The Staves’ family values

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Twenty-something sisters Emily, Jessica and Camilla Staveley-Taylor have been performing together for many years, though their first record was only released in 2010. Now the trio from Watford, England, on the road promoting their first full-length album, Dead & Born & Grown, is happy to be returning to the United States.

“I don’t know if Americans will understand the thrill for British people coming over to the land you’ve grown up hearing so much about, through films and music and television programs — it’s such a big part of our culture,” Emily says. “It’s brilliant, it’s such a pleasure to come over here.”

Though they’ve yet to score a Mumford-sized hit, they’ve sung with Tom Jones and toured with Bon Iver, Josh Ritter and others, including a sold-out night opening for the Civil Wars at our Brown Theater. “One of our best friends has some family who live in Louisville, so she’s always going on about Louisville. I feel like I’ve known about Kentucky more than other states for a good few years before I ever came out to America,” Emily says.

The Brit says she especially loves the accent around here, as well as how warm and friendly the people are. “Whenever I see it on our list of tour dates, I call my friend. ‘Louisville’s brilliant! I’ve got cousins and aunties there!’”

While they are headlining most shows on this tour, their Louisville stop has them playing first in the evening at Waterfront Park. They’ve had experience performing their gentle folk songs at outdoor gigs, which she says can be difficult due to the unavoidable factors that can impact such shows — cars, weather and the like. “But then we’ve played some gigs where people are sitting down on blankets and lying down and able to completely relax in a way you cannot do in a theater or a club, and let the music wash over them. I think for an audience member, that might be a wonderful way to experience the gig.”

When the sisters are singing together in public, are they singing more to the audience or to each other?

“Well, that’s quite an interesting question, actually … I guess it is to the audience. But we always make sure that we can see ourselves. If you can’t see each other, you can get a bit locked into just singing your part,” she says. “As soon as you start focusing on yourself, rather than the thing as a whole, it kind of falls apart … I guess I would say maybe 50/50 singing to each other, but allowing other people into that.”

When they received a call asking if they’d like to sing backup for Tom Jones, “I was like, ‘Ummm, yeah!’ (The label representative) said, ‘Ethan Johns is producing it.’ We said, ‘Right, definitely then.’” Since then, Johns and his father, Glyn Johns, have come together to produce Dead & Born & Grown, the first collaboration for the father and son whose collective résumé runs from Led Zeppelin and The Who to Ryan Adams and Kings of Leon.

Family is the thing for these folkies. Their parents were a big influence. “I guess they taught us … everything, really. How to get along as sisters; they taught us to enjoy music, how to sing, how to hear a harmony — and they did that without appearing that they were teaching us anything.”

The eldest Staveley-Taylor daughter says their parents shared a joy for music as a way to be sociable and a way to express emotions — happy or sad — in a healthy way. They kept a steady diet of Simon & Garfunkel, Neil Young, Fleetwood Mac and Motown flowing in the home and sheltered their girls from the horrors of bad music.

The girls remain grateful. “By listening to it, you are able to empathize with whatever expression is going on through music … even if you’re not the one behind the music making it,” Emily says. “It’s a big release to people, I think, to hear it and have it expressed on their behalf.”

What if they had been a different family? If The Staves were the Jacksons, which one would be Michael, Jermaine and Tito?

“Oh, my god,” she laughs. “OK, I’m gonna go with Jermaine, because I think Jermaine’s awesome. I’ll claim him for myself. I’ll say Milly is Michael Jackson, and Jess can be Tito.”

WFPK WATERFRONT WEDNESDAY WITH THE STAVES, THE LONE BELLOW AND THE REV. PEYTON’S BIG DAMN BAND
Wednesday, May 29
Waterfront Park (Big Four Lawn)
wfpk.org
Free; 6 p.m.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Bourbon Street

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Mark Hamilton has played in many Louisville bands. But it took a trip to New Orleans for the guitarist to find the inspiration to start a band of his own.

The Billy Goat Strut Revue was founded in 2011 to play the “antique jazz” of the 1920s and ’30s, with the players’ respective Kentucky flavors added. It’s riverboat music, perfect for boozy journeys down the Ohio and outrunning sheriffs and husbands. Hamilton put the band together one at a time. He’d ask, “What do you think of this idea?” Some musicians liked it; they became members.

Their first gig was with vocalist Brigid Kaelin. When she moved away, she recommended Laura Ellis, who had sung and played accordion with Shine-Ola for a decade.

“I’m like the imposter Brigid,” laughs Ellis. When the original had to leave, the part was recast, as on “Roseanne.” “I’m like the second Becky!”

The band started out backing for burlesque dancers. At first the dancers were supposed to be the main focus of the evening. Eventually, the band became the stars, with the dancers providing added value. “It was like a partnership — we’ll provide live music for burlesque dancers, and in between while they change, we’ll play some other stuff,” Ellis says. “That was really fun, but then you’re talking about seven people in the band, five dancers, everybody wants to get paid, nobody can practice at the same time … whew, it was a lot.”

How did they manage it?

“Well, we really didn’t,” Ellis says, and she and Hamilton laugh. On their fifth gig, the band played a wedding and realized they could hold a crowd’s attention on their own. “I hope we get to play with them again someday,” she adds.

Their debut album, This is Bourbon Jazz, will be released at a show at Uncle Slayton’s on Friday. The songs are all covers, chosen by various members. “We’ve talked about (writing new songs),” Hamilton says. “It would be really cool. We’ll see what happens. Right now it seems fresh to breathe new life into these old tunes.”

Photo by Chris Boone

Go back at facebook.com/billygoatstrutrevue.

album review: Louisville Leopard Percussionists

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Louisville Leopard Percussionists
In the SPOT Light
SELF-RELEASED

It’s a shame the LLPs (who are between 7 and 12 years old) weren’t aren’t around for 1970s game shows, because their millions o’ mallets and sticks approach to jazz (and often, by accident, swingin’ bachelor pad lounge music) would have been perfect for those leisure suit-wearing hosts. For their fourth studio album, the collective has recorded another set of fun tunes from Basie and Parker, Davis and Waller, as well as Mozart, the Jacksons and Rush (yes, the power-trio Hall of Famers) and more. Musical director Diane Downs has again selected a winning group of titles, from the “Rocky & Bullwinkle” and “Angry Birds” themes to a smattering of Cuban-themed classics (Ray Bryant’s “Cubano Chant,” “Besame Mucho,” “Manteca”). What the kids lack in Lincoln Center-level experience is more than made up for with heart and soul.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Forging a path

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The life and riffs of Coliseum's Ryan Patterson

When Ryan Patterson met his wife, he screamed in her ear.

His band, Coliseum, was on tour, playing this night at an all-ages youth center in Birmingham, Ala., called Cave 9. As the hardcore punks tore through their blistering set, Patterson — the band’s founder, leader, songwriter, singer and guitarist — kept getting shocked. The waves reverberated through his skull, and the imposing Patterson got angrier. He smashed the mic stand and jumped into the crowd, screaming into the faces in front of him. That’s when Ryan met Jamie.

Jamie Beard was a Coliseum fan and offered to let the band sleep at her home before they moved on to their next stop. Patterson looked around her place, saw that her tastes and interests were similar to his, and the two began to talk. Quickly, he realized, “She’s really awesome.”

It might not have gone any further than that, but drummer Matt Jaha left his glasses behind. Beard tracked down Patterson to return them, and they kept talking and emailing, and within months, she moved to Louisville.

“We knew right off the bat that we were meant for each other,” Patterson says today, eight years later. “That was that.”

The wonder years

Born in Lexington in 1977, Ryan Patterson comes from a family of South End Louisvillians — “fourth or fifth generation” — though his parents had moved away for college and work. When he was 8, they moved to Elizabethtown.

In middle school, Patterson wanted to be an actor. He earned roles in local productions of “Hello Dolly,” “The Miracle Worker” and “Annie,” but it wasn’t the kind of performing that would give him the confidence he lacked. He was awkward — not athletic like his father and brother — but didn’t feel like he fit in with the theater scene, either.

His brother, Evan, is four years younger and also a guitarist, vocalist and bandleader. Would Evan have taken up guitar without his big brother’s example? “I would assume the first time he ever picked up a guitar was one of my guitars,” Patterson says. “I wouldn’t say that I’m the reason why, but we grew up with that together, for sure, very much so.” In turn, Patterson says Evan’s guitar playing has had “a huge impact” on him, adding that his little brother is “an extremely creative guitar player.”

Ever feel jealous? “Absolutely,” the older brother quickly replies. “It’s just a sibling thing. Not a straight competitiveness,” he says. “I don’t know if he does or not; for me, it’s part of deep-rooted insecurities ...”

Their parents were very supportive, letting them practice in the basement, even letting them put on a show there. “So few parents would do that,” he marvels. “If I had kids now, I wouldn’t let them put on a show in my garage,” Patterson laughs.

It was through dad’s record collection that the boys began discovering music, from Led Zeppelin and The Beatles to Black Sabbath. Dad even had a single by The Clash. “That was huge for us.”

Through skating, Patterson discovered punk rock. “That was when my identity as a human was formed. Skateboarding and punk, it’s all about creating your own identity, finding your own path, doing things yourself, looking at everything in a different way. Politically, punk and hardcore and indie rock changed my perspective. That set me off on the path.”

Early music

At age 15, Patterson bought a guitar. He learned some chords and some songs by Minor Threat and the Ramones. MTV and Thrasher magazine taught him more about punk and a related sub-genre then called “alternative,” turning him on to bands like The Cure. “Or, there were a couple of older punk dudes in E-town who had Misfits jackets. You’d see those things around; you’d see a Black Flag shirt on a skateboarder and you’d go, ‘OK...’ So then you figure out what those bands are, and then you’d buy everything on that label you could find.”

In the local mall, the punks had Disc Jockey Records, where they could buy cassettes on the SST and Dischord labels. “That was it. That was how we discovered the world,” he says.

Meanwhile, “I didn’t know there was a local scene up here (in Louisville) or anything like that. I was completely oblivious to that.”

Louisville hardcore, punk and more

For Patterson, entry into the local scene came through the band Endpoint, who released a 7-inch with covers of Misfits and Dischord band songs. “That was when I realized that a music scene can happen anytime, anywhere. You just make it and there it is. So that was a really good thing for me, that there were actual bands putting out records in this town. That was a huge turning point.”

His first show as an attendee, at the Machine, featured a Dischord band, Jawbox. That band’s leader, J. Robbins, has since produced records by Coliseum (including their latest, Sister Faith, released last week) and an earlier Patterson band, Black Cross. Once he could drive, Patterson was coming up to Louisville as often as he could.

He sang in a band, Synapsis, and passed their demo tapes to local scene stars like Duncan Barlow, Chris Higdon and Mark Brickey. “Those guys seemed so larger-than-life to us,” Patterson says. He and his friends were now putting on shows in E-town and booked Louisville bands such as Guilt, Enkindel and Metroschifter to play with them.

He was still finding himself, and music gave him an identity and “a confidence that I think I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“I’m sure there were things I said or did that were annoying or obnoxious. One time, Mark Brickey from Enkindel had me stay the night up at the house he lived in with Duncan Barlow and Benny Clark on Grinstead. That was, like, ‘Holy shit!’ To hang out in Duncan’s room … we’re all talking and I’m looking around at all his guitars and posters and records in the room. I think Duncan showed me the Teen Idles 7-inch on Dischord … it was just awesome.”

The Louisvillians began inviting Synapsis to play in their city. Enkindel shared their list of promoter contacts, and when Synapsis got added to a couple of shows, Enkindel let them borrow some equipment. “I don’t know if they saw something in me and my friends that was worth them lending us a helping hand, but it changed my life, for sure.”

“That acknowledgement — you give your demo to somebody and they write you a letter and say, ‘Hey, the demo was great, thanks a lot,’ that was very meaningful to me. That was a big, big part of my late high school experience. After that, that was when, I guess, I kind of integrated into that world.”

What else are you doing?

A couple of bands later, Patterson became closer with Enkindel vocalist Mark Brickey. When that band’s bassist left, Patterson was asked to replace him. They told him they were going to make a record and tour — possibly in Europe. No longer thinking the band was all that cool, Patterson initially declined, even though all he was doing at the time was working “some crappy job.” Looking back, he says, “There was a point when maybe I had got too cool.”

It was Patterson’s mom who convinced him that passing up this opportunity was a mistake, pointing out this was everything he wanted to do with his life.

Only 19 when he joined, his new bandmates quickly took to mocking him. “I thought they were so cruel, but I know, in hindsight, that I was such a little putz. I had no experience in the world — that world of really touring in a band.”

He had $17 at the time. After one record store performance, Patterson cleaned the store’s bathroom in exchange for pizza.

His year with Enkindel was “a huge turning point,” he says — first tour, first album — but he wasn’t into the music, and they parted ways. Patterson felt his identity slipping away again, and so he went in a new direction.

The musician had previously met Andy Rich, owner of Initial Records, who hired him as the label’s “zine guy,” in charge of getting press coverage for their bands. He would go on to also be their graphic designer, and, eventually, the manager, signing bands and booking their KrazyFests.

“It felt like my label, for the last two years, but ultimately it wasn’t my label. It was Andy’s, it was owned by somebody else. So when Initial closed, it was the right time for me to go on and do my own thing.”

Decade of aggression

In 2003, Patterson formed Coliseum. He added his cousin Matt Jaha on drums, bassist Keith Bryant and guitarist Tony Ash for their first album, Coliseum, which was released by a label in New York, Level Plane. “I remember sitting at my desk at Initial, designing the (first Coliseum) record,” he says. “But I wanted Coliseum to be on a different label, not always associating myself with Initial.”

A year after Coliseum’s birth, Initial closed, but Patterson was in control of his own destiny. “Maybe I’m just a control freak. But that was why I started the band — I didn’t want to have that thing where you have a band for years and then someone else quits, and you have to stop what you started.”

For their second record, the Goddamage EP, Bryant was replaced by Mike Pascal. Jaha and two more replacements left quickly before Chris Maggio took over on drums, though he, too, would leave after three years, replaced finally by Carter Wilson.

Ash left before their next full-length, No Salvation, a collection that would test the band’s mettle — and metal.

Patterson says, “I’ve never seen anybody in the band as being temporary, and when anyone has ever been in the band, they have been a full member and are treated as such.” He started Coliseum with the idea that “I have the ability to control this band’s destiny. No one else can pull the rug out from under me. And that’s … maybe kind of cut-throat, but I do feel like there’s a point of self-preservation.”

“And I will say that we have good relationships with everybody who’s been in the band, and some of them have joined us onstage — things like that.”

Bassist Pascal leaving after seven years was the most difficult change. “I very much believe it was better for him and me that he was no longer in the band. I do believe that, with time, that relationship will be good again, at least in terms of friends. I don’t know …”

Life on the road can be grueling, contributing to the instability of the band’s lineup. “To be in a band that’s touring, that’s a lot to ask of somebody. Most people, even if they think they want it, when they get into it, it’s not what they want. Your priorities might be all over the place. You might enjoy doing this, but there might be a band you like more. Or you might have a job that you can’t get out of.”

Today, Coliseum tries to only stay out for two or three weeks at a time, then comes home for several weeks. In the last few years, “A lot of things (made me say), ‘What am I doing?’ … Being a guy who lives on the road is not interesting to me. So it’s a challenge, there’s a balancing act. It’s a little stressful right now to think about how much we’re going to be doing for the rest of the year, but we were home all of last year — that’s the give-and-take.”

He doesn’t want the band to feel like “Ryan and the other guys,” reiterating that they all are a part of the whole. “I want it to be Coliseum. Even though I may be most identified with it, we’re a band. We’re experiencing everything together, and what we’re accomplishing, we’re all accomplishing together.”

Both of his current bandmates, best friends since childhood, are from Birmingham — just like his wife — though bassist Kayhan Vaziri lives in Nashville now. Brother Evan Patterson found drummer Carter Wilson for Coliseum when Evan’s band Young Widows played with Wilson’s band.

When Vaziri joined, Patterson sat him down, just like the others, to give him the speech: “It’s a huge commitment. We’ll be gone a lot; if it’s something like a marriage ceremony, we can try to schedule around that, but we don’t schedule around other bands. This is the top priority.”

“Also, sometimes you have to invest some money. Most of the time you’re paid back and you make money, but …”

Patterson adds, “I probably told him I can be intense to deal with, that I’m extremely passionate about this. It’s really nice to be able to 100 percent count on these guys, as friends, and to do their part — there’s never any bullshit or any foot-dragging.”

Coliseum is stronger than ever these days, he says. “I love everybody that’s been in the band. I’m so happy to have had the times I’ve had with them, and I hope that they’re appreciative — no, that they look back fondly on what we’ve done. I hope that they’re not unhappy.”

Growing pains

Coliseum is a punk rock band, according to Patterson, and he dislikes being labeled as heavy metal. But the tag has stuck to the loud, heavy band partly because Patterson accepted an offer from powerhouse metal label Relapse Records in 2007 for their second album, No Salvation. On paper, it was a good idea: Coliseum would now be available not just in small, independent stores, but also internationally, in chains like Best Buy. To date, their Relapse record is still their biggest seller.

But the metal world rubbed Patterson the wrong way. Its culture didn’t match up to how he identifies himself and what he believes in. “We were just a band on a package. It wasn’t part of a community, it wasn’t part of anything, it was just this gear turning. I really hated that.”

Though the band’s popularity did grow as a result, “I think that we got a little bit tripped up, in terms of what we wanted to do. I think, musically, we felt like we should compete — we should be a Relapse-caliber band. We should be crazier, we should be a bit more intense.”

Though Relapse was interested in another record, Coliseum asked to be released from their contract.

“It’s not like at any point we’re going to be a household name,” he says. “The difference in this and that is so minute, you might as well do what feels right to you.”

Coliseum has since signed with Temporary Residence, a label run by a Louisville native, which also now releases Evan Patterson’s Young Widows records.

Life and death

After the more indie-inspired House with a Curse in 2010, Patterson says Sister Faith is “the most comfortable record we’ve ever done. It’s not a reaction to anything, it’s just the joy of creating.”

“I don’t think that means that it’s boring or lazy,” he adds. “I just think that means it feels good in its own skin.”

The new album was inspired by loss. Last year, both Patterson’s father-in-law and fellow musician Jason Noble died, resulting in an album he describes as “more personally inspired.”

Noble — who died last summer of a rare form of cancer — worked with Coliseum on Curse and became close with Patterson. “We’d known each other for a long time, but we had never hung out until he was sick. And I don’t know anyone else’s experiences — I don’t know if it was because of the situation, but we’d go see movies and hang out and talk and eat food. He had a huge impact on me, as (he did) for all of us.”

The album is full of dark places, he says, but also a renewed appetite “to embrace life and keep finding adventures, experiencing things that most people don’t get to experience … appreciating time while we’re here, and realizing that people live on with you, even if they’re not here. That, to me, is as close to an afterlife as you’ll get.”

Patterson, Louisville’s man in black, is pretty happy these days.

“This is my identity. This is my legacy … I would be happy for Coliseum to define my public life. I want to be a good brother and son and husband, and be this guy. I want this to be the body of work I can look back over … I wouldn’t be sitting here, talking to you, otherwise, you know?”

And though sometimes he questions his path, in the end, he says, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s very much worth it. It’s just a beautiful experience. I couldn’t imagine life any other way, really.”

Coliseum plays Friday night at Zanzabar.

Photo by Nick Thieneman.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

The amazing adventures of Houndmouth

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How was your winter? Mine wasn’t great — but Houndmouth’s was awesome. After recording their first full-length album, From the Hills Below the City (due June 4), they hit the road, traveling all over the United States and, for the first time, in Europe, sharing stages with the Drive-By Truckers, Lucero, Alabama Shakes and Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.

They stood out at the 2,000-plus-bands SXSW festival in Austin for the second year in a row, where they were interviewed for NBC’s “Rock Center” and made a new fan in veteran Rolling Stone writer David Fricke. The latter’s support led to Rolling Stone announcing Houndmouth’s album release. In their downtime, they released an eponymous beer made in collaboration with their neighbors, the New Albanian Brewing Company.

On Friday, they return home for a headlining show at Iroquois Amphitheater, whose 2,400 seating capacity is a big step up for the 18-month-old band. LEO Weekly asks guitarist/vocalist Matt Myers if he could guess, in comparison, what the capacity is for a more earthy local venue — the Irish Exit — where the members once practiced their craft. “Man, I don’t know!” he says. “Maybe 200?”

The band’s been getting used to bigger crowds, even if it means balancing some of the quieter moments in their songs with the chattering in the venue. In the album’s closing song, “Palmyra,” Myers sings of a “Kentucky shower,” which he defines as “when somebody takes a shower in the rain … There’s no gross connection with that,” he clarifies, laughing.

“Every time I sing ‘Kentucky shower,’ somebody laughs.”

Otherwise, it’s been a smooth, successful season for the rookies. “All the bands we’ve toured with not only have been great musicians but good people, and treated us really well,” Myers says.

Word of mouth has been spreading quickly, from online to fans of the headlining bands telling their friends. They’ve done especially well in New York. “Every time we’ve played here … we don’t expect anybody to show up, and now we’ve sold out shows. It blew us away, we had no idea.”

Europe has also been eye-opening. “We had some weird shows in France. They didn’t quite get it,” he laughs. “We heard, ‘Your stage presence is strange.’”

London was the best overseas date. “And the Netherlands — that kind of music, the folky sound goes over well in the Netherlands. That was great, too.”

Outside the Netherlands, getting mellow has become easier now that there’s a Houndmouth beer, what the NABC calls “a hopped-up American Wheat Ale.” The collaboration came together when the band filmed a video in their brewery. “We kind of brought that up in passing, that we’d like to do a beer with them if they’d be willing,” Myers says. “When you order it, you become a member of Houndmouth.”

The band went into SXSW knowing how much they’d need those ales to keep them steady during that hectic week. The previous year was “extremely stressful,” he says, “not only because we’d never been, but because we’d been a band for a couple months.” They did well enough then to earn a record deal with Rough Trade, so 2013 promised to be less intense.

“This year, we knew how stressful it was gonna be. We kind of prepared for it. It turned out to be good.”

Their summer adventures include some of their first festival dates, and they’re big ones: Lollapalooza, Outside Lands, and the Newport Folk Festival (where colleague and fan Jim James is a member of the advisory board this year).

With the album almost ready for public consumption, Houndmouth has no plans yet to go back into the studio, though they have been working up some fresh songs for their hometown fans.

“We play Louisville more than any other city, and we don’t want to go out there with all the same material. We’ve been testing songs on the road … hopefully it’ll be nice and tight for the Iroquois show.”

The band is in an enviable place right now, but growing pains are inevitable. One early favorite might be leaving the band soon.

“We’re getting tired of playing ‘Penitentiary.’ We’ve just been opening with it, getting that out of the way,” says Myers. “We know it like the back of our hands.”

Houndmouth with Joe Pug and Ranger
Friday, April 26
Iroquois Amphitheater
1080 Amphitheater Road
iroquoisamphitheater.com
$12-$15; 8 p.m.

Photo by Tyler Zoller.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

The lives and deaths of Juan MacLean

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Most people see DJs working a crowd into a frenzy on a wet Friday night and only see a good time. For Juan MacLean, however, such nights can be a different kind of escape — time spent not thinking about dead friends or his own inevitable demise.

“You Are My Destiny” is the latest recording of stylish house music by his band, The Juan MacLean, so LEO Weekly asked what his destiny is. “My destiny is to continue to have near-death experiences — I seem to have one a year lately — until I die, probably in a motorcycle accident,” laments the man formerly known as John MacLean, once a guitarist in the groundbreaking and provocative ’90s electronic post-punk band Six Finger Satellite. “Until then, I’ll continue to make melancholic electronic music.”

MacLean says it wasn’t as big of a leap as it might seem for him to have gone from a noisy Sub Pop band to a DFA dance machine. “Six Finger Satellite was a post-punk band utilizing dance music elements like synths and a rhythm section influenced by disco,” he notes. “The Juan MacLean, in its inception, was simply a reversal of this, a dance music project utilizing live band elements, particularly live drums.”

Six Finger — aka 6FS — faced tragedy when bassist Kurt Niemand died of a drug overdose in 1995, and MacLean again suffered a huge loss when his friend and live drummer Jerry Fuchs died in an accident in 2009. For MacLean, who already quit music once (retiring to New Hampshire, teaching English, “happier to chop wood and do yoga” than play music, as he puts it), the loss of Fuchs has caused him to re-evaluate his path once again.

“So much of my live touring and playing experience was tied into my relationship with Jerry ... A lot of the fun of touring with a band is the adventures you have with your friends, though this can also be the biggest nightmare for some people,” MacLean says. “For me, with The Juan MacLean, the band has always been friends that I love and enjoy being around immensely. But in terms of Jerry, I’m just not sure how to address it at this point. It’s still a very painful loss on a personal level, and it resonates through the music.”

MacLean has kept up a steady schedule of DJ nights and plans a new band record soon. When it’s done, he says they’ll figure out what the band will be at that point. “Jerry obviously left an enormous hole that needs to be filled.”

MacLean describes his personality as “destructively all-or-nothing,” which is why he not only quit 6FS, but, “Once I was done, I swore off music altogether … I vowed to never make music again.” It was several years before James Murphy, 6FS’s soundman, was able to persuade MacLean that “it was in my soul and could not be denied.”

Murphy, who went on to lead his own dance-rock band, LCD Soundsystem, also co-founded the label DFA Records, which introduced The Juan MacLean to dance and rock audiences in 2003.

Now, a decade back into it, MacLean appreciates what his two, sometimes conflicting, musical sides have given him. He has spent more years now touring as a DJ than with a band, “as opposed to a lot of band dudes who sort of do it as a fun thing to do after a show or whatever,” MacLean clarifies. “A lot of electronic music producers and DJs come from initial live music backgrounds — I think it makes them far more interesting. If electronic dance music is your only reference, it’s a bit limiting. No, it’s fucking boring.”

While DJ nights such as this Friday’s party at Zanzabar pay better, due to the overhead of traveling a full band around the country, MacLean laughs, “These days, you can just throw a MIDI controller in front of your laptop and call it ‘live,’ and no one is really going to call you out on it.

“I do love DJing, though. After all this time, it’s still my favorite thing to do in all of life, I think.”

Juan MacLean with OK Deejays & Lady Carol
Friday, April 19
Zanzabar
2100 S. Preston St.
$8-$10; 9 p.m.

Photo by Rob Phillips

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Neptune manipulates the sounds around

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Neptune is a long-running, adventurous band from Boston that uses unusual and homemade instruments to make their sounds. Their latest album, msg rcvd, focuses on radio frequencies. We asked leader Jason Stanford about their unusual approach to rock music.

LEO: Can you explain The Feedback Organ and elaborate on how you compose with it?

Jason Sanford: The Feedback Organ works by putting small microphones near speakers and letting the signal feed back. The microphones are at one end of a column, or pipe, and the speakers are at the other end, so the length of the column determines the pitch of the feedback. When Neptune composes material, we often are looking for quirky things that our instruments do. The Feedback Organ has plenty of these quirks, so it makes composing easy for us. The Feedback Organ is especially well-suited for droning and dissonant sounds.

The current model of The Feedback Organ — model VI — also has the added feature of “key reversal switches.” Normally, the Organ is played like any organ or keyboard: by pressing the keys down. But when the switches are thrown, the corresponding pitches become “always on” until the key is depressed. This is useful for building polyphonic droning sounds, and also very useful for turning upside-down the way one usually thinks about making music. Doing things in a backwards kind of way can often lead to surprising results that would not otherwise have been reached.

LEO: Is it true that you’ve built all your instruments out of scrap metal? If yes, why do all that work?

JS: A friend of mine told me about going to a senior painting show at an art college. Pretty much all the paintings seemed in a similar style, “of the same school,” yet the work of one student stood out as remarkably different. My friend couldn’t figure out why; the subject matter was similar to the other work, the brush strokes were not so different. On asking around, he discovered that this student had mixed all of his own colors from raw pigments while all the other students just bought the pre-mixed paint in a tube.

Making your own instruments does not guarantee that your music will be good, but you can be pretty sure that you won’t sound like other bands. These days, Neptune continues to use welded scrap-metal guitars and drum constructions, as well as many homemade electronic and electro-acoustic devices, including The Feedback Organ, various electronic oscillators, radio-gating sequencers and some self-made electronic distortion effects.

LEO: How are you working with radio waves and frequencies now?

JS: Radio waves are an interesting and abundant material that surround us and penetrate us continuously. Neptune has always worked with scraps and trash, and radio waves fit our expanded definition of what can be thought of as trash. Lately, we have been sending different radio signals to homemade gated sequencers. This can create sound patterns that have rhythmic regularity but indeterminate sonic content.

LEO: How does it feel to confound an audience?

JS: If an audience walks away from a concert feeling (like), “That was nice,” then I don’t feel that I am doing my job. Our music is, at times, challenging. Hopefully, some will also find it rewarding.

Neptune with Junk Yard Dogs
Saturday, April 20
Quonset Hut
599 Rubel Ave.
$10-$15; 7 p.m.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

No rest for the wicked

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“I’ve been getting good feedback on it so far. Well, at least from my friends,” laughs Brian Omer about the new album by his band Stonecutters. The band celebrates its release with a show Saturday at Headliners.

As founder, vocalist and one of the guitarists in Stonecutters, Omer — a heavy-metal lifer whose other passions are for classic horror movies and similarly over-the-top paintings — has found the perfect vehicle for his obsessions. Previously known for his work with My Own Victim, who toured the world and then came to an end as the music industry was going through its own upheavals, Omer isn’t going anywhere soon, though he prefers CDs and vinyl to digital downloads.

He’s paid his bills through music for 15 years now — clerking at ear X-tacy, then teaching guitar at Mom’s Music and now at Guitar Center. A student of his genre, Omer was thrilled to discover recently that the late guitar master Randy Rhoads had also been a teacher. It’s another connection to past greats for Stonecutters, who shared stages last year with everyone from Anthrax to Down to Goatwhore.

Their new, third studio album, recorded by Kevin Ratterman in his La La Land studios over four days in February, is called Creatio Ex Nihil. It’s the first Stonecutters album for guitarist Chris Leffler, another metal vet, who approached his now-bandmates to ask about joining. It was a new beginning for the band, says Omer, who praises Leffler as one of the best guitarists he’s ever seen — high praise from a guy who gets paid by 50 regular students.

Creatio Ex Nihil translates as “Creation Out of Nothingness.” While not strictly a concept album, there is a recurring theme of annihilation, anger and frustration running through the songs. It’s a healthy release of energy from a band that’s never been happier.

“I think this is definitely the best thing I’ve done. You can hear a progression, from the first album to this one. I’m excited for people to hear it,” says Omer.

Check out facebook.com/stonecuttersky.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Milo Greene’s road movies

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Robbie Arnett is one of the five members of Milo Greene, none of whom are named Milo or Greene. If you’re an NPR-listening, blog-reading music fan, you’ve probably heard the oft-told story of how they got their name (it was the name of a fictitious manager, used by band members trying to book shows while in previous bands, attempting to give the impression that they were more successful).

Milo Greene is a pop-rock band from Los Angeles that has shared not just booking duties but also songwriting and singing, and trades instruments throughout their sets. “I learned guitar first. Everything else, I try to make it up as I go,” Arnett says. “We take as many instruments as we can, learn really simple lines, little melodies, and then figure out how to play it live.”

Unlike some L.A. collectives, Milo Greene doesn’t exude a Manson family cult vibe — they come from the sunny part of town, near the beach, where folks are still young enough to try to succeed, where their dreams haven’t been totally dashed yet.

Living in what the band calls “Americalifornia” has also made it easier to perform on every TV talk show in town, though they have spent much of the past few years touring up and down the highways of the real America. It’s a life that appeals to him, says Arnett, much more than battling the legendary SoCal traffic snarls.

“It’s the way I’ve always lived. My family moved a lot when I was growing up, so it turned into something that feels natural to me — moving around hotels, a different city each night.”

Their travels will take them to Bonnaroo this June, offering a chance to check out both their youthful peers and older legends like Paul McCartney and Tom Petty. It might be the best way for an up-and-coming musician to make Dad proud.

“I was home recently with my dad, and we watched one of those behind-the-album documentaries on Netflix about Tom Petty … I’ve done some harsh music projects before, and this is the one that my dad is like, ‘Oh, I could get into this.’ That’s really cool to think that you can be up there with, like, (laughs) The Doobie Brothers.”

Have you considered that in 10 or 20 years, you might be somebody’s parents’ favorite band? “I hope,” laughs Arnett. “Yeah, that would be cool. It would be, like, the Eagles or us.”

Milo Greene has done well enough that their Louisville show was originally scheduled for Zanzabar but had to move to the larger Headliners to meet demand.

The real test might be the nerve-racking sophomore album, the expectations-raised sequel to the album they spent years preparing.

“We have time off in April, so we’re just starting to think about making new music, which is exciting for me. I’ve been living with these songs for almost four years now at this point.”

“It’ll be nice to get some new blood in there,” he says. “We love working with sounds, recording stuff, and we do it all ourselves. Being in a band with four songwriters is a challenge, but I think that’s a gift,” Arnett continues, describing their commonality as a shared love of lyrics and melody.

Still, Arnett’s not completely sick of their set just yet. “No, no, like I said, we learn instruments on the go, so I’m always challenged.”

You’re still learning how to play your own songs? “Exactly! ‘You want me to jump on this keyboard? Jump on this bass? It’s gonna take some time, but OK …’”

The band’s interest in movies — and marketing savvy — has led them to label their music “cinematic pop.” While the group’s future potential as film composers is still unknown, they have assembled a 40-minute film called “Moddison,” meant to coincide with their self-titled album, which was released last July. “I’m interested in (film scoring) … people have asked, we just haven’t had time to think about things. When you’re on the road, you kind of forget things like what time it is. You can’t focus on real things.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Arnett concludes. “You’re just focused on things like traveling, and you get an hour each day to really be alive.”

Milo Greene with the Kopecky Family Band
Saturday, March 16
Headliners Music Hall
1386 Lexington Road
headlinerslouisville.com
$12; 9 p.m.

Photo by Liza Boone

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Rise of the DJs

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How dance music moved in on the Louisville music scene

To be at the Germantown nightclub Zanzabar at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night that has become a Sunday morning is to be several things. Most likely, you are young, between 21 and 29. You are probably pretty drunk, though not too drunk yet, if you’re at all civilized (give it another hour).

If you’re a woman, you probably came to hang out with your girlfriends; you might be looking to hook up with someone, or you might just be looking to dance the night away. If you’re a man, you might not even realize there are DJs on the small stage in the back of the room. You are probably there with a handful of your bros, but you are hoping to leave with just one other person. You might get into a fight, tonight or some other night; if you’re that type, maybe on multiple nights.

Throughout the dry-ice-scented, laser-light-filled club, girls tote crossbody bags, decked out in a hipster style that works for the fedora and trucker hat-wearing guys. A swarm of the latter flash gang signs as GlitterTitzDJz knowingly segue from a remix of Icona Pop’s theme from MTV’s “Snooki and JWoww” show into DJ Assault’s classic ode to “Ass-N-Titties.”

Zanzabar opened in 2009 as a combination bar/restaurant/music venue, with the added distinction of boasting an impressive collection of playable pinball machines and old-school video games. But if anything has made it a place to see and be seen on the weekends, it’s the DJs.

The Louisville music scene has a long history of punk, hardcore and heavy metal bands to its credit, along with numerous variations on country, indie rock, jazz, hip-hop, blues and R&B. It’s always been a live music town, where bands from My Morning Jacket to The Crashers have thrilled thousands with their guitars, basses, drums and keyboards.

But increasingly, DJs — not just the wedding or Fourth Street Live variety aiming to play the latest Top 40 hits for less discriminating audiences — have become an important and essential aspect of the scene.

Not coincidentally, DJs have become a big business worldwide. From easily identifiable pop-star-level favorites like Skrillex and Deadmaus to super-producers and writers like Calvin Harris (Rihanna, Kesha, Kylie Minogue) and David Guetta (Black Eyed Peas, Akon, Pitbull), DJs have become a commercial factor like never before. While the music has had a decades-long presence in Europe, and various electronic and/or dance acts such as Moby, Prodigy and Underworld achieved success in the United States in the late-’90s, what is today called EDM (a redundant acronym for “electronic dance music”) is a relatively new phenomenon on Top 40 radio here.

Forecastle Festival founder J.K. McKnight, who has booked DJs at his fests for several years, says he saw the current wave coming a decade ago. “It seemed inevitable. I witnessed it firsthand when I was 19 and in Belfast, Northern Ireland, on a trip. It left a mark. The energy level was off the charts.”

But it would take time for that wave of energy to reach its peak in this town.

“(Louisville) likes its indie rock, it likes its singer-songwriters; it likes a lot of things, but it took a while for Louisville,” says musician Craig Pfunder of the dance-rock band VHS or Beta, a native who now lives in New York. “The times, I’m sure, are different now with the Internet — not as many boundaries.”

As more young music fans turn away from guitars and toward two turntables and a mixer, will Louisville’s next breakthrough act be a traditional rock band like My Morning Jacket or Houndmouth … or a DJ you wouldn’t even recognize at Kroger?

Garrett Crabtree Jr. was raised on classic rock, spending much of his youth attempting to nail perfect guitar solos. But these days, the 31-year-old genuinely loves dance music and is protective of its younger fans.

“Young people — 18-25 — have always been the deciding factor in pop music,” says Crabtree, one half of the DJ duo GlitterTitz. “They drive the world of music, but people just seem to write them off as stupid kids. Ultimately, I think it’s kind of crazy that it’s taken you guys this long to do a story on the DJ scene in Louisville.”

To the younger generation, he adds, this is their music: “It’s not ironic or funny. They look at DJs as artists.”

And as appreciation for this art form grows, so, too, does the number of aspiring DJs.

“There are so many artists these days, it’s like getting a turntable now for Christmas has replaced the acoustic guitar,” McKnight says. “Everyone is doing it, but so few will actually make it.”

British ex-pat Jon Paul Hill, who spins disco Saturdays at the Butchertown bar Meat under the DJ name JP Source, is one of those many. When he was 16, a friend taught him the basics.

“I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And so, when quite soon after I was given a bit of money, it came down to a choice of get driving lessons or some turntables. I chose the decks and, in retrospect, realized that these are the kind of foolish decisions only made by proper DJs.”

Jesse See Tai began learning how to DJ at 15. Within a year, still with braces on his teeth, he began DJing publicly as Jesse Jamz.

“The thing I like about DJing is the interaction,” he says. “When you’re playing to a packed club and everyone is losing it, it’s an amazing feeling.”

He also notes, “It’s pretty ridiculous how much money you can make for playing music for 90 minutes, especially the kind of money the big guys are making.”

Mostly self-taught, he also benefited from advice from mentors Mark Palgy and the aforementioned Craig Pfunder, leaders of VHS or Beta; the duo have also become popular DJs on the side. Today, at 24, See Tai has changed his professional nom-de-dance to Black Matter and has released some of his own music.

It’s here where Black Matter stands out from most of the crowd in Louisville — while some have begun making their own music, most are still in the early stages or just not interested. If live bands make their money from touring and licensing, most DJs today who make it out of their hometowns succeed by writing and producing. Rihanna can’t dub those steps alone, after all.

“Production is what gets you booked now,” says See Tai. “You can’t just be a DJ. Unless you’re a huge artist, you probably won’t make much for sales, but you could still make money from licensing.”

It’s why Carol Hamilton, who DJs as Lady Carol, is beginning to produce some of her own music.

“I’ve got the DJ thing down pat, but now I’m trying to get my own sound out there,” she says. “There’s nothing like playing your own tracks at a club.”

While the media has tried to explain the DJ surge by calling them “the new rock stars,” and rockers like My Morning Jacket’s Jim James (DJ Cap’n Goodies) and Wax Fang’s Scott Carney (DJ Captain Howdy) have dipped their toes into the pool, full-time DJs — several of whom have also played in rock bands — are noticeably hesitant to agree with such a label.

“I do think it’s something different,” is the opinion of Alex Bell, aka A-Bell of OK Deejays, who DJ at Zanzabar on Fridays. “I don’t think DJs have — as they shouldn’t — the showmanship of a guitar-wielding, live, singing rock star.”

His partner, Aaron Chadwell, known as DJ Narwhal, adds, “I don’t even know if there are rock stars anymore.”

But Crabtree maintains it’s both musicianship and the ability to perform that sets some DJs apart.

“They are music producers, not just DJs. They write music. They do the legwork for Justin Bieber tracks. They are highly intelligent computer nerds. A lot of them are accomplished musicians in the classical sense. They just perform their music a little differently than Nirvana did. Ultimately, the music that they write would be impossible to perform live, so they DJ it.

“It might seem ridiculous, but it’s not,” he continues. “It’s still a performance. It’s hard to explain. But yes, DJs ultimately enjoy rock-star status. Follow Diplo on Twitter, and you’ll know what I mean.”

Crabtree’s GlitterTitz partner, Jamey See Tai — DJ Black Matter’s brother — laughs at the question. “I’m sure to some kids they are. I definitely give more credit to the DJs who are also producing music. Some of those dudes are making some really awesome tracks. On the other hand, I also think a lot of DJs look really foolish ‘rockin’ out’ on stage while not really doing anything. But you gotta keep the crowd hyped, I guess.”

It’s that ability to keep the crowd hyped that pushes the locals to the next level. Adjusting their sets on the fly is one element the majority of DJs have in common. It’s almost like performing stand-up comedy — most wade gently into their set, feeling out the crowd.

“It’s improv, man, you don’t know what you’re gonna get,” says DJ Matt Anthony. A veteran of the local scene and a regular host on WFPK, Anthony differs from many DJs because he mostly spins classic soul, Latin and jazz sounds, instead of current hip-hop, house or nu-disco records. At an ongoing gig at the Maker’s Mark Lounge at Fourth Street Live, Anthony was tasked with entertaining crowds ranging from Wal-Mart distribution conventioneers to an all-African-American 1983 high school class reunion.

“You’re trying to manipulate people with sounds; it’s not even songs,” he says. “The electronic guys have proven that. You don’t even need a hook, a song. You can make people dance if you get the right crowd and the right vibe going … Reading the crowd is what it’s all about.”

He says an older DJ told him: “‘Your job is to create hysteria. And you can’t plan on that.’ I always think about that, and I love it. You have to make people go crazy. Until I’ve done that, I don’t feel like I’ve earned my pay yet.”

Sometimes, engaging the crowd requires a little bit of bait and switch.

“You can’t please everyone with every track, so you find clever ways of tricking them into liking things they normally wouldn’t,” Crabtree notes. “Like putting a hip-hop beat behind a Metallica track.”

It’s a trick known to fans of internationally popular acts like Girl Talk. McKnight booked the mash-up favorite in 2007 as a Forecastle Festival headliner. After McKnight’s mother picked up another festival band at the airport, she told him how they had expressed unease at playing on the same bill as the DJ. “They talked about how it was a fad and was going to fade. (How) it had zero staying power, more or less a trend for high school adolescents.”

Now, McKnight says, Girl Talk makes seven times what the festival paid the act back then. “I haven’t heard anything about the other band since.”

Black Matter’s Jesse See Tai agrees with the notion that a DJ must be clever about working the crowd. “When I first started playing here in Louisville, I remember how tough it was to keep everyone happy and dancing … it was almost like I had to trick them into liking what I played. I’d play one song I knew they’d like and then a couple that I liked. Everyone likes familiarity, so you have to make them feel comfortable but, at the same time, introduce new unfamiliar things.”

“Things have changed a lot since then, though,” he adds. “Due to the growth of electronic music in mainstream media, it’s a lot easier for someone who isn’t necessarily into electronic music to go out and have a good time dancing to music they don’t know.”

Jon Paul Hill, aka JP Source, has developed a philosophical approach to his weekly DJ night at Meat.

“I think you just have to do your best at doing your thing. I’ve had gigs where I tried desperately to please everyone, and that’s usually a disastrous approach. It’s pretty nice when people tell you that they ‘usually don’t listen to this kind of thing’ but they enjoyed what you played.”

Though many of the DJs interviewed for this story enjoy pop music, this isn’t a Top 40 group. “I can easily pinpoint the worst experiences as being Top 40 gigs,” says Mark Nelson, who makes his living as gothic and industrial DJ Count Grozny and hosts a monthly “Queer Dance Party” at the Haymarket Whiskey Bar. “Although they can pay well, you have little-to-no artistic liberty.”

And most agree passionately on the issue of requests.

“If you request a song I have, I’ll probably play it at some point in the night,” says OK Deejays’ Chadwell. “But don’t expect me to play any Top 40 in the near future … or ever.”

Sam Sneed, who shares Saturdays at Seidenfaden’s bar in Paristown with Chadwell, is a little more adamant: “Never request!” shouts Sneed, who also co-hosts (with OK Deejays) “Night Visions Radio,” WFPK’s weeknight dance music hour. “I usually have a set planned out, and it’s hard for me to fit in everyone’s love of the Black Eyed Peas and Skrillex.”

But GlitterTitz DJ Jamey See Tai says it goes both ways. “You just have to feel it out. Also, the crowd needs to feel the DJ out. If you are at our party for even just an hour, you should know better than to come up and request Phish. That’s just not gonna happen. True story.”

Matt Anthony walks into an unfamiliar room with crates of records in his arms, purposely trying to get the crowd to see that he’s “a real DJ,” to use his phrase. He wants to work the crowd before the first note hits.

Some of the more popular DJs in Louisville have built up their audience over the past few years, increasing the trust level between them and their regulars. It wasn’t always easy, especially for those who tried in an earlier era.

VHS or Beta’s Pfunder “started playing wherever in Louisville they would let us set up our tables. Friends’ bars, apartments, warehouses, indie shows … really, wherever we could. At first, it was a real pain in the ass. The locals weren’t taking too kindly to four-on-the-floor beats. They’d jump up and down and make our records skip. Or just run into the table and point and laugh.”

Today, though, Pfunder and Palgy can look at their passports and have the last laugh. “We’ve toured around the world as DJs: Sydney, Paris, London, Bangkok, Mexico City, Buenos Aires, São Paulo, Santiago, Bogota, to name a few, and I’ll be playing a couple sets soon in China,” Pfunder says, adding with a laugh, “DJing is easy compared to touring with a band, and for that, I’m grateful. Seriously. Show up and boom. No soundcheck. Just play.”

His protégé Black Matter has toured all over the United States and in Canada, Europe, Asia and Central America, but not every night has been a success. One of See Tai’s worst nights at work was at a warehouse rave in Los Angeles’ Compton neighborhood.

“There was this huge dog chained up outside in the parking lot, and we just thought we were about to get jumped or something. We get into the venue and go onstage, and they have the shittiest gear possible, so we’re trying to swap out equipment during this other guy’s set, and it was just a mess. Of course, getting paid ended up being an ordeal, too, and I got paid in all fives and ones,” he laughs.

OK Deejays have had their best nights in Louisville, most recently at a warehouse party they threw a couple of years ago that drew more than a thousand people. They also opened for the Arcade Fire and LCD Soundsystem at Waterfront Park in 2007, which drew several thousand. “It was easily the biggest system I’ve played through,” Chadwell recalls.

The duo is somewhat unique locally as they also book and promote other DJs (and the odd live band) from all over the world — Rome, London, Brazil and more, 20 in the past year alone. Chadwell sees it as an investment in the local culture. “I could pay my bills from DJing (alone), but then I wouldn’t have much extra cash for bringing in out-of-town DJs or bands to play our fine city.”

One complaint shared by some of the local talent is a lack of suitable venues.

“There are some talented DJs but not a lot of fun nights,” says Jesse See Tai. “I feel like Louisville (people) aren’t comfortable with clubs; they like going to bars. But if people want something to happen, it’s up to them to support it.”

The problem is numbers, according to Nelson, aka Count Grozny. “There simply aren’t enough people to support more underground and niche genres and sub-genres.”

“I’m hoping that people in Louisville appreciate our growing dance scene and don’t take it for granted,” Chadwell says. “Otherwise, the good shows will dry up, and we’ll be stuck seeing the same local folks each week.”

Assuming the scene continues to move on up, does the current class see itself continuing into their 40s and 50s, like Tom Petty or Wilco?

VHS or Beta’s Pfunder and Hill see a long future of DJing ahead, even if it does get to be a bit awkward. Pfunder says, “Yes, I’ll be DJing for my kids, probably in 20 years, and they’ll be like, “Dad, you’re so embarrassing!”

Hill replies, “I would like to be making music in 10-20 years, for sure, but I’m positive it’s going to be utterly weird shit that will embarrass my family.”

GlitterTitz’s Crabtree is characteristically blunt about their future. “It’s hard to say. We both write music, and we’re trying to put it out there like the next guy. We’re just gonna ride the train as far as it takes us, I guess. One weekend at a time.”

Additional reporting by Damien McPherson.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Rock ’n’ roll high school

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The most buzzed-about young band in Louisville today might be its youngest. Drummer Cameron Lowe formed The Debauchees with guitarist/vocalist Sydney Chadwick and bassist Ashley Bowen, who sat down with LEO to talk tunes. Newly signed to Sonablast Records, they open for labelmates Nerves Junior at the Monkey Wrench tonight, March 6, at 9 p.m.

LEO: How did the band get started?

Sydney Chadwick: We met in (Eastern) high school, freshman year. (Ashley) was in my computer class, and she wore Tripp pants at that time (laughs).

Ashley Bowen: I had black and purple.

SC: I was just, like, “Whatever …”

AB: We just sat next to each other and did our work, and then she left in the middle of the year and just never came back.

LEO: Did you go to another school? Or you just left?

SC: I just left. I said to my mom that I was gonna home-school myself. She didn’t really know much about home-schooling anyway (laughs). You can’t really home-school yourself and get a diploma. I just read and stuff.

LEO: Are you done with self-teaching yet?

SC: Nope. Not at all.

AB: I graduated last year. Cameron’s a senior right now, he’s graduating this year.

LEO: How did you meet him?

AB: He went to Eastern, too, freshman year. And then he left school, too (laughs) … The summer before junior year, I was walking on Hurstbourne, and then Cameron messaged me on Facebook. He was, like, “I saw you walking on Hurstbourne, we should hang out.” I was, like, “What? I haven’t talked to this kid in 10 years.”

So I went over to his house and he taught me how to play bass, which was pretty interesting, ’cause I’d never touched a bass. And then he goes, “I know this chick, she can sing pretty well, and she plays guitar. So we can all hang out.” Now we’re best friends.

Follow The Debauchees at facebook.com/thedebauchees.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Whitehorse’s loud live life

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Whitehorse released their second full-length album, the memorably titled The Fate of the World Depends on This Kiss, last year, but they’re not exactly newcomers to the music business. Melissa McClelland and Luke Doucet established themselves in their native Canada well before their 2006 marriage helped them decide to make beautiful music together full-time.

Doucet began his career in the ’90s with the alt-rock band Veal and has since distinguished himself as one of the best guitarists of his generation. He joined Sarah McLachlan’s band at 19, a connection that would eventually lead him to produce three solo albums by McClelland, who often sang backing vocals for the star.

While both had their own careers, it only made sense to merge their musical desires as well. If nothing else, they would now be able to travel together, instead of being apart for months at a time, making their lives easier.

“Yeah — in most cases,” says McClelland, who laughs playfully at the idea. “No, it definitely is. For most people (in bands), you’re leaving somebody behind, so you’re always looking for when you get to go back home.”

As Whitehorse has picked up momentum over the past few years, they’ve made the road their home. They haven’t seen their Ontario home in almost a year, but are happy to get to do what makes them happiest.

Their full-time pairing began as a fun exercise, but McClelland says when they realized how rewarding it could be, they decided to take it more seriously, even taking on a new name that risked having to re-introduce themselves. They didn’t need to worry — people caught on quickly, and the Internet, which loves to discover new things, has helped them re-brand as a new thing, as opposed to the 30-something industry vets they actually are.

While they began playing together full-time five years ago, under their given names, it’s only in the last two that they became Whitehorse, taking the name from a remote northern Canada town. “It’s nice that we finally have a thing that originally felt like a side project, and now it’s completely taken over,” McClelland says. “It’s grown to be bigger than either of our solo projects before. It feels like an all-or-nothing thing right now.”

The pair reached another professional highlight last year when they headlined a concert at Toronto’s Massey Hall, the Carnegie Hall of Canada, open since 1894. To celebrate, they put together a live EP, The Road to Massey Hall, released last month. The collection was worked up from a set of songs by some of their favorite fellow Canadian songwriters, including Ron Sexsmith, Gordon Lightfoot, Blue Rodeo and Neil Young (who has also released his own Massey Hall live album).

“We’re from the Toronto area, so that’s the hall I grew up not far from,” McClelland says. “I saw so many people play at Massey Hall; I saw Gordon Lightfoot play there a couple times. It’s one of those legendary places, where, if you’re a kid and you know you want to grow up and be a musician, you have dreams of playing a room like that. When we booked that room, we knew it was significant for us, personally. We wanted to do something to celebrate that fact.”

While they pay homage to their past, they are also very much a modern band, utilizing technology to make their duo sound as electric and full as possible.

“Our show involves a lot more than just the two of us,” McClelland explains. “We have a looping pedal that we use quite a bit. We have drums, we have bass, we have tons of guitars, keys, lots of weird little mics and some percussion … the songs are quite different from the record, in a way. But then we strip it down and we share a single condenser mic and do Johnny-and-June style songs. So it’s kind of back and forth, between two stations, if you will.”

“It kind of grew into this monster,” she continues, detailing how the duo evolved from folk to fuzz. “It’s fun. It’s a lot for us to wrap our heads around musically, but I think that’s what makes the show good. We’re kind of risking it on stage every night.”

Whitehorse with Daniel Romano
Friday, March 8
Zanzabar
2100 S. Preston St.
zanzabarlouisville.ticketfly.com
$10-$12; 8 p.m.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Pleased to squeeze me: Accordion/banjo/tuba/drums quartet returns for more fun

One of those bands who demand the use of non-words like “funnest,” the satirically avant-garde Squeeze-bot are releasing their second studio album, Sweet Dreams Are Made of Squeeze, featuring versions of songs by Charles Mingus, The Beatles, Rufus Wainwright and more, as well as the theme for “The Price is Right.” LEO asked accordion-playing leader Todd Hildreth for some quasi-answers.

LEO: The first Squeeze-bot album came out five years ago. Why did you make fans wait?

Todd Hildreth: We have this perfectionism in the studio. Take after take, we record. No one can screw up, or we all do it over again. It took us three weeks just to lay the Jew’s harp part down on “Funky Town.” Then came the overdubs and numerous computer crashes due to information overload. Once, the power went out in the whole block as we were doubling the accordion solo on “White Rabbit” six octaves below middle C. Fires erupted in the neighborhood without explanation. A “punishment box” was designed for those who couldn’t get their part down quickly enough, followed by a staff therapist to undo the damage of having to go into the box.

The empty pizza boxes piled up to the point where we couldn’t see each other any more. Then, one night … well, let me just say that the answer to “What does this button do?” is best left rhetorical. We lost it all. Finally, someone suggested we just pretend it’s a live show and set up some mics and play like we always do. It seemed dumb at first, but it actually kind of worked well.

LEO: All of the songs on this collection are covers. Have any band members wanted, or tried, to write originals?

TH: So far, our interest has been in reinterpretation or, more specifically, playing tunes the way they should have been played in the first place but weren’t due to the original performer’s lack of accordion, banjo, tuba and tiny drum skills. There are just too many songs out there that just don’t sound right due to the insistence on electric guitars and synthesizers. And don’t get me started on vocals … The entire catalog of pop, rock and jazz has been sorely misrepresented. There’s a whole generation out there who seem to think a whammy bar is cooler than a bellow shake. It’s sad, really.

LEO: With a vast and diverse amount of songs from which to choose, how did you decide on these?

TH: Many times in the process of recording, someone would just put down their instrument and stop playing because they had to go to the bathroom or wanted another piece of pizza or something like that. Texting was a big problem as well. There were, however, about 11 takes that, for some reason, we were all able to stay in position from beginning to end. It was generally agreed upon that these 11 would best suit the needs of the album.

LEO: What does each member add to the musical chemistry? Will the sound, or vibe, change much with a new tuba man?

TH: The accordion takes the lead (as it should) on most parts, and the banjo takes the lead (as it should) on the others. We let the tuba and drums have solos sometimes, but they tend to get more applause than ours, which totally isn’t cool. So, I would look for less tuba and drum solos in the future.

Feb. 22: Meat
1076 E. Washington St.
Free; 11 p.m.

Feb. 24: Nachbar
969 Charles St.
Free; 8 p.m.

Photo by Andrew Raitz

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c. 2013 LEO Weekly

album review: Discount Guns

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Discount Guns
Odessa
(SELF-RELEASED)

Frequently sounding like they’re in a hurry to beat back the other revival-rock bands in the region, Discount Guns can be credited with doing a fine job of breathing new life into not-unfamiliar sounds. As in debt to early ’70’s classic-rock groove bands as they are to today’s Black Keys and friends, the two men who make up Discount Guns issue a thick yet clear fog of riffs, defying anyone within earshot to not shake that ass. The occasional female backing vocal adds to the ambiance, as the DeadBird Studios team’s solid, steady production keeps this collection focused and crisp. Sounding familiar and occasionally provocative, Discount Guns are damn good at what they do, and that’s a surprisingly hard quality to find. So, guys, what’s next?

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

album review: Gabe Close

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Gabe Close
Sounds for an Old Soul
(SELF-RELEASED)

For many people, the music they discover as teens stays with them throughout life, continuing to inform and reinforce their taste and musical decision-making. Though it’s hard to tell when Gabe Close grew up, the imprint of the heartland songwriters of the 1980s continually soaks the songs on the seriously titled Sounds for an Old Soul, recalling the earnest approaches of Bryan Adams or acoustic, sensitive Bon Jovi. Close seems disinterested in the evolution of singer-songwriters over the past 25 years, as songs like “Ain’t No Blues in Heaven” and “It’s Gonna Rain Tonight” merely bring to mind latter-day Henley or Seger. While Close’s instrumental skills on guitar are fine, and contributors such as vocalist Molly Greer and stringman Steve Cooley add lovely textures, this Old Soul could benefit from a less old-fashioned approach.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

album review: Dawn McCarthy & Bonnie “Prince” Billy

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Dawn McCarthy & Bonnie “Prince” Billy
What the Brothers Sang
(DRAG CITY)

Here’s title No. 161 for the BPB completist to add to his library. It’s ostensibly a collection of Everly Brothers songs, though Everly fans looking for classics like “All I Have to Do is Dream” will have to dream on, as most of the songs here are more obscure. This won’t matter to younger fans, and both Bonnie and McCarthy’s vocals are, as usual, worth the price of admission; if you can find a better duo today, I’ll burn my Dolly & Kenny records. For Bonnie fans, there’s also the factor that he has, once again, hired skilled Nashville studio hands, so if you’re like me and prefer his rag-tag groups of indie rockers who sound like they just learned the songs earlier this morning, this band may leave you feeling too dry. Essential? No. Fun? Overall, yes.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Nerves Junior: The Sequel

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Local buzz band realigns, returns for another shot

Nerves Junior’s 2011 debut album, As Bright As Your Night Light, hit a sweet spot with bloggers, bookers and fans around the country, earning the young Louisville band a spot at New York’s CMJ festival. But problems inside the band were starting to tear them apart, and within a year, half the band was gone.

Then-drummer Zack O’Renick says, “We weren’t making the best decisions” after the first album was finished, when the band was still getting to know each other, “and (since-departed members Stuart Phelps and Cory Wayne) weren’t able to start making better decisions … The decisions (guitarist) Chris (Snow) and I made allowed us to continue playing music, and to be reliable to each other.”

“Whatever specific thing you’re doing outside of the band doesn’t matter,” Snow says, “as long as you’re focused on band stuff. And the focus went away — not showing up for band practice, not calling your friends to tell them you won’t be at band practice …”

In 2012, O’Renick and Snow faced some tough choices: whether to keep the band going, keep the same name or start over, and whether they could find new members who might share their passion. It was a lot to consider, especially as Nerves Junior was already booked for some festival dates, which were coming up soon.

Now in early 2013, Nerves Junior has “reorganized,” as they call it, with new members Brey McCoy (drums) and Brennon Staples (bass), both friends of O’Renick’s since high school. They have a new three-song EP, Craters. The songs came from a period the founding pair spent writing in the month leading up to their date at the Forecastle Festival last July. They worked on the songs all night, every day, after work, to have enough new material for a half-hour set.

“We wanted to record with (engineer) Kevin (Ratterman) again,” Snow says, “but we didn’t have a huge budget like we did for the first record.”

“We didn’t really want a huge budget,” interjects O’Renick, who has moved from drums to vocals.

“Yeah, that’s more money that’s on your shoulders in the first place,” Snow continues. Because it had been a while since the band had released any new music, and they were still adjusting to writing with the new members, they decided to release a smaller EP to put their name back out there, something focused and efficient.

O’Renick says, “(The songs were) three things that were fairly relevant to us, and we just took a swing at it. They’re all about the idea of overcoming something, being in a moment of realization where you do overcome something — super-relevant to us in the last year.”

Now they’re gearing up to play at the huge SXSW festival in Austin for the first time, where they won’t have to worry about past associations.

“We’ve always been into the darker side of things (musically),” says Snow, but reflecting on the newfound momentum “just seemed appropriate at the time.” If they had worked on the same songs three months earlier, they would have come out sounding more downtrodden. But now, “It seemed what was natural was a dark melody, but with just a little twinge of ‘It’s gonna be all right.’”

Nerves Junior
with Jalin Roze, Introvert and Montego
Friday, Feb. 15
Zanzabar
2100 S. Preston St.
zanzabarlouisville.ticketfly.com
$8; 9 p.m.

Photo by Joey Flispart

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

New adults on the block

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Neighbor is a heavy band with some heavy thoughts on their mind. They celebrate the release of their first full-length album, Neighbor, with a release show at Zanzabar on Friday. LEO asked guitarist Sean Gardner about the new record, which was produced by Trip Barriger at Treehouse Audio.

LEO: Who writes what? What inspires the songwriting?

Sean Gardner: I find the term “inspiration” problematic. Writing is a matter of work, not divine revelation. In our case, the labor is collective — beginning with a small idea for a single instrument and expanding with rapport among the band.

LEO: I detect a somewhat militaristic sound at times, at least on “Hordes.” Is this intentional?

SG: “Hordes,” especially, is organized around violent sounds — scratches, alarms, explosions. The marching call-and-response that begins that song is intended to evoke something like an imminent social violence. And what we mean to express is an anxiety that underlies and spews from such a violence.

LEO: How has playing in Neighbor been different for you from playing in Bu Hao Ting or Twenty First Century Fox?

SG: There are plenty of technical and conceptual disparities between those three bands. But it’s the result of more than a dozen rather unique individuals engaged in a common, collaborative process. Neighbor may be dynamically aggressive, BHT primitive and atonal, or TFCF melodically infectious, but these qualities are results of the same procedure — sharing ideas among friends.

LEO: When someone discovers this record in 80 years, what would you want them to think about it?

SG: Nothing. We just want to incite arousal.

Listen at neighborusa.bandcamp.com.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Super fuzz

Weird Girl was never a girl. The band first popped up on the online music site Bandcamp, where, as a guitars-and-drums duo, they released a series of singles and EPs last fall, available for free downloading. The band, now a trio, is finishing work on their first full-length album, Bad Friends. They sat down with LEO for their first interview.

“We liked the idea of a two-piece, it was a lot of fun,” says singer/guitarist Ryan Hater, “but adding Brady (McAfee) as a permanent member on the bass, it was for the best, definitely.”

Hater and drummer Basil Connor Martin had played in bands together, but they call Weird Girl their first serious band. They waited a few months before playing their first show, having previously booked shows and then written songs to play on a deadline. This time, they wanted to do it right.

So they learned from doing it the hard way, eh? “We learned from doing it the stupid way,” laughs Martin.

Adding McAfee has changed their direction a bit, too, from the first seven songs heard on Bandcamp.

“They’re all songs that we’re still proud of, that we really like,” says Hater, but the band is progressing.

The full-length features 10 songs. “There’s not a whole lot in town that sounds like it,” Hater says. “I’m not sure it fits into a scene,” though they do identify as “Post-Skull Alley kids.”

“My ambition for it is that it will be a bunch of songs that will make kids want to drive around town listening to it,” Hater says. “That’s what we did in high school.”

Martin cites ’70s rock and ’80s New Wave as influences, naming The Go-Gos and The Cars. “Really poppy, easily accessible. But also, we’re a rock ’n’ roll band.”

“We don’t just want to be a grunge band, or a fuzz band, or just a pop band,” Hater adds. “We want to put it all together as much as we can.”

Listen at weirdgirl.bandcamp.com.

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c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Time traveling man

My Morning Jacket leader Jim James steps out on his own

"Music has always come to me through a friend or through a film, and I just want to receive that invitation. I follow it as far as I can through the wormhole until I receive another invitation that I want to follow more.”

James Edward Olliges Jr. was born in Louisville on April 27, 1978. By the fourth grade, he had already made some of his life’s strongest friendships, including future drummers Dave Givan and Patrick Hallahan. By his teens, Olliges was playing with friends in bands, such as Month of Sundays, Two Shotguns and Hotel Roy, forgotten to all but Louisville music scene veterans and superfans.

Along the way, he took the stage name Jim James. The new handle reflected his absurdist sense of humor, as well as the fact that many people were unable to pronounce his given name. He also liked that it sounded like the name of a gunslinger.

In the late ’90s, while an art student at the University of Kentucky, he submitted a demo of songs to a handful of record labels, including a small indie in California called Darla. When Darla’s owners heard James’ demo, sent under the name My Morning Jacket, even though it was only James at that point, Darla offered a deal. The Tennessee Fire, the first full-length album by My Morning Jacket, was released in 1999.

After an even more highly acclaimed second album with Darla, At Dawn, in 2001, the band signed to a major label, the RCA-owned ATO Records. Since then, My Morning Jacket has released four more studio albums and become one of the most popular live bands in the world, appearing on “Saturday Night Live” and becoming animated in an “American Dad!” episode inspired by and starring the band.

They’ve performed in movies, been featured on magazine covers, and become such a big music festival attraction that when they play at Tennessee’s massive Bonnaroo Festival, it’s expected that they will play at last three hours, Springsteen-style; anything less would disappoint.

My Morning Jacket closed out 2012 in the style they wrap up every year these days: three nights in New York, followed by a New Year’s Eve concert in Boston. On Jan. 2, they played a Hurricane Sandy benefit in Asbury Park, N.J. James spoke with LEO over the next two days, beginning with a phone conversation from the Newark airport and continuing later in Louisville.

The official occasion for these discussions was James’ first full-length solo album, Regions of Light and Sound of God, which will be released Feb. 5. The album often departs sonically from the guitar-based sound he’s known for with My Morning Jacket. Its source of inspiration was also surprising.

While working on My Morning Jacket’s album Evil Urges, released in 2008, a friend gave him a copy of a book called “Gods’ Man.” It would spark a creative epiphany.

Created by Lynd Ward and published in 1929, “Gods’ Man” uses woodcut images rather than words to tell the story of an artist’s struggles. Upon the book’s release, New York World newspaper wrote, “The emotional effect of this book is tremendous … It will make a novel and exciting gift for a friend who is sick to death of meaningless words.”

James, who opened My Morning Jacket’s 2005 album Z with a song called “Wordless Chorus,” says, “I was really struck by the book, and I started scoring it in the hopes that it would become a film, in some form.”

Over the next four years, what began as a hypothetical film score evolved into the songs that became Regions of Light and Sound of God. During that time, James says, “Thoughts started creeping in … that had more to do with my life than the book — although some of the lyrics have to do with the book. Probably about half-and-half.”

The songs came out in chunks, he says, but they all wanted to be together. He began composing his score on an iPad, because the screen-flipping effect made it feel more cinematic. James hadn’t planned on making a solo album, but over the years he had built a home studio. When he’d get off the road, he’d work on more songs.

Previously, before making My Morning Jacket records, James would work on demos at home “to try and figure out what I want(ed) the record to be.” But in the 2007 sessions for Evil Urges, producer Joe Chiccarelli pointed out how James’ elaborate pre-production work, what James calls “super-duper intense demos, almost like a record themselves,” was affecting his creative energy.

“I put all this shit in there like keyboards, drum machines, and made the record before we even made the record. And several times throughout the sessions, I found myself butting up against a wall, where I couldn’t beat the demo I had made.”

Now James fights the urge to make demos. “I’ll just record an idea on the voice memo on my phone so I won’t forget it, but I’ll wait until I’m with the guys to turn it into a real song. That’s what we did for (2011’s) Circuital, and it worked out a lot better. We had a lot more fun with it.”

The songs that became Regions of Light and Sound of God “started popping out,” he says, and he invited lifelong friend Givan to play drums on most of the album. Emily Hagihara added percussion, and other friends joined in on strings: frequent collaborator Ben Sollee on cello, fellow Louisvillian Scott Moore on violin and viola, and New Yorker Adriana Molello, also on violin. “Everything besides that, I played myself,” James says.

Though he worked on most of Regions of Light at home, he moved to a room in local recording engineer Kevin Ratterman’s studio for a month to finish it.

“I just got this crazy kind of déjà vu when I saw (“Gods’ Man”), when I held it,” James says. “My friend gave me one of the original pressings of it. It was all yellow and crazy looking. When I held it for the first time, it totally smacked me in the face. I felt like I had known it from back then, from whatever life I lived back then. I knew it and loved it somehow. So when I saw it again, it’s like I already knew it.”

He loved the art deco presentation of the book, as he loves many cultural artifacts from that 1920s/’30s era. “Holding an original pressing from that time in my hand … there’s just something about the pattern of it that echoes, resonates really deep in my brain.”

For James, the idea of time travel appeals to him, “… just being a huge music nerd, always looking to be turned on to something new from whenever or wherever. The world’s just such a giant place. The span of recorded-music time that we can travel to is so short in the span of how long music has been around.”

“I don’t know, I’m just fascinated with it,” he adds. “I want to learn as much as I can about … everything. I’m always searching for new things.”

Since last May, James has been co-hosting, with Givan, a weekly program that can only be heard on local public radio station 91.9 WFPK or streaming online as it airs. “Sir Microcosm,” which airs Wednesdays at 8 p.m., has a time traveling theme, as the pair bounce around from music by Hank Williams to David Bowie, Dirty Projectors to Count Basie, Harry Belafonte to Frank Ocean.

Even as kids, for James and his friends, music was everything.

“I think it started as an escape … because you can travel into these different worlds in your mind. For me, it’s always fleeting glimpses or fleeting flashes — you’ll go see a movie set in the ’20s, and you’ll catch a little piece of music that you like, and you’ll want to explore that more.”

James is very close to his family and friends back home, despite spending a lot of time on the road. “I don’t know, I guess you could take it back to the time travel thing. I like slipping into different portals and slipping down different wormholes and different worlds.”

But it’s all about finding a balance: If he’s home for too long, he gets antsy. If he doesn’t have time to create, he gets antsy. If he’s on the road too long, he wants to be home.

“The one frustrating thing about the way I live life is so much of my life is planned so far in advance,” he says. “You’re planning New Year’s Eve in the summer, and you’re planning summer on New Year’s Eve.

“By the time you get to those points in time, sometimes you’re ready for what you planned and sometimes you’re not. You have no way of knowing how you’re going to feel six months into the future when you have to commit to it now.”

Still, he’s working on plans for a tour, where his band will include Givan on drums, Ratterman on samples and percussion, and a pair he met through Sollee, pianist Dan Dorf and bassist Alana Rocklin. “So I’ve got a band formed. We haven’t played yet, but we’re gonna do that soon and see if we can figure out how to … get it all figured out.”

He confirms Louisville as a destination on the tour. “Oh, yeah. We’ll definitely play a show here.” On Monday, James announced details of the show, which will be April 17 at the Brown Theatre. Tickets go on sale Feb. 1 for $31, with $1 of each ticket sold going to the cancer research and treatment hospital City of Hope.

Though a crucial element, the story of “Gods’ Man” did not inspire all of Regions of Light and Sound of God. The opener, “State of the Art (A.E.I.O.U.),” came from James’ conflicted feelings about technology. “I love technology, and I love working in technology. If you’re in music nowadays, most of the innovation that happens is inside the computer,” he says. “If you’re not using the computer, you’re not on the cutting edge of what is happening.”

At the same time, he sees “a really cool thing happening right now in the world.” One of his sisters has an organic farm, where her family grows their own food. Another is a midwife, helping women deliver children in their own homes. James thinks such a movement has come up as a response to technology; he fears a future in which even a business like Kroger can’t maintain a physical presence, “because you can print out your groceries from your computer.”

The computers are going to gobble up the world, he says. “That’s kind of the moral of the song — have siblings who can grow food so you can live after the end of the world,” he laughs.

The second song, “Know Til Now,” was the first song released online to get fans excited about the album. James wrote it “musically, thematically, to be the sound of progress in ‘Gods’ Man.’ The sound of The Artist making his way into the city, advancing up the ranks, climbing up the ladder.”

“The song is mostly one-half of that, then there’s an ending that’s completely different … The Artist is at the reception for his show that’s super-successful. High society is there, toasting him and cheering him.”

On a more personal level, it’s also about how we all do things that make sense at the time, but “… you look back on it now, it’s the stupidest thing you ever did. But back then, you didn’t know any better.”

It’s a theme that also ties into one of the last songs on the album, “All Is Forgiven,” a topic that’s been weighing on James. About the song, he says, “Lyrically, at least from the way I looked at it, it was just … that everything can be forgiven.

“That’s something I think about a lot, for any time I’ve hurt somebody, or done something that I shouldn’t have done … I think, if you hurt a person, you pray for forgiveness and hope that the world, or that person, can find a way to forgive you.”

He has a “pretty clear” conscience, “But I’ve hurt a lot of people I didn’t even know I was hurting, and I feel like that’s what happened to The Artist in the end of the book. He didn’t even know what he was getting into until it was too late. So he’s hoping for that forgiveness.”

His most colorful description of a passage from the book comes when relaying his inspiration for the song “Actress.”

“She becomes his muse — there’s this really amazing scene where he’s painting her portrait, she’s nude, and he looks closer and sees a dollar bill tattooed on her shoulder and realizes she’s a whore who’s just been conning him the whole time,” James laughs. “He realizes he’s been duped and he’s running all over the city, trying to seek refuge … fucking crazy, you’ve got to look at this book.

“He runs to the church to seek refuge there, but the priest is fucking the girl; he runs to the park, and the girl’s fucking the cop. Everywhere he goes, he sees this girl’s face on every girl, everywhere, in all these places where you’re supposed to seek help. So that was meant to go with that. It isn’t personally written about anyone that I know.”

Though lauded for his guitar playing, James downplays the instrument on his solo record, focusing more on sensual keyboards and strings, reflections of his love for 1970s soul and funk music. It isn’t until the third song, “Dear One,” that a guitar is featured viscerally.

“I get to play guitar so much in My Morning Jacket, I really didn’t feel a need to play it as much in this,” James says. “I mean, there is guitar on the record, but not in the normal way. I wanted it to be more subliminal. Or, like in ‘Dear One,’ I wanted it to be hyper-realized, like a computer was beating the guitar.”

For James, the occasion to write a “computer beating a guitar” song came from a love story. It was written for a passage in the book when The Artist has fallen off a cliff and landed in a field. A woman finds him, and they fall in love.

“There’s a beautiful scene in this big field at night, stars are shining, it’s just a beautiful point in the book,” he says. “‘Dear One’ was written to be the music for those scenes, where they’re falling in love, and it was written from my point of view. We’re all trying to fall in love, and … just how important that is, that feeling is.”

The next song, “A New Life,” reflects the consummation of that love. The Artist and the woman have a child and are now a family, running through the fields together. It’s the happiest point in the book. About those lyrics, James says, “Everything is echoing from my life, too, things that were going on back then — but I didn’t have a child.”

In his mind, James has a map of his intended score for the book. For the purposes of his album, however, it’s not a literal retelling of the story from beginning to end. “I looked at this record in two ways. I wanted this record to be itself and be in an order I wanted it to be, independent of ‘Gods’ Man.’ And if ‘Gods’ Man’ does ever get turned into a film, then there’ll be a soundtrack that goes with that. Maybe some of these songs will be on it.”

But past experience in the film world has made James cautious about that process. “I’ve worked on two different film scores now that I got fired from,” he says with a laugh, “(because) they were too weird. The movies, I always end up being incredibly frustrated that I can’t control (them).”

He collaborated on two scores with composer Brian Reitzell, who has worked frequently with director Sofia Coppola. The first was for “The Beaver,” the what-were-they-thinking movie by Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster about a man who communicates with a hand puppet. After scoring the entire film, the pair was replaced.

“It was ‘too weird,’ and they realized the film was gonna tank,” James says now, still bruised by the experience. “I’m really glad it happened, because the film is horrible. They just needed more blatantly obvious music. It’s the kind of thing, too, where it’s like a break-up — maybe they just hated the music we wrote and it’s horrible. But I think it’s awesome. Me and Brian really believe in it, and someday we’ll do something with it.”

The other movie was an indie called “Goats,” which, according to James, also turned out horrible. “And I say that because I have a right to say that, because I feel like both of those could have turned out good. I feel like they were both cases of directors letting Hollywood tell them what to do with their art and fucking themselves. If they would have listened to themselves and listened to their conscience and listened to their gut, they could’ve made a really great film.”

It’s another preoccupation for James — instinct. “I really believe in intuition and in your gut. We all have this force inside of us that, if we just listen to it, it would always set us on the right path. But a lot of times we don’t listen to it … I think that’s the biggest gift we were given.”

Despite the setbacks, James values his experience in the film world, which also includes two attempts to work with The Muppets. It felt natural, but losing control was frustrating. “I think everybody needs to have control over their art. That’s the problem when art and commerce start to mix. If you don’t spell things out pretty clearly, you can quickly lose control.”

Over the years, James has counted on the support of family, friends and fans, but he’s still a work in progress. “I may be confident musically, but I’m definitely not confident in other areas, that’s for sure.” Musically, he has the self-assurance to command thousands of people in a crowd at once and ignore the many opinions directed at his stage persona.

“Performing is such a weird thing. It’s almost like you have to put a different brain in your head, because it’s just so different than how I live in a day-to-day way. It’s a whole different world,” he says. “You have to be open to putting yourself out there, both in being criticized and being enjoyed.”

The moral of his story, according to James, is that “it doesn’t fucking matter.” He tells this to anyone who wants to make a record but is scared, or to bands 10 years in who are afraid to try something new. You’re always going to get the same response: Some will praise you, others will damn you.

“It’s kind of freeing, in a way. It’s like this great equalizer.”

And even when you know it’s completely out of your control, he says, “It all still fucks with you.”

“I try to not read press, but people email me shit. It still hurts when people say it sucks, and it fucks with your ego when people say it’s great. But you hear so much of both, you have to just be happy with what you’re doing. That’s where I find solace — at the end of the day, I’m in love with what I’m doing, and I’m having a really great time doing it.”

Photo by Frankie Steele

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c. 2013 LEO Weekly