Silver Linings and Second Chances: An Interview with Jordan Galland

Jordan Galland is a creature of collaboration. For more than two decades, the New York City-based singer/songwriter and filmmaker forged a multifaceted career by synthesizing his creative gifts with those of other talents. He played and recorded with such artists as Cibo Matto, Sean Lennon, and Mark Ronson. He wrote and directed 2009’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Undead and 2015’s Ava’s Possessions, working with a cast and crew numbering upwards of a hundred on each production. 

Yet with his forthcoming LP No Rockstars (set for release October 13), Galland, 46, goes it alone, having composed, played, sang, and produced all the album’s eight songs.  

Sonically minimalist à la edgy memoir rock and folk, No Rockstars embraces moments of nostalgia, aging and the passage of time, pensive self-reflection—“I shoulda seen it coming but I treated it like it was nothing,” Galland sings on “It Snuck Up”—and grief. “Trevor Wilson,” in particular, pays posthumous tribute to someone who to millions of Pearl Jam fans is remembered as the adolescent boy in the band’s 1992 video to its smash hit “Jeremy” while to Galland was a childhood friend. Elsewhere are songs with touching depictions of personal resilience, irresistible romance, and bittersweet second chances.

 

You’ve called No Rockstars your most personal album yet. What compelled you to get so personal and transparent?

Somewhere along the way in the last seven years, there was COVID. I had had a kid; I became a dad.... I hadn’t played live in a very long time, and I didn’t have any new material, really, other than a few singles I put out over the last years.... I got invited to play a few songs at a sort of poetry reading where they wanted musicians as well.... So, I did it and it kind of got me playing live but playing solo. One of the things that occurred to me when I started doing that again—and I just sort of took every opportunity that came along—was playing solo frequently, having to arrange songs, making sure that the dynamics are there and you’re playing well and singing well, putting together a show without older, more experienced or sometimes younger, better musicians propping me up and making it feel really good: I had to do that on my own. I think something about that put me into writing all these new songs, and I wrote 16 new songs. I think it had a lot to do with shedding this light on the areas of myself that [I] had been hiding behind other musicians or, like as a filmmaker, you’re sort of hiding behind the expertise of lots of other talented people. When you’re playing alone on stage, there’s just nowhere to hide. 

 

Does being a filmmaker inform your approach as a songwriter? 

In a funny way I would almost say that being a songwriter helps inform my writing of a script or editing a film. In a sense they feed each other. It’s just getting back to the musicality inside yourself and not being too prescriptive. I want this to be this thing and then writing it, but actually discovering it as you write it, letting it be the tool by which you get to know yourself. It sounds very spiritual or self-healthy, but that was kind of what I was discovering about this process. What’s great about what I learned from making movies, in a sense, was the pressure cooker of how to get audience feedback or producer notes and all kind of annoying notes that you feel like are criticizing you and have a healthy relationship with that and let it inform how to interpret it, digest it, and let you make the piece better. So, when I’m playing, when I’m writing a song now, I think about that. 

 

On the album, did you ever surprise yourself with anything you wrote?

Almost every time. That was the joy of writing these songs, knowing that a surprise would come even when it felt like it wouldn’t. For instance, a song like “The Sequel to My Life” was the first of those songs I wrote but it almost didn’t make it onto the record, but it was the final song that I finished. And by then I was like, Wait, this is maybe my favorite song on here. So, in that sense it was a surprise the whole way through, but there was a point at which I was like, Oh, man this song is just a bummer. I was proud of it once, but now I don’t know.

 

It’s not an altogether weary song. There’s a silver lining. 

Right, yeah, and it’s funny because sometimes you can forget. You’re in one part of the song and you forget that there’s this other part that is the redemption.

 

That’s the silver lining.

Yeah and initially, for instance, that song was kind of making fun of sequel culture, the phenomenon of spin-offs and franchises. I would lean heavily into that because it got very fun for me in a kind of clever way, but it was missing, I guess, the soul. So, that was part of it too. With these songs, things that I think I would have thought were clever when I was younger I was now trying to be open to being vulnerable without being clever.

 

In trying to be yourself and not necessarily trying to be clever, did the process—especially lyrically—come easy for you or was it a slog?

One of the things that happens when you’re patient with the song—because it can feel like it’s not coming quickly—you’re definitely rewarded with a way in which the puzzle starts to come together. There have been a handful of songs I’ve written that have come to me in the middle of the night and I woke up and wrote them down and people liked them. And I was like, Oh, wow, that was a moment. It all kind of came together at once even if I tweaked things later, but for the most part there’s a collage quality to it where I jot ideas down and then combine them with other ideas. I know a lot of songwriters that work this way when they’re working on something personal. If I work with a songwriter and a singer or something it’s rarely like that. It’s usually like you write it all in one session, but when you’re writing something for yourself, you have the luxury of months and months [going] by, and you can revisit it. 

There’s something I wanted to say, because you said, “Is it a slog?” There are so many songwriters that I admire from Leonard Cohen—the pinnacle of it—to Adam Green, who’s a friend of mine and a contemporary and he’s very successful in many ways and he inspires me. All of them, if you hear them talk about music or why they do it, they have this sort of clarity around it even if there’s still a mystery. I always envied what that was, to know why you’re writing, what you’re going for, how it might be resonating with your audience. I was always just like, I don’t know. I’m just sitting down and eventually if I work hard enough the song comes and I don’t know why I’m doing it other than it’s fun and it’s a break from the stress of life. But this time around I think it’s because I really did it alone, because I didn’t have anyone I could blame or anyone to help me make it better without having to do that extra work. I had this feeling of sitting there writing songs over and over, not getting to the end, not being happy, but knowing there was something very healing about doing this process. It’s gonna sound highfalutin maybe, but I really I felt like I discovered a way to articulate why it was important to me: Writing a song is like taking trauma and turning it into something graceful. You can experience that. And so, the act of writing a song—and I’m not religious—felt more like prayer. I’m going to go into this place and sit here and repeat these things over and over with the faith that it will become something, even if it doesn’t happen tonight or tomorrow. That was a whole new thing for me. It made me reflect on what I’ve been doing in the past that was similar to that without knowing it and what I’ve been doing in the past that was maybe completely misguided or for the wrong reasons and why it didn’t feel good.

 

In the title song there are moments where you almost seem to be lamenting the fact that you stepped into this solo spotlight, but there also there are moments where you seem resigned to it.

Something unexpected happened, which was I just realized it was lonelier than I remembered. When you have a wife and kid, there’s always part of you [where] you’re always wishing you were with them. My wife wouldn’t come to shows, she’d stay home with our daughter. And so, I’d go and play and then I’d be alone. I felt it very deeply. I’d be proud of myself for doing it, but I would feel depressed. It was a nostalgic sort of depression, and that’s what made me think of some of those lines in that song. The title lyric just came to me one day from fiddling around and I was like, Oh, this is a little bit of an answer. It’s got some humor to it. It’s a little self-deprecating and—

 

Like the lyric, “No one’s gonna write our memoir...” 

Yeah. I had just been to a friend’s release party for his memoir, and that’s when I started to [realize] this could be a song about this very real experience. My daughter had essentially grown out of her stroller, and I was using it to bring my guitar and amp to the shows—when I could walk there. It was fun; it was like a weird bohemian fantasy. I’m just walking and it’s a little adventure, but then people started to take notice. They thought it was funny or cute or silly or whatever, but it was sort of memorable to some people. That’s when I was like, oh, that’s part of this story. But there’s a sadness to it, there’s a loneliness to it and then there’s also a kind of a liberation to it. 

 

“It Snuck Up” is a love song on its face but there’s a lyric in it where you sing, “who we became versus who we thought we’d be.” There’s more going on lyrically than what’s on the surface of this song and, for that matter, of the album as a whole. When you were writing it did you intend for such layers in these songs?

I felt like I was discovering it as I went along. I said earlier I was using the songs as a mode of self-discovery, but I think that in the past I would have shied away from certain things that might, for lack of a better word, bum people out too much. I know that when I was younger I really gravitated towards creating a fun, sexy kind of witty persona in the songs, but this time around it was almost like the mask was coming off. I mean, there’s always some level of artifice in making anything, but sharing this sort of heaviness of some of these ideas of the passage of time and grief and disappointment and rejection would actually be a way of connecting and maybe making a listener feel connected to it in a deeper way than just writing something that they could escape into like some of my younger fantasy-type songs. And so, that’s what I did.

 

That makes sense.

I definitely did it with a bit of trepidation at first. That was why it was important to play every song live at least once, to not just be in the bubble of a studio situation. It was my home studio, basically my kitchen, but you can be in a bubble where you’re in your own fantasy. But if you play it for people, especially in kind of an unsexy environment like a bookstore or a place where the lighting doesn’t transport you and people aren’t automatically being quiet... If you play it in that circumstance, you really have a sense of how sharp the knife is that you’re cutting with, or how dull it is, because there’s a lot to cut through and to connect with. That’s part of it. Then I guess I just welcomed the more real and the more, I don't know, not disturbing. I wasn’t going for disturbing songs. 

 

Tell me about the song “Trevor Wilson.” Why was it important for you to write a song about your late friend?

First of all, it was a strange experience to have a friend like him so young. We’re talking kindergarten to fifth grade. It’s partly that we were sort of neighbors. We both went to this school in Manhattan.... It was the ’80s, [our school] was uptown and him and I lived downtown. And so, we would see each other; we were the kids that lived downtown. He was an actor and that was fascinating to me. First, second grade, he’d come and tell us about audition stuff. He was a little older than me. He became famous very quickly. He was the first person I knew like that. We were 12 years old when he starred in the “Jeremy” video. It came out of the blue. I mean, it was summer vacation. I didn’t know—I just didn’t talk to my friends on summer vacation—and then he was in this video.... [Then] Eddie Vedder took Trevor on stage at the MTV Video [Music] Awards, which even more than the video itself made Trevor a celebrity.... Fifth grade started and he wasn’t in class with me—he was in L.A.—and I felt really sad. And so, we just sort of drifted apart. Then he came back to New York [when we were 13] and I partied with him. One of the first times I went out to a nightclub was with him and he had all this attention. It was very strange. He had changed so much. Then we drifted apart [again].

I ran into him once actually when I had a band and I was sort of at the height of my thing. We were in some Italian restaurant, and I looked over at this guy. He had gone bald way before me. We were in our 20s. We talked, and he was a lawyer. He was just like, “Yeah, I stopped acting. I didn’t want to do that.” He kind of briefly told me some stuff that I later read about in an interview. But he was just like, “Becoming famous was bad.” Then we had a couple Facebook interactions, and he remembered [from childhood, playing with] G.I. Joe’s in the microwave. We set off the fire alarm, crazy. The whole place smelled toxic, plastic. And then we just, you know, drifted apart [yet again]. Then I got this notification from my mom; it said he had passed away almost 10 years before and I didn’t know. 

Frankly, that was a song where I was like, I don’t know if I can do this. but I started reading some interviews with him and then he was just on my mind nonstop. And so, I felt like to honor him with a song, and it weirdly fits some of the themes in the No Rockstars stuff. I didn’t want to exploit the memory, but once I wrote this the rhymes just sort of came together. The first verse, “His name was Trevor / And he was on MTV with Eddie Vedder.” I was like, Wait, I have to see if this works. There’s something here. When you’re writing a song about somebody that’s passed away, you really feel like you’re communing with them. You feel like you’re spending some deep time with them somehow.

 

Circling back to what you were saying about the passage of time, did writing about it for this album give you any new or different insight on how to cope with it?

I do feel more at peace with certain things. It made me feel very lucky to be able to make music ... the first time I’ve done it entirely on my own. I would send [or] I would play the songs for different old bandmates and occasionally—not all of them—and get their reaction. And one friend—one of my old collaborators—wrote back and said to me, “You should feel lucky that you can put all this into a song and that you don’t toil away without being able to express it.” It’s called a record, and I feel like when you do create a record of your feelings it’s so cathartic you do feel a little bit like you can step away from it. The other thing I’ll say to finish that thought is a weight does feel slightly lifted—not the full weight, but some of it. 

 

In what sense?

It occurs to me it’s almost like a sacrifice. This was weighing so heavily on me, and I gave it my full attention. Now there’s this thing that exists that can be shared and dedicated to these heavy feelings and so I don’t have to feel as crushed by it. The other thing that’s interesting is, since we’re all getting older, anything we create I think of as like a gesture to our future self. I do feel that with songs, especially, I’m very grateful to my past self for writing certain songs that I can still play. And so, there is part of that where I’m like, Okay, these songs are here. I can play them. If I never write songs again like these, there’s a way in which I feel at ease that there’s something that I feel is worthwhile playing that’s mine. Leonard Cohen, for instance, wrote enough songs, I could sing those forever and be perfectly happy on a desert island. But it’s a different feeling when you write a song.

Photos by Karla Moheno

Jordan Galland · The Sequel to My Life

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An Interview with Von Grey's Annika von Grey

Von Grey: (from left to right: Annika, Petra, Kathryn, and Fiona)

Establishing a style and sticking with it may work for emerging musicians looking to build a loyal following but it can prove stifling for the artists themselves. At least that’s the belief which seems to guide Atlanta’s own Von Grey, who made their debut in 2012 with a critically-hailed eponymous EP of acoustic, string-rich pop and modern folk. In fact, even as they saw the five-song set edge into the iTunes Top 10 on the strength of the vibrant lead single, “Coming For You,” and the visibility afforded by high-profile appearances on The Late Show with David Letterman and Conan, the group’s members—siblings Annika (violin, banjo, guitar, keys), Kathryn (cello, bass pedals, mandolin, keys), Fiona (guitar, violin, percussion), and Petra von Grey (keys, lap steel guitar, electronic percussion), each classically trained—were already plotting a new direction. 

“We played violins and cellos and stuff like that,” Annika explains, “so it was natural for us to gravitate toward more acoustic music genre-wise just because that’s where we had our foundation instrumentally.” 

For their follow-up they composed edgier, more adventurous music with electronic elements and fuller arrangements. “We have a huge range of influences sonically that we pull from,” Annika says, underscoring not only the eclecticism but also the ambition that distinguishes Awakening, Von Grey’s sophomore EP, due out January 21. “Trying to incorporate textures that are a little bit more synthetic is something that we’ve been interested in for a long time.” 

Was there any reluctance within the group about working in these new electronic textures in the sense that you risk alienating listeners who connected with the more acoustic sound on your debut?

A little bit, because I do think when some people have a first impression that can really be the foundation for every later impression. We wanted to make sure that we still sound like we’re being true to ourselves, which we are. But when we’re in the process of writing and recording and getting things to be in a solidified state, we try to make sure that the last thing we’re thinking about is how others will respond to it and more just being selfish and trying to make sure that what we’re creating is a pure and true representation of who we are as artists and what we want to express. 

Are the new sonic directions on the EP also reflective of a new or expanded knowledge of the recording studio? Is that something you all are learning to embrace as well?

We’re starting to really understand and appreciate the power of production, because it can transform a song. We go in with pretty solid ideas of what kind of parts we want to be added to it or just what kind of textures or what vibe we want the songs to embody in their finished state. We’re not at the point right now [though] where we’re completely self-producing.… We’re not completely well-versed in that side of things. It’s something that we’re definitely trying to develop so eventually maybe we can be independent in a studio environment, but right now we’re still collaborating with producers and engineers to make sure that we’re working with people that truly have a grasp and a really deep knowledge of what they’re doing in the studio. We don’t want to take chances just experimenting with things we don’t know very well. 

Is songwriting something that you all have to set time aside for, or are you always aware and receptive to ideas?

We’re always trying to make sure that we’re in a somewhat creative mode, so if we happen to in our mind hear a melody that we like we’ll be able to remember it and make sure we don’t waste ideas. Fiona and I are always thinking about songwriting, but it is something that now we usually set aside time [to do]. For us, when we have a very focused environment and we’re able to kind of be secluded, it’s when the best songs come about. We get rough, little melodic riffs and stuff when we’re just out and about, but it’s usually a pretty concentrated and focused time when we actually solidify the songs. With this EP, we wrote all those songs within a two-or-three-month period. 

As the group’s lyricist, primarily, is there any apprehension on your part about revealing too much of yourself in what you write? Is that something you run into, or is it just something you work around?

It is something I’ve become increasingly mindful about. Writing lyrics, it’s hard to do that in a way that’s very calculated. You need to make sure you’re being open in a stream-of-consciousness style, and then later you can organize those thoughts and try to figure out exactly what they’re about. Sometimes, when you find that out, it’s something you’re not eager to let everybody else know if it’s a song about something very personal, but as someone that’s writing lyrics for the band the only way that I’ll be able to emote when I’m singing—or that everybody in the band will be able to feel really attached to it—is if it’s something that is kind of genuine and that forces you to feel a little bit uncomfortable. It’s something that I’ve tried to embrace rather than run away from. 


Plus, in a part of your mind you almost have to acknowledge that if you’re writing about someone else or about your response to someone else then you may have to consider that person’s feelings if he or she recognizes themselves in your song. It can be a dicey proposition. 

I try to make sure that when I’m writing—I don’t know if I always accomplish it—I’m doing it in a way that feels human and relatable. It’s not that it’s just my own personal, selfish experience or that I’m exploiting somebody else’s emotions. It’s more taking those feelings as inspiration and trying to write in a way that is all-encompassing, because I do think it’s rare to come across an emotion that no one else has experienced before. So, trying to write about in a way that allows others to partake in the feeling is kind of the goal I try to pursue. 

To what do you attribute the group's work ethic? You all seem completely committed to the idea that whatever success comes your way is something that you have to work for. That is not always the case with people.

From a very young age we were taught that hard work is paramount to success. We started with classical music and we were home-schooled from a pretty young age, so time management was something that was a very important thing for us to learn. We practiced every day and it became something that our parents weren’t forcing us to do. We enjoyed scheduling our time, making sure we were really honing in on what we were passionate about; making sure we understood the gravity of taking something and trying to make it professional...; and making sure that we can also feel a sense of pride in what we’re doing and feel like we’re responsible for it. 

That has helped a lot, especially recently when we’d be touring and then trying to fit in songwriting time and recording things and just trying to present ourselves throughout all that in a way that seems professional…. Creating art is a big responsibility, even if it’s just a personal responsibility for yourself. We want to make sure that we’re not taking anything for granted and that we know we’re surrounded by excellence all the time, so there’s always something to aspire to as far as knowing your instrument and craft. All of those things have really helped us to stay grounded and [to] remember that you always have to work to get what you want. 

Awakening, featuring the new single, “Come On,” is scheduled for release January 21. For additional information, please visit Von Grey’s official site.

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Album Review: Sting - The Last Ship

Those who have the ability to forget that Sting was once a dynamic vocalist who wrote some ferociously good pop songs may enjoy his latest album, The Last Ship  (Cherrytree/Interscope). For everyone else, this effort, his first after a decade-long sabbatical in the classical ranks, should find it among the British legend’s most tiring and tedious. Ostensibly dealing with the decline of the shipbuilding trade during the 1980s’ in the city of Sting’s birth, Newcastle, England, The Last Ship finds Sting serving in the role of a minstrel. And in that capacity alone he does quite an admirable job, too, as he capably conjures moments of dramatic, eloquent storytelling, often enough in spoken-word passages. 

Besides, the problem with the album isn’t its script, so to speak, but rather its soundtrack. 

For the most part, Sting sings/speaks over some indiscriminate strumming—some brief orchestral flourishes also surface from time to time—the words coming across as far more considered than whatever sense of a tune carries them. Pop music (if that’s what you want to call this) may not be the right medium for telling these sorts of tales or, more to the point, Sting doesn't pull it off as he should. As demonstrated by even the most literate-intensive singer/songwriters, from Leonard Cohen to Joni Mitchell to Bob Dylan, the music must possess some engaging quality in and of itself, whether it’s a chord structure or a chorus or even just a hook. Otherwise, it’s just prose with some ambience. 

The album’s not a lost cause completely, as solipsistic love songs “The Night The Pugilist Learned How To Dance” and “I Love Her But She Loves Someone Else” evoke the sort of romantic longing that would’ve complemented The Soul Cages or Ten Summoner’s Tales. Overall, though, The Last Ship lacks the musical intrigue that could’ve made what may very well be an evocative tale into an album worth listening to.

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Album Review: Escape the Pain of Life That You Know - Madonna Makes it Fun on 'MDNA World Tour/Live 2012'

Say what you will about whatever bizarre stunts or statements she makes in a seeming effort to shock. Madonna knows how to entertain.  After 30 years, her continued ability to put asses in arena and stadium seats is all but incomparable. And while her latest studio album, MDNA, didn’t sell like some of her past blockbusters it nevertheless inspired a massively successful concert tour. In fact, the 88-date trek netted the superstar $125 million, landing her on top of the Forbes 2013 list of top-earning celebrities. 

For those who attended and those who wished they had, MDNA World Tour/Live 2012 (Live Nation/Interscope Records), which is culled from back-to-back nights (November 19 and 20) at Miami’s American Airlines Arena, suitably justifies their love. 

Madonna is as much a video star as a music one—a DVD and Blu-ray of this title is also available—and her concerts are accordingly packed with multimedia extravagance. In the context of a live album, though, certain visual elements and interludes don’t translate all that well—some interlude segments get a bit tedious—but such is a negligible criticism for the sake of continuity, which is a primary concern for just about any live recording. 

For the most part, the album is a treat. Of the MDNA songs, “Turn Up the Radio” and “I’m a Sinner” are the obvious standouts, with fervent audience sing-alongs turning them into party anthems. Older ones like “Papa Don’t Preach” and “Open Your Heart” are radically reinvented to complement the show’s overall vibe with its nearly nonstop, techno-throbbing soundtrack. This is a meticulously constructed set from start to finish; Madonna doesn’t take requests like Springsteen or stop what she’s playing on a dime to play something else like Prince. Every second of this performance is rehearsed to regimented precision, but the unflinching vitality Madonna exudes throughout—and especially on warhorses like “Express Yourself,” “Vogue,” and “Like a Prayer”—makes listening to it a whole lot of fun. 

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Amanda Mair Charms with Debut Single

Suckers for a catchy pop tune will have a hard time resisting "Sense," the beguiling lead single from 17-year-old Swedish ingénue Amanda Mair. In what sort of sounds like a cross between ELO and ABBA, she sings soft and lissome against a bouncy, head-bobbing rhythm in the verses which gives way to a lush, insatiable melody in the chorus. 

Already a rising star in her native land, Mair is set to charm North America with the release of her eponymous debut album, June 5 on Labrador Records. With "Sense" she makes a fine first impression.

Download "Sense":

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An Interview with James 'JY' Young of Styx

“I’ll be darn,” guitarist James “JY” Young says with a chuckle when told that Styx garnered praise recently from Rolling Stone, which cited the band’s current Midwest Rock ‘N’ Roll Express tour with REO Speedwagon and Ted Nugent as among “The Ten Hottest Summer Package Tours of 2012.” “That’s a turnaround for Rolling Stone in relation to us, but who am I to disagree with them?” says Young, who has been in the band from the beginning.

Truth be told, Styx have never been critical darlings, but throughout a 40-year-career that’s withstood various personnel changes and creative conflicts, the band has sold over 30 million albums and continues to draw sold-out audiences across the country.

“In these troubled times, when you’re looking for a place to go to sort of be reminded of how great it is to be alive in a country like the United States, come on out to a Styx show and leave your troubles at the door,” Young says. “We’re all gonna be surfing away with joy by the end of the night. It’s therapeutic. It’s uplifting. And it’s just a heck of a good time.”

The concert industry can be fickle and unpredictable, but Styx has maintained a steady presence and a steady success on the road.

We have definitely asserted ourselves as a live concert act…. We’re seeing more and more young people in the audience at our shows, under the age of 25, even though the internet seems like it’s killed the record business. A lot of the record executives who used to have great power no longer even have a job. And the whole thing has been turned topsy-turvy as a result of the internet and digital downloading, and the digitization of music to CDs in the very first place. Live concerts really are the only thing that you can’t digitize in a meaningful way. There’s something about the live concert experience, when you’re sitting there with 1,000 or 10,000 or 20,000 people or 50,000 people depending on the venue and they’re all singing along to the songs. There’s an energy there that no matter what kind of stereo system you have at home—5.1, this, that, and the other thing; no matter how great the Blu-ray is—it’s just not the same as being there.

You guys made your name early on with your albums—you performed live then, too, of course, but back then albums were a dominant form of expression—but now since the tide has turned to make the live performance so crucial, you guys clearly have the chops to do that too. A lot of recording artists, once they’re expected to perform live, are lost.

We made albums starting in 1972 and then started performing live [with] that music, but it was a struggle for us for a number of years. I think those years where we had to sort of sell our new music, if you will, or at least perform new music in front of people that had never heard it before [taught us] you have to have stagecraft to bring the songs to life after you’ve recorded them. We did start [out] making records, but we weren’t that successful doing it until we’d made a few. And so we had a chance to learn what not to do before we had our first great record success, so then when we did finally have record success our stage chops were finely tuned and finely honed. The way things were in the ‘70s—in the early half of the ‘70s—there was a chance to develop.

Live concerts were very exciting for the baby boom generation because rock concerts had not been that much of a factor in the ‘60s. Once the post-baby-boom generation came into their economic powers, people wanted to go out and have a good time and rock music was their music of choice. It was the music that spoke to them. And we were there for it and we had a chance to develop without the microscope on us for a while. Then when the microscope did get on us we were ready for the closer examination that we were given.

Much of this has to do with professionalism, of course, but how do you keep the material fresh—some of these songs you play are 35-40 years old now—when you perform it live today?

Each night you’re performing in front of a different audience and you see different faces out there and different reactions, and that sort of pushes you into slightly different directions each night. There is that aspect of performing the same material over and over that it tends to just get better when you do that.

In this day and age we have the ability to put on a spectacular show from the standpoint of great sound and great lights that people can do many magical things [with] that they could never do before; and a video wall behind us that can changeably do things on a regular basis to enhance the songs and create a different energy in the room. When you have all those elements they really need to be coordinated.

The woman who directs our lights every night and the guy who runs our sound and the guy who runs our monitor mix, in particular, it’s good if they know which song is coming next and what’s going to happen in the show; because then the whole production can be tighter. And, honestly, there are times when we like changing it up and do so, but in order to put on a great production that is multimedia everybody’s got to be on the same page and everybody’s got to know when there’s a dramatic stop or a dramatic start. If the timing is off on that it’s like you wasted the moment… In order to put on a great show I think that’s what you need to do. There needs to be structure and consistency.

It must be gratifying to know that Styx has made such an indelible impact not just with music fans, but in pop culture overall.

We are so embedded in pop culture it’s amazing to me the references that surface to our music. I mean, Adam Sandler certainly had a bunch of them. There’s references to our music all over the place; [in] George Clooney’s movie, the latest one he was nominated for the Academy Award for [The Ides of March], there’s one of the female characters walking around with a Styx T-shirt. These kinds of things are stuff you can’t plan for, and just kind of happen. That just shows the impact that we’ve made. I’m astounded and humbled by it.

I’m sure there are people who know Styx songs without realizing they’re even by Styx.

Some of those people from the baby boom generation, they don’t really know Styx that well; they’re not really die-hard music fans. They’ll come out to a show and say, “I knew every one of those songs you played.” They just didn’t somehow attach them to us. So that’s kind of the beauty of us continuing to perform 120 shows a year. There’s a whole audience of people out there that actually know our music and just aren’t aware that it’s us doing it. It seems kind of crazy at this late date, but everybody’s got a different agenda for their daily lives…

Music is such a universal force that has the power to calm, to soothe, to inspire, and in the best cases to heal. And it just finds its way into people’s lives in different ways, unexpected ways. That’s the beauty of us continuing to perform, which is something I love to do.

How was the ambition Styx had as an emerging band any different or similar from what the band strives for now?

For me it was just something that appeared—on the surface anyway—as a job that you didn’t really have to work at. It was a career in the avoidance of work. That’s what it meant to be a rock star: You didn’t really have to work. But the reality is to succeed and to continue to succeed over a span of a number of decades as we have requires tremendous amounts of work and utter and total focus. 

And some days it’s a very frustrating career. You have to travel from one end of the country to the other—sometimes in the span of 48 hours. I’ve gone back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast back to the East Coast, and that will kill an ordinary human. It definitely takes its toll on you, but that’s what it takes, in a way, to continue to succeed in this business, particularly now. I don’t know what anybody else in this band could possibly think of to do at this late date as far as another career goes. Eventually this becomes the only thing that you can earn a decent living at because it’s the only thing that you really know. 

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Adele's 21 is Album of the Year

“Rolling in the Deep” changed the game. The first time you heard it you just knew that this song – that voice – was going to be a big deal. Adele is sirenic and sexy, her will-not-be-denied resolve striking a visceral blow to every self-absorbed, woe-is-me lament clogging up millions of iPods around the world.

As an album, 21 achieves much the same impact. Many of its songs have become so familiar now that they risk sounding cliché – a mere 12 months after entering the pop landscape. Yet it continues to sell like nothing else in contemporary pop, further illustrating the extent to which this music resonates with people. Popularity doesn’t equate to quality, of course; longevity will speak more to that. But it’d be churlish not to recognize that with this album Adele has tapped into the universality of heartbreak in ways that are at once intensely personal and timelessly profound.

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Album Review: The Bangles - Sweetheart of the Sun

The Bangles have never shied away from acknowledging their influences, from British Invasion bands (especially that fab lot from Liverpool) to other girls-only groups like the Runaways and the Go-Go’s. Now with their current album, Sweetheart of the Sun (Model Music Group), founding members Susanna Hoffs, Debbie Peterson, and Vicki Peterson reveal even more of their musical roots while boasting the sort of infectious hooks and harmonies that have long distinguished their sound.

Traces of psychedelic pop (“Under a Cloud,” a cover of Nazz’s acidic “Open My Eyes”) juxtapose more organic moments of country/rock (“Anna Lee,” “I’ll Never Be Through With You”), with Hoffs and Vicki Peterson each taking their fair share of the lead vocals. Twenty years after the Bangles notoriously struggled for identity as a band rather than Susanna Hoffs’ backup group, this album is perhaps their most compelling fulfillment of that ambition.

Other standouts include the saucy rocker “Ball ’n’ Chain” and a truly sizzling take on the McKinley Sisters' "Sweet and Tender Romance," both tracks brandishing ultra-frisky grooves and stinging guitars. This is good stuff; and thanks in part to co-producer Matthew Sweet–his oldies-revue collaboration with Hoffs has yielded two feel-good volumes of Under the Covers in recent years, with a third album yet to come–the Bangles have come back in a big way.

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An Interview with Edwin McCain

Believe it or not Edwin McCain has maintained a steady, fruitful career for two decades now. The Greenville, South Carolina native, perhaps most known for such pop/rock radio staples as “I’ll Be” and “I Could Not Ask For More,” has consistently turned out eclectic, soulful albums while playing countless live gigs to his appreciative, loyal audience.

McCain’s latest is Mercy Bound (429 Records), which marks the production debut of his longtime collaborator, singer/songwriter Maia Sharp. The original idea was for Sharp to co-produce the album with noted music man Don Was, but getting everyone together proved futile.

“We’ve always had this great writing relationship,” says McCain of Sharp, and so he ultimately encouraged her take the production reins completely. “It just turned into a wonderful experience,” he says. “I’m patting myself on the back for being right about Maia, how special she is.”

You've written plenty on your own, but as far as collaborating with Maia, does she change the way you approach songwriting?

She definitely changes the way I approach songwriting. I mean, I have the same ideas, but I think they’re more fully developed by the time we’re done with them, and vice versa, because the mantra is–and this is something her father taught her; her father is Randy Sharp, who’s a great songwriter as well–if you don’t develop an idea to its greatest conclusion than it’s disrespectful to another writer who would’ve; and it’s wasteful. I never really considered it in that way, but then when we started working together we would write it and then try to beat it. We’ve written it now; let’s try to write it better. Let’s do this as much as we can to refine the idea. And sometimes you find that your first thoughts are usually the right ones, but you can’t be sure unless you try.

Is there any inhibition on either one of your parts as far as what you'll write together?


There’s really nothing that she doesn’t know about me. It’s a total open-book situation. All the deepest, darkest… That’s where it lives, really.

Are you any different of a songwriter than you were 10 or 15 years ago?

I listen back to some of the [early] stuff and some of the ideas are these broad strokes of idealism. And I think that’s what you should have in your twenties. There should be some passionate idealism and some sort of poetic ignorance. Now what I do is find the beauty in the tiniest; it’s a lot more micromanaged. I find the description of a moment can be more powerful than these sort-of cry-freedom things I was talking about in the beginning, but I hadn’t really lived a whole lot. The sum total of my existence was riding around in a van, playing bars and chasing girls.

That’s produced a lot of great rock and roll, though.


It was a lot of fun. And that has produced a lot of great stuff. The challenge for me now is it’s really much more about the audience. And I think the audience that listens to what we do is like me. We’ve kind of been through that phase and now the things we pay attention to are much more empathetic.

Did having children change or inspire you in some way as a songwriter?

They inspire all of it. It’s their perspective more than anything that inspires the way I look at things. I find myself being positive and encouraging. A lot of that, when you’re alone before you’re married and even after you’re married a lot of time, it’s still all about you. You’re thinking, This traffic’s driving me crazy. It’s all about how it’s affecting me. And it’s funny, because when your kids start to think in that way it’s a clear reflection and you see how it looks. So I’ve made a real positive and committed effort to teach them how to be patient and understanding and not let the ego stuff run away with it; so they can have a better time.

Then you have to work twice as hard to live up to that example.


Absolutely. And it really does force you to put your money where your mouth is. But it’s a really good challenge because you know that if you’re sitting in the car yelling and screaming about traffic, kids pick up on all that kind of stuff. They pick up on that energy and they pick up on how you react and respond to just about everything. They’re going to do exactly what you’re going to do. So if you can react and respond in a reasonable way and have good boundaries… It’s all the things that I was never really good at before they came along. It’s amazing how hard we make things on ourselves. We make life a lot harder on ourselves than it needs to be. Just the parenting issue, it’s a challenge. It’s a challenge for time and organization and all of those things, but it really does put things into perspective. It makes me have a better outlook. It makes me happier about doing what I’m doing. When I’m going to work I know why I’m going to work. 

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Album Review: Adele - iTunes Festival London 2011

There is no substitute for talent. Nothing excites like the real deal, and Adele is all that and then some. Indeed the British songstress has captivated the masses like few other contemporary artists could hope to these days, consistently shattering music-industry records—this past week her sophomore LP 21 became the most-downloaded album ever—and with a just-released EP highlighting her recent performance at the iTunes Festival in London, she keeps right on thrilling.

“Rumour Has It” and “Rolling in the Deep” are both delivered with fresh, mischievous intensity—at times on the latter Adele hands off the vocal to an already euphoric audience, which comes through like a megachurch choir—her voice commanding its way through these tribal-thumping powerhouses.

Then with a ballad like “Take It All” she breaks your heart in half, mustering emotions so raw and with such naked vulnerability that by the end of it you feel like you’ve been run through the mill. To just piano accompaniment she breathes new life into Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” as well, with similar intimacy and conviction. This above all is why Adele resonates with so many listeners. She sounds like she feels it like she means it. And with a much-anticipated North American tour slated to start on August 9, this brief set offers a fine preview of what they can expect from her in person.

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DVD Review: Sheryl Crow - Miles From Memphis: Live at the Pantages Theatre

On her most recent studio LP to date, last year’s 100 Miles From Memphis, Sheryl Crow set out to honor classic R&B of the late ‘60s and ‘70s by composing and covering songs ostensibly in that stylistic vein. Despite a couple standout moments, however, the album just didn't live up to its potential, drawing on genre-specific clichés like horns and gospel-tinged backing vocals more than universal conviction.

Still, a rewarding live performance can transcend even the most lackluster material; and yet, for the most part, the one documented on Miles From Memphis: Live at the Pantages Theatre does not. The set begins encouragingly enough — Crow brings plenty of charisma to the stage, and her band here is outstanding — but it soon succumbs to the same stale motifs as on the album, which informs most of the show.

In fact, she spruces up older cuts in much the same dressing — “All I Wanna Do” morphs into Marvin Gaye’s “Got To Give It Up,” the curious transition leaving little to be desired; “Strong Enough” is usurped by an awkward reggae romp, with Crow at times affecting a faux-Jamaican accent — making this soul serenade seem like either a mismatched experiment of artist and genre or, worse, a contrived one.

Thankfully a stripped-down, pensive version of “Redemption Day,” an underrated highlight of the Sheryl Crow album, along with the effervescent hit, “Soak Up The Sun,” help ensure that Miles From Memphis isn't all for naught.

In the DVD’s bonus footage — a featurette that includes a two-song soundcheck along with commentary from Crow on her band and her aspirations for this particular project — she talks about why R&B and soul music has long resonated with her, and how that appreciation ultimately inspired 100 Miles From Memphis and, consequently, this concert film. She admires legends like Curtis Mayfield and Sly & The Family Stone, she explains, because within even their funkiest, most accessible songs they voiced messages of social and political relevance. “The opportunity to go out and carry on that tradition,” Crow concludes, “for me, is not just humbling but it’s really exciting.” It’s also really presumptuous, and any such assimilation does little to help her credibility in what is an all-around missed opportunity.

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Album Review: The Cars - Move Like This

The road back was never going to be a smooth one. Nearly a quarter of a century had elapsed between the recent reunion of The Cars and the band’s last studio album. Benjamin Orr, its bassist and the voice behind its biggest hit, “Drive,” succumbed to cancer in 2000. Then there was the ill-fated New Cars debacle, featuring Todd Rundgren in place of singer/rhythm guitarist Ric Ocasek, which met with dismal album sales and critical indifference.

And yet however much skepticism such factors may give to those prior to listening to Move Like This (Concord Music) is all but forgotten once its opening track, “Blue Tip,” kicks in with a sound that is at once familiar yet futuristic, boasting the sort of quirky vibe and irresistible hooks that are quintessential to the music of The Cars. With Ocasek having returned to the fold—the line-up is rounded out by all-original members Elliot Easton (lead guitar), David Robinson (drums), and Greg Hawkes (keyboards), who also handled the bass parts in deference to Orr—the band has not only recaptured the spirit they brandished on such albums as Candy-O and Heartbeat City, but has also cooked up one heck of a snap-crackle-and-popping good time. Thick, grunge-spiked riffs in cuts like “Drag On Forever” and “Keep On Knocking” scruff up the predominant slickness with a bit of dissonance in just the right spots. While the shadowy ballad, “Soon,” delivers the most stirring, poignant moment on what is an all-around outstanding album and a most-welcome return of old friends. Let the good times roll, indeed.

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An Interview with Katie Melua

“The first time I heard music that completely destroyed me,” Katie Melua recalls, “was Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ that my mum was playing on the piano when I was six years old.” It’s a memory she’s reflected upon from time to time over the years, but for her its resonance remains profound.

“It was like butterflies in my stomach,” the 26-year-old singer/songwriter describes. “It was like my heart was just dancing. It was like being totally in the moment. All I’ve ever tried to do is just to keep those feelings alive when it comes to making music.”

That sense of immediacy underscores Melua’s current album, The House. It’s her fourth studio effort since her multi-platinum 2003 debut, Call off the Search. Subsequent works, Piece By Piece and Pictures, have yielded further success for Melua, who’s sold in excess of ten million albums to date and who, in 2007, became the biggest-selling British-based female artist in the world.

With such accomplishment comes creative freedom and so for The House Melua and her longtime manager, Mike Batt, sought out renowned techno/electronica producer William Orbit, whose extensive credentials include works by, among others, U2, Madonna, and Prince.

“William is just one of the best producers out there,” Melua says in admiration. Although she knew of his background, she didn’t at first anticipate how they’d spark as a creative team, but she was admittedly intrigued by the prospect.

“I liked the fact that he was a bit of unknown to me,” she says, “in the sense [that] I didn’t really know what to expect.” After listening to a batch of demos he was sent, however, Orbit responded with praise and encouragement, much to Melua’s delight.

“He didn’t just like the sort-of up-tempo, more-pop songs,” she says. “His favorite of the demos we sent him was ‘I’d Love to Kill You,’ which is a really personal, intimate track.” Indeed, the song, which opens the album, creeps forth to a taut acoustic guitar, veiled around a suggestive, beguiling vocal.

“He also respected the organic way [of recording] instead of the more-electronic field that he tends to work in,” she adds. In fact the album doesn’t reflect any dominant sort of techno or electronica vibe nor does it signify a radical departure for Melua, but rather the progression of her artistry. Standout cuts like “Twisted” and “God on the Drums, Devil on the Bass” bear this out, introducing rich, swirling grooves and ethereal sensations.

Also among the most striking performances on The House is “The One I Love is Gone,” penned by the late bluegrass legend, Bill Monroe. Introduced to the song on a various-artist compilation given to her by a friend, Melua was so enamored of it that she performed it in concert last year.

“I really had no intentions of having any covers on this album,” she says, however, “but that song just haunts me. It’s such a great song to sing. I sometimes say that the song just tastes amazing in my mouth.”

Interpreting works of other artists is nothing new for Melua, having covered Randy Newman’s “I Think It’s Gonna Rain Today,” The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven,” and Leonard Cohen’s “In My Secret Life,” among others, on her recordings as well as in her live performances. As far as how she engages such songs in contrast to her own compositions, however, Melua says she doesn’t apply two distinct philosophies.

“As a writer and as a creator I know that music is such a fluid thing,” she explains. “It never stays solid. So when I’ve written a song and released it, it’s then about only the person listening to it.

“On that basis, when I sing a song that I haven’t written, it’s completely mine,” she continues. “It’s got nothing to do with the writer and it’s got nothing to do with who previously recorded it.”

Of course, choosing well-written songs that lend to interpretation doesn’t hurt, but Melua maintains that ideally an artist “has no identity of her own, has no ego of her own, and is nothing but the pure moment and minute as the music is created.” In their own ways, she suggests, listeners can in turn surrender to the immediacy of the moment, in which they can appreciate some aspect of themselves within the music. Melua concurs, “You wouldn’t be attracted to the song if there wasn’t a part of you in it.”

Asked how she’s evolved as an artist in the near decade of her distinction, Melua is at turns reasoned and reflective. “On the one hand the straightforward answer is that I feel like I’ve evolved in such huge leaps and steps,” she says, “but the funny thing is, the more I grow up and kind of think about myself as an artist and think about what I’m trying to do, it’s as if everything that I learn is about complete and utter simplicity.

“On that hand,” Melua says, her thoughts returning to the memory of her first musical discovery, “you’re almost trying to keep up with what you were like as a child.”

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An Interview with Nick Seymour of Crowded House

With the release of their latest LP, Intriguer, Crowded House have, in a sense, come full circle. The album, which hit North American retail and online outlets earlier this week—it was issued elsewhere around the world last month—finds the Australian-based quartet drawing on many of the characteristic qualities that distinguished them over two decades ago.

Led by vocalist and principal songwriter/guitarist Neil Finn, Crowded House generated both critical praise and immense popular success beginning with their eponymous 1985 debut, ultimately scoring such hit singles as "Don't Dream It's Over," "Something So Strong," and "Better Be Home Soon," among many others. By the mid-nineties, though, Finn wished to pursue other endeavors and, in so doing, broke up the band. It wasn't until 2006, following the suicide of drummer and founding member Paul Hester the year before, that Crowded House reemerged with Time On Earth, which began as a Neil Finn solo project to which the remaining members later contributed.

Intriguer is more a concerted effort of the band—who along with Finn includes keyboardist/guitarist Mark Hart, drummer Matt Sherrod, and bassist Nick Seymour—and its melody-rich arrangements, coupled with Finn's compelling lyricism, recall quintessential Crowded House.

The new album’s release inadvertently coincided with the start of the band's North American tour, a daunting scenario for any established act not wanting to overwhelm audiences with a lot of unfamiliar material though, at the same time, maintaining a desire to perform their latest work. "Playing live has to be a challenge," Seymour contends, underscoring the point that nothing about a Crowded House concert is particularly set in stone anyway. "The setlist changes most nights. There’s a stable of, say, six songs that we always include in a set, but we can play for two hours—that’s usually the length of a show—and it takes many turns. I think audiences are set to expect that."

How has the dynamic in the band, now with Matt on drums, changed from the days of, say, Temple of Low Men? Has your approached evolved any or is it similar to how it was back then?

The approach to rendering the music, to finding an arrangement, is pretty much the same. We do takes and we try not to make any mistakes and we try to perform the song from start to finish as best we can. And then [we] scrutinize the takes: “Take three was better than take one.” That has stayed the same. We record to tape, still. We shift tempos according to how Neil feels singing the song. Most of those things are fairly traditional. And that hasn’t changed since Temple of Low Men. That’s a mode we can’t really corrupt or change. Because the minute we try to get the drums separate from the vocal the integrity of the way that the song sings is self-conscious. It’s suddenly challenged and it doesn’t sound right.

Matt is a very different kind of drummer from Paul in a lot of ways, but there are so many similar aspects to their upbringing, which is really extraordinary. I was amazed at the hybrid of music that they grew up with that were similar. They’re similar in some respects and then wildly different in others… When we met Matt, we weren’t trying to replace Paul Hester. We hadn’t been together as a band for some time. We were just trying to meet a drummer that we could instinctively go to and chase [an] abstract enjoyment of jamming. He’s not a particularly great brushes player like Paul was, but he’s an incredible polyrhythm-type player. We’re really lucky we met Matt, that’s for sure.

What does Intriguer, as an album title, mean or intend to suggest?

“The Intriguer” was an actual song at one point. It comes from a night when Neil was out having a drink with a very well-known cartoonist/satirist in Australia, Michael Leunig. Neil and he are friends; they’ve worked together on a couple of projects in the past. They were out having a drink. [It was like] when the conversation just sort of stops and you’re looking around in the bar or just watching out the window; you’re not talking very much, but you’re seeing these little random asides taking place in the city. The story is that whenever there was an alarm or a crash or some kind of accident—a moment in the restaurant or whatever that's drawn attention—Neil has observed a guy standing in a window nearby and Michael’s observed the same person. And they ended up having this abstract conversation about there is governance over dysfunction, [that] this intriguing character oversees these random events just to keep humans on their toes. This dark figure became known as The Intriguer. Neil wrote a song about it and, as it turned out, the song didn’t turn out as well as we thought or capture it as well as the idea of the specter of The Intriguer [being] a great umbrella essence of the new record.

There's a minimalist, organic, almost-meditative quality to the new music. It's a consistent vibe. Was that something you set out to achieve?

I wouldn’t say that we ever have a criteria for how we go about capturing the time in the studio, the energy in the studio. But often there will be an atmosphere that falls into place [of which] we tend to recognize its merit and really grasp at happy accidents that occur. The pressure in the studio of all being in the right place at the right time together is such that you’d almost be sabotaging that potential by having a criteria or a manifesto... It’s just a certain magic that will occur at the time and then make sense after the fact. It is very intuitive and very instinctive. If there is some kind of consistent atmosphere going on from one song to the next, it’s really as a result of possibly the season, what we were eating, the sense of camaraderie and bonhomie, the stories that were being told at the time. Often as not, when I try to piece together an illustration that is to be the cover of the CD, I have to consider all of these elements and try to come up with something that is an inherent juxtaposition to how we were feeling in the studio at the time. It’s incredibly hard, but it makes perfect sense once it’s done.

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