Just A Little Patience, Yeah….Yeah

Chuck Klosterman reviews the upcoming Guns ‘N’ Roses album. Of particular note are the shots Axl takes at Velvet Revolver and the indication from Klosterman that we’re in for another sprawling epic – and I don’t think that’s a good sign.

Guns ‘N’ Roses are, simply put, an enigma. Other than, say, a five-year period from ’87 to ’92, they haven’t really existed, which makes it all the more impressive that they’ve somehow managed to stay in the public eye and somewhat relevant all these years. Other than going to the Tom Sholtz School of Ridiculous Perfectionists, how does a band stay relevant by not relasing a new studio album for nearly 15 years?! I don’t know. I do now this: there can be little dispute that their rookie album is one of mainstream rock’s all time greatest works. Bits of it sound dated today, but most of it is still awfully strong and has passed the test of time with flying colors.

There is much dispute about the stregth of the Use Your Illusion albums, however. There is, undoubtedly, plenty of dreck there. On the other hand, some of those songs are incredibly good, particularly the less-heard “Dust N Bones” and “14 Years,” penned and sung by Izzy Stradlin’, who remains to this day the most underrated performer in a very popular rock band – ever, perhaps. He’s the Michael Young of rock. As soon as Izzy left the band, I felt like everything truly fell apart and we’e never really had the chance to hear anything from Guns since. So I’m quite anxious to hear Chinese Democracy.

Anxiety. Curiousity. That’s what will help the record sell so well. And it will.

Oh, if you’re a fan of Spoon, check out Fort Miley’s great write-up of the Britt Daniel solo show out in San Francisco.

The Jeff De Triomphe


The Arc De Triomphe
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

Until last week, I had never been outside of North America – just the U.S. and Canada, in fact. Although my travel experience has been what I consider fairly extensive, it’s largely been limited to business travel with the occasional family trip when I was younger, mostly to driveable locations. There is the one glaring exception, that being the drive around the perimeter of the United States with a college friend in 1995, which was glorious fun and certainly educational enough to the point where I often find myself believing that it ought to be considered a requirement by law for anyone in their 20s to make the trip and perhaps again in retirement for purposes of comparison.

So the prospect of finally being able to flee the continent in my 34th year was both one of extreme anticipation and also a touch of apprehension. Would I hate the food? Or the people? Would they hate me? I imagined, or actually refused to imagine, what a rude French waiter who hated Americans might do to our food. Or maybe I’d be one of those people who came back pounding my chest and claiming the U.S. was the greatest country in the world? I hoped not, but the thought itself of international travel weighed heavy in the days leading up. You just never know. The anticipation was clearly the dominant emotion, though – I was totally psyched.

The trip was split up into 3 legs, really: three days on the south coast of England in Brighton (visiting some friends), three days in Paris and three days in London.

In today’s post, I’ll focus on the three days we spent in Paris. Oh, how I wish it were 30 days, because Paris is probably the best city I’ve ever visited. It’s sheer beauty and stunning old-world architecture probably would have been enough to claim that status in my book, but it was so much more than that. There is simply a different air there, a vibe that I’ve not experienced anywhere else.

Being a history buff (amatuer at best, btw), it was overwhelming to see things like the Arc De Triomphe in person. To take a cursory look at the monument is one thing – it certainly is unique and quite beautiful in and of itself, but to picture the significance of what’s happened there is really the treat.

Originally conceived as a tribute to one of Napoleon’s largest victories and, when finished after his death, celebrated for something else entirely, the Arc represents many watershed moments not just in French history, but in world history. You can almost picture the Germans rhythmic march down the Champs-Elysees after the occupation of France in 1940 and the subsequent flying the Swaztika flag at the Arc, certainly one of France’s darkest moments and marked brilliantly by this award-winning photograph. You just can’t write it off as a nicely- carved cinder block structure. The significance is just so….heavy.

That’s just one of Paris’s landmarks, of course. The most obvious one is the one that I never thought would take my breath away the way it did. Steph and I were told to get off at the Trocedero stop on the Paris Metro, then snatch a view of the Eiffel Tower from one of the higher points. It was, in a word, stunning. We turned the corner in near-perfect twilight after getting off the Metro and there we were, face-to-face with one of the most iconic structures in the world – and it caught me off guard. I didn’t think I’d be so….overwhelmed. It was just so completely stunning that we stood there for a few minutes like it wasn’t even real. I think the picture we took (click that link) captures that. Our look is one of triumph in that we had conquered a famous spot in the world and…..one of humbleness, I suppose.

I could go on and on – being inside the famous Notre Dame cathedral, built one thousand years ago, was an exercise in the realization that our lives are just a small part of such a larger world. The beautiful Seine River has seen it all.

Seeing the Mona Lisa and the Venus De Milo at the hopelessly large Louvre was great. They say it would take the equivilent of seven full days to walk the entire Louvre, but it’s little sister, the Musee D’Orsay was smaller and equally enthralling, as it has the definitive collection of impressionist paintings by the likes of Van Gogh, Renoir and many others. I’m not a huge fan of art persay, but when you’re standing there staring at history like this, well, it’s hard not to become more of an art fan when you’re in one of the cultural capitals of the world.

Speaking of culture, the warning from many people was that the French were rude. We did not experience this. We had one waiter who was clearly non-plussed by our presence, but certainly not rude by any stretch. All others were friendly and quite accomodating. The language barrier was evident, but manageable, as most Parisans seem to know some English (the whole thing made me feel slighly ignorant for only knowing one language) The food? Awesome. Each morning, as if it were required by law, we’d hit the corner bakery and get fresh croissants to start the day. The best I’ve ever had. The crepes? Delicious, both the sweet and the savory. I’m on the lookout for a good crepe cookbook.

The neighborhoods we walked through were completely charming and gorgeous. If you’re ever there, make sure you take a stroll down the Ille St. Louie, a narrow little strip of old school cheese shops, boutiques and pastry joints located behind the Notre Dame that drops you back into the 1930s. I couldn’t get enough of this place. Given a good opportunity, I’d live in Paris.

Funny story to sum up – I did mention the language barrier and I should pass on a rather amusing story of my own ignorance. While strolling through BHV, a ridiculously large department store, I decided to take a seat for a few minutes while Steph shopped. I’m still not entirely sure why, but no less than five people approached me, presumably to ask me questions about something in the store, I of course didn’t have a prayer of understanding a word of what they were asking me. Despite by coat being on and a few shopping bags at my feet, they apparantly thought I worked there. My response to all of them: “no parlez vous francias,” which I believed to mean “I don’t speak French.” Steph later informed me that I was actually saying to them “you don’t speak French.” So they were asking me a question about something in the store and I was telling them they don’t speak French! Classic.

Update: upon looking this up on the AltaVista translator, “no parlez vous francias” is translated to “No speak French.” I’m not really sure if it’s correct as I’ve seen some suspicious translations on AltaVista before. I’d like to think I was telling them they don’t speak French, if only for the pure comedy of it.

Item Five: The Man Comes Back


Jay Farrar, Circa 1997
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

One would guess that I would return here to The Robot after ten days vacation with some long, overly verbose attempt to be profound about my first trip ever overseas (London & Paris) but it’s not happening on this day. Oh, don’t worry though, it will come in the next few days.

It’s safe to say that my virgin voyage to Europe was a superb and eye-opening trip, wrought with beauty and wide-eyed amazement at what a large, diverse world we live in and, in returning, how little I was tuned into what was going on in the U.S. I was, for example, very excited to hear the Red Sox had acquired Wily Mo Pena and only had to give up Bronson Arroyo! It’s no wonder the Reds can’t find ways to win. There I was, thinking it was because of the financial contraints of a small market baseball team. Turns out it may be bad management! Look for Arroyo’s ERA to double in that pinball machine in Cincinnati. Anyway…

For now, it’s Item Five time. When I managed to snag an interview with Jay Farrar back in 2004, I was fairly astounded that I’d even managed to land an interview with the guy and even more astounded (and pleased) that the answers I’d gotten back were well thought-out, compelling and dispelled many theories of what Farrar was like.

Various comments that came back to me on the interview, sourced from private emails, blog comments and descriptions/links from other blogs, all supported my opinion that it was one of the best interviews published with him at the time. I was so proud to have authored it. Since that time, a few other interviews have surfaced with Farrar that I thought to be equal or superior, particularly a feature in Harp Magazine when the fourth Son Volt album was released last year.

When I started doing Item Five, I had made a private vow to not interview anyone twice. As I’ve mentioned here on many occasions, though, this is my blog. It’s the one place on Earth where I unequivically make the rules. Today, I break my private vow and give you another slice of Jay Farrar.

At the time of the last interview, Son Volt had been disbanded for a few years and Farrar had released a couple of solo works, largely acoustic and a tad experimental. Only weeks after I had published my interview here, the Farrar camp announced a new Son Volt lineup and album, flush with more pointed, topical songwriting and arguably even louder than the previous incarnations. The tour in support of “Okemah…and the Melody of Riot” stopped here in Boston in October last year (my comments/review here) and show was an aural assault unlike any Farrar show I’d seen before: powerful and awesome – and that’s saying a lot for a performer who’s previous live shows with Uncle Tupelo and earlier versions of Son Volt were showstoppers.

From these eyes, Farrar certainly appears pointed in the direction of Neil Young, taking on the two-headed persona of sometimes-gentle, sometimes……not. So there you have it – I reached out a few weeks ago and I guess Mr. Farrar enjoyed doing the first interview enough because when I got back from my vacation yesterday, it was great to see the responses sitting in my email. Without any further ado, Jay Farrar, Part Deax:

1. Welcome back to the asylum! Have you missed me?

Yes, the world feels like an asylum at times. Were you the guy wearing the William Shatner T-shirt? [Jeff answers: certainly not]

2. In our last interview in the autumn of 2004, I asked if you might be picking up the electric guitar again soon. Clearly, you did. I think it’s obvious that my line of questioning inspired you to record and release another Son Volt album. Right? Right?

I was ready to do another SV recording. You may deserve some of the credit or blame depending on who you talk to.

3. During Son Volt’s visit to Boston back in October, the band had just finished a song and there was that usual period of five seconds of relative quiet after the applause died down and before the next song commenced. During one of those quiet periods, someone in the crowd yelled “Jay Farrar is god!!” Two questions: did his statement have any factual merit? More seriously, what honestly goes through your mind
when you hear stuff like that?

Initially I usually think about the drug and drink intake of the person shouting out and how much it appears they are having a good time. It’s all part of the roles everyone implicitly agrees to going in to it. Sometimes they build you up, sometimes they tear you down.

4. To that end, can you recall the most ridiculous thing someone has shouted out at one of your shows?

Probably the same as everyone else — the guy carrying a six pack of beer in cans shouting “Freebird!” It’s amazing that that uncertain tradition goes back to someone shouting that at the The Band’s Last Waltz concert.

5. “Okemah…” appears to showcase a much more, oh, “muscular” sound for the band. Was it a conscious move to do a more muscular live show, also?

I guess looking back the first couple of Son Volt records felt a bit schizophrenic jumping back and forth between electric and acoustic. I’m glad this record wound up mostly electric and uptempo.

6. Is there any way to describe how you feel when you perform a song and the crowd is audibly singing every single word with you?

Since reactions can be different from night to night it can be a little surprising when people sing along. Ultimately it’s gratifying but there is always a brief “deer in the headlights” moment of realization because it changes the dynamic(for the better).

7. I’ve been hearing rumblings recently about you and the great Anders Parker recording an album together. Can you please comment definitively on this? You realize that if this happens, my world will be thrown into a beautiful tailspin that I may never recover from. Parker is one of music’s (sadly) unrecognized and absolute geniuses.

We did a record comprised of traditional songs that in some cases we reworked lyrics and arrangements. We also did a little bit of free form improvisational instrumental stuff. It’s supposed to come out in the fall.

8. Would you ever try luge or ski-jumping? I don’t think I could.

Hockey is enough of a blood sport for me. Those that you mention seem more like death sports.

9. I asked that guy from My Morning Jacket this question and he took me to task: my contention is that Sgt. Peppers is an overrated album. I certainly acknowledge its impact on the process and practices of making “an album,” but I still can easily think of at least 7 Beatles albums I’d rather have and I just don’t think some of those songs are what they’re cracked up to be. Thoughts?

Personally I could be happy to never hear “With a Little Help From My Friends” or “When I’m Sixty Four.” If they had included “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Penny Lane” (maybe they were included in the UK) I think it would have been as great as everyone said it was. I always felt like some of the recordings before and after Sgt. Peppers were more visionary and successfully experimental (Tomorrow Never Knows and I Am the Walrus).

10. Do you get involved in, keep track or even care about how your records sell? Do you read reviews? How involved do you typically get on “the other side” of the business?

The dichotomy of art and commerce in music is omnipresent. You have to stay aware to some degree to keep the ship afloat.

11. Did you ever get the chance to see “Arrested Development?”

Nope.

12. Based on some of the lyrics on “Okemah..,” do you think you might be on the short list to, uh, go hunting with the vice-president? (that was too easy)

Definitely gonna pass when he asks.

13. You appear to be the elder statesman in the touring band right now – does that provide for any moments when you shake your head and wonder “was I like that?” Are there “den mother” moments?

Everyone had done a lot of touring before making the Okemah record. Being acclimated to the road experience seems more important than age.

14. Thanks. Do this again in another year-and-a-half?

See you in a year and a half.

Big thanks to Jay Farrar! Quick note on the Anders Parker/Jay Farrar collaboration: a seperate email upon my return came in, and I clipped this from the latest Son Volt newslatter:

“In September, Transmit Sound/Legacy will release Gob Iron, a collaboration between Jay Farrar and Anders Parker. This collection features traditional songs which Jay and Anders re-worked by adding and re-writing lyrics as well as the music. More info to come.”

Sweet!

Oh, No…..

I couldn’t agree more with Bob Lefsetz’s rant about the abomination that is The New Cars. What’s happened is this: one of my favorite Boston bands ever, The Cars, have reunited, but there’s only two original members and they are not named Ric Ocasek (he just won’t do it) or Ben Orr (he’s unavailable right now because he’s, um, dead). If Ben were still alive and was witness to this, he’d certainly die all over again. They’re now toting Todd Rundgren along as their lead singer and as much as I love the 1970’s Rundgren, I don’t love him fronting The Cars. At all. He’s way too much of a genius to do this. Or maybe he is a genius because he’s making a wheelbarrow of money for doing it.

All that said, seeing them perform “Let The Good Times Roll” last night on Jay Leno hurt me in a bad place. I need to go listen to “Slut,” “Black Maria,” “Piss Aaron,” and “Wolfman Jack” on repeat (all from the near perfect Something/Anything) before Rundgren’s name gets all sullied in my book. I’d rather leave the country than see the New Cars on television again. In fact, that’s just what I’ll do. I’m leaving the country. Tomorrow.

Hey….You’re That Guy


Me: Circa 1997
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

Yesterday I was reading through my friend Leo’s rather serendipitous story about the days leading up to the launch of Tar Hut Records. Those were such interesting times. Meeting Dave for the first time was like meeting a long, lost brother. This fact was cemented a year or two later when, during a late night conversation at his house in the Chicago suburbs one night, Dave’s wife Georgia told me that it was a little frightening to her how similar we were in so many ways. She meant that in a good way. I hope.

Leo’s reference to Dave’s hair also made me laugh. It is, indeed, a bit Elvis-like and very much remains so today. Anyway, thinking back about old stories, it reminded me of a night when I was mistaken for an indie-rock hero.

I was leaning against a post of a nightclub in Providence during a set break (Blue Mountain had just finished and Son Volt was coming up), most likely filling up with Rolling Rock, when this guy approached me and asked what I thought of the Blue Mountain set, blah blah blah. He then asked me if I was Lou Barlow (relatively well known musician and member of Dinosaur Jr and Sebadoh).

I let the guy know that I was not Lou Barlow and then he told me I was and that he understood if I didn’t want to be recognized or whatever. I swore to him that I was not Lou Barlow and offered to show him my licence. He declined, but walked away, disappointed. Funny.