Showing posts with label neil young. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neil young. Show all posts

Stevie Jackson

Stevie Jackson: Being Himself Completely
Belle & Sebastian Guitarist on Going Solo, Getting Older and Glasgow Pride
By Andrew Clayman

Published in The The Big Takeover, May 2012



Stevie Jackson is well aware of the stigma tied to the inevitable solo efforts of successful British guitarists. But for the longtime Belle & Sebastian riffmaker, a little Glaswegian modesty goes a long way. Having already penned and performed his fair share of B&S classics ("Seymour Stein" and "Jonathan David" among them) Jackson, 43, is hardly stepping outside his element on his ingeniously titled and instantly enjoyable solo debut, (I Can’t Get No) Stevie Jackson. Nor is he remotely interested in following in the footsteps of former bandmates Stuart David and Isobel Campbell, who jumped the indie-pop ship to pursue completely new avenues. With his career ambitions more than satisfied within the confines of one of Scotland’s all-time great bands, “Stevie Reverb” is simply doing what good musicians do when their band is on a brief hiatus. They keep making music.

In anticipation of his album’s official international release on July 3, Jackson chatted with The Big Takeover about going solo, getting older, and Glasgow pride—not to mention a healthy tangent about his reputation as indie-pop’s pre-eminent loser in love.

ANDREW CLAYMAN: It seems like (I Can’t Get No) Stevie Jackson has been on your website and floating around the UK for about a year now, but it’s only now coming out in U.S. stores (July 3). Why the long delay for the American release?

STEVIE JACKSON: Well it wasn’t even actually properly released in the UK, either, in the sense that initially you could only get it online, you know what I mean? It was really just available through the website, so this is the first time it’s going to be available in stores in Britain and the U.S. and pretty much everywhere else.

As for why it took so long, that’s a good question [laughs]. I think once it actually got mastered, we decided to just throw it up online as a kind of experiment to bypass the whole normal process-- just to see what would happen. So it was an experimental business plan. And in the end, it was okay. It didn’t quite work—if I did it again I probably would have just waited and had it distributed properly. But hey, what’s done is done.

AC: Were you tempted at all to tinker with the album in the year in-between, or is this the same version that was downloadable last year?

SJ: No, no, it’s the same [laughs]. It’s kind of strange, because it’s great that it’s coming out, of course. But for me, it’s kind of old news, you know? I’ve moved on to thinking about other things. So yeah, it’s done! It’s a finished product, for sure.

AC: It seems like there’s been chatter about you possibly putting out a solo record for the better part of a decade. What finally brought it together for you, and how long have some of these songs been gestating?

SJ: Well, it’s interesting because I hadn’t really thought about doing it that much, myself. It was definitely something other people would talk about more than me. I think that-- with Belle & Sebastian-- I just kind of devoted myself to that, you know? I don’t know what it is about me, but I just didn’t have a huge desire to strike out on my own. I guess I just like being in a group or something like that. But yeah, we had an album out back in 2006 called The Life Pursuit, and we toured that. And at the end of that stretch, we’d been going for about ten years as a band, so it was kind of time for the obligatory hiatus to try out some other things. So I found myself with time on my hands, and eventually got involved in working on various art projects, putting on some shows and events, and just writing songs with my friends [Jackson played gigs with the Vaselines and the 1900s, among others]. You know, just having fun, basically. So I was sort of doing that through 2007 and 2008, and over time that activity started to generate quite a few new songs. So it came down to me saying, ‘Well, I’ve got these songs. I may as well attempt to record them.’

AC: And then the Belle & Sebastian hiatus ended.

SJ: Right, exactly. By 2009, the record was nearly finished, but I sort of missed my window because the band started working again (on the Write About Love album). So I only just came back to it again last year really—recording a few more songs and putting the finishing touches on. So yeah, getting back to your original question, most of these songs are at least relatively new. The only kind of older one is called “Telephone Song,” and it’s probably from the ‘90s.

AC: Since you have a reputation as a pop historian… once you decided to release the record, how much thought did you put into the sort of ancient rock n’ roll custom of guitarists from great bands venturing out on their own? Were there examples of solo albums by guitarists that you particularly enjoyed?

SJ: Well usually—historically speaking—taking that route is a pretty bad idea [laughs]. I mean, there’ve been a few good ones. But yeah, actually, when I put the album on the site last year, there was one review in a Glasgow paper where they said it was the best solo album by a guitarist since Mick Ronson’s Slaughter on 10th Avenue (1974). So that was obviously my favorite review. You know, me and Mick Ronson. Yeah!

AC: Well I was definitely glad to hear you were putting out your own record. Because even going back to the early Belle & Sebastian albums—before I knew anybody’s name in the band—I seemed to gravitate toward tracks like “Seymour Stein” and “The Wrong Girl” and “Jonathan David.” And it was only later that I realized, hmm, I must be a Stevie Jackson fan.

SJ: Ha, well thank you. I like those ones, too [audible sarcastic smirk].

AC: So as far as these newer songs are concerned, I wanted to ask about one of the catchiest, in my opinion—albeit also one of the silliest: “Man of God.” What’s the story behind that track and have you ever actually tried to woo a woman with Donny Hathaway records, as the speaker in the song does?


SJ: Oh sure [laughs]. Well… maybe not. It’s a little more tongue in cheek, I suppose. But yeah, that song was really just about sitting down at the piano and having a laugh—which I quite like. But it’s funny, when you write something down and record it, it starts to feel like it was real. So in my head, I probably do feel like I have wooed a girl with a Donny Hathaway record. But actually, in the course of singing that song, I’m doing the wooing myself, if you know what I mean. So it’s working on a slightly different level.

AC: Kind of as a contrast to the playfulness of that song, then, you’ve got “Pure of Heart,” which touches on some of the same themes as one of your Belle & Sebastian tracks, “I Took a Long Hard Look”—basically re-assessing what’s important in your life versus some of the pipe dreams of youth. Is that a fair description?

SJ: Yeah, totally. Generally speaking, I have never really been into confessional songwriting so much. I just don’t feel the need to tell people about my life. It’s just not that interesting. You know, the spirit of rock n’ roll is more about using your imagination and actually creating things. And Stuart [Murdoch of Belle & Sebastian] is obviously really good at that—not to say that he just makes stuff up out of the blue—but there’s definitely the element of imagination there. So I kind of like that. But yeah, “Pure of Heart” is unusual for me because it actually is quite straightforward. I suppose it’s kind of like that Neil Young song where it goes, “when you were young and on your own, how did it feel to be alone?” [“Only Love Can Break Your Heart”]. It has that kind of feeling for me. Because when you’re young and on your own, you tend to have maybe a more romantic view of the world—it’s a very real and powerful feeling of how things can be. And as you get older it’s easier to lose sense of that. Of course, you want to get it back! The problem is, if I want to go back, that means I’ve already moved past it. So it’s like a question that provides its own answer. That’s kind of what that song is about.

AC: Do you find that you’re getting more nostalgic with time, or is it getting a bit easier to leave things to the past?

SJ: Well I try not to be too nostalgic. I never really long for the past whatsoever, honestly. I don’t get nostalgic for the early days of the band or anything like that. Sometimes you can get nostalgic for a period of your life when you could drink a lot and not have a hangover. You know, like when I was 24 or something and could do whatever I want. So, I suppose physically I miss things, because I’m getting older and deteriorating and all. But overall, I’d say I don’t look back too much. I don’t mind getting older. I quite like it. It’s interesting.

Although there is the whole idea of running out of time, and if you don’t have a family—which I don’t—that kind of troubles me a bit. …Hmm, it sounds like I stumbled into something really personal there [laughs]. But yeah, with each passing year, your history gets longer. I just might have a history of trauma.

AC: Well, kind of along those lines, it does seem like a lot of your songs with Belle & Sebastian and on this record paint you as this sort of hopeless romantic character, who’s always the odd man out or the hard luck underdog. A lot of Belle & Sebastian fans, for example, probably still think of you as the poor guy from “The Wrong Girl” video.

SJ: Right, yeah.

AC: So do you still feel a kinship with that version of Stevie Jackson or does it feel more like a caricature now?

SJ: Ha, well… I’d say he’s probably gone now. I’m not sure it was a caricature, though, so much as just a West of Scotland trait—a working class trait. Something about that culture; it’s just naturally self-deprecating, you know what I mean? I’m never going to cast myself in a video as a stud [laughs]—someone who's incredibly successful. It should probably be said that it was basically by accident that in the videos for “The Wrong Girl” and “Jonathan David” I wound up playing the exact same character—the loser in love who couldn’t get the girl.

AC: That seems like part of what resonated strongly with people, too, though-- the pop singer who's a regular bloke, dealing with unrequited love. There's an appeal to that.

SJ: Ha, well sure. And thank you. I mean, that’s a very human thing. I certainly feel that way, as well, listening to a lot of music. Those are the kind of things you reach for a lot of the time. But overall, no, I don’t really think of myself as a loser in love, necessarily. But there is a lot of truth in the character. I mean, “The Wrong Girl” video was fairly literal. I actually went to the real places and shot the footage there—where I grew up and went to school. If you recall, there’s a bit where I go and buy a Dylan jacket at a store called Flip, and that was absolutely, completely accurate [laughs]. So it’s kind of funny. But it was also quite easy. I mean, the information is there, so it’s quite easy to draw upon it.


AC: Since you mentioned it, I definitely wanted to ask you about Glasgow. For me personally, I’ve always had a sort of romanticized concept of the place, just from listening to all the great bands from there.

SJ: Sure, yeah.

AC: But whenever I’ve interviewed Glaswegian artists, we always seem to wind up talking about this sort of melancholy, underdog mentality that comes from being from that city. What is it about Glasgow that creates that, and how do you think it’s affected your songwriting?

SJ: Well, like I said, it’s just part of our DNA. You know, if you have a romanticized view of Glasgow; if you came here, I don’t think you’d be disappointed. It’s a very magical place. It’s a beautiful place. It’s funny. I was having this conversation with someone the other day about identity, and they were asking whether I feel Scottish or British or European, etc. And I can feel differently about those from one day to the next. But the one thing where I do have a really strong sense of regional identity or sense of self is as a Glaswegian. I just have this very intense love of the place. And you know, I can’t say for sure where the Glasgow mindset comes from, except that—psychologically—it’s a working class area, and music has always been an escape here. It’s something that people really get into.

As far as Glasgow music goes, though—obviously there is a sort of great pop tradition here. But having said that, a lot of our contemporaries-- bands Belle & Sebastian came up with—were groups like Mogwai and Arab Strap, who were nothing like us at all, aside from some core sensibilities, certainly. So, it’s quite diverse, as well.

AC: What locales would you recommend to people visiting the city-- what best captures the Stevie Jackson Glasgow experience?

SJ: Ha, well I’d just suggest wandering around—the cathedral and the graveyards. There’s beautiful scenery for getting lost in. And go to gigs, of course. You know, it’s not like we have the most amazing tourist attractions. It’s just the whole thing really—the cafes, the buses, the bars, the streets, the river. It’s a very beautiful place.

AC: I know a lot of Belle & Sebastian fans also like to visit the clubs you guys first played or certain locations from your videos, etc.

SJ: Yeah.

AC: Do you ever get used to something like that-- the idea that people might have the kind of fandom and passion for your music that you may have had as a kid listening to the Stones or the Beatles?

SJ: Well, I just hope it doesn’t go away, because I love it. I mean, it’s totally fantastic. And it’s actually nice of you to say that now, because I was maybe more conscious of it a few years ago. I think I don’t really think about it too much anymore, just because I’ve been in the group so long. It’s to the point where I can barely remember not being in the group, you know? It’s been like 16 years or whatever. Maybe more. So I remember at the start, when people were taking Belle & Sebastian tours—checking out locations and such—I got quite a kick out of that. But I’m not really conscious of it anymore. We just get on with life. Although I was in a bar recently and someone asked me for a photograph. That hadn’t happened in a while [laughs]. But for the most part, it’s like everyone is in a band, you know? People aren’t that impressed by it.


AC: Well the Belle & Sebastian fandom does seem kind of different from a lot of bands, because it’s less about the celebrity aspect of things. A lot of the band’s mystique kind of grew around how you guys maintained a low profile in those early days, and there was an appeal to that mystery.

SJ: Right.

AC: Do you think it’d be possible for a new band to follow that sort of path in 2012, with the way social media and constant communication are basically integral to getting noticed these days? Or were you sort of the last of that breed of band?

SJ: I really don’t know. Because it is a completely different world now. We were really lucky at the time, actually, because we were starting out at a time when the internet was really just beginning to pick up steam. We were riding the first crest of that wave, in a way, where we were one of the first bands, I think, that was able to kind of bypass the older channels to becoming well known— like getting written up in NME or Melody Maker; things like that. There was a kind of a sense that people got into us and it spread like wildfire through the internet. And nowadays, that’s pretty much become the norm. It seems like it’s all you’ve got. But there’s just so much information out there. I don’t really know how to deal with it, and I think a lot of people don’t. I think the music industry is obviously still trying to work out where it’s at, especially since younger kids don’t buy records anymore. They’re streaming it or downloading it for nothing or whatever.

But anyway, I suppose a mystique can still be calculated in a way. But for us, it really wasn’t. We didn’t set out with a plan of ‘let’s create a mystique!’ It just kind of happened that way. Our thing was that we wanted to make records, and all the other stuff—we were just going to ignore it all. And we did. At the time, it probably seemed detrimental to our popularity, like we could have gotten bigger possibly. But it also might be why we’re still here after 16 years. You know, we just started making our records and getting on with life like nothing was new. And people seemed to appreciate it.

AC: Well it didn’t hurt that the songs were really good, too.


SJ: Well, that’s the thing. This is also kind of tied in, as well. The thing that people latched on to—it wasn’t the pictures of us looking cute or something. It was the songs that people were into. And a lot of the interest was in the story songs, where there was quite a lot going on, but people just sort of went for it and decided that they liked it, which was great. In America, a lot of college stations picked up If You’re Feeling Sinister [1996] and played it as much as any record that year. So yeah, the purest form of communication is always just the songs and the stories. And, in a sense, we didn’t really need to have an image other than that. ...I suppose you could say the album covers and the stories in the back were kind of a calculated element, but they weren’t really. It was just an honest aesthetic choice.

But as far as new bands that are trying to make their mark now, I’d say a lot of the same rules apply. You’ve just got to be brilliant and original and something new for that time. I’m not saying we were necessarily brilliant or original ourselves, but we were kind of lucky in our timing, in that there wasn’t anything quite like it at that time, during the heyday of Brit Pop. It had a different vibe and just kind of stood out. I think if we’d tried the same thing five years later, it wouldn’t have worked.

AC: As far as current Belle & Sebastian activity goes, I know Stuart [Murdoch] was planning to try and make a film version of his God Help The Girl project. Since you played on that album a few years back, are you involved with the movie, too, or is it just Stuart’s thing at this point?

SJ: Oh yeah yeah, it’s happening. It’s exciting. They start shooting in like a month. It’s actually happening.

AC: Oh wow.

SJ: Yeah. There’s going to be live music in the film, so I’m basically in charge of organizing that; getting the musicians together, rehearsing and all that.

AC: When do you think it might come out?

SJ: Oh, I don’t really know. Next year, I guess? I’ve never really been involved in anything like this, but that’d be my guess.

AC: Sounds good. Final question: I know you played a couple American dates earlier in the year. Can we expect a more prolonged tour here in 2012 before it’s all said and done?

SJ: Oh sure. We’re looking into it. I don’t really tour with a band and I don’t know if I could afford to bring one to the U.S., but I’ll certainly be doing the troubadour thing—just me with a guitar and suitcase like the Paul Simon song.

Kathleen Edwards

Kathleen Edwards
Americana from a Girl From the North Country
By Andrew Clayman
Published in The Knoxville Metro Pulse, March 2009



She could have passed herself off as Lucinda Williams’ long lost daughter or Tift Merritt’s second cousin. No one would have doubted it. But Kathleen Edwards has no interest in hiding her true identity. In one pedal steel laden tune, she name-checks defamed hockey player Marty McSorley. In another, she criticizes the racial biases of the Canadian news media. These are not traditional themes of “Americana” music, and Kathleen Edwards, as you might have guessed, is not an American.

“I played in Charlotte, North Carolina, last night,” says Edwards, a native of Ottawa, Ontario. “I’d never played there before, and when I got on stage, I was just thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m in North Carolina.’ You know, this is the birthplace of so many of my contemporaries— people like Ryan Adams and Tift Merritt. It’s always been a hot bed of Americana and alt-country, which is something I consider myself a part of. And yet, yeah, I’m Canadian, and I don’t know North Carolina very well. But all you can do is just say, ‘Hey, I do what I do and I love what I love, and it’s genuine. And I think the people at the show are there because they know that.”

Assuming Shania Twain didn’t demolish the work Neil Young did in legitimizing Canadian country-rock, there is no reason to question Edwards’ musical sincerity. In fact, she proudly proclaims, “Neil is one of my heroes. He kind of encompasses everything that I love about music.”

To assume that Kathleen Edwards is a Neil Young disciple is to miss the point a bit, though. What she admires most about Young is his consistent refusal to be pigeonholed or let his music be dictated by other people’s expectations. And so, fittingly, Edwards goes her own way, too. Now 30, she’s released three engaging, well-rounded albums, each earning more praise and moving more units than its predecessor. Her latest effort, Asking For Flowers, hit the top of the Billboard Heatseekers chart in the U.S., her biggest stateside success. The album revealed tighter melodies and lyrical leaps forward into serious social commentary, but it also set the bar even higher for whatever comes next.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Edwards acknowledges. “Obviously, I have a musical agenda and a feeling of wanting to succeed at what I do. You know, you always kind of want to step it up another notch, so there’s some pressure involved in that. I think I feel less pressure now, though, in that I feel much more comfortable listening to my instinct and knowing that that’s a really good thing to do.”

Edwards learned a lot about trusting her guts by taking lessons from one of her notable 2008 tour partners, punk luminary John Doe.

“John taught me how to sort of step back a little bit and not be such a control freak about certain things,” she says. “He’s a really hard worker and an amazing guy. But at the heart of it, he’s also a punk rocker. He comes from the old school of punk rock, which is basically, ‘you don’t like it? Fuck you!’ It’s pretty cool and in your face, but at the same time, it’s helped me learn to let things happen musically and not always have an expectation of things fitting into certain boxes.”

Like so many artists under the so-called alt-country umbrella, Edwards seems very at home with the punk aesthetic. But she’s not a clear-cut converted punk like Neko Case or Jeff Tweedy, either. As usual, Edwards has surprises up her sleeve.

“I really love the philosophy of punk,” she says. “But I think I’m a bit of a contradiction, because I also grew up playing classical music.” To be specific, Edwards spent her entire childhood, from kindergarten through high school, training as a classical violinist. “Classical music is very regimented and rigid and disciplined, whereas punk is almost the opposite of that. You know, the ideology is just to follow your instinct and not let anyone tell you what’s right for you. You respect yourself and act as your own guide.”

Fortunately, with her unique background, Edwards tends to lead herself in exciting new directions, borrowing little nooks from Neil Young, John Doe, or J.S. Bach along the way. Whether or not she winds up taking the wild stylistic left turns of former alt-country acts like Wilco and My Morning Jacket, however, remains to be seen.

“When I’m making a record, I’m not really thinking about what genre it’s going to fit into,” she says. “I’m always feeling like I’m ready to do something different, so even if it doesn’t seem like a big change to some people, I’m moving at a pace I feel is really good. …Artists that are interesting and talented are always going to change and develop over time. It’s impossible to stay where you started. So I look forward to finding out where that takes me. I’m sure it’ll be very rewarding wherever it is.”

Annuals

Early Bloomers
North Carolina's Annuals Come of Age on 'Such Fun'
By Andrew Clayman
Published (with edits) in The Scene (Cleveland), January 2009



If you listen to Neil Young’s recently released 1968 concert album, Sugar Mountain, you’ll find it virtually impossible to separate the charming, 22 year-old kid in that recording from the grizzled, cavemanish rock legend we know today. There’s just too much historical context to wade through now, preventing us from hearing young Neil’s budding genius with objective, virgin ears.

Fortunately, if you’re hung up on talented, 22 year-old musicians, some of them can still be found right here in 2009—fresh faced and yet to be cast in the shadow of their own realized potential. One of the very best is Adam Baker, front man for the Raleigh, NC, indie-rock sextet Annuals. At an age when most guys are realizing they should have chosen a different major, Baker is generating buzz as one of rock’s finest young songwriters—a title once held by a certain Canadian fellow, before the gold rush.

“Well, that’s a bit different,” Baker says. “That’s Neil Young!”

Baker, who speaks with the cadence of an experienced beer pong player, is far too laid back and humble to be comparing himself to Hall of Famers. He does, however, see the advantages of being a songwriter on the right side of 25.

“It’s not even about youth really, but maybe just being less jaded,” he says. “I fuckin’ hate that word, but you know, an unspoiled mind starting to make music is a priceless thing. And I’m not saying I’m unspoiled or a diamond in the rough or anything. I’m just saying people have a much better state of mind about music and art and creativity when they haven’t been around too many other people who are doing it. Just having that fresh outlook on things creates the opportunity for somebody to make a really great record or work of art—when you’re not remotely tired of it yet and you’re still having fun at every turn.”

Of course, not everything about being a young, critically lauded rocker is as fun as it was in 1968. Even as Annuals were basking in the overwhelming response to their 2006 debut album Be He Me, the blogosphere’s lovefest with the band wasn’t translating into record sales. For Baker and his Carolina comrades, success would have to have its sacrifices.

“I’m certainly not making any money,” Baker says, almost scoffing at the notion. “I’m not even able to afford my own apartment. I’m living with my bass player’s mom [I foolishly fail to pursue this subject any further]. I don’t know, Man. I’m definitely proud that we’re going somewhere and that I get to do this, but it’s certainly not the same thing it used to be. If we were where we are now, say, fifteen years ago, when records were still selling, we wouldn’t have a damn thing to worry about.”

That being said, Baker has no ill will toward the series of tubes that is the internet, regardless of how many Annuals “fans” choose to illegally download his songs.

“At this stage, I call the internet a friend, because anyone who thinks they’re going to make any money from selling records is just living in the ‘90s [laughs]. There’s no chance. It’s just not possible anymore. Now you make money by touring, period. So, the internet is a friend. People can read about you, find out about you. It generates interest in music you might not ever hear otherwise.”

When Annuals are described in those aforementioned internet passages, they tend to get an inordinate amount of comparisons to a pair of similarly well populated Canadian bands, the Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene. In reality, aside from mashing together an eclectic array of influences and orchestration, Annuals don’t actually sound a hell of a lot like either of those bands. They have, however, created a music community in Raleigh somewhat akin, on a much smaller scale, to the one that Broken Social Scene helped to jumpstart in Toronto.

“I think Raleigh has had a pretty massive influence on our music,” Baker says. “I’ve been playing around here since I was 12 or 13, so it’s definitely had a huge impact on me. I was actually just thinking about this the other day— if I’m ever actually going to be able to leave this city. I’m already turning into an old man at 22, not wanting to leave. But the music scene here right now is starting to really evolve, and bands are branching out into new directions and genres, which I think is really important to a good music scene. You’ll want to keep your eye on Raleigh.”

For now, at least, Annuals are the undisputed ambassadors of that scene, and they’re currently touring the frigid North in support of their second LP, Such Fun, which dropped in October. With a bright, expansive sound to match the Bob Ross landscape painting on its cover, Such Fun finds all six members of Annuals at the peak of their (albeit still developing) powers.

Everyone in the band is a multi-instrumentalist (on stage, they’ve been known to reassign duties in the middle of a song), and it takes a team effort to catalog the genre-hopping journey that is Such Fun. Guitarists Kenny Florence and Zack Oden, along with keyboardist Anna Spence, are the musical equivalent of Bob Ross’ “happy little trees”—building on Baker’s radio-ready compositions with everything from jangle pop arpeggios (“Confessor) to Nashville balladry (“Always Do”) and some occasional left field prog-rock showmanship (“Hot Night Hounds”). If the Arcade Fire comparisons have any merit, it may be less about the strings and more about the intensity of Annuals’ rhythm section— the versatile Mike Robinson (bass) and Nick Radford (drums).

It should be noted that Baker himself also plays pretty much everything, and when it comes to the development of a song, it’s well understood who’s in charge.

“Usually, I write the song and I’ll go in there and record it, and then everyone else comes in and adds things to it,” Baker says. “There are certainly times when I’ll be defensive about the way I want the song, but usually I’m more than happy to get more input. It can be very draining being the creative head of things sometimes. And everyone in my band is so fucking good, I definitely respect all of them and appreciate all their ideas. So yeah, it’s pretty democratic. I don’t think I’m an asshole [laughs], but I definitely am at the helm, and I think everyone’s okay with that.”

Being captain of the Annuals ship also means setting a few band resolutions for the year ahead.

“Well, we want to make a profit this year. We’ve been trying for years to figure out how to come home from a tour with money. But each time, something happens—a wheel of the van comes off or something. But, you know, our resolution is just to get better, keep working, and hopefully, somehow, get our own apartments.”






Version 2

Raleigh's Annuals Earn Big Hype, Little Cash
By Andrew Clayman
Published (with edits) in The Nashville Scene, March 2009

In the gardening world, “annuals” pop up in the spring, party all summer, and say farewell in the fall. In the music world, Annuals have no such luxury. Touring in support of their expansive sophomore album Such Fun, the six fresh-faced members of Raleigh’s finest indie-pop outfit have spent their winter in transit from one mercilessly frigid destination to the next—Minneapolis, Cleveland, Boston, Montreal. Chicago offered a pleasant -20 degrees.

“Yeah, we weren’t worried so much about the crowd sizes as the fucking freezing ass cold,” says Adam Baker, Annuals’ free-spirited, 22 year-old frontman. “I do not do well in cold weather.”

Such are the sacrifices a modern independent band must make to earn a buck. As Baker explains, no amount of critical acclaim (of which Annuals have had plenty) or internet buzz (of which they’ve probably had too much) is enough to sustain a musical career in this day and age.

“I’m definitely proud that we’re going somewhere and that I get to do this,” he says, “but it’s certainly not the same thing it used to be. If we were where we are now, say, fifteen years ago, when records were still selling, we wouldn’t have a damn thing to worry about. …But anyone who thinks they’re going to make any money from selling records now is just living in the ‘90s. There’s no chance. It’s just not possible anymore. Now you make money by touring, period.”

And so Annuals soldier on, basking now in the comparatively sweltering conditions of a brief jaunt through the Southeast on their way home to North Carolina. It should certainly be noted that Baker and his band mates are very proud ambassadors of the burgeoning Raleigh scene. Even as their music garners more comparisons to the meticulously produced chamber-pop of Canadian ensembles like the Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene, the axis of their influences and style remains firmly in the City of Oaks.

“It’s definitely had a huge impact on me,” Baker says. “I’ve been playing around Raleigh since I was 12 or 13, so it’s had a pretty massive influence. I was actually just thinking about this the other day— if I’m I ever actually going to be able to leave this city. I’m already turning into an old man at 22, not wanting to leave. But the music scene here right now is starting to really evolve, and bands are branching out into new directions, which I think is really important to any good music scene.”

As Baker encourages people to check out what’s brewing in Raleigh, it’s hard to ignore that he and his Annuals brethren seem to make up a large chunk of that scene in and of themselves. Just about everybody in the band has other projects they’re involved with, including guitarist Kenny Florence’s band Sunfold—the group from which Annuals actually sprung in 2003. More than anything, all this musical cross-pollination speaks to the diverse talents of these young musicians. But of course, basic survival is a factor, too, as even hip rock bands are battling the economic down turn.

“It’s definitely a concern, but it’s definitely worth it, too,” Baker says. “I’m certainly not making any money. I’m not even able to afford my own apartment. I’m living with my bass player’s mom. I can’t keep a day job because I’m on tour all the time. …But, you know, I can’t imagine being able to enjoy anything else in life as much as this for a career.”

Even when the cadence of his speaking voice slips into beer pong champion mode, Baker’s passion is undeniable, and so is his talent. Such Fun, the follow-up to Annuals’ much ballyhooed 2006 debut Be He Me, runs the gamut from pensive piano balladry to drum-heavy saloon rock and prog caliber showmanship. Baker writes most of the songs himself, then delivers them to the band for the rather liberal layering process to begin. The result on Such Fun is a big, wide-screen, Technicolor sound perfectly suited to the Bob Ross nature painting chosen for the album’s cover. It’s also music well suited to Annuals’ notoriously high energy shows, which makes winter gigging a little easier to deal with, even in a recession.

“We have a goal of making a profit this year,” Baker says. “We’ve been trying for years to someone how figure out how to come home from a tour with money. But each time, something happens—a wheel of the van comes off or something. But, you know, our main goal is just to get better, keep working, and hopefully, somehow, get our own apartments.”

My Morning Jacket

My Morning Jacket
It’s “All About the Music” for Louisville, KY Quintet
by Andrew Clayman
Published in The Knoxville Voice, November 2006



There are few undertakings in rock any riskier than the “transitional” album. By boldly exploring new musical territory, many bands only wind up exposing their own limitations and egotism. In the rarest of instances, however, a roll of the dice becomes a revelation, and a band like My Morning Jacket can go from noteworthy to important in one fell swoop.

In this case, the swoop was a CD called Z— the ridiculously well received psychedelic-country space-jam that shot the humble gents of My Morning Jacket into Wilco and Radiohead’s “smart rock” hierarchy in 2005. No one would have blamed them for perching on that pedestal for a while, but that’s simply not how this band operates.

“Everything about being in a band is a cycle,” explains guitarist Carl Broemel, who joined the MMJ fold shortly before the recording of Z, the group’s fourth album. Broemel is speaking from his home in Nashville, just days before kicking off another big fall tour with bandmates Patrick Hallahan (drums), Two-Tone Tommy (bass), Bo Koster (keyboards), and Jim James (vocals/guitar/reverb). “We’re playing bigger venues here in the States, which is great and really gratifying. But at the same time, we’ve gone over to Scotland and played for 150 people on the tiniest stage imaginable. And we are into doing that, but it also keeps us humble.”

Modesty has always been at the core of the My Morning Jacket code of ethics. Since starting the band in Louisville, KY in the late 90’s, frontman Jim James has preached a simple philosophy of substance over style. Even in the wake of critical praise for their first three cavernous, country-rock records (1999’s Tennessee Fire, 2001’s At Dawn, and 2003’s It Still Moves), the Jackets maintained a remarkably low profile and diligently sidestepped the gimmicky side of the business. While their indie contemporaries were striving for ironic, stylized dishevelment, James and his bandmates were just effortlessly unkempt— following in the tradition of their own rock heroes like The Band and Neil Young.

“It’s a cool thing about seeing an act like Neil Young and Crazy Horse,” Broemel says. “When they’re up there on the stage, they look like they could just as easily be the guys at a garage working on your motor oil. I think we all strive for that—to be as approachable as possible. People get barraged with so much other stuff that’s not important. We want it to be all about the music.”

As luck would have it, My Morning Jacket’s complete disinterest in trendiness has played a major role in their mass appeal. Their epic live shows, as captured on the brand new two-disc set Okonokos, are attended by a rainbow coalition of rock fans— from hipsters to hippies to prog geeks— all of whom have been collectively rechristened, for better or worse, “Jacketheads.” These devotees have been drawn in not only by the eclectic electronics of Z, but by the spirited, all-inclusive energy that has been a staple of My Morning Jacket concerts since the beginning.

“We want to make the live show as bombastic and crazy as we possibly can,” Broemel says. “And also as diverse as we possibly can. On the records, we probably put more of a magnifying glass on what we’re doing. But playing live, there is a little more freedom.”

Last year, at a free show in Knoxville’s Market Square, James actually requested that the stage lights be shut off completely, turning he and his cohorts into faceless, shadowy figures after sundown. Spectators were lucky to see much more than some long hair flying in the breeze, but after a blazing cover of Dylan’s “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You,” the crowd enthusiasm was off the charts. Case in point, My Morning Jacket is a rock band first-- rocks stars reluctantly.

Even after a year in which he and his bandmates headlined Bonnaroo and shared stages with Pearl Jam and the Boston Pops, Carl Broemel still feels like the same guy he’s always been.

“I feel very anonymous,” he says with a chuckle. Since replacing founding member Johnny Quaid on the guitar in 2004, Broemel hasn’t had much time to sit back and enjoy his newfound success. As it turns out, learning a back catalog of songs and indoctrinating yourself with new colleagues can be a bit of a challenge.

“It’s a long process,” he admits. “But about twelve shows in, (fellow newcomer) Bo (Koster) and I played with the band at the Astoria in London, which was pretty exciting. It was a big moment that we had all been working toward as a group, and once we made it past that point, I think we felt like, ok, we’re cool now. We can conquer anything from here on out.”