Windpower And Floating Cities - An Interview With Thomas Dolby

By Steve Stav

Blinded by science, indeed.  Sometimes it seems as if the general public only has the capacity to absorb one burst of brilliance from an artist during a particular era.  They seize it, savor it, assign it a place on a shelf or in the memory, and move on.   Thomas  Dolby was not yet 25 when his first brilliant burst, 1982's The Golden Age Of Wireless, made him a synth-pop/"New Wave" icon almost overnight.  Thirty years later, millions in the 15-50 demographic recognize his most popular hit — but if asked to name another, most will draw a blank.

Of course, Dolby has always had an aura of misconception-prompting mystique surrounding him; perhaps the keyboardist was so busy in the 80s, he was merely one step ahead of listeners.  A look back at Dolby's credits can surprise even someone familiar with the man's work.   For example, he played on Foreigner's 4 and Def Leppard's Pyromania, and produced  several gorgeous Prefab Sprout albums... when he wasn't busy making his own records, writing songs for other artists, and appearing on dozens of albums in a number of genres.

A near-departure from recording in the early 1990s to delve into cellular ringtone technology seemed to encase Dolby's mystique in legend-preserving lucite.  In 2006-07, however, the synth phenom emerged from cold storage with a successful, one-man "Sole Inhabitant Tour."

Further whetting fans' appetites have been a pair of download-EPs released as precursors to Dolby's first album in twenty years, the upcoming A Map Of The Floating City.   The EP-appetizers are expectedly wondrous; his thematic signatures of romantic adventure and imagination-sparking observations have certainly survived the decades, and have exquisitely matured with time.  Moreover, the new album (which features guest appearances by luminaries such as Mark Knopfler, Natalie MacMaster, Imogen Heap and others) will doubtlessly reinforce the fact that behind the electronic wizardry and technical prowess, there's always been a very gifted singer-songwriter.

From his beachfront home on England's east coast, Dolby recently discussed via telephone new ideas, faded memories... and vintage lifeboats.

SS: I just saw a picture of your lifeboat studio... you couldn't possibly require further inspiration.  What an amazing place to work.

Dolby: I know... that's the only bad thing, there is no excuse; if I have a day where I'm not productive, I say to myself, "You spoiled little brat!  Living in a place like this and not getting anything done today!"  (laughs).  It is a wonderful place to be.

I sort of have the best of all worlds... I can go record with other musicians, or I can send stuff to musicians elsewhere - there are two or three musicians on the new album that I've never met in the flesh.  It's incredible, really, how technology has made places like this not so remote anymore.

SS: I imagine you sit out there and witness the storms?

Dolby: Absolutely, in all sorts of fierce weather.  It gets pretty intense out here.  I love working out there when a gale blows, it's wonderful.  I record everything; the ambience of the lifeboat ends up on the record; the song "To The Lifeboats" has some creaking in the background, which is actually the turbine on the mast creaking through the deck.  I sit and watch the ships, I have binoculars; when I have the blinds closed, I have a periscope so I can peer out at the ships.  They're building a wind farm out there, which you can just about see with the naked eye when the light is right; otherwise you have to use binoculars.  There's currently 56 of them on the horizon, there's going to be 141 when they're done. 

This is so great... I wrote "Windpower" in 1980-1981, and I'm so pleased that's it's actually come to be.

SS: What was the inspiration, or motivation, for your "Nutmeg of Consolation"?

Dolby:  Our garden floods... not often, but about every five years or so, we get an extremely high tide and the sea comes in a bit.   So, it was impractical for me to have the proverbial "garden shed studio," which I did have in California when I lived there.  So I came up with the idea of having a boat in the garden.  At one point, I thought it would be a seagoing vessel — I thought I would sail around the world to record my album, and occasionally go up the Siene or the Hudson or the Thames and give a concert on the deck!  This would have taken some serious sponsorship, of course, and I didn't have the energy to traipse around with my hand out.  Part of the reason for the name, "Nutmeg of Consolation" was that it was a consolation prize - a boat on blocks in the garden.

I spent about six months looking for a suitable vessel... I was looking at fishing boats, as they have good wheelhouses with all-around vision; however, they can be a bit "fishy."   I eventually found this converted ship's lifeboat from the 1930s... it was about to be scrapped, as part of its hull was stove in.  I found some local boat builders; in the process of rebuilding the hull, we installed a doorway where it was damaged.  It has a drawbridge with an anchor as a counterweight... so you wind a big wheel in the wheelhouse and the drawbridge goes down, the anchor goes up with a system of pulleys and chains and ropes, making a fantastic clanking sound.

There used to be a diesel engine below the wheelhouse, and I took that out and installed a bank of batteries.  On the mast there's a 450 watt wind turbine, and on the roof of the wheelhouse there's solar panels.  So, provided there's some sun or wind, the batteries stay charged, and I can work quite happily without needing any power off the grid at all.

SS: You own the ultimate treehouse.

Dolby: (Laughs) But there aren't very many trees around here!

SS: Your upcoming album, A Map Of The Floating City... the name sure fires the imagination.  How long have you had this idea for a record, and what prompted it?

Dolby: Well, for probably 15 years I've been wanting to make an album with this title.  It means various different things to me... there was a floating city in Tokyo in medieval times, where the merchants used to bring their barges into Tokyo harbor to trade.  Eventually, there were so many of them, it was girdlock.  No one went anywhere, they just stayed roped together, and it became this sort of heathen city outside the jurisdiction of the rest of Tokyo.  During the day, you could trade silks and spices and things there, and at night, it was a den of inequity.  It sounded like a nice place to be.

Secondly, from my lifeboat studio here in East Anglia, facing out across the North Sea towards Germany and Holland and so on, I see the container ships coming and going.  They're stacked high with containers, and sometimes in certain lighting conditions, it looks like you're looking at the Manhattan skyline off in the distance.  When they're several of them, it looks like an archipelago of Manhattans.  That, to me, is very evocative.

The final piece of it, really, is that the idea of a floating city as a kind of different dimension, sort of an invisible reality... so that's how the title came about.  Then, the three continents, Amerikana, Urbanoia and Oceanea - as I started to assemble the songs for the album, they seemed to be falling into three distinct categories.  So, they ended up being three segments on the album.  The first, Amerikana, is really sort of a farewell to America, where I lived for 20 years... I might be back there someday, but at least for the time being I'm in my native England.  During the time I was living in the States, I became very fond of indigenous Americana, whether it be cultural or places I visited — parts of America that seemed to be frozen in time. 

In a way, we're very "Pan-European" in Britain, everything is sort of "brie on a baguette," served to you by a Polish immigrant.  Which is fantastic about England, actually, but by contrast, when I go to the United States - especially away from the coasts - it seems very indigenous there.  So Amerikana is my contribution to folk storytelling, but definitely told from the point of an outsider.

Oceanea is more about my return to my spiritual homeland.  My mum's family is from here, I grew up around here.  I learned to sail here as a kid; it's very dear to me, and it's very relaxing for me to come home.

Urbanoia is about cities... I obviously still visit cities - New York, London, L.A. or wherever - but cities are not the place for me.  I'm not a city person, they're deeply unsettling to me — but sort of thrilling at the same time.  Urbanoia definitely has a darker tinge to it.

So it's sort of a little triptych of portraits of these different continents, pushed together to make up the album.

SS: Are you finished with the record?

Dolby: I'm very, very close.  I actually assembled it for the first time a few days ago.  It's got a few "t's" to cross, "i's" to dot, but it's getting close.

SS: Do you have a date set for the release of the Urbanoia EP?

Dolby: I'm actually not going to release a third EP.   I've been working on a game with the same title as the album — that's going to be released very soon. 

SS: A game?

Dolby: Yeah, sort of an alternative reality game.  Free, on the web.  Instead of the EP, if you want to hear music from Urbanoia, you'll have to discover it within the game.  The game involves my entire catalog — it contains every item, character, every location named in every song I've ever written.  It's going to be very exciting, I think, for hardcore fans... and, from a marketing perspective, the goal is to turn some of my 'casual' fans into hardcore fans, to convert some of the former into the sort of nutjobs that get on the Flat Earth Society pages — and I mean that in the most affectionate way (chuckles). 

It will be on thomasdolby.com, and it won't require any software download; it's in a web browser.

SS: Wow. It's great that it will be free.  It always chafes me when an artist releases EPs, you buy them, and then he releases a box set of them all - plus a new song you just have to have.

Dolby: I was a bit wary of that; it seemed like a bit of a ripoff to do that.  That's why I talked myself out of releasing a third EP.  Although there are additional songs that aren't on the EPs, it still seemed like a chore, to expect people people to pay for three EPs... and then pay another $15 or whatever for the album.  I think it will be very interesting, it's a whole other aspect of things; I hope it will build some anticipation for the album's release.

SS:  I imagine that speculation abounds among your fans as to what other tracks will round out the album... indeed, I can see from your website that suspense for the whole thing has been building.

Dolby: My hardcore fan base has known for three, four years that I've been working on a new album.  For some of them, I think it has been quite frustrating — "Where is it already!!"  But by and large, they've been very patient.  A lot of 'em say, "Hey, we've waited for 20 years; we'd rather wait another year and have him get it the way he wants it.  I'm not exactly prolific... I was talking to Peter Gabriel the other day, and I told him, "You're prolific by my standards!"

SS: It can be frustrating, from a fan's standpoint... yet, an artist such as Peter Gabriel is worth waiting a bit for.

Dolby: He is worth waiting for, and there's a fanfare, an excitement about it.  Things have changed a lot since I started, or since he started.  In those days, everything was about the "street date."  Everything was clouded in mystery until you pulled the trigger on a "street date," and suddenly there's an album and a tour and a video, and the rest of it.  These days, given how accessible we make ourselves to the audience via social networking and blogs and things like that... unless you want to turn your back on all if it, say, "No! I'm going to stay a private person; it's nobody's business what I'm doing, and it'll be done when it's done." 

Personally, I enjoy the interaction, I enjoy the fans being involved and feeling they have an investment in the album.  I think that's sort of the "modern way;' I think the whole "street date" thing is obsolete.

SS: When did you become the leader of this cult, The Flat Earth Society?

Dolby: (Chuckles) Oh, I think it dates back to '83 or '84, right when that album first came out.  I don't even know if it was me who coined the term, or it was the fans themselves who named the fan club that way.  Back in those days, it was just a physical mailing list.  It stuck around; for all the years I wasn't doing any music, there was still an interest.  The Internet had emerged, and people were analyzing the music, doing tribute cover versions and sharing chord sequences, things like this. 

I'm not sure if they ever thought I'd come back and do any more music at all; I think some of 'em assumed I was like a dead guy, like Nick Drake or something.

SS: Are you ever surprised by the level of interaction on the website?  You've even got people researching the history of your lifeboat.

Dolby: Things like that are fantastic, obviously — the collective sort of "mind share" that you get on the Internet.  I guess because I have a relatively large number of well-informed people following me, I'm able to stick up a picture of my lifeboat and ask if anyone can help me identify it — and someone's going to come out of the woodwork who's an expert on 1930s British vessels.  That's pretty great.

That's the plus side.  On the negative side, there are times when I feel a little intruded upon.  To give (the fans) early access to a bit of music... many people will say, 'Wow! It's really fascinating to see the process as it unfolds."  But others will say, "This is not polished!  This is like a demo that I could do."

SS: I've long been fascinated with your collaboration with Ryuichi Sakamoto, "Field Work."  How did this song come about?

Dolby: I can tell you how we met, initially.  For the song, "Radio Silence," from The Golden Age of Wireless, I was looking for a Japanese singer.  This was at a time when Japanese pop was first getting some exposure in the UK... bands like Yellow Magic Orchestra had been doing some interesting stuff.  Anyway, Akiko Yano was a well-known singer in Japan, I'd heard some of her stuff and she seemed to have the appropriate voice.  I found out she was going to be in London, so I called up and arranged for her to do a session for the album.

She came with a friend who was introduced to me as "Luigi"  — or that's what I thought I heard.  I started to explain to her the harmonies I wanted, which were jazzy and quite tight.  She said, 'I think the best thing would be if Luigi writes them down for me.'  So "Luigi" came into the room, and based on hearing the chords I was playing from the control room, he notated them for her in about five seconds flat.  And I was rather proud of these complex, tight harmonies!  (laughs) 

It suddenly occurred to me that this guy was some sort of musical genius, and then it dawned on me the mistake that I had made.  I'd seen Ryuichi's name written, but I had never heard it pronounced by a Japanese person.  I had been thinking, "Wow, a Japanese guy with an Italian name, that's kind of unusual."

SS: So that was the beginning of your friendship.

Dolby: Yeah... I didn't know they were an item at that point; I did know she had sung with YMO, but I hadn't put two and two together (Sakamoto and Yano were married in 1982; they divorced in 2006 - SS).  So, we exchanged our info, and a while later he asked me to collaborate on this song.  He send me some backing tracks, and I sent back an idea for the vocal.  He said, "Yeah, this great, but let's do it together in the studio."   He spoke almost no English at that time; a lot of this (communication) was done through an interpreter.

We arranged to meet at New York City, sort of halfway between London and Tokyo.   We then realized to our embarrassment that we had each checked into the downtown Hilton under assumed names, names that the other person wasn't aware of.   We wound up simultaneously calling our respective offices and having it sorted out - a kind of "Spinal Tap moment."   We ended up meeting in the bar. 

So we wound up recording the vocal there, he liked what I was doing, gave me pretty much a free hand.  Then he asked me to direct the video, which was pretty great.

SS: The video for "Field Work" was rather bizarre, a juxtaposition of themes... but it worked.  Did you share the creative input for it?

Dolby: The concept was basically mine, as I recall.  But the personality of this Japanese guy now living in the States was something that Ryuichi came up with — the big old sweater and shopping bags, et cetera.   I honestly don't remember very much about it.  It's kind of dangerous, I've discovered in some ways, to tell stories from twenty-five years ago — because people remember them differently (laughs).  I was just reading a bit in a David Bowie biography where someone that I know was recounting a story from Live Aid... it wasn't how I remembered it at all!

SS:  It's been almost 30 years, and yet with all of your accomplishments, so many people primarily associate you with  "She Blinded Me With Science."  Does this frustrate you, or do you view it as the calling card you've been dealt, and an opportunity to surprise listeners?

Dolby: In reality, it might be a calling card, but I get more feedback along the lines of, 'Oh, he's so much more than that' than I get "Oh, he's the guy who did "She Blinded Me With Science."  I get that sometimes, especially from people on the periphery, or people who were too young to know anything other than that.  So, I'm resigned to that.  It's not my favorite song, either, but it's not a piece of junk.  I'm very proud of it as a record, and I think it was a good video. 

I see it as sort of a commercial now.  If I had just done songs like "Screen Kiss" and "Weightless" and "I Love You Goodbye," I probably would have remained a totally obscure figure.  Those songs are not mainstream; they're challenging, an acquired taste.  They're not for everybody.  So I might have easily done an album or two, get dumped by the label and would never be heard from again.  Instead, because I was able to have commercial success with "Science" and other singles from that period, I had a springboard for hundreds of thousands of people to discover the rest of my music, and some of it stuck.

That's great news, because when I sat down and wrote those songs, they meant a whole lot to me.  I'd come up with a chord change and go, "Oooh!  That felt great.  I wonder if anybody else will get the same jolt that I just got."  And evidently, some did!  This is what's so fantastic about it. 

Nowadays, it's not just numbers.  Back in those days, it was like, "Wellll, Thomas, your album just went gold."  Now, was that because 'Science' was a big commercial hit, or was it because people liked "Airwaves" and "Cloudburst At Shingle Street"?  You had no way of knowing, and the record company certainly couldn't tell you, because to them it was like selling soap powder.  "Great, half a million people came out of the woodwork and bought this, let's aim for three-quarters of a million units next time."

These days, you know with incredible precision exactly how people found out about (the record), what songs they downloaded the most, what fans are saying... you even see the cadence to things.  When I put out Oceanea, my gut feeling was, "The title song will bowl people over.  But 'Simone' is kind of a sleeper, and down the road, once people have gotten over the title song, they'll realize how good of a song 'Simone' is."  Sure enough, you see that sort of arc to things; you can almost watch it happen in real time.  You can even stimulate things by releasing an alternative mix of "Simone" at just the right moment.  All of this I find incredibly positive, and it's healthy for an artist to be working in this atmosphere — versus the old days, when it was all about the industry... it's much more gratifying.

SS:  Will you be touring the U.S. in the coming year or so?

Dolby: I really hope so.  I'm trying to figure out a way to do it economically... it's a tough time for the touring business.  I don't have a long track record of putting bums on seats; it's a puzzle to put together a concert tour with a four or five piece band.  For my last tour, I was performing mainly sequenced versions of songs in my past catalog; the new album really demands "real musicians," I don't see how I can do it solo.  I'll figure it out; it might have to be a double bill, or a package tour or something.  I'm open to suggestions.

SS: Perhaps you could anchor the tour with gigs at some steampunk conventions. 

Dolby: Oddly enough, someone said to me the other day, 'You are to steampunk as Iggy Pop is to punk."'

SS: It could work, you know.  With your image — and your imagery of retro-science — it's not that far-fetched, the idea of you being a de facto musical icon of the scene.

Dolby: I think such a show could be a nice idea, though I might be accused of "jumping the bandwagon"... though that would be ironic, as I'm more or less doing the same thing as I was in 1980.  There's certainly a lot of heat around steampunk at the moment, though I don't know how quickly it might dissipate.  So far, I haven't noticed a strong musical movement to go along with the fashion-and-culture one.

SS:  Some folks regard you as a bit of a genius.  What aspect of being a professional musician has challenged you the most?

Dolby: Um... it's sometimes hard to remains passionate about something when you're required to be so analytical about it.  It's a bit like being a '"foodie"... it's hard for someone to cook for a "foodie" — "They eat some of the best food in the world; how could they possibly like what I have to serve up?"

It's kind of hard... because when I listen to music, I can tell so many aspects of it from my own experience about the production, the songwriting, the choices the artist made, and so on.  And I kick myself for being so dispassionate about it — why can't I just respond to it in a visceral way, as I did when I was 14, 15?   That's probably the most challenging thing for me.

On the plus side, that's kind of why I took a break from music in the Nineties; I felt that sort of professional apathy setting in.   The good news is that coming back to it now in my fifties, after all this time, I don't have any of that sort of cynicism.  In a way, I've got a broader mind in regards to being open-minded to other people's music, collaborations, things like that.  I'm really enjoying it, I feel fresh and energized about it in a way that I wouldn't have been if I had kept treading the boards and trying to do a revival every couple of years (chuckles).

www.thomasdolby.com

From Blind Vision to Blanc Burn - An Interview with Blancmange's Neil Arthur

by Steve Stav

After it seemed that every 80s act who could take the stage again has done so, two of the era's most elusive legends have emerged from the woodwork.  Blancmange - the British synthpop duo comprised of Stephen Luscombe and Neil Arthur - have re-appeared on the radar with their first disc in 25 years, Blanc Burn.

Don't call it a comeback, however, for Blancmange never gave themselves a chance to diminish, to become boring or irrelevant.  After a remarkable run of singles and three albums - beginning with their stunning LP debut, 1982's Happy Families — Luscombe and Arthur called it quits in 1987.  Several reasons are cited for their vanishing act, but one has to imagine Blancmange also saw the handwriting on the wall for the era that they helped make so exciting.

Luscombe and Arthur have kept themselves quite busy since; each has fistfuls of recording projects under the belt.  In addition, Arthur has composed several scores for British television.  However, the general public hasn't really tracked these musicians' evolutions over the past 25 years, so Blanc Burn will be a bit of a surprise to anyone expecting Blancmange to pick up where they left off.  Aurally, the duo's new offerings could be shelf mates with those who might be influenced by Blancmange — perhaps MGMT, or A Silent Film — rather than a regurgitation of their past.   Make no mistake, though, Blanc Burn is an Arthur/Luscombe production; Arthur's lyrical signature of edginess alternating and/or co-existing with a sense of playfulness — wrapped in eclectic, addictive musical structures — has survived to the 21st century.  The duo still have the beat, the groove, the punch; one could dub them "Blancmange 2.0."

Blanc Burn also brings the band's old friend Pandit Dinesh back into the fold.   Dinesh memorably flavored "Living On The Ceiling" and other Blancmange tracks, work that helped established him as pop's most in-demand tabla player and Eastern percussionist.

Questions naturally abound when given the out-of-the-blue opportunity to chat with "frontman" Neil Arthur, possessor of one of the 1980s' most distinct voices.  However, the first order of business was to ascertain the condition of Arthur's old partner, whose sudden illness unfortunately precluded him from participating in Blancmange's first tour in a quarter-century.


SS: I must start off by asking how Stephen is doing.

Arthur: He's got an aneurysm on his spine, so he's waiting for news from a specialist about an operation to deal with that.  He's in good spirits.  Unfortunately, Stephen couldn't come on the tour with us, but thankfully we were able to get the album together.  We communicate most days, particularly during the tour - he wanted to know how things were going.  Inevitably, Stephen couldn't keep himself away, and probably against doctor's orders he came out for the last show.  It was wonderful to see him, and hopefully when he's got himself sorted out and feeling much better, he'll be able to go on the next tour.

SS: After all these years, what sparked another collaboration between you two?

Arthur: We've always remained in touch, been good mates.  We got talkin' a few years ago, and I said that I've got some ideas, some sketches of songs... we agreed to come back to my studio.  We put some ideas down, and in a very short space of time, we realized that we had quite a body of work put together.   Lo and behold, it turned into an album last year.  I took it to Proper on the recommendation of my old manager; I was looking for a licensing deal, as we had a completed album, Blanc Burn.

Neither Steven or I wouldn't have thought of it as our fourth record, it was just a body of songs that became an album.  We didn't have a master plan, no more than we had one 30 years ago!

SS: You mentioned your eight-date mini-tour... you must have had to brace yourself for a wave of nostalgia, to interact with the fans again.

Arthur: That was humbling, actually.  Recording an album's one thing, and going out and playing new and old (material) is quite another.  There was a lot of preparation for that.  Our first date was in Glasgow... I'm always nervous going on stage - I'd know something was wrong if I wasn't nervous, and I was pretty terrified.  As soon as I went on stage - Dinesh and Graham (Henderson) were already there - I could hear the first beats of "Vishnu," our intro, as it was for us long ago.  As soon as I walked on stage, I thought, "Ahh, blimey.  Everybody's with us!"  It was such a fantastic feeling!  There was such warmth from the audience... they 'made' every show - we made the music, but the audience 'made' for a fantastic show.

Afterwards, I sat down and chatted with whomever  wanted to chat, signed things.   And people told me their stories... that was enlightening.   You know, time has passed, I'm 52 and have my own family now... it was wonderful listening to and sharing experiences with the audience. 

I thoroughly enjoyed myself (during the tour), and I know Dinesh did, and Graham - who played keyboards and operated the technical aspects of things - he had a great time, too.  We had visuals using some of the old films, and new images... that was running, as well.  We had a great time, and hope to do more of it.

SS: A full tour would be really cool... though I imagine you wouldn't play the States.

Arthur: Well, why not?

SS: A lot of British acts don't make their way over here, for some reason or another.  Money's a factor, I'd imagine.  I think you'd have a good audience here, though.

Arthur: We'd really like to take this further... we've gotten a lot of correspondence lately, particularly from America, asking us when we're coming back to play!  Obviously, economics do come into it.  Getting a licensing deal in America would make sense first, before we do it.  I don't see any reason why not; I'd love to come over.

SS: When did you first cross the pond?

Arthur: June of '83.  We played in New York, and also recorded "Blind Vision" at Sigma (Sound Studios)... it was quite an experience, really.  We subsequently returned and played more dates, and we recorded the majority of Mange Tout in New York.  We stayed at the Mayflower, initially; then, for six months we rented a place in the Chelsea.  Now, that was an experience (laughs).

SS: The first time I heard Blanc Burn, I honestly didn't quite know what to think.  It was sort of like running into an old classmate you remember fondly, but haven't seen in 25 years; takes a while to adjust.  But it's catchy as hell, and with every listen I warmed up to it more.  It's a great record.  Now that Blanc Burn's been in the can awhile, what's your favorite song on it?

Arthur: Since we've finished the tour, I've listened to everything but our album!  I've been busy working on a number of things.  But I really enjoyed playing "I'm Having A Coffee."  A song about pent-up frustration, really, when you'd rather be having a... very intense relationship (laughs).  Getting a great response to a new song from the audience, that was fantastic.

SS: I think my favorite so far is "Don't Let These Days."

Arthur: Oh, that's a song I wrote that's really about a bullying incident.  Just offering a bit of help, really... bullies are really the weakest of the weak.  Bullying is such a dreadful thing.

I'm glad you're enjoying the record, by the way.  I like the idea of someone listening to it and picking up new things every time.  That's encouraging.

SS: I'll give you another tiny bit of encouragement.  My wife was dealing with breast cancer for most of last year; it was one of those years where you seized upon every little moment of happiness that came along.  Last summer I ordered a "Best Of" CD, as I needed a couple of Blancmange tracks for a compilation I was making, and you're not on iTunes...

By the way, why aren't you on iTunes?

Arthur: It's a mystery to me; I've tried to sort it out with Warner Music.  I've got my solicitors talking to them... the new album will be iTunes, but I'd like the original albums offered, too... not a "greatest hits" package - though that would be fine, as well —  but fans want the original, complete albums.  We're working on it.

But please, continue with your story.

SS: Oh, sorry.  Well, I was playing "Lose Your Love" one day, and I heard this peep from across the hall.  My wife asked, "Who is this?  I know this."  And we wound up spontaneously bursting into song — "No, no, no, no, no, no, I don't want you to go.... " several times over that weekend.  We still do, once in a while.  I guess you'd have to be there; we're a bit eccentric and silly, but that's a great chorus to sing, especially at the top of your lungs.

Arthur: Ah, fantastic... what a great story, I love it.   By the way, we had great fun making the video for that, many years ago.  We flew over to New York to film it.  The video got banned by ITV and the BBC for 'inciting violence in the home'...

SS: What?

Arthur: Because we were smashin' up things.  It was ridiculous.

SS: That was one of the few videos you filmed indoors.   You guys seemed to be everywhere - where was the video for "Don't Tell Me" shot?

Arthur: Valencia... we went to 'The Fire' (Las Fallas), a festival they have in early spring, and filmed while that was going on.

SS: What prompted all these all these exotic locations?  Were you and Stephen really into traveling, or were you trying to compete with Duran Duran - they'd shoot something in Antigua, and you'd go to Cairo?

Arthur: (Chuckling) Or just down the coast of England... we' d just go out and hire a local film crew.  Just a few of us would go out, not a big production... we'd ride camels and horses, whatever.  We weren't particularly well-traveled... I'd been to a few places, but this was a real-opener, making the videos.

SS: You did look like you were having the times of your lives... as if you were on vacation, with a movie camera.

Arthur: It was always like that, having a lot of fun.  Even that "studio" one for 'Lose Your Love' was like that... we hired an old, abandoned terminal in Manhattan - each room was a different scenario.  And then we went upstate and pulled a house down for the finale!  An old house was going to be demolished - and we filmed it being pulled down.  There was supposed to be another scene with us outside the house in daylight, but we were stopped by law enforcement for speeding, got delayed (laughs).

SS: Was there a time when you put Blancmange in perspective, and put it all behind you, on a shelf?  A time when you said, "That was great, but never again?"

Arthur: Hmm... I did get on with other things, other music projects, and I've enjoyed that.  I don't think I ever really stopped long enough to think about Blancmange.  I've always enjoyed that fact that I had the opportunity to do it, and to work with Steven - that was good fun.  Having said that, I've never really regretted stopping it, either, at the time we did.  I think if we had carried on working together, Stephen and I, we probably wouldn't have remained friends.  We weren't really enjoying it, right at the end, so I'm glad we quit when we did.  In stopping, it protected our friendship.

There is a lot of water under the bridge... coming back to it all now, we did not, in any way, set out with some formula to re-create something we did long ago; because Stephen and I are doing it, it's called 'Blancmange.' We wrote songs of today; we just thought, "Let's just play some music and see what happens."

21st Century Blanc Remixes, Part One - containing remixes of "Radio Therapy," "The Western" and "Living On the Ceiling" was released on May 2 via download at major outlets.

Hit the Ground Running

Ah, we're back -- my Webmaster has fixed some technical issues, including the all-important ability for you to comment on my meanderings and sketchy work... see below.

New in the archived Aural History section are 2000 interviews with Dave Dederer, Sushirobo, Deke Dickerson, Dorkweed and my first chats with Dave Alvin and Tim Finn.

The Finn feature has particular sentimental value to me. Done to promote his beautiful Say It Is So album and an upcoming gig at Seattle's Tractor Tavern, it proved to be a revealing conversation with one of my teenage "New Wave" idols-turned-favorite singer-songwriters. Super-nice, down-to-earth gentleman with an amazing talent and great voice.

Interestingly enough, my future wife was at that Tractor Tavern show -- I hadn't seen her since 1987, when we parted ways in college. And I didn't see her at the gig, either; while she filed out of the club, I went backstage to sit with Tim on the Tractor's loading dock. No matter, the stars eventually aligned themselves.

The photo here of Andrea and Mr. Finn was snapped by me, backstage at the Paramount Theater after a 2004 Finn Brothers concert. If she looks a bit giddy, it's because she was.

Welcome to stevestav.com

Welcome to the launch of Stevestav.com. This actually more like a "beta version" or a tentative first step; it's a little drafty in here now, but it should fill up soon. 

I know very few journalists who have neat desks, or know the exact whereabouts of an old article. I wish I could be one of those rare writers, but I'm not. My wife has been bugging me for a couple of years to get my files together, and preserve them on a website. I've always replied, "I'm too busy writing this week's piece to look at old ones." 

But I've found it is important to take a look back, and more importantly, to preserve my work digitally. Heck, I've got to dig out all those negatives while there are still labs to process them! Scan articles before the paper becomes too brittle!

Like too many journalists, I've written for a number of publications that are no longer in business — starting with the late, great Seattle institution, The Rocket.

Other magazines and newspapers don't bother to maintain their online archives very well. More good reasons to get my act together and do this. 

However, Stevestav.com is not merely an archive — that aspect will probably take a year to complete. It will also be a collecting point, a directory of sorts, for new (or newer) arts and entertainment articles and photos that can be found elsewhere on the web.

Additionally, I will be re-editing some "classic" interviews. Some of those were unfortunately cut to fit available space, and other interviews contained some interesting comments and/or conversations that weren't appropriate or focused enough for the article, or a particular publication. So I'm going through a lot of tape; look for some expanded "director's cuts" in the future. And some never-published features will finally see the light of day. My news work? I'll keep that out of this site. Music and film is much more interesting — to me, at least.

And then there's the blog... this is the first entry, and probably the longest. Stevestav.com will have two regular features — on Friday's blog, I'll select a clip from YouTube for discussion; the "Mixtapes" section will offer commentary on some of my favorite — and recommended — playlists.

I'd like to thank my wife for her support, and for making this site possible with a lot of work that I don't have the brains for. New York hard-rock journalist Gail Worley and her great site, The Worley Gig, has been an inspiration. A special "shout out" goes to my friend John Shoemaker, an old-school Seattle music veteran whose advice and support has always been invaluable.

Thank you very much for reading, and please come again.

— Steve Stav 


Above: Billy Bob Thornton, in a better mood, and lovely Virginia Madsen, Seattle, 2007. Photo by Steve Stav.

Fellow with a Gun

• An interview with one of Seattle's godfather's of rock, Scott McCaughey.

by Steve Stav, for Disheveled Magazine, Seattle, 2006.

As modest as he is, Scott McCaughey would be the first to tell you that he's nothing special. Certainly, it can be argued that there's tons of musicians around that can somehow re-create the melodies swirling around in their noggins well enough for other people to appreciate them, too.

But how many musicians do you know of serve as sidemen in one of the world's most popular bands almost as an afterthought to fronting three critically acclaimed groups of their own?

I know of just one.

For someone old enough to remember the Topsy Turvy days, it's sobering to think that McCaughey, utility infielder for Athens, GA/Seattle, WA barnstormers R.E.M. and an eternally Young Fresh Fellow, has been making brilliant records for almost 25 years now; even he would have trouble counting them all.

When McCaughey finally decides to sit a spell (in about 30 years), his new endeavor — the self-titled Yep Roc disc The Minus Five (aka The Gun Album) — will probably be near the top of the huge pile of discs at his feet. With R.E.M. on a year-long hiatus, McCaughey, Peter Buck, Bill Rieflin and John Ramberg have seized the opportunity to reassemble as the Five, with a fantastic, Beatles-meet-Buffalo Springfield-meet-the Byrds disc in tow that features a wet-dream team of guest contributors.

Just off the plane from a UK jaunt with Robyn Hitchcock, McCaughey recently rang me up to tell me all about it.

SS: The Minus Five has always seemed to me to be Seattle's version of the Golden Palominos.

McCaughey: It kind of started that way, for sure. I guess we've had less trade-off on the lead vocals than the Palominos, because I've mostly sung 'em. Though I do try to get other people to sing a song now and then, I succeed about once per album.

It started out with me recording with whomever — my friends, people I'd meet on the road — but it's more like a real band now, with other people added in here and there.

SS: How long did it take to get the new album together, with so many artists playing on the record?

McCaughey: It was basically recorded with three different lineups. I recorded a couple of songs in Chicago with Wilco; I did a couple of songs in Oregon with my old buddies from the Dharma Bums; and then I recorded the rest of it with Peter, Bill and John in Seattle over a period of about nine months.

I grabbed a few people here and there: John Wesley Harding and Kelly Hogan, when they were coming through Portland, put backing vocals on a song; I got Colin Meloy [the Decemberists] to sing "Cemetery Row" one day; I got Sean Nelson (Harvey Danger) to do some backing vocals; one day on tour with R.E.M. Bill and I went to Morgan Fisher's house in Tokyo, and he put some keyboards on a song.

SS: Now, Minus Five songs generally do not sound like Young Fresh Fellows material. Is this because the lineups are different, or do you have a slightly split personality?

McCaughey: The Minus Five definitely came out of my split personality, when it comes to writing. With the Fellows, I wrote more humorous, more 'rock' songs, but with the Minus Five I had these slow, sad, weird songs that I'd written that I figured would never make it on to Fellows records. 

So, that's sort of why I started the Minus Five, to get that side of my personality, songwriting-wise, to the fore.

Yet now, since the Fellows don't record or play that often anymore, sometimes the Minus Five ends up doing songs that would have likely appeared on Fellows records — 'Aw Shit Man,' could have been recorded with the Fellows, certainly.

SS: How did you come up with this recurring 'gun' theme for this record?

McCaughey: Well, I just sort of noticed it was happening with the songs, that's why it came to me at the last minute to put a gun on the cover. In individual songs, it came to crop up as some sort of symbol, but it's not the same symbol in each song.

I guess the closest song to being the 'theme' would be 'Rifle Called Goodbye' — it's sort of a symbol of change, disaster... [laughs]

SS: 'With A Gun' is almost a perfect pop song, what a great tune. How much did Wilco influence the sound of the finished song, compared to what you originally had in mind?

McCaughey: That song was just me strumming a guitar and singing...I wrote that about two years ago, right after the Down With Wilco record came out. 

I did about three shows with Wilco, they were playing as the Minus Five; we played material from that record. I thought, I have this new song...when we were rehearsing for those songs, I taught it to 'em and they immediately came up with this arrangement.  I just loved it, it just sounded so good — I had no idea what kind of arrangement to do for it.

I knew it was going to be on the next Minus Five record, somehow, and it had to be recorded with them.

SS: Your new song, 'My Life As A Creep' — pure Beatles. Did your obsession for the Fab Four begin when you were a kid, or was this something that developed over time?

McCaughey: No, I got into 'em when I was nine years old, they were the reason I got into music, really. When I first heard them, it was like somebody dropped an anvil on my head — and I've never been the same since. So, I came about this very honestly, it permeates everything I do. Now, that doesn't mean I've ever come up with a song that even deserves to be compared (to them), but (the influence) is always there.

SS: I've written more than once that you and Kurt Bloch are Seattle's current godfathers of rock. Are you comfortable with that tag?

McCaughey: [Laughing] Well... I would give Kurt more credit than I would take, that's for sure. He's got more fingers in more pies than I do, and he can do so many things so well. But, I'll be a godfather with him; any reason to hang out with Kurt is great.

SS: You're a remarkably humble guy. In one year, you can go from performing in small clubs to headlining arenas to playing beer-money gigs at the Sunset Tavern. Does your humility stem from being a Seattle musician for so long?

McCaughey: It's from not being very good (laughs). The thing is... Peter is a good example, he doesn't need to play another gig, as far as making a living goes. But he plays little club shows the minute he gets off a year-long R.E.M. tour; it's what he likes to do.

I feel great that I was able to play a pub in Bristol called the Fleece and Ferkin a couple of weeks ago; it was every bit as great as playing Budokan. It's a great night of playing music, either way.

SS: What is your most prized memento of your career?

McCaughey: Hmmm...I don't know. There's a framed picture that someone gave to me of me and Peter playing with Neil Young; that's gotta be way up there, about as good as it's ever gotten. I mean, backing Neil, playing "Ambulance Blues" for 15,000-20,000 people, that's as good as it gets.

SS: The Fellows toured quite a bit with the Replacements back in the day. Do you have a favorite 'Mats moment?'

McCaughey: [Laughing] Oh, man, I don't even know where to start... I have a 'most embarrassing' memory! There was this show we played in Portland where we threw a couch out of the second-story window of our dressing room.

Paul [Westerberg] wore every bit of clothing I had on tour with me onstage, and then threw my clothes into the audience — which I never got back.  I remember Paul doing a Tarzan swing on the chandelier, and the chandelier coming out of the ceiling.

I also remember playing saxophone during their set in San Francisco with no pants on, that probably isn't one of my fondest memories. I guess it was funny at the time.

SS: You both have calmed down a bit since then.

McCaughey: Yeah, I don't do that shit anymore. I'm all business now (laughs).

The Minus 5 • The Minus 5 • 2006 • Yep Roc Records

Originally published in Disheveled magazine, Seattle, 2006.
copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

Bird soars into the 70s... again

• An interview with Seattle’s Huge Spacebird

By Steve Stav, for Disheveled magazine, Seattle, 2004.

Ah, the Seventies. A decade of recovery from the 60s, a self-indulgent era dominated by Camaros, Trans Ams, cocaine and Steely Dan. A pre-Ipod, pre-Internet, simpler time of deep recession, high gas prices, cheap wine, condomless sex, house parties, avocado-colored furniture. We spent the better part of two subsequent decades bemoaning the 70s, and the music and culture that accompanied it. 

Of course, that’s all changed now; folks are deciding that the post-hippie years weren’t so bad — save for Dan Fogelberg, James Taylor and their sorry, sissy brethren — and those who weren’t even born yet are discovering that 8-tracks, Kiss, ELO and Hong Kong Phooey were pretty cool, after all.

Huge Spacebird — whose three members’ ages all hover around the mid-thirties — remember the decade well, especially the rock that continued to pump through their stereos throughout the 80s until present day.  

Guitarist Mark Hoyt, bassist Jeff Taylor and drummer Peter Lansdowne have been friends since high school. They've also been been rockin' since their teens, in such fondly remembered NW bands as Stumpy Joe, the Purdins, and Sister Psychic. They formed Huge Spacebird in the mid-90s, but it wasn’t until late 1998 that their brilliant, 70s-influenced sonic creations were captured on disc.  For more than a few fans and critics, that eponymously titled debut was an instant classic, and remained a jukebox staple in several Seatown establishments for years.

Last month, the Bird resurfaced after many months away from the public eye with Three, their second album (released on Book Records, a consortium created by current Seattle rock godfathers Scott McCaughey and Kurt Bloch), in tow. Though the band correctly insists that Three is not a ‘70s album” per se, the disc captures the decade’s feel-good spirit like no other in recent memory. 

For fans of fuzz guitar, Joe Walsh, Thin Lizzy, super-heavy rhythm sections and memorable lyrics that you can actually sing along to, Three is a months-early Christmas present. A meticulously crafted jewel filled with sonic surprises, the album is the kind of record that makes an astonishing first impression, and keeps getting better with every listen.  It would have been a sure-fire Top Twenty album in 1977; in this century, Three has to be worth another seven years of jukebox notoriety, at the very least. 

Before and after a mind-melting set at their Oct. 1 CD release party at the Sunset Tavern (in which guitar god Bloch, who contributed to Three, joined them for several numbers), I spoke to Mark, Peter and Jeff — two apostles and a bass player — about friendship, their career, and, of course, about making great records.

SS: Where’s (guitarist) Andrew McKeag?

Jeff: He’s back ‘out.'

Mark: He’s touring with the Presidents [McKeag has been filling in for Dave Dederer on some PUSA tour dates - SS].

Jeff: We were a 3-piece, originally.  Andrew joined us for awhile a while back..

Peter: And from time to time, he’d play shows with us.

Jeff: There would be shows we’d be playing, and he’d be busy doing other things, and hadn’t practiced with us for awhile.  He’d show up at a gig out of the blue with his amp and go, “Hey dudes!”

Peter: Andrew remains a really good friend to the band.

SS: The most obvious question for the band would be: Why did it take seven years to spit out another album?

(All laughing)

Peter: We probably started this album three times.

Mark: The first one was paid for…we had free studio time, and some friends of ours paid to put it out.

Jeff: We then built our own studio, and it’s taken some time. We call it 'Arthur Studio.'

Mark: There’s a lot of material that’s really old, and some that’s really new. We were in the process of building the studio, so there’s stuff (originally) done in a “four track” style, where we began by getting loaded and working on songs. There’s songs that are 12 years old, and others that are a year old. (The CD) may not be as focused as the first one.

SS: I haven't seen your name in the club listing the last two years or so.

Peter: We played a lot in the first five years, not much in the last couple of years.

Jeff: Every time we’d go to some recording, it seemed like a show would come up. We would stop working on the new stuff, and have to put a set list together, practice it. We only have so much time, with our day jobs.

SS: How do you manage being musicians with day jobs?  That must be frustrating, and humbling. I know it is for me, as a writer trying to pay the bills.

Jeff: It’s hard work. We have a really groovy practice space, and Thursday we get together there with beers. Once the music starts, things are good.

Peter:  I think we all really look forward to Thursday nights.

Mark: I love it, it’s a good reason to get away from everything.

Jeff: I think we’ll practice every Thursday until we’re dead.

SS: Peter, the one question I've always been wanting to ask you is why did you get rid of the oversized, old-school kit you used to play? 

Peter: [Laughing] I had three or four drum sets at the time, and I sold that one, thinking that I kinda outgrew ‘em and could just play with the set I had started with, I’ve had that one forever. I bought my wife’s wedding ring with the money. Drums come and go…

SS: Was that a Gretsch? I remember the kick drum and the floor tom were massive.

Peter: It was a Ludwig...it was the exact same kind of kit that Bonham played in ’73… they were huge, and they was hard to lug around. I miss that drum set, actually… It was the coolest drum set, ever. I bought it in Burien, and paid about a third of what it was worth.

SS: How has the Seattle music scene changed over the last five to 10 years?

Peter: To tell the truth, I really don’t go out to shows very much anymore, unless I really want to see somebody, as opposed to the old days, when it didn’t matter who was playing.

Mark: I think we used to have a lot more friends that played in groups that we’d go see… some of ‘em are still around, in other bands.

SS: It's like Old Home Week around here tonight, though... Rusty Willoughby, Scott Sutherland, Kurt... everyone's here.

Mark: Yeah, a lot of good friends. I don’t know if we’re out of the loop or what, but it seems like there used to be more going on.  When the Rocket and Backlash were around, more things seemed to be happening.

SS: How did you first meet up?

Peter: I moved from Hawaii to Burien, and met Jeff the first week of school, in 1984. I met Mark in 1986, when he was in Stumpy Joe and I was in the Purdins.

Mark: I tried to get Peter to join then, but he wouldn’t quit the Purdins.

Peter: I liked Mark right away…we wound up hanging out and drinking beer for 20 years.

Mark: Around '94, Peter and myself were out on tour together in Sister Psychic and were ready to move on. We started sending Jeff postcards from the road telling him about the hands of fate and whatnot, and to be ready to play when we got home. Needless to say, we got home, quit that band and formed the Bird with Jeff. Haven't looked back since.

SS: I get a kick out of the fact that you've been friends for so long now. How has your relationship with one another changed over the years?

Jeff: We are extremely lucky to be better friends than ever. Best friends even. As far as playing together for so long goes, it's weird how much ESP you end up with. I can tell what drum fill Peter is going to do by the look on his face.  'Oh, quads comin'....two times!'  Mark and I will often go to the same chord at the same time when we're jamming or making stuff up with not so much as a glance at each other. Peter and Mark were born to play music together and it shows, they're both just so damn good. Things have evolved. The Bird has gained consciousness and has started demanding that we record. We're like an unstoppable rock monster at this point.

SS: This is not meant to be insulting at all, but some of the material on Three sounds like it could have been on the soundtrack to a great 70s movie or TV show. Specifically, what are some of your influences from that era?

Mark: No insult taken. The mid-to-late 60s through the 70s were in my opinion the best times for genuine rock,  with or without herbal moon cigarettes. Most of that music just shines brighter to me. I’ve always liked Deep Purple, Creedence, psychedelic stuff.

SS: Is it true that everything can be traced back to Deep Purple?

Peter: Even stuff before Deep Purple can be traced back to Deep Purple.

SS: What advice, if any, has Kurt Bloch given you over the years that sticks in your minds?

Jeff: Kurt's very existence is advice to live by. Kurt showed us how to operate our studio properly and continues to do so. He's such a nice and brilliant guy. 

Mark: Don't let the bastards grind you down.

SS: What prompted you to cover Neil Young's "If I Could Have Her Tonight?"  It's one of my favorites on the album.

Jeff: Neil Young has always been a huge inspiration for us. We owned an ADAT together and kept it in Mark's basement. Mark has this excellent Tascam mixing board we were going through. He went down there one day and fired up the optigan and layed that shit down.

Peter: [It was during] an early attempt at starting Three although it wasn't called that then. It may have been called "Endless Bummer" at the time, no one can be certain.

Mark: That whole first [Neil Young] solo album smokes, I always liked that ethereal stoner vibe he got with Jack Nitzsche. Strings, man... There are plenty more where that came from, we've got tapeloads.

SS: "Jalopy" and "Come Back Again" are other favorites.  What can you tell me about writing them, or the inspiration for them?

Jeff: I am no stranger to creating the vacuum of space on the bass.  We played this country show for some reason, and at our one practice for it I'd been watching Mark's fingers and was doing OK. At the show we were sitting down. I couldn't see Mark's hands and if he'd turned around he wouldn't have have been facing the audience. I quickly realized I had no idea how the songs actually went. The result was unfortunate... It seems that rock jam gymnastics don't play well in a country song. In short, the song "Jalopy" is loosely based on the Bird, a bad Sunday show, then sounding fine on Friday... with some references to stripper girlfriends thrown it to spice it up a little. No, they didn't actually work at Sugar's...Sugar's just sounded better.

Peter: I wrote "Come Back..." about my wife, before she was my wife. I wanted to flatter her and make her feel bad for dumping me. It worked... magic. I came to the band with two verses and a chorus. 

Mark: The first two verses are all about his love for her, I added the dark cloud third verse and the funky ending.

Peter: Mark and Jeff came up with some stoney grooves and it just fell together. This is typical for the Bird. I don't even try to finish songs that much anymore. It always changes at practice.

SS: Now that the disc is out and has 'sat' with you awhile, what's your favorite song on it?

Jeff: "Come Back Again" wins for me. "Rock Chylde" gets nosed out in a photo finish.

Peter: "Jalopy."

Mark: The last one I really listened to was "Beverly," so I'll say that one. Jeff is truly a badass, and Peter, too, for that matter... It'll be funny when the Bird turns into a jug band and we are old and gray.  Funny, and funky. 

Huge Spacebird • Three • 2004 • Book Records

Originally published in Disheveled Magazine, Seattle, 2004.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

New ways to feel lonesome

• Ballard-based singer releases “Reckless Burning”

By Steve Stav, for Ballard News Tribune, Seattle, Sept. 2004.

"The 'lonely' sound? I think it was always in me, though earlier on, I had been smitten with more 'rocked-up' stuff. Everything from the title to the concept of this record came from me going through a divorce, and Phil (Wandscher) leaving his band, Whiskeytown (a popular Raleigh, NC-based combo.) We (had) met each other at the right time in our lives...when we first started hanging out together, we were both estranged from our 'communities,' so to speak. We spent a lot of time alone, out in the wilderness fishing and camping; a lot of these songs come from being out in the open space. There was a lot of loneliness, there was a feeling of being very 'lost' in my own hometown for a period of time." -- Jesse Sykes

Sitting in the misty-yet warm spring air on Market Street, an apologetic Jesse Sykes was fumbling for words to describe her enchanting new album, Reckless Burning.

It was mid-afternoon (mid-morning for those in the music biz), she had had a fitful sleep, and hadn't had her coffee yet: nonetheless, the Ballard-based singer-songwriter was fielding questions rather eloquently.

She continued, "Yes, (the songs) are very 'lonely' sounding, but there's also hope and forgiveness. Ultimately, I was falling in love when a lot of them were being written; it was a weird time-I wasn't in a band, we weren't actively playing music-it was an absolutely pure, peaceful time. I didn't know that there was a record coming down the line; at the time, I didn't care.

"I began to get inspired to get in the studio, and had been saving money. I just wanted to do something creative, and to have fun...I think we got something that was much more than what we had anticipated."

Reckless Burning is much more than anyone could expect from a semi-unknown band gigging about town for a year. With a haunting blend of Cowboy Junkies-like lonesome sparseness with a lush, Chris Isaak-echoing, lonesome twang-the common ground here being 'lonesome' -- the record's desolate sound reverberates through the most tender parts of a listener's psyche. These nine narrations of heartbreak, longing and regret won't quite have you reaching for a bottle of sleeping tablets, but the disc does make you want to slide deeper under the covers, or pour another drink. Though the album's lyrics and concepts are her own, the upstate New York native is quick to credit her band, the Sweet Hereafter (the name inspired by an ethereal epiphany of a dream), with making her ideas come alive.

"Phil, Anne-Marie Ruljancich (the semi-legendary Walkabouts' violinist/cellist) and I began playing together-it started out with a little gig at the Sunset," recalled Sykes, whose slightly breathy, emotionally intense voice drifts through the album like a ghost. She added," When it came time to get more players, I just kind of chose people that I admired from afar (including Evangeline drummer Kevin Warner and Bill Herzog, who's worked with Joel Phelps and Neko Case) and they said yes. I'm honored that they wanted to be a part of it, and that they wanted to stick around afterwards. Without them, I couln't have done this."

Though each musician's talent is easily recognizable- from Wandscher's striking guitar style to Warner's subtle pulse-all of the disc's dark paths lead back to Tucker Martine, a local producer and musician whose reputation as a superb "facilitator" had grown in leaps and bounds in recent years.

"Tucker Martine is one of those guys who...any sort of vision that you have, or are aspiring to evolve, Tucker will push you in that direction and open it up," Sykes said. "The sound that Phil has one this record is much like on 'Reckless Burning,' the first song...that weird, echoing stuff (a fantastic use of feedback and reverb, reminiscent of whale songs) was Tucker's idea."

"That first song is sort of like my' movie soundtrack," the slender siren explained. "It's kind of clichéd -- 'Imagine driving down a dark road at four in the morning -- but it's based on a true story about Phil and I. We were camping, and it was getting dark; for some reason, we decided to take this 17 mile logging road that was supposed to connect back to the highway-and it didn’t. It got really scary...I was stupid enough to let him get us in that position-I should have seen what was going to happen. There was that freaky Northwestern darkness, and rain coming down. There were ravines, and trees across the road; we were in a pickup that could handle it, but...

"It was one of the most terrifying experiences, on one level, but it was also one of the beautiful experiences. I had just fallen in love, and I was right on the fence, thinking, 'I might die tonight, but I don't care-because I'm so in love.' That's why I named the record Reckless Burning', and put that song at the beginning; to me, the record is about vulnerability... and forgiveness, in whatever context it might be taken."

With such an attention-grabbing debut, Jesse Sykes (who refers to the Ballard Avenue regulars as her "extended family") joins an impressive list of country-inspired, Seattle -spawned female vocalists, including Christy McWilson, Neko Case, Evangeline's Jennifer Potter, and the Believers.

However, she's quite aware of the unlikeliness of lightning striking twice, of achieving another extended moment of clarity and passion that inspired this disc.

"This record was like... fate," she said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "There's part of me that's a little scared (about recording again), because there was something very magical about this (CD)... but, then, there's another part of me that thinks that there could be a continuation. I wouldn't want it to be an identical thing, but it could be sort of a 'sister' record, to some degree. Some of my new songs are coming from that residual energy... I'm still on a 'high' from making this record -- we all are -- and hopefully, we can tap into that energy again."

Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter • Reckless Burning • 2002 • Barsuk Records

Originally published in the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, Sept. 2004.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav