market for reggae than in the UK now, isn’t it?
It’s bigger so obviously there’s more places on the continent than the UK. But you only have to look at the artists from Jamaica. Before when they used to come to England they used to do like maybe 10 shows from London to Brighton to Bristol to Leeds to Manchester and all around. But now – maybe two? London and Birmingham and that’s it. If you go to France you can do 20 or more. You go to Germany you can do 20 or more. So it’s obvious that the continent is supporting the reggae even more than England. The biggest reggae festivals are on the continent. There are some UK festivals like Boss Sounds and One Love but they are not on the same scale. You don’t have any really big, big reggae festivals in England. You have Summer Jam in Germany, you have Chiemsee in Germany and they’re all strictly reggae festivals where you get thousands and thousands of people. You have Rototom in Italy with thousands of people. You have festivals all over France all the time. You go to some obscure part of France and you see thousands of people coming out to see reggae shows. So yeah it’s on the continent and it’s a big world.
Why do you think Jamaican artists are doing fewer shows?
Because they are not promoting the reggae enough to the masses in England. The media has a big, big part to play. It’s like it’s part of a plan, the way I see it. Because one time England used to be the centre of reggae music apart from Jamaica. It was big, big, big. You had Reggae Sunsplash here and hundreds of people came and everything. But the media is trying to put all the youths onto like hip-hop and R&B because reggae is a revolution music. You get revolutionary people with revolutionary thinking. They don’t want no more Bob Marleys even though they big up Bob Marley to the max. They don’t want no more Bob Marleys because he was dangerous and made the people think too much. So I see it as a plan.
Can you give us an example of this plan in action?
For instance, when I was in Germany last week I did the Chiemsee Festival and we go back to the hotel and we are watching one of the German main stations, like BBC or ITV over here. And what do you see? They are showing the Summer Jam festival. Excerpts from Bunny Wailer and these people. And you don’t see that here: they’re not pushing it here. You’ll see Glastonbury with the rock and everything but you won’t see a reggae festival on BBC. And even the music during the daytime when you’re listening to the national radio – you won’t hear any real reggae music. You might hear one Bob here and there. You might hear one of the commercial ones like a Sean Paul or a Shaggy or whatever but you won’t hear any real reggae music and that’s up and down the country. You have a lot of stations up and down the country that don’t play any reggae whatsoever and that’s not right. It should be something that’s accounted for.
Hasn’t it always been hard to get reggae played on mainstream radio?
It’s harder now. I don’t think it’s always been this hard because back then you had reggae in the charts. You had Dennis Brown going number one. Althea and Donna. Bob Marley with “Exodus”. There’s always been a few. Even Beres Hammond when he was with Zap Pow. So it’s very much harder now. It’s not just the reggae music. It’s the media itself. They’re trying to turn the people into sheeple, you know? They want the people to just follow one way.
What way is this?
They love when the people are into the negative. Because there are a lot of positive things about. Not just reggae – even hip-hop. Because there’s a lot of positive hip-hop. You don’t really hear it on the mainstream. You have to search hard for it. But the negative ones? The 50 Cent and all these things? You don’t have to search for it. It’s just there in your face. And you have to wonder: how come all this negative is just in the people’s face? So it’s not just about the music: it’s bigger than the music. Anything that is positive is put round the back. And reggae music, especially the roots reggae music with the message is very positive. And if you notice on TV and many other things they are not pushing the positive. Especially here because they know the power of the people here and they could really change the world. Because the people here have a distinct vibration, you know? And through things which have happened in the past I definitely think they are trying to keep down the people in England. The black people in England and also the white people in England as well. They’ve been doing it for many years and any time they see anything rising up to edify the people they try and cut it out. So that’s why I think personally that’s why the reggae is like that here.
Give me an example of how they keep the people down.
With everything. If you just look on the Tell-Lie-Vision at the way they bombard the people with foolishness. Soap operas and Big Brother and all these kinds of things while at the same time they’re just taking advantage of the people. Everything is just money-orientated.
How did you go from being anti-red meat to being a vegan?
I realised that a lot of the things happening to people are because of their diet and I strongly believe that man was never supposed to eat meat. There’s a lot of fruit and vegetables that people can eat. Often when people are sick, the first thing the doctor says is ‘Bwoy you have fi come off of di meat’ – so why don’t we say that from before? You have to wait until you’re sick to do any thing about it? That’s one of the problems with this society and the way the medicine is. It’s always you have to wait until you’re sick then treat the symptoms. But prevention is much better than cure.
You mentioned earlier that you were reading How To Stop the Doctor From Killing You. Are doctors part of the plan?
When you get sick you have to go to hospital and it’s a money thing again. Once they get you as a patient you are a patient for life. That’s why you have to be careful of the doctors. The least amount of time you can see the doctor is the better for you.
So what’s the alternative?
As I said the people are always being used and abused – we have to get wise and realise you have to be your own doctor. And the greatest way you can do that is in the way that you eat. Because some of the things people are eating are not food: it’s just chemicals made to look like food and taste like food. How you can have something like a strawberry milkshake and it has colouring in it? It’s obvious that it’s got colouring in it because it’s not red and the strawberry is not really strawberry – you see what I am saying? So it’s all these kinds of things that are fooling the people and if the people knew what they were really eating they wouldn’t eat certain things.
Junk food for example.
I burn McDonald’s all the while. When people go to McDonald’s they don’t know what’s in a Big Mac. There’s no label on there to say what it actually is. It could be anything. Any form of meat. It might not even be meat. But people don’t care because of the propaganda and the way it’s marketed and it’s supposed to be a big thing and it’s fashionable. We have to look beyond that and we have to see reality and look for the truth and see what is real and what is not real.
One of your most popular songs is “Legalise The Herb”. For you herb is a sacrament.
Yeah man, it’s a holy herb. It’s a sacrament and also it’s one of the most versatile if not the most versatile herbs on the planet. It was given to us by The Creator for many things – not only to smoke but you can drink it you can eat it and hemp oil has very great properties. You can make clothes out of it as you know with the hemp. You can use it for fuel, you can make paper out of it, rope out of it – you can make many, many things out of it. The only reason it’s not legal comes down to a money thing again.
How so?
Because the timber people know that hemp makes better stronger paper. The pharmaceutical people know that hemp has very good medicinal properties that can help in many, many things. So that would mash up their chemical thing, you know? You have the cotton people who know that hemp grows for longer lasting and a better quality – that would mash up for their thing too. So it’s all a money thing and people think that marijuana was illegal from the beginning of time. But it’s not that long ago that it was legal. All the bibles – the paper was made from hemp. All the sails of the ships when you see them sail – is all made from hemp. So it’s a very versatile crop and vegetable and herb and everything.
What’s stopping these countries from legalizing?
The hypocrisy is really coming from America, which is why they ban it and everybody a follow-follow America. But the hypocrisy is America grows some of the best ganja in California and you can get a marijuana medical card from a doctor. And if the police stop you, you show them your medical card no matter if you have X amount of herb on you – it’s for medicinal purposes. When I was there last I was looking in the paper and saw some advert that was saying ‘Do you suffer from asthma and glaucoma or migraine? Apply for a medical marijuana card.’ And these are the same people who burn down the herb fields in Jamaica. The same people who fight against the herb when it’s other people’s. But when they have it now it’s cool. So it shows the hypocrisy of America because they know how great the marijuana is.
Is it possible to misuse herbs? Is everyone that smokes using it in a positive way?
I am a man who loves natural things and some of the new chemical forms are not really beneficial. It can mess up people. It has to be in the sun because the sun has certain vibrations and certain properties that are passed on to people. And also from the ground – from the earth. Because it’s not all about strength. It’s a spiritual thing, you know? It’s not about strength and power. It’s like I can drink 10 pints of beer and the next man can only drink five. It’s a different thing completely. It’s a spiritual thing. It’s a connection with The Almighty Rastafari The Creator of All Things. That’s how we see it so you have to be very careful nowadays of certain kinds of herbs because a man just thinks it’s all about the strength but it’s about the vibes.
You’re still touring tirelessly all over the world. You played two shows on Saturday. Do you ever think of slowing down?
No we just start! We have a message to spread and we have to give it to the four corners of the earth. We’re too long to slow down. We I look upon the circuit I see some man of 70-odd, 80, I even know a man in Birmingham, Andy Hamilton who is 90-odd and he’s still doing shows every single week. And you look at that and we say ‘Bwoy, we’re still young’! So as long as the body can take it we’re still going to keep doing the right things. Because we don’t abuse we-self, you know?
So you’ll be going for years to come?
As long as the people keep loving it. Because a lot of people respect the later works as well as the earlier works and they give thanks saying ‘You still blaze certain fire after all these years.’ We still stay straight, one way, and we no switch and we no succumb to the system and all these kinds of material things. We always try to help the youths so for the sake of the youths we have to carry on as well and set an example for them. Because there’s so much negativity around that if you leave it to the system, the system will take away the youths. You have to make as much noise as possible. And it’s not just us. We are like a chain, you know? So you have the people at the radio stations as well – the radio DJs. They have to play the music so they put out the message as well. And even the I, as a journalist – you write certain things and people have to read about certain positive things. So we are all part of a chain. We are all links in this chain so we all need one another to go forward in this thing and to really fight against the system and bring peace and love.
The Drums
Chalk the Drums’ music up as another argument for the dissipating notion of a regional sound: When 20-somethings who grew up in west New York and central Florida get together to form a rock band leaning heavily on the California-born surf rock of the ’50s and the pop sensibilities of the ’60s (with some new wave dashed in also), any attempt to logically tie the Drums’ sound together falls apart at formation. But what’s so fun about the Drums’ music is that it’s so sharp, straightforward and instinctive that it precludes thought. (More …)











