Bat For Lashes

Bat For Lashes

Photo by Logan White

News

Exploring Bat For Lashes' Cinema Of The Mind

Facebook Twitter Email
Speaking to the Recording Academy, Natasha Khan outlines the vampiric themes and Reagan-era sounds on her sixth studio album, 'Lost Girls'
Bryan Reesman
GRAMMYs
Sep 9, 2019 - 11:58 am

Natasha Khan likes to shake things up from time to time. That's why, in 2017, she made the move from London to the sunnier environs of Los Angeles. But loving the City of Angels from afar and living there proved to be two different things, and the singer/composer became swept up by both its beautiful elements (sunny skies, desert landscapes, the Mexican culture of her new 'hood) and its darker side (homelessness and politics). After a month in SoCal, she began to savor the distinct differences between the West Coast and Europe even as she grappled with L.A.'s dichotomies.

Khan was also feeling romantic: she had fallen in love, acquired a dog, and felt liberated after ending her four-album tenure with Parlophone/EMI, a contract that she sounds happy to have left. “I was just living this lovely life having been free,” she recalls. “I just felt like this whole new cycle began. I wanted the [new] album to have that liberated love theme in it as well.”

When she initially moved West, Khan had not planned to continue with music as her alter ego Bat For Lashes, instead focusing on possible screenwriting and film scoring projects. (She has directed short films before.) She met with various production companies, and one of her ideas centered on the female vampire tale Lost Girls about a teen girl named Nikki Pink who falls in love and is on the run from a vampire girl gang. This dramatic story, inspired by her love for '80s teen fantasy movies like E.T. and The Goonies, launched a musical journey with producer/writer Charles Scott IV after they originally recorded the album's opening track, “Kids In The Dark,” for the Stephen King series Castle Rock on Hulu. The duo ended up collaborating for a year and a half on her fifth and latest album, Lost Girls (AWAL Recordings), which has a deliciously retro sonic flavor.

"I've always used Junos and Prophets and all those old '80 synths,” says Khan. "I was trying to make this '80s but in that cinematic, atmospheric way, and combine it with the more gothic Bat For Lashes sound." The combination clicks. Lost Girls lovingly invokes the '80s in many ways, including the lush synth and thick drum sounds throughout, the sultry saxophone and Cure-like guitar on the instrumental "Vampires," even the backwards vocals on "Peach Sky."

"To me, the backwards vocals sound like the Japanese hologram from the new Blade Runner," offers Khan. "Other people have said it's like David Lynch and the Red Room [in Twin Peaks] with the dwarf talking backwards. Everyone's got their own interpretation. But I think sonically I've been a bit braver and a bit less worried about using things that are well-known references. I always shied away from that. But then I thought about rock bands or just any kind of bands that have used a guitar a billion times or a phase pedal a billion times. I love saxophone solos. And why not? I just wanted to have a bit more fun and not care so much because all those references hold places in my cell memory. When I hear them, they give me goosebumps or make me feel nostalgic."

Her album title may sound like a reference to the iconic '80s teen vampire movie Lost Boys, and Khan admits that her wordplay was a bit tongue-in-cheek. Her story has different themes, but she does not mind if people make the link between the two titles.

In her tale, the female Lost Girls group are “vampiric, mystical beings" who are "not as mean as the Lost Boys," she stresses. "They're a bit more positive. In the story, the main heroine reconnects with them and realizes that they all hold certain aspects of her psyche. They're all the shadow side to the light side, they are parts of herself. When they take her away to the desert, she gets inducted back into the cult of herself. It's a bit more of an esoteric story line than just bloodsucking and sex. I like to dress it up in the more sexy, neon colored, peachy sunset '80s vibe because I think that look is so romantic and all encompassing. But then the message I'm trying to get at is actually deeper and quite psychological."

The previous Bat For Lashes album The Bride—about a newly widowed bride who learns self-acceptance and self-love in the wake of tragedy—was definitely a darker ride. Lost Girls has a more positive vibe even as it paints some eerie pictures and grapples with relationship issues, such as on the song "So Good," which exemplifies a vampire metaphor that also applies to young love and searching for what one wants out of a relationship. "I think that song especially is about the power dynamic," notes Khan. "And that kind of idea of who's got the control, who's got the power in the relationship, and being hunted and being the hunter. That theme does link through. I think that song is the most simplified, pop version of that feeling."

"Feel For You" is lighter on lyrics and heavier on musical euphoria, and with its percolating percussion summons a vibe akin to Quincy Jones, Chic and Chaka Khan. "As a family, we'd play that music in the kitchen and dance around after dinner," she recalls of her teen years. "I wanted [this song] to sound like the Lost Girls theme, so in the movie version in my brain, when they ride their bikes down the mountain and are introduced, this is playing in the background. It is so fun. Like when you see the Goonies all get on their bikes and drive down the road. I just wanted to capture that sense of innocence and the cool girls. I'm not trying to say anything deep, it's just more visceral and physical."

Speaking of going back to the '80s, Khan appreciates the L.A. group Drab Majesty (who remind her of The Cure) and also the modern synthwave movement, which revisits that decade's synthpop and electro with modern touches. "I love FM-84," she says. “I've actually put three or four songs on this playlist that we made recently. And Com Truise, even though he's cleaner and slicker. Do you know Boy Harsher? I think you should hear a song called 'LA'. It's really sexy and fun, especially if you drive around at night.” (Interestingly enough, her producer's solid soundtrack to the movie Sleight feels synthwave-inspired.)

Some Middle Eastern sounding synth strings emerge on the new album as well. Khan's father, who is Pakistani, played her a lot of Middle Eastern music with harmonium and drones when she was growing up. These synth sounds were inspired by the "weird, beautiful version of pop [music]" from Iran and by the  recent Iranian vampire film A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night. "I think they shot in parts of it in downtown L.A., which is very interesting because when I went to Pakistan a lot of parts looked similar," says Khan. "It reminded me a lot of being in parts of Karachi, which is very weird."

Although she would love to consider a multimedia component on her upcoming tour to tie into the Lost Girls film in her mind—she is refining the ever-evolving script for what she hopes will turn into a real movie as she still wants to dive into filmmaking—Khan's concerts likely will be "stripped down to me with my band mate Laura where we'll play synth and there will be a lot of vocals, done in a very intimate way." The costs of touring and making videos today is such that artists must work with limited means, but Khan relishes that challenge.

"I really like the idea of trying to make a very interesting show that's really minimal," she says. "I actually feel so much more in control and more creative. It really relates back to my art school education that was very DIY with homemade stuff." She does not mind having a smaller budget for tours and videos (she's directing her own lately). "I think it buys you freedom and less pressure from the people that hold the purse strings. I'm excited about the new technology and how fast and how easy it is. I think it's really good for creative people. You can get your hands on whatever you want and change the boundaries of what it used to be."

At a time when pop culture has often taken dark turns, Khan seeks to help people rise above that, to help them where they feel powerful, liberated, connected. "What gives you a sense of joy?" she muses. "Because that's really important too."

The singer also has a belief that it is very important to contribute to the country one is living in. So after moving to L.A., she did two things. "I taught meditation to prisoners that had come out of prison and were being rehabilitated into the workplace," explains Khan. "We did meditation twice a week which was incredible. They absolutely loved that."

She also worked at as an art teacher for 10 weeks at a continuation school for kids who had dropped out of high school. "We made dioramas about their lives and did drawing and meditation and sculpture," says Khan. "Like in England, they cut funds here so much on art, sports, creativity, music. There's not even recess in some schools. For me, that's one of the most pressing things. For me, creativity and art are the answer to every problem that a civilization might have, from being creative about problem solving and knowing yourself—and knowing what you will take and what you won't take—and connecting those aspects of yourself that are being hidden nowadays."

Listening to Khan speak about the importance of arts education mirrors her passion for her own art and why she is enjoying holding the reins now. She agrees with the notion that everybody should be creative in one way or another, even if they do not make money at it.

 "It's so important," concurs Khan. "I was a nursery school teacher. I know that play is vital to your brain development and social development, and then creativity is vital to refine your mind and make you understand the human condition. If they go away from schools, then we're really f**ked. That's what I think."

Maria Usbeck On 'Envejeciendo,' Finding Gray Hairs & Embracing Aging

Ryan Cassata.jpeg

Ryan Cassata

Photo credit: David Yerby

News

Trans Artist And Activist Ryan Cassata Opens Up About Sobriety, Living With Hearing Loss & Love At First Sight

Facebook Twitter Email
Five years sober and just a few months shy of 26, the Long Island-born, L.A.-based folk-pop performer understands perseverance like no other
Crystal A. Frost
GRAMMYs
Oct 3, 2019 - 11:10 am

Be resilient and persevere. These are the messages that transgender singer-songwriter Ryan Cassata resonates, not only through the lense of his storytelling alternative folk/rock songs, which span four LPs and six EPs, but also in the way he lives his life. Five years sober and just a few months shy of 26, Cassata understands perseverance like no other; his entire life has been riddled with curveballs and roadblocks. From Bay Shore, New York, Cassata experienced his first of many obstacles before he was even born.

On December 13, 1993, Cassata's mother was in her third trimester. Already sick with Lupus, she suffered a severe allergic reaction to pine in the early days of the Christmas season. While a blizzard roared outside, doctors urged her to abort the baby, arguing that its additional strain on her body could end both of their lives. Refusing, she instead insisted on inducing labor six weeks early. It was on that day that Francine, a.k.a. "Fran," gave birth to Cassata. The doctors said it was a miracle they both survived. 

This was only the first of many tests of Cassata's resilience. His parents split up when he was five years old, and it wasn't long after that this middle child among brothers began begging for guitar lessons. Fran remembers him being around six when he started asking to play the red guitar that always sat in the corner of the living room in silence. "It was mostly just collecting dust, and I was drawn to it," Cassata says of that crimson guitar his older brother Vincent used to play. "I begged them for a long time to sign me up. They said I was too small and young, but I kept asking and eventually they let me."

Cassata's other primary interest also rose to the surface before grade school when he successfully convinced his parents to sign him up for another extracurricular activity: Little League. Although beyond disappointed when he learned he'd have to play softball instead of baseball on account of his sex, he was still elated to be part of a team.

Though he rarely speaks of it today for reasons that will become clear later, baseball was almost as important as music when it came to the core passions of pre-adolescent Cassata. In fact, by age 10, scattered among his Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen posters were newspaper clippings, memorabilia and souvenirs related to baseball—the Red Sox in particular. 

"I would stay up past my bedtime and sneak downstairs to watch their games at night. I had every player's name memorized," Cassata explains. Despite the fact that he was a New Yorker in a family of Mets fans, The Red Sox fascinated him. "I was transfixed. I started watching when they were underdogs. I liked their handshakes and the overall chemistry of the team. I felt a part of it in some way."

He didn't have many friends at school, but he had baseball, music, and by this point, a close relationship with his stepbrother Mike, or "The King Of Cool," as Cassata called him, who instantly became his role model when Fran remarried. Though he always knew he was different, the excitement and confidence brought on by music lessons, Little League and strong family bonds enabled Cassata to be a happy kid.

When middle school rolled around, however, Cassata's world turned upside down in a whirlwind of back-to-back tragedies. Seventh and eighth grade were two years that would prove to be the greatest testament to Cassata's resilience.

In 2006, Cassata's guitar teacher, Lou Parasimo, lost his life to Crohn's disease, plunging 12-year-old Cassata into his first-ever experience with death. These new feelings of devastation left Cassata stunned. Thankfully, Parasimo had been a major source of inspiration to young Cassata, thus enabling him to turn to music for comfort. Shortly after the tragedy, Cassata wrote his first song, "Wonderful, Beautiful," which appears on his first EP, Distraction.

Lou Parasimo & Ryan Cassata, 2006

"I wrote it on the piano," Cassata says of this early creation. "My mom came home and [asked], 'Who wrote that song?' I said, 'I did.' She couldn’t believe I wrote it because I’d just started piano lessons."

Parasimo's passing had quickly opened a door for Cassata to begin taking piano lessons from Lou’s friend, Dave Defeis, of the rock band Virgin Steele. Dave was instantly invested in Cassata's talent. "He believed in me from the very start," Cassata recalls. It was Dave who recorded this first-ever song of Cassata's, and it wouldn't be the last.

Though Parasimo would never be able to hear it, his death unlocked a new level of musicality and creativity in Cassata. This was only the beginning of songwriting serving as a coping mechanism for Cassata during hard times.

Ryan Cassata and Dave Defeis, The Village Club, 2009

In early 2007, Cassata suffered another emotional blow when his stepbrother Mike died of a heroin overdose at just 16 years old. "I thought of him as the coolest person ever," Cassata reflects on his beloved stepbrother, whose memory he wears proudly as a tattoo of a skateboard gravestone that reads "King Of Cool." 

Topics of drug addiction and substance abuse are scattered throughout Cassata's music, sometimes in reference to his own struggles with drugs and alcohol, which plagued him until his early 20s. The song "Sobering Up," though, tells Mike’s story in Cassata's raw, lyric-dominant style. No one could or would ever replace Mike, but Cassata would soon find that the gaping hole this loss created in his heart could, in fact, be filled by something else. 

Cassata's mom had surprised him with Spring Training tickets for his birthday a couple months earlier, and the tickets were coming up. "It was only a week after my stepbrother had died," Cassata explains. After some discussion, Cassata and his mom decided they should still go and make the most of it. 
"We went on a tour of the ballpark, and this man [in Red Sox colors] noticed me, this really sad kid, and asked, 'Hey, do you want to wear my World Series ring?" It turns out this man was Carl Beane, the announcer for the Red Sox. Cassata's spirits were lifted in that moment, and thus began a life-changing friendship.

"One day, you’re going to see that all of this hard stuff you’re going through will be worth it because you’ll have the ability, then, to help others through their struggles." 

Cassata and Beane became pen pals after that, and their friendship steadily grew into something truly earnest. A few times each year, Fran would drive Cassata to meet Beane for dinner at Perkins Restaurant and Bakery, where Beane would ask to hear Cassata's newest songs. This man appreciated Cassata for who he was and remained one of his greatest supporters through each milestone and hurdle, including Cassata coming out as transgender. "Everyone always asks, 'Why the Red Sox?' The Red Sox saved my life. It sounds corny but it’s true," he says. "I was on a path to eventually meet Carl."

Beane would later die in a car accident, shortly after Cassata's top surgery in early 2012, and the young musician's heart would break once again. But as he had learned time and time again through the losses he already had to endure, the only answer was to be resilient and persevere. Cassata again harnessed this willpower in the form of artistic expression. The acoustic elegy he wrote for his beloved friend entitled "Mr. Beane (Fenway Park)" is rich with imagery of Fenway Park and revealing of Beane's impact. Cassata also wrote two poems, one of which is published on his blog. The unpublished poem contains a moving foreword from which the following quote is extracted:

"The impact that [Carl Beane] left on my life continues to live on. He [was] the angel that [got] me through some of the hardest moments in my life, and he was essential in my upbringing and survival."

Ryan Cassata and Carl Beane, Fort Myers Florida, 2007 

Another moment Cassata refers to here is when he lost his hearing. Although the majority of the general public is unaware, Cassata has suffered from profound deafness in his left ear since the age of 14. Cassata remembers that winter day in 2008 vividly. It was the day after the Superbowl when he awoke, head spinning in a hellscape of endless vertigo. "I couldn’t stop throwing up," Cassata recalls. "Imagine being on a rollercoaster that never stops."

But, as with every other curveball life has thrown at Cassata, he found ways to cope. Relearning to walk within three weeks, Cassata refused to let this new disability destroy everything he had been working so hard for. He also remains good-humored about it. "Sometimes people shove me at the grocery store because I didn’t hear them say 'excuse me,'" he laughs. "It also sucks that people say 'never mind' when I didn’t hear what they said to me. Now I’ll never know what they said!" Cassata smiles, shaking his head, clearly of the mind that there is no use in being exasperated by this type of ignorance.

While Cassata never specifically avoided going public about his hearing loss, he hasn't exactly been vocal about it either. In his experience, people simply do not understand. He suspects it has something to do with the fact that the term "deafness" is applied to a vast range of hearing loss, and rarely are there cases as extreme as this—especially in someone so young. "My left ear is so deaf that hearing aid is useless," he explains. "Hearing aids are for people who still have some nerves working in there."

When asked how this disability affects his music, Cassata explains that it is the worst during live performances. Without a functioning left ear, the ability to stay synchronized with the band is extremely difficult. "We have to strategically place Kyle," Cassata says of his drummer Kyle Dombroski, a Los Angeles local. He goes on to explain how, while he can't always hear his whole band clearly, he can always feel those drums. Thankfully, Kyle, who holds a Master’s degree in percussion performance from UCLA, is always up to the task.

To this day, Cassata's sudden deafness remains a mystery. All doctors were able to determine was that it was an unidentifiable virus.

Cassata, who suffers from an anxiety disorder, often feels like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders on behalf of the whole trans community. As one of the first and youngest openly trans artists ever to take center stage, both on the "Larry King Live Show" (2008) and the Vans Warped Tour (2013), he felt thrust into a position to represent an entire generation of trans youth, which was a lot for someone who first and foremost identified as a musician. 

"A fan once told me, 'Your success with your career shows me that being trans doesn’t have to hold me back,'" Cassata shares. Sentiments like this, while touching, seem to unintentionally place a burden on Cassata to deliver content and work endlessly in order to succeed. The pressure reached a tipping point last year when Cassata completed a new album that he never ended up releasing and that no one has heard. At some point during the post-production phase, it occurred to Cassata that he wasn’t being himself. The pressure had become so intense that his anxiety took the lead instead of his artistry. "I was feeling so pushed to create that I almost forgot what my fans really want to hear. People don’t listen to my music to have something to work out to. They listen because they want to feel something."

That weight was also noticeably lifted when the real reason for hiding this album came up. "I fell in love," Cassata says. In January of this year, Cassata met someone who, he says, guided him back to who he really is. Jeni, a Hollywood native who has been living substance free for 13 years, initially bonded with Cassata over their shared sobriety. However, it soon became clear on their first date that their journey had only just begun.

"I've been in love before, but this was on another level. The stars were aligning that night," Cassata says in attempts to elucidate the magic of the night they met. Jeni had no web presence or interest in social media, which enabled him to open up much faster. "She didn't want anything from me other than [for us] to love each other, and that was so freeing."

On paper, Jeni's life couldn’t possibly appear more different than his. "I work with veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan with traumatic brain injuries and PTSD," she explains. Before meeting Cassata, Jeni, who studied neuroscience in school, limited her time on the music scene to part-time DJing. 
Still, the overlapping passions between these two creative counterparts go beyond what could be simplified on paper. Within a few days, they were writing music together. To inquiries about Jeni’s lack of experience, Cassata simply replies, "She’s just lyrical." Despite Jeni’s lack of songwriting experience, their combined passions and skills were like perfect-fit puzzle pieces for music creation. 

"While I may not be fluent in the hand-eye coordination of playing instruments, to me music is a language that I feel like I can hear and understand," Jeni explains. "I have always been musically vibrational."

Cassata's fifth LP is set to be released in March, 2020, and he seems both private and eager to talk about what fans can expect to hear. "You can expect deeper lyrics, piano solos, dark subjects and lots of romantic topics too." He also discloses that topics surrounding the Catholic Church's suppression of alternative forms of love are woven throughout.

As for the hidden album? Cassata is careful in his reply. "Maybe someday I’ll release it as a surprise," he says with a shy smile.

How Queer Rappers Are Defining The Next Generation Of Chicago Hip-Hop

News

Yesterday Once More (Twice Over): An Oral History Of The 1994 Carpenters Tribute Album, 'If I Were A Carpenter'

Facebook Twitter Email
25 years after the release of Carpenters tribute album 'If I Were A Carpenter', the Recording Academy speaks to those involved about the project's legacy
Will Hodge
GRAMMYs
Sep 13, 2019 - 9:26 am

In popular culture, the cyclical adage "Everything old is new again" is often embodied in the form of the tribute album—an unwieldy vehicle of veneration whose success lies as much with the source material as with those interpreting it. A tribute album’s chances of hitting that sonic sweet spot are also enhanced when it follows the loosely structured (and hotly debated) 20-year nostalgia cycle—the idea that one’s generational fads of music, fashion, technology, books, slang and other cultural touchstones resurface after a couple decades (give or take) of mainstream dormancy. With its roster of 1990s alternative music rabble-rousers celebrating the 1970s clean-cut, musical prodigy duo The Carpenters, the left-of-center tribute album If I Were A Carpenter wonderfully delivers on these concepts in spades.    

This month marks 25 years since the release of If I Were A Carpenter, providing a nice echo of its origins, as the tribute album was initially conceived as a commemoration of the 25th anniversary of The Carpenters' debut album, Offering. On its surface, the idea of rowdy alt-rockers running bubbly Carpenters songs through cranked guitars and buzzy amplifiers might've seemed like nothing more than a tongue-in-cheek goof. As KROQ’s music director Darcy Fulmer said of the album at the time, "It shows that people who like alternative music liked dork music when they were little, too."

However, the story behind If I Were A Carpenter involves no winks or chuckles. In fact, it's downright irony-free. It was a labor of love hatched by two longtime friends, Matt Wallace and Dave Konjoyan, who bonded over their love of the exemplary music crafted by the sibling duo of Karen and Richard Carpenter. Both ended up working in the music industry—Dave as a music journalist and Matt as a record producer—and when they first started working on the idea for a Carpenters tribute album, they ended up wrangling a disparate group of alternative artists, punk bands and college-rock crooners who all seemed to share in their genuine affinity for The Carpenters' inescapably infectious pop perfection.

To salute two-and-a-half decades of the If I Were A Carpenter tribute album (as well as 50 years of The Carpenters' own musical magic), the Recording Academy conducted an oral history featuring the album's co-producers Matt Wallace and Dave Konjoyan, legendary songwriter (and Carpenters collaborator) Paul Williams, and many of the artists involved, including Matthew Sweet, Johnette Napolitano, Grant-Lee Phillips, members of The Cranberries, Cracker, Dishwalla and more.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): Dave and I met in Physical Education class in high school and became friends after we bonded over singing Carpenters songs in the locker room one day. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do at that moment in time because there was probably no quicker way to get your ass kicked in high school during the 1970s, other than to maybe sing Barry Manilow songs. Fast forward to the early '90s, Dave brought up the idea of this tribute record to me because I had produced some big records for Faith No More and The Replacements, as well as a few bands on A&M Records, which The Carpenters had been on. We pitched it to A&M and thankfully got the greenlight.

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): I was doing some music journalism at the time and I was noticing a lot of artists were expressing appreciation for The Carpenters, especially for Karen's voice. It was artists like Chrissie Hynde, k.d. lang, Sonic Youth, Babes In Toyland and a few others. Tribute albums were also starting to really become a bigger thing, so I thought there might be enough artists interested in doing one dedicated to The Carpenters.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): The contrast of the impeccably arranged, glossy pop of The Carpenters with bands that were a little scrappier and less refined is what made it so interesting. You look at "Goodbye to Love" by American Music Club or "Superstar" by Sonic Youth or "Rainy Days And Mondays" by Cracker and you get these dark readings of the songs that feel really aligned with how Karen was singing them and how she was probably feeling at the time. Though, to flip that, some of the bands also did really well at turning in brighter versions of what The Carpenters did, like the beautiful version of "Close To You" by The Cranberries and "Top of the World" by Shonen Knife. 

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): A&M might've been interested in us pursuing a more mainstream group of artists, but from the beginning the concept for Matt and I was always the alternative band route. A lot of bands on the record—Sonic Youth, Sheryl Crow, The Cranberries, Babes In Toyland—are ones that we really targeted right from the beginning. We got a lot of artists agreeing to it right of the bat.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): We also had a couple bands—Smashing Pumpkins, Paul Westerberg, Stone Temple Pilots—that were really on board but just didn't work out due to scheduling conflicts or various other reasons. But I'm super pleased with all of the bands who participated and how it all turned out. I mean, Sonic Youth liking The Carpenters? That was mind-blowing to most people at the time.

All throughout the 1990s, there was a seemingly constant rotation of alt-friendly tribute albums dedicated to popular '70s artists: Kiss (1994's Kiss My Ass), Led Zeppelin (1995's Encomium), John Lennon (1995's Working Class Hero) and The Clash (1999's Burning London), just to name a few. There were even a couple alt-heavy tribute albums playfully dedicated to 1970s television, including 1995's Saturday Morning: Cartoons' Greatest Hits and 1996's Schoolhouse Rock! Rocks. Released in the fall of 1994, If I Were A Carpenter was certainly on the front end of that wave, an important note that helps contextualize the album's peculiar subject matter, its assorted roster and its unquestionably raucous-yet-reverent tone.

David Lowery (Cracker): When I first heard about the opportunity of being a part of a Carpenters tribute album, I thought it was kind of odd and cool. Like, who is thinking about The Carpenters right now? Stacked up against some of the other tribute records of the time, The Carpenters seemed like a much less obvious choice and that made it more interesting to us. They were one of my guilty pleasures that weren't exactly in vogue in the early '90s.

Matthew Sweet: The Carpenters were kind of omnipresent when I was a kid. You heard them whether you were seeking them out or not. Both Karen and Richard were so talented and their catalog provided such a wealth of material for this tribute record to pull from.

Fergal Lawler (The Cranberries): I thought The Carpenters were great. They made fantastic, heartfelt songs that still sound great today. They were actually really big in Ireland. We definitely heard them on the radio all the time, especially "Close To You."

Naoko Yamano (Shonen Knife): Since I'm Japanese and can't understand their English lyrics very well, it was their sound that really reached my mind. But that was enough because their melody lines and Karen's vocals were so attractive to me. Their song "Sing" was in one of our school textbooks, so I thought that their music was only for good children. My friends liked them, though.

Johnette Napolitano (Concrete Blonde): I was so happy to be able to be a part of this record because The Carpenters absolutely owned AM radio during my junior high and high school years. Richard's certainly a talented arranger, but for me it was really all about Karen. Karen’s voice was so incredibly soulful and totally made for radio. You hear a hundred voices when you hear her sing. Plus, she could really play the drums, which is not something you saw women doing at the time.

J. R. Richards (Dishwalla): The Carpenters were cool because there was such a weird, darker tinge underneath all of the beautiful background vocals and lovely sentiments. I really liked the juxtaposition they brought to their songs.

Mark Eitzel (American Music Club): When we first got asked to be involved, I was like "Absolutely, I love The Carpenters!" They made incredible records. For all the schlock that you would hear on the radio at the time, they never offended me. Their songs were so well written, perfectly arranged, and just sung so beautifully.

Grant-Lee Phillips (Grant Lee Buffalo): For me and for so many other bands of that era, The Carpenters were the music of our childhood. The '70s were a mixed bag. It was the age of the superstar and it was gaudy. There was a strange patriotic flair juxtaposed against scandal and violence. Yet, here was this duo trying to breakthrough with some light in a very bizarre and clouded era. I vividly remember being a kid and riding around in the car with my mom singing along to The Carpenters. They were really close to me, no pun intended.     

On the combined strength of Richard's instrumental prowess and Karen's soulful three-octave contralto (as well as her complex, skilled drumming), The Carpenters released 14 studio albums and over 40 singles—many of which attained platinum-selling status and reached the top of the charts in multiple countries. Their biggest Billboard Hot 100 hit singles—"(They Long To Be) Close To You," "We’ve Only Just Begun," "Rainy Days And Mondays," "Superstar," "Top of the World," "Please Mr. Postman"—charted in the early '70s, but the sibling duo released albums, produced television specials, and remained a fixture on Top 40 radio all the way up until Karen’s untimely death in 1983 from anorexia-induced heart failure. As The Carpenters legacy has continually been reassessed over the years, it is Karen’s emotionally resonant vocals that remain the summit of their many creative talents.  

Johnette Napolitano (Concrete Blonde): Karen was really something special and she just gave everything she had. She was a fragile wick that just burned herself all the way down and didn’t say no to anything. She was almost sacrificed in a way, but out of that came some of the most beautiful music to ever be recorded. 

Paul Williams (songwriter): The wonderful thing about the way Richard produced their albums was that with everything going on in the track—instrumentation, orchestration, the background harmonies—there was never anything that threw a shadow on Karen. Her vocals were kept front and center so you could experience the emotion they carried and the elegance of her voice that was such a hybrid of melancholy, sensuality and sadness.

Grant-Lee Phillips (Grant Lee Buffalo): Karen's voice was so gorgeously unique, the way she sang in that lower register. This tribute album is interesting because Karen had died just a little over a decade before and that strange grief was still somewhat in the air. It actually gave me some pause because I didn’t want to be disrespectful in any way.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): Karen's voice was one of the most incredible instruments of pop music ever. Her tone and her control were incredible, but it was also the subtext—that anybody who has ever had any feelings of melancholy or has been down, can really connect to it. As much as Richard tried to polish and create so much gloss and sheen to the instrumentation, the emotional resonance in her voice hit so deep and would not be denied.

When it came time for the bands involved to pick which Carpenters song they were going to perform, there was surprisingly little drama. While this could be somewhat expected from an artist's catalog as deep and rich as The Carpenters, it also speaks to the varied musical tastes of the bands paying tribute. Some artists like Matthew Sweet, Grant-Lee Phillips and The Cranberries delivered performances fairly true to the originals, while other artists like 4 Non Blondes, Babes In Toyland, Bettie Serveert and Sonic Youth took decidedly broader creative liberties. Others found a contrasting middle ground between the slick pop craftsmanship of the originals and their own sonic predilections.

Paul Williams (songwriter): Songs are not written in cement. They're just a starting place to bring your own emotions and express your own feelings through your own interpretations.             

Matt Wallace (co-producer): I love that most of the bands shifted towards the brooding, melancholy side of what The Carpenters did. Richard and Karen were more than just the bright, shiny, effervescent side of what they are sometimes most remembered for. Most of the bands were pretty flexible because we asked everyone to pick two or three songs. That way we could make sure to hopefully get at least one of their picks. Some of the bigger artists like Sheryl Crow or The Cranberries might’ve been able to pick theirs a little earlier.  

David Lowery (Cracker): I knew everyone was going to want to do "Superstar," but I've always loved "Rainy Days And Mondays." I’d like to say we were musical geniuses by discovering the beauty in giving it an even more down tempo groove, but what you hear on the recording is actually a take where we’re still learning the song. Bob Rupe, who was playing bass for us then, was walking us through the chord progression really slowly as we figured everything out. Mark Linkous from Sparklehorse was sitting in with us, just listening along and throwing a couple guitar lines in here and there. I think we also tried a more upbeat, alternative take on it that didn’t work as well. So, we went back to this warm-up take, added some strings and background vocals to it a couple weeks later, and it became this weird accidental hybrid that we just loved.

Naoko Yamano (Shonen Knife): We were shown two or three songs to cover and I firmly picked "Top of the World." There was no other choice for me. I really love that song and the melody lines are perfect.

"Songs are not written in cement. They're just a starting place to bring your own emotions and express your own feelings through your own interpretations."           

Fergal Lawler (The Cranberries): We picked "Close To You" and we were delighted when they said it was still available. I remember I had just heard a cover version of Smashing Pumpkins doing Thin Lizzy's "Dancing In The Moonlight" and I really loved their slowed down version of it, so I suggested we try it that way. I remember when Dolores [O'Riordan] was recording her vocals, she didn’t want to sing the line "They sprinkled moondust in your hair" because she thought it sounded a bit spacey. She felt a bit embarrassed about it, so she wanted to just kind of mumble her way through that part.

Johnette Napolitano (Concrete Blonde): I was really hoping to get "Superstar" because I was really close with Leon Russell, who was one of the song's co-writers. I was pissed when Thurston [Moore] got it because it's a singer's song and he blows. But Marc Moreland and I had a lot of fun recording "Hurting Each Other." All the girls wore "Karen" nametags and all the guys wore "Richard" nametags. We rented concert chimes—the huge, six-foot tall brass tube kind that you hit with a hammer. That was when you could still smoke indoors, so I have this vivid memory of Marc Moreland in a cloud of smoke just banging on the concert chimes through all the guitar craziness at the end of the song. 

Matt Wallace (co-producer): I recorded Sheryl Crow doing "Solitaire" in Los Angeles because I was having to catch her between shows while she was touring in and out of Europe. I remember it took us three different studio sessions to get the exact vocals we wanted for her. For one of those sessions, she flew in from Germany, threw her bags down in her apartment, and came directly to the studio to sing. She's probably the hardest working person I've run into in this business and I’m such a fan of what she did on that somber version of "Solitaire."

Peter Visser (Bettie Serveert): We did "For All We Know" and in retrospect, I think my guitar is a bit over the top, too desperate to make a "rock song" out of it. For the ending, I thought the song could use some cowbells, so in the lobby of the studio we found an aluminum lemon squeezer, put it on a piece of rope, and beat it with a fork. I think Carol did a great job with the singing. Her voice sounds really close and warm in the verses and goes full on in the choruses. 

Carol van Dyk (Bettie Serveert): After recording all the music, we came up with the idea to have me lying flat on my back on the floor in the middle of the studio. They hung the microphone right above my face and the guys placed little tea lights around me and turned off the studio lamps to create a nice soft atmosphere. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a camera with us, so no pictures.

J. R. Richards (Dishwalla): Recording "It's Going to Take Some Time" was officially the very first thing we did after getting signed to A&M. The tribute album was already in motion, like most of the bands had already picked songs and were in the process of recording them. In fact, we actually recorded a full demo of "Close To You" to show them that we wouldn’t do a sh*tty job. When we took it to A&M to show them, we were told it had already been picked by another band. So, we took a shot at "It’s Going To Take Some Time" and tried to take it to a different rhythmic place. We speed it up quite a bit because we didn’t want it to sound too sweet. I played the original keyboard intro on a Wurlitzer right at the beginning and then we took it off into its own journey.   

Mark Eitzel (American Music Club): We just wanted to approach "Goodbye To Love" really simply with no key changes and no orchestration or anything. Just a simple band vibe. All the way up until the final mixes our producer was trying to get me to re-record my vocals because he thought Richard wasn’t excited about the idea of people recording his songs in a bastardized way. Like, Richard’s already made them perfect, so why would you want these messy rockers to spoil the perfection? Nowadays I would’ve worked my ass off to make it perfect, but back then I was just a young idiot. I think the track turned out really great though.

Grant-Lee Phillips (Grant Lee Buffalo): Our version of "We've Only Just Begun" is a little more reverent to the original because we were really struck by the musical architecture of the song. We studied how it was put together and tried to be true to it. It was a natural thing for me to interpret it by singing it a bit higher and trying to meet Karen's vocal in the middle.

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): I remember there being such a sense of excitement about every track as they came in. From our conversations with the bands, my impression was that they were all doing it from a heartfelt place. They certainly all brought their personalities to their tracks and they all seemed to have some affinity for the music and for The Carpenters as artists.

Deep into the project, Wallace and Konjoyan ended up getting the ultimate seal of approval, as Richard Carpenter agreed to sing and play on one of the tracks. Matthew Sweet had requested Richard’s participation on his true-to-form adaptation of "Let Me Be The One" (a syrupy ballad from the quadruple-platinum Carpenters album from 1971) and somewhat surprisingly to most everyone involved, he agreed.

Matthew Sweet: It was my request to see if we could find him and get him to play on it. At the time, I had this 1970s Dodge Challenger and he had a huge car collection that was in a big building in an office park. He took me out there to see it, which was really cool. He was super nice to me and seemed really supportive of doing the track.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): From the beginning, we knew we wanted to get Richard on board, but we also knew we were limited in regards to which artists he would fit with and feel comfortable. I think he wanted to make sure he wasn't straying too far from the legacy of The Carpenters and he didn't want to do a disservice to what he and Karen had so carefully built.

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): I was there at the studio the day Matthew and Richard recorded "Let Me Be The One" and I remember them having a great time doing it. I think Richard felt appreciated. It was a really great moment for Matt and I to get to bring these different musical worlds together on the album and it really came together in that moment in the studio.

If I Were A Carpenter was officially released on September 13, 1994. A split single between Redd Kross's "Yesterday Once More" and Sonic Youth's "Superstar" was released to radio, and the music videos of both tracks got substantial airplay on MTV. Dishwalla even got to perform "It's Going To Take Some Time" on the short-lived late-night talk show The Jon Stewart Show. Rolling Stone called the album "affectionate, almost reverent" and Entertainment Weekly had a listening party with Richard to get his thoughts, from Sonic Youth ("I love it. From the heart. It's quite haunting") to Shonen Knife ("I like the energy, but they've left out a couple of chord changes"). But what did those involved with the project think about each other's tracks?     

Grant-Lee Phillips: Reverence can come in many packages.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): Once we got all of the tracks back and heard that the arc of the record was leaning a little more somber, we knew that we wanted to start the record off with American Music Club's "Goodbye To Love." Then, Shonen Knife's "Top of the World" became the perfect follow-up track because it's so upbeat and effervescent. They beat The Carpenters at their own game on that one.

Naoko Yamano (Shonen Knife): I love Redd Kross so much and Jeff McDonald's vocals on "Yesterday Once More" are really great!

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): I really liked what Cracker did with "Rainy Days And Mondays." It was certainly a different interpretation than the original, but it was very fitting for who they are as a band.        

Grant-Lee Phillips (Grant Lee Buffalo): I most enjoyed The Cranberries take on "Close To You" and the way Dolores delivered the lyrics in her way of bending the notes and just wrapping them around her finger.     

Paul Williams: I love David Lowery's singing on "Rainy Days And Mondays" and the way those strings roll in about midway through. Initially I thought it may have been a little tongue-in-cheek, but I love how they totally made it their own. I really believe him when he sings "What I got they used to call the blues."

J. R. Richards (Dishwalla): Shonen Knife's "Top Of The World" is just completely out there and fun. Sonic Youth's "Superstar" is also amazing. It's just so harrowing. 

Fergal Lawler (The Cranberries): I really enjoyed the Sonic Youth track. That one stood out the most to me when we listened to the whole thing.

Peter Visser (Bettie Serveert): My favorite is "Superstar" by Sonic Youth because Thurston Moore sings it so beautifully. I really liked the music video with the golden microphone as well.

Paul Williams (songwriter): The wonderful thing about listening to Thurston sing "Superstar" is that it's totally believable. That one feels so much like it's about Karen. You really get the sense of remembering her and missing her in his performance. It's just marvelous.

Matt Wallace (co-producer): At the time, the most forward-leaning track was Dishwalla's "It's Going To Take Some Time" because of that blending of loops and real drums. It feels like five years ahead of its time. They were the only band on the tribute that hadn’t already released an album but we just really liked them.

While the last 25 years has seen If I Were A Carpenter serving double duty as an authentically celebratory tribute to the legacy of The Carpenters and also a telling sonic snapshot into the unaffected, unpretentious side of '90s alternative music, the album does have one nagging (albeit trivial) piece of unfinished business: as of yet, there's no 12" LP vinyl version of the record. Although the tribute did get an original-run vinyl release as a boxset of seven 7" singles (a very nostalgically appropriate approach in itself), vinyl collectors have been clamoring for a full-size 12" LP for years, hoping for either a label-sponsored vinyl debut reissue or even a limited-run Record Store Day exclusive offering.   

Matthew Sweet: I remember they did a bunch of 7" singles but it never got the full 12" record treatment. In the '90s, you weren’t guaranteed vinyl at all. So that was kind of a special and unusually cool way to release it.  

Carol van Dyk (Bettie Serveert): A while back somebody asked us if we had a spare Carpenters tribute vinyl boxset. We had to disappoint them, but I totally understand why they wanted one, it’s such a cool thing to have as a fan.

David Lowery: When I became a thrift store loving college kid in the '80s, Carpenters records were always an interesting novelty to come across. It’d be nice to see this album get that treatment too.

Jenny Lewis On Loving L.A., Texting With Beck & Why 'On The Line' Is Just "One Piece Of The Puzzle"

Dave Konjoyan (co-producer): That’s a little bit of a sore spot. Physically, the record's been out of print for years but I think it would be really great if they ever put out a full vinyl version. I'd really love to see it.

Matthew Sweet: To finally get a full vinyl pressing of it would be a no-brainer for something like Record Store Day. Somebody's got to make that happen! That would really bring the whole tribute full circle.

Goo Goo Dolls

News

Goo Goo Dolls' John Rzeznik Talks 'Miracle Pill,' Staying Fearless & Catching Feels Listening To Beach Slang

Facebook Twitter Email
Ahead of their new album release, Rzeznik discusses the concepts on 'Miracle Pill,' his thoughts on social media, why he's "so pro-daughter" and more
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Sep 12, 2019 - 12:06 pm

Alt-pop heros the Goo Goo Dolls are one of those bands that just keeps going. Even before they shattered the charts with jangly radio staples like "Slide," "Iris" and "Black Balloon" in the '90s, singer/songwriter/guitarist John Rzeznik and bassist Robby Takac were just a punk duo from Buffalo, New York, releasing records on indie labels—four, in fact, before their 1995 effort, A Boy Named Goo, broke them into the mainstream with its yearning acoustic strummer "Name."

More than 12 million album sales and three GRAMMY nominations later, Rzeznik and Takac haven't slowed down. They're still together, still releasing albums and still faithful friends. which, as The Ringer recently pointed out, makes them rather unique entities in rock 'n' roll circles.

That's not to say that the times haven't rattled them, though. On their latest album, Miracle Pill, which arrives on Sept. 13, the duo attempts to grapple with the changing look of celebrity, the way social media breeds insincerity and the need for instant gratification and, perhaps most important, what it means to become a father. 

Ahead of Miracle Pill's release, Rzeznik called up the Recording Academy to talk about the concepts on Miracle Pill, why he's "so pro-daughter" and getting a lump in his throat listening to fellow Replacements fans (and future tourmates) Beach Slang. 

Listening to this album was a lot of fun. I appreciate the thematic thought that went into it. I'd love to get your thoughts on why Miracle Pill felt like the right name for the album?

Well, conceptually, it's the idea of "miracle pill" to me when we were working on everything was kind of like the instant gratification and kind of quick-fix society that we live in, which has proven to be really dissatisfying.

Yeah, I think we can all agree by now that scrolling through Instagram can potentially bring about less-than-satisfying feelings of worthlessness. Not to mention the lengths some people go to achieve influencer fame using those platforms.

Yes. It's unfortunate. That's kind of where I'm going with this. I've met very lonely people who have 10,000 friends on Facebook. And it's just not real. We've set up this artificial society in cyberspace. And that's supposed to be a community, like a real community. It's supposed to be where people go to get solace or friendship or have fun. "No man," and, "That's interesting." That was an observation that was made in my own head because I don't dare speak about my opinion in public about politics anymore.

I think [our] audience is divided 50/50 on politics, but at least they all agreed that they wanted to come and see us [on tour] or they wanted to come see Train. At least [music] is one thing we all have in common.

So if we're living in a time when being a popular artist means that you must have an active social footprint, how do you personally choose to utilize social media?  

Yeah, I tried it and I just found myself getting into arguments with people. You can hate my band, I really don't care what your opinion is. You can hate my music, you can tell me how sh*tty I look because I gained 10 pounds or whatever. But when you drag my wife into it or my daughter or any of that kind of thing, then it's like, how do I not respond?

So I quit all social media and I hired a guy to do it, and I send him texts and stuff. "Hey, I'd like to talk about this, but I don't even want to see what the responses are." I'm putting information out.

For me, social media is a one-way deal. It's like all the traffic goes one direction and I don't care how many people follow me, I don't care how many people like what I do, give me a thumbs up or whatever it is. I am here to share a piece of information that I've decided is relevant to our relationship as musician and audience member. And that's as far as it should go, you know?

Yeah, it's interesting because the Goo Goo Dolls showed up at a time when album sales largely determined your success. Now, you can’t be a band starting out with no social following. Artists are basically signed to labels now because of their social following.

It's a much more complicated path. I want the music to actually speak for itself because that's what's ultimately driving these people. And sometimes I feel as though maybe I’m, for the second decade of the 21st century, an inadequate entity. Maybe I don't have star power or star potential or whatever you want to call it. Or maybe I don't have qualities that someone in 2019 needs to maintain a certain level of stardom. I don't know, but I don't care about it because it's the songs are going to get through.

Personally, given your position, I don’t think you have to worry much about maintaining your social presence.

I'm getting to a point where I don't care about the light show. I still care about people. What I'm trying to write on this album is my observations about what's going on. A lot of the record is about getting second chances, about making connections. That’s one thing that was an unintentional theme that kind of took over the record.

I didn't sit down and go, "I'm going to write a concept album." It's just, this is what's on my mind. I'm not bringing my daughter up in this, but there's a song called "Lost" on the album.

Derek Fuhrmann, the guy that I wrote the song with, he and I, his wife's about to have a baby and I got a kid and we just started writing this thing, and it's just like this song unintentionally became like a little piece of advice to our kids.

I am so pro-daughter, not that I'm anti-son, but we all have daughters, the whole band. Every guy in the band who's got a kid has a daughter. And we get all our little girls together, we take them out on tour with us for a little bit at a time. And the older ones are spray painting their hair with the pink and the blue, and they're spray painting the little girl's hair. It's a joy that I never thought I would have in my life. But the point of what I was saying, I got to backtrack you because I'm obsessed with my daughter.

That's super sweet.

I love her. But the message is, you got to be strong, you got to be yourself. There's a lot of shiny, pretty objects out there that when you actually touch them, they just fall apart. And it's like, you need to be authentic, you need to be yourself. That was the point of that song. And you can't have any fear about that, which brings me to the song "Fearless."

That song is definitely about where this society, and the world at large, is sort of perched precariously. And I don't know how much is media-driven, I do not know how much is reality. Because I think the wounds of this country are real. I don't think they were ever properly healed and resolved because of a small group of peoples' unbridled greed.

I think the media has a great way of irritating a wound to the point where it becomes sensationalized. And it's like, no, these things need to be addressed in a thoughtful way. It's like, you can't explain your position on climate change in a 10 second soundbite. But that's the world that we live in.

How are we going to do anything meaningful? I have started trying so hard to sit down and just spend time just reading a book, not on a computer. And like calling people on the phone. People are weird about getting calls now.

Yeah, people panic and think something's seriously wrong when a call comes in.

I want to hang out on the phone and bullsh*t with you. I don't know, man, you've got to be fearless. That's all there is to it. And the people who are going to be bold are the people who believe everything's going to work out okay. This country's going to have a few more dings and dents in our skull, but I think everything's going to be okay. Ultimately.

You’ve mentioned your daughter a few times in this interview. She's still very young. What made you decide you wanted to have kids? Keeping in mind, well, all of the problems you outline on Miracle Pill.

I thought it was important to become a dad. I don't know. I never thought I was going to have kids. Never ever thought I was going to have kids for all those reasons that you just mentioned, the world can be so bad.

But it's like, when I finally got sober and I was sober for a couple of years the selfishness that drove my life, the selfishness and the self-pity and the self-seeking behavior just kind of melted away. And I didn't realize how deep a purpose, trying to guide someone through this little thing, this little tiny thing, and all of a sudden all the selfishness just kind of drained out of me.

I remember holding her when the doctor gave her to me and saying to myself, just saying this little prayer, "God, please don't let me f**k up this little life. Give me the strength to be a good dad."

Switching gears for a minute, I was thrilled to see that you guys were touring with Beach Slang. Didn't Robby just produce their MPLS EP?

Did he? I didn't know that.

Yeah, I read that. I just think it’s awesome how your band and Beach Slang aesthetically orbit around the Replacements. Alex James from Beach Slang is super up front about his Paul Westerberg influence, and the Goo Goo Dolls' earliest work takes a similar track.

Among others things. Let's not forget the Replacements just pretty much stole everything they did from like the New York Dolls and bands like that. So, whatever. But continue.

Well, I wondered if this touring combo had anything to do with your similar tastes.

I didn't know that Robby had worked with them. Somebody said these guys are available to tour with you. And I was like, okay, I got a whole list of guys, a whole list of bands. And I went to Spotify and started listening to an album by them or it's like a playlist. "This Is Beach Slang" or something like that.

And I got a lump in my throat. Because it was something, there was something so ... I don't know, man, just so emotional about the music and it brought me back to a time where I felt, I don't know, that honest, attached with that naive. I don't know what it is. You know what I mean? It's just sort of, the music really like, it just struck a chord with me and that's the best I can say. And yeah, it did, it reminded me of us, only better. When we were, like the Superstar Car Wash era.

Well, I just have one more question. You guys recorded Miracle Pill at Capitol Records in Hollywood…

Yeah, down in the basement. All the famous studios are down in there. We worked on Gutterflower in that building. There's just good vibes. The woman who runs it, Paula Salvatore, is just, she's amazing. She had a lot to do with getting some of the sounds on this album because I went to her and she is a Los Angeles institution. This woman is, she's an institution. And, man, if you could ever talk to her the stories, unbelievable.

And she's such sweetheart. I'm like, "Hey, I don't know any gospel singers. Do you know any?" [She says,] “"eah. Yeah, honey. I know some, let me make a phone call."

I don't know any string players, could you help me find them? “Sure, no problem.” Boom, these badass string players show up. It's like she's just so supportive and wonderful, and that's what makes the experience. Also, the place is full of really cool ghosts.

Yeah, was there anything you noticed this time that stuck with you?

There's this one enormous photograph of Dean Martin and he's singing inside a glass, well, a booth, a vocal booth with these big windows in it. And it's not that I'm looking at him singing, but I'm looking through the window into the recording studio and there's about two women.

I don't know, there was just something about it that just made me go, why are there a couple of dozen women in the recording studio with Dean Martin? I'm like, oh yeah, of course. Dean Martin, that's what happens when you're Dean Martin.

Coheed And Cambria's Claudio Sanchez Talks Comics, Kurt Vonnegut & What's Next For 'The Amory Wars'

Jenny Lewis

Photo by Autumn de Wilde

News

Jenny Lewis On Loving L.A., Texting With Beck & Why 'On The Line' Is Just "One Piece Of The Puzzle"

Facebook Twitter Email
The celebrated singer/songwriter reflects on her upward career trajectory—from Hollywood child actress to tooling around Omaha with indie saviors Rilo Kiley to eventually collaborating with Beck and Don Was for her latest release
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Sep 10, 2019 - 1:28 pm

I'm having trouble getting Jenny Lewis on the phone. Her publicists try again and again to connect our call, and at last have success on the third or fourth attempt. The irony is not lost on Lewis, whose much-praised fourth solo album, released earlier this year, is called On The Line and features a great deal of landline imagery in its marketing. "I've got like six rotary phones on stage with me on any given night!" she laughs. 

In conversation, though, the L.A.-born and based singer couldn't be easier to talk to. Her voice is low and wry-sounding, evoking memories of her alto sing-speaking aesthetic on early Rilo Kiley cuts like "Go Ahead" and "Glendora," and she's clear and articulate when describing her perspective in making On The Line. A few months have gone by since the album came out (it dropped this past March via Warner Bros.), which means she's had a moment to absorb its accolades. 

And boy does it have them: Recorded at Capitol Records' Studio B and featuring contributions from Beck, Ringo Starr, Don Was, Benmont Tench, Jason Falkner and Jim Keltner, among others, On The Line peaked at No. 34 on the Billboard 200 and earned rave reviews from respected outlets such as Pitchfork and Rolling Stone.

When asked how such an outpouring of recognition sits with her, Lewis responds that she's careful not to view herself as having "arrived." 

"I really think of this album as part of 20 years of songwriting, and I really think of each project as a continuation of the narrative," she says. "I'm so thrilled that people are listening and they're enjoying it, and I hope it's one piece of the puzzle moving forward. I feel like it's dangerous to read your own press, because if you believe the good stuff, then you have to believe the negative stuff. So yeah, I'm just going to keep on writing as long as I can."

In our conversation, Lewis reflects further on her accomplished career trajectory—from Hollywood child actress to tooling around Omaha with indie saviors Rilo Kiley to eventually collaborating with Beck and mentoring younger artists—and goes deep on her complicated yet rewarding relationship to L.A.

On The Line features no co-writes—just you. Why did this feel like a good time to go in that direction?

First and foremost, I consider myself to be a songwriter. And that's really why I started playing music when I was a little kid. It wasn't about learning other songs. It was about expressing something, or finding an outlet for that expression. I think I wrote my first song when I was 10, nine or 10, and so the narrative for me has been really what interests me about music, and then the melody, and all of the things that go along with making records. Playing in a band, learning about the studio, all of that stuff has kind of come secondary to the poetry. So this album, I kind of found myself alone in the world once again, coming out of a long-term, serious relationship. And I really had the time to process and just work on a very singular storytelling perspective.

That makes me think of something you said in your Rolling Stone profile. You're kind of discussing the idea of learning to finish your own stories after a long-term relationship. It made me wonder if you feel like, with this album and in the time since, you've achieved that goal?

Yeah. And you know, that's a reference. Really, in any relationship, you start to share a similar consciousness. And I think when you have a partner, and you've been together, you have a lot of experience. They finish your sentences for you. They finish the stories. It's like now I'm a single woman out in the world. I've got all the time in the world to finish my songs. So I think being an artist, in some ways it's a double-edged sword. I think there's sacrifice for your work, which is being alone to create the work. Not that there's anything wrong with co-writing. I've co-written with my lovers and my band mates and partners over the years, and that is mostly because of proximity, and not that I don't appreciate it. I feel like I learn every time I collaborate with someone, but really left to my own devices, I've got like a hundred songs just sort of kicking around in there at all times.

If you haven't gotten the chance to yet, you should definitely check out the Linda Ronstadt documentary. The film briefly glosses over how she never married, hinting at how she may have felt like she had to choose between her career and long-term partnership. 

Oh, I will. And she is not really a songwriter. Right? I mean she chose the band, as far as I know. The Eagles backed her. I mean, all filtered through her taste and curation, and that's so interesting. And have you seen the Motown documentary? On Showtime? It's amazing.

I haven't yet.

A lot of it is based on the song craft, where for me, being a performer is sort of a secondary part of telling the story. And the song craft to me is what I'm completely obsessed with, and it just plagues me. I walk around all day. I've got  these little bits that I'm constantly working on and just... Not perfecting, but just finding the cohesive story. The story that begins with an opening line that gets you. Within the first line, it draws you into the story, and then you tell a complete story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. That's sort of the direction that I want to kind of find myself going in, just the craftsmanship of songs.

Right, and I get the sense that there's still an element of curation with On The Line, because there are a lot of people who came in on the album to work alongside you. On that note, how did you settle on which songs you'd bring Beck in to produce?

Well, Beck and I collaborated on the Voyager album, on the song "Just One Of The Guys" and "Late Bloomer," which I didn't end up using his version of "Late Bloomer." But he helped me finish that song in that I had two and a half verses, and we were demoing stuff for "Just One Of The Guys," and he had me go in the next room and finish the story. He's like, "You got it. Just finish it and lay it down." I've found these guides throughout my career that have always pointed me back in my own direction in a way.

They've been so supportive, but really honoring the song itself. And Beck is someone I grew up listening to. We've become friends over the years. We're both from L.A. We grew up in L.A., so we have this very unique perspective on the city and the music that comes through it. I think our taste, it's kind of like a mix tape. There's a lot of influence growing up in Southern California. Hip-hop, and soul, and funk, and country, and the Bakersfield country thing. It's all sort of in there. In writing for this album, there were a couple of songs that I thought would benefit from a kind of groove-based place. And I demo all my stuff on my phone on GarageBand, and I just texted them to Beck, which I think is called "bext." It's "bexting."

And he immediately was like, "Oh yeah, I get these songs. Let's do it." And so we went into Capitol Studio B with an incredible band. Jim Keltner, Benmont Tench, Jason Faulkner, Beck. And once the song is done, I'm at a point where I just want to hand it over to a producer. I've always been so involved in the production with my bands, and just the details, but I really wanted to be open to what a true producer would bring without my meddling, but having the song complete before stepping into the studio.

Is that something that you would want to keep doing? Handing your stuff over to another producer?

Well, I think openness is the key, and I have become more open. Coming from a DIY indie-rock background, you really have to do everything. Not only are you writing, arranging, recording your own material at home, but you're printing your own T-shirts, driving yourself to the gig, counting the money, doing the interview. You kind of learn how to do everything. But in a way, it can become a detriment once you've moved past that, because I think part of great record-making is a collaboration between producers and writers and performers. So to have perspective on your own work, to have someone come in like Beck or even Shawn Everett, who makes the record, who had yet another perspective on it, I think it was this communal effort that made for a really complete-sounding piece.

Yeah. It's so interesting, learning that it's OK to rely on someone other than yourself as an artist. But I imagine if Beck is in the mix, then that's probably a no-brainer.

Yeah. You have to trust your collaborators, and so to find myself in a room with Jim Keltner, Beck, Don Was. I was kind of like, "All right, I guess I can give up control now." But it's an ongoing practice in every area of my life. It's like, this is why I do yoga and smoke weed or whatever. You know what I mean? Just like learning how to let go, and letting that also be a part of the music, and being a student, and being a teacher. Embodying all of these roles. It's like I've been playing music long enough where people come up to me and they're like, "Oh, when I was in junior high, I went to see you play, and you were the first woman I saw playing a guitar on stage and like that made me want to start a band." It's like Katie Crutchfield from Waxahatchee is doing great. So to be able to be that role and be kind of a mentor, and then also surround myself with people who I can learn from, I think it's a process.

Now that we're kind of circling back to the group of people involved in the making of On The Line, why did a variety show experience feel like the right way to introduce this album to the world?

Well, I've made so many records. I've been doing this for so long. I've made so many music videos, some of which are good, some of which didn't stand the test of time, some of which disappeared. I don't even know where they are. Doing this, and in the kind of changing landscape of music, just what holds people's attention, and trying to not just make a stock music video, I reached out to Tim Heidecker, who I'm a huge fan of. He's a comedian, and part of Tim And Eric. He makes records as well, and he's just a really funny, funny person whose humor is a little bit off.

And so I reached out to him, asking if he wanted to make something for the album, and he wasn't excited about the music video format either. And he suggested we do an eight-hour live telethon in lieu of a music video. So it started out as an eight-hour telethon, and I was completely down. So creatively, to just have a new thing to wrap your head around to present an album... And then we realized that to do eight hours live streaming was really expensive, so we chopped it down to three hours, and we just filled the three hours with as many of our friends and wishlist people as possible. And it was a live experience that went off the rails at times, and was completely spontaneous and really so much fun. And it benefited the downtown L.A. Women's Center, which is a really vital, necessary place in Downtown L.A. And so we were able to donate a little bit of money, and get all these people together and have a spontaneous experience, and preview part of the record.

Speaking of L.A., I'd love to talk a little bit about your relationship to the city. What do you think fuels your affection for L.A.? What keeps you coming back? 

I have a complex relationship with Los Angeles. I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, and when I turned 15 or 16, I basically hitchhiked over the hill and never looked back, and thought to myself, "I'm never going back to the Valley." And then when I was able to buy my first home, I bought it in the San Fernando Valley. Sort of on the outskirts, but there's something that... It's like a magnet that pulls me back. After my relationship ended, when I was sort of in the middle of writing this album, I did go to New York for a year or so, and wrote a lot of my songs in my head walking around the city. But really, what I was picturing was L.A., was Ventura Boulevard, the strip malls, all of the places that kind of shaped my writing, all of the imagery. It's all steeped in Los Angeles kind of lore. So I try to remain positive about where I'm from. And I feel like everywhere I go, I meet people and they're like, "Oh, so you're born and raised in L.A.? You grew up in LA? Wow. That's got to be hard." Well, it's also hard dealing with a snowstorm in Omaha. These are different challenges.

But yeah, people have this idea of L.A., and I find myself defending it in a way, because there's so much and there's so many different ways to exist in L.A. There's so many suburbs. It's so spread out. You can really kind of find your own path there. I think that there's a lot of comparison in L.A. If you're a young woman growing up and you're in Hollywood, I think there are danger zones there, so navigating that also informed the writing as well.

Personally, I think L.A. is what you make it, because there are so many pockets and so many little neighborhoods. It's not just one thing.

Well, like they say, "Wherever you go, there you are." And Lana Del Rey, on her new record, had a variation of that plan, which I really like.

But yeah, I mean, I think being a musician coming out of show biz, growing up as a child actor, growing up within a family of performers... When I started playing music, I think people were like, "You can't do that. You're an actor. You're a kid actor. You're not allowed to do that." And so I think keeping it very small, and going back to the DIY thing, I think we did it on our own because we had to prove it to ourselves that we were viable writers and artists. And the L.A. kind of music machine, A) wasn't available to us. B) Just felt inauthentic. So we went around. We had to go to Nebraska to find our people. And then kind of circle back around. And then 20 years later, I'm at Capitol recording with Don Was. It's like I went around the block to get back to where I'm from. But it was like, we had to just go out and do it.

MUNA: "The Most Radical Thing You Can Do Is Believe That The World Can Be Saved"