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.

Booker T: A side of Green Onions

I never would have imagined seeing Booker T in Mount Vernon, Wash.

Not there's anything wrong with Mount Vernon. Nice, picturesque place in the middle of farm country, west of the mountains and east of the Sound. And the gorgeous, historic Lincoln Theatre has had a lot of talent on its stage.

But Booker T? The groove-master was a long way from home.

Though the May 16 show was nearly sold out, it still seemed like a "secret show" two days before his gig at Seattle's swanky Triple Door, more than an hour to the south. And man, what a secret show it was. It took a few numbers to get used to sitting in ancient theater seats instead of at a table with drinks, listening to Booker T's Hammond. And there was no dance floor to get on the good foot to "Green Onions." But again, what a night.

On tour to support his solo "Potato Hole" record, he essentially had a pick-up band of veteran hot-shots backing him (Neil Young and the Drive-By Truckers were on the disc). By the third number from "Potato Hole," the crowd forgot all about the DBTs, or the MGs, for that matter. Smokin' Telecaster player from Mavis Staples' band, trading off with a crafty Gibson player. A classic axe combination. Good rhythm section.  Hot band, no doubt inspired by who they were performing with.

And the new material was pretty good, too; R&B with an Americana undertone. "Reunion Time" really stood out, very pretty. Oh, and Booker T didn't disappoint everyone who came for a trip down memory lane: "Green Onions" and "Hip Hug Her" were fabulous; "Melting Pot" was mind-blowing. Booker T introduced every song, and subtly reminded us that he wrote "Born Under A Bad Sign." Incredible -- and the B3 legend sang it well! The closer, an extended jam of the all-time classic, "Time is Tight" got everyone up on their feet -- where they should have been the whole night. Encored with Tom Waits' "Get Behind the Mule."

Exceedingly gracious, Booker T lingered long after the show, signing and chatting with the fans. Yes, the man was a long way from home, but we all went home feeling very lucky that he made the trip.

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

Former Toad singer goes it alone

• Former Toad the Wet Sprocket frontman Glen Phillips is finding his way with a full-time solo career.

By Steve Stav, for the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, 2003.

"It was something I wanted to explore, and a necessity," says singer-songwriter Glen Phillips of his post-Toad the Wet Sprocket, solo-acoustic act. "If I tour with a (backing) band, I don't get to pay the mortgage; if I tour solo, I can make a living," he added, chuckling.

Phillips, 32, is still going through the time-honored process of coming to grips with the breakup of a band. His struggles are a little more unique than most of his former frontmen, now solo artist peers, in that he spent half of his life with his band, a group that reached awe-inspiring popularity levels and chart positions.

Phillips was a-high-school freshman when Toad was spawned from a group of drama students (the other three were seniors); in 1988, the enterprising quartet sold their self-produced first album, a tape, actually -- around their hometown of Santa Barbara, until it caught the attention of Columbia Records. A decade of albums followed, with radio-friendly songs such as "All I Want" and "Fall Down" propelling the band to international stardom.

His early "do it yourself" experiences and education came in handy when Phillips launched a full-time solo career after Toad's breakup in 1998, though the singer admits that he "also got very used to being 'taken care of' by the end of Toad." He adds, "After that, I wasted about a year with management telling me to write the 'no-brainer' so I could do the song that wouldn't be anybody's actual favorite, but one that an A&R guy might like, so I that I might get signed -- even though I was old, old, old at 30."

After a moment's contemplation, the affable husband and father of three says, "I've been forced into the conclusion over and over again that the only way to make anything happen is to do it myself. Which is difficult for me, because I don't like being a businessman. With Toad, all I had to do is write songs and sing them!

Phillips was recently thrust back into the role of superstar-band-frontman when he and his Toad bandmates reunited for a Santa Barbara benefit show. One concert turned into several, and then the affair snowballed into a 24-date, late-winter tour. Though the singer-songwriter obviously enjoyed playing again under a much larger spotlight, Toad's shaky undercurrents soon reminded him of how the group dissolved to begin with.

He explains, "We broke up for the same reasons that break most bands up: egos, entitlement, irreconcilable differences, you name it. Enough time had passed that we thought it was possible [to work together], and everybody was a lot more grateful for what we had had... but I felt like I spent a lot of time putting out fires. I'm sure the other guys could give you a laundry list of what I did to make them angry!

"They're all fine guys," the singer quickly adds, "We gave it our best, but I don't think it's 'doable' again... It was great for everybody to get a little touch of the past, but there wasn't a lot of passion for moving forward."

Phillips, having re-adopted that "DIY" attitude, is constantly moving forward. His new CD, Live at Largo, will, with any luck, accomplish two enviable goals: to satisfy his legion of Toad fans, and to introduce himself to an audience wholly unfamiliar with his previous work.

In a set sandwiched and peppered by elegant somberness -- Greg Brown's "Small Dark Movies" and his own "Sleep of the Blessed" bookend the disc -- Phillips dazzles the listener with his inventive songwriting and prowess with acoustic guitar. With an earnest and unpretentious voice, he breathes life into the usual gamut of themes -- from love and loss to missed and realized opportunities. However, the singer shines brightest when he's tackling shades-of-Billy Bragg, front-porch social commentary, laced with a humor entirely his own.

Phillips' instant classic, "Fred Meyers" -- a post-apocalyptic vision of suburbia, where large chain stores have been converted to communal living spaces -- is a prime example. Another standout is "Drive By," a suburban Gothic tale about a boy forced to accompany his father on a mission to eliminate a troublesome neighborhood dog. Simultaneously horrific and hilarious, the song was inspired by a story once told to Phillips by his friend Ben Folds.

The troubadour has also recently taken a solo stab at songwriting for film -- he was commissioned to write the song, "Departure," for James Cameron's Titanic documentary, Ghosts of the Abyss. The experience emboldened Phillips, who says, "There's fewer and fewer pieces of good music on the radio -- it's a very narrow point of entry and very expensive right now. The great thing about film and TV stuff is that they pay you, and pay you well."

He continues, "There is a demand for unsigned artists without big publishing deals, because the major publishing companies are really expensive to deal with.

“Look at Aimee Mann -- she's an indie artist who got a huge piece of the 'Magnolia' soundtrack."

Right now, his reputation as chart-topping frontman is an inescapable one. But does Phillips yearn for the day when his concert handbills can omit the words "Toad the Wet Sprocket"?

"Absolutely. There's nothing wrong with it, I'm really proud of what we did," he emphatically states, adding, "I realize that I haven't put out enough material -- I've recorded four albums and released two. So, I haven't proven myself to the outside world in any way. But to feel good about what I'm doing [solo], that's enough for me."

Glen Philips • Live at Largo • 2003 • A2. Management 

Originally published in the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, 2003.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav