I love hearing about how people got into music. You grew up in a house full of writers.
Yeah, that's right.
Were you interested in playing music, and was that something you were doing in school?
It was always present in my life. My folks weren't musicians, but they were very into music. There was always music being played in the house. A lot of the music I remember hearing when I was young was sitting in the back of the station wagon on trips up north, to the northern part of Michigan. Back then, they would lay down the back seats, and it was a flat bed in the back, and we would lay in the back of the station wagon, which sounds so unsafe now, and listen to music that my folks would play. That stuff stuck with me for sure. My dad wasn't a professional musician, but he and his brothers would love to sit around and harmonize and sing the songs they liked – up north, around the campfire. It sounds cliché, but that's really what they used to do. They would sit around and harmonize on Neil Young and Johnny Cash songs, and I soaked that all up. I started playing around on my dad's guitar when I was pretty young. I'm left-handed, but I got a right-handed guitar and I forced myself to play that way. I joined the orchestra and played upright bass. I chose the biggest thing I could, because we had the station wagon, right? I had to fill it up. That led me to electric bass, and I remember a school assembly where the jazz combo from the high school came through and played for us in middle school, and I think that was the first time when I was really thinking, “Okay, I could be in a band, maybe.” I started my first band in seventh grade with some of the guys who are in the band still today. We geeked out through high school, playing out around town and even traveled a little bit, just in punk bands and maybe a couple of ska bands. I don't want to talk about that, but... [laughs]
The music we listen to as kids is always interesting. It’s part of the musical quilt that makes us who we are.
You remember Columbia House? [A mail order music club. -Ed.]
Oh, yeah. I mean, that's where I learned about all the music.
Yeah.
I still have some of those tapes.
My brother was a member. I soaked up all the financial ruin he led himself to through that service. It was the early way to sample all kinds of stuff, so he ended up becoming a big hip-hop head, which is great because I got to soak up a lot of that. But he also had The Smiths and Nick Cave records, and I got to hear all of it through him. He was my biggest musical supplier in those formative teenage years. He was listening to all this weird stuff and taking me to shows. It was pretty cool having someone like that around.
Did you guys keep that high school band together into college?
Once high school ended, we all went our separate ways. I went to art school and I kept playing in bands, but with new people, and I think everybody did the same thing. Really, we all went our separate ways for quite a while, well into our twenties. But I started recording again when I was about 27, back in 2009 and 2010, and I got the itch again to get out and get a band going. My sister and I handed out some demos I made at a few music festivals out here in California, and I started getting hit up to play shows so I was needing to put a band together. The first people I thought of were those guys who had started that journey with all those years ago. They're like my brothers. I've known them so long, and it felt like a really comfortable way. They all came out West, and at first it was, "We'll just play a few shows.” But we've been on the road ever since.
There's got to be a comfort level with people that you've known for that long, and a level of communication being from the same place. Having a common language musically and socially really lends itself to the creative process.
I don't know if I had that much foresight, honestly, but I'm so glad it worked out that way because we didn't have to go through all the growing pains that a lot of young bands go through getting to know each other. If it's going to become your lifestyle, you want to be around people you love. I'm really thankful that it all fell together the way it did.
What got you interested in the technical and production aspect of record making?
To some degree, it was just necessity in those early days of trying to find a way to put things down on tape. I got a TASCAM 414 [4-track cassette] when I was 15 for Christmas, because I wanted to make recordings. Eventually, [Apple] GarageBand was the first in-the-box thing I used, and then onto [Apple] Logic Pro, and that's what I've been using ever since. I had such a clear idea of what I wanted to do, and I felt I should set out and do it as much as possible. I learned in art school that there's something to not knowing what you're doing exactly, technically, that I think aids in creativity. I have tried to surround myself with people who know more of the technical side of things and can help me with that to free up that part of my brain. But I have such a clear idea what I want to make most of the time that it feels like being in charge of that makes sense, and it's fun. It's fun trying to figure it out, trying to chase all that mystery, and figure out how to express these sort of intangible things that are floating around in my head. It makes sense that I'm the best person to figure out how to do that since it's originating inside me to some extent. That said, five records in, every time we start making a record I feel I'm learning to do it again. Things I thought I retained from the previous process don't work anymore, or don't necessarily fit what I'm trying to say anymore. To some degree, it's square one every time. Which is fun, but it can be daunting when we're trying to get a record done!
One of the things about your records I find so interesting is that they’re sonically rich and lyrically they have these stories that are tied together thematically. Concept albums to a degree. It’s almost like set design with the tones, and the sounds, and the palettes and colors. How much thought is actually going into that for you in terms of that part of the process?
I think there's definitely thought going into it, but a lot of it is following my interest and following my instinct to some degree. Chasing that mystery; trying to find a way to express these things without overthinking it too much. You have to let it tell you something, let that mystery speak to you, or I guess speak through you in some way. I let it develop naturally. I don't try to over conceptualize too early on. I like to let ideas flow, follow little threads or fragments, and then later on see how they hang together and see what it tells me. That process was even more evident making this record, where it was created over such a long period of time, in such varied places, and in such varied ways, that at some point I had this massive collection of fragments and little bits of lyrics and ideas that I had to figure out how to turn it into something. I guess I think really visually about music too, where I like to try to describe things that I see in my head with sound, like you were saying, set a scene or paint a picture using sonics, and sometimes that image changes and blurs as you try to make it. I found that trying to be too strict about sticking to what I had in my head initially will often lead me to a dead end. Whereas, if I let it sort of paint itself I'll end up with something that's more rich. Maybe from my subconscious, or elsewhere, that becomes more meaningful.
It's a pretty abstract concept in general. Can you give me some examples of painting those pictures with sounds? Are you speaking specifically about things like reverb or instrumentation? I love when somebody marries the sentiment of tone and lyrics – when those are intertwined and working well together with the songwriting and production.
I do think there's a musical and stylistic shorthand that we have, that we can draw from the past. It's really interesting trying to see how you can combine those things in new ways. Take the Bo Diddley beat as an example. It evokes so many concepts for so many people because of all the history it has and all the ways it's been used in the past. Whether it's been in movies, or the associations people have generally with that period of time and finding ways to combine those things to create a vibe or a setting. The tone of a spaghetti western guitar mixed with the Bo Diddley beat and some synth sounds that come from way later. What's this new landscape you paint when all those things are put together? There's a bit of experimentation there. And, like you said, maybe there are some more literal ways of creating space with effects like reverb and delay and giving a sense of distance. It's funny to try to put that stuff into words, how it all comes together. But I guess that's part of that mystery.
Let's talk a little bit about The Cosmic Selector Volume 1. And, no surprise, it's a concept album! What’s the story you're trying to tell?
There was a lot of searching making this album. Some of the songs were cut multiple times and I don't know exactly what I was looking for at the beginning. It's a good example of that idea I was talking about before, of the idea of revealing itself over time. I had this idea of looking backwards, forwards, down and up, out and in, all at the same time. I had this idea about a jukebox that represented the vagaries of fate, the different ways a life can go, and how each song in this jukebox is sort of a different fate. Yeah, and there's not really a specific story behind that other than the different hands you can be dealt in life, not knowing what's coming your way, and there not being any rhyme or reason to the randomness of the universe.
And it was recorded at Whispering Pines?
It was built over time. Part of it was recorded at Whispering Pines, which is our studio here in L.A. But I was looking for ways to change up the process, so for the first time I worked with a co-producer named Matt Neighbour, and he was working at a studio called Martinsound in Alhambra [California], so a lot of it was recorded there. I've also got a little studio up in Michigan, where I did some of it. Some was pulled from sessions I did in Berlin, way back. Then it was a matter of piecing all those things together and making it what it is, which in the end fit conceptually with this fragmentary concept.
Tell me a little bit about Whispering Pines, because that place has a bit of a history as well.
Yeah, we're not exactly sure what all was done there, but we know that it was built out by this arranger, H.B. Barnum, who did a lot of great work back in the ‘60s and ‘70s. I think after he used it, it went through a few other hands and then it sat vacant for who knows how long, 50 years? We found it on Craigslist. We were looking for a place to rehearse. Honestly, the posting didn't look very attractive, but we thought we'd check it out. It was this beautifully built out space, and the only thing it was being used for was AA meetings. There were a couple of couches and some folding chairs in the tracking room. We got a good deal on renting it. The people who own it now are not in the music business and maybe didn't quite understand what they had in their hands. It's been about ten years now that we've been in there. It's been a long process tearing out all the old wiring, making it our own, and slowly accruing gear. We've made the last four records there. It's our clubhouse, you know? We rehearse there. We record there. We record videos there.
There are some special guests on this new record. One of them being actress Kristen Stewart, and the other is Kazu Makino from Blonde Redhead. How did those collaborations come to be?
With Kristen, which I think is the one that maybe came most out of left field, I had this song that I was working on. The song is called “Who Laughs Last,” and I kept hearing a narrator doing spoken word narration through this track. I cut it myself at first, and it didn't feel right. It really felt like it wanted to be a female voice. I had my wife demo it, and that felt much better but I think she was not totally comfortable having her voice on there. I kept hearing Kristen's voice. I don't know why, exactly. I'm a fan of her acting, especially the movies she did with Olivier Assayas, which my wife actually turned me onto. I kept hearing her voice doing this narration, so I thought I would see if there was a way to get in touch with her. My manager somehow found a way to get to her manager, and asked if she wanted to do it. She was familiar with the band and was a fan, so she said she'd at least meet me to make sure I wasn't a nut. We met up and hit it off, talking about music and movies, and she said she'd do it. It was really funny, because she's a consummate, high level actress. She kept referencing my wife's original cut and saying, “I don't know if this is as good as your wife's version.” But it is. She did a really incredible job, and she had ideas for the video, so it became a really fun collaboration.
I know that she's an actress, but the idea of putting someone in a situation that maybe is not quite comfortable can be really cool.
Yeah, she was nervous about it. I'd figure someone who's been on the scale of production she's been on would be cool as a cucumber, as they say, but she was a little… Yeah, there's a good energy, a nervous energy that I think added a lot to the song.
If you're producing, and you're the writer, playing on it, and director of the project, how do you keep your perspective when you're so inside of this. Maybe you don't?
I guess that's a way to look at it. It's more steering it rather than being in total complete control. I've got an idea of what I want to do, and I surround myself with people who I feel will contribute and help me get there, which is another reason I'm so thankful for the guys in the band who I've known so long. They trust me creatively, but they're there to help me. The way it usually goes is I'll demo it out myself, front to back, to get the idea out there. That includes me recording in hotel rooms, on my phone, and on my [Roland] V-Drums. It ends up at this sort of strange demo level, and then we'll recreate it all together. A big thing they add is musicianship, because they're all really incredible players, but there's also a lot of idea swapping and suggesting going on through that process. The engineers that we work with too. Everybody along the process adds something. We've been working with this engineer, Ben Tolliday, for years and years. He's a creative guy, but he knows how to technically get there when we have an idea. It was great to find Matt [Neighbour] – the co-producer on this record – because he's the same way; really creative and has great ideas. Mixing's always been that way for us too. That’s one thing that I've never really wanted to do, because at that stage of a project I'm always ready to let someone else have a say and tell me what's working. I guess it's like an editor in writing in some ways where it’s the final stage that really takes it to the next level. Rick Parker mixed our first couple records [Lonesome Dreams, Strange Trails. Dave Fridmann [Tape Op #17] mixed a record [Vide Noir] that was a really great experience, Paul Butler did the last one [Long Lost]. Lars Stalfors did this one. All those people really brought a lot. I think it's about searching for those people, making their relationships, and then surrounding yourself with them when it comes time to create.
Have there been some surprises for you with some of the material coming back from folks that have mixed the record? Are you really that hands off with it? Or are you sitting with them?
It's funny, because the pandemic changed that dynamic. Long Lost we mixed right when the pandemic started. We had to hand it off to Paul Butler, and then do stuff over the phone or over email. But in a weird way, I liked that better. It used to be I would sit in the session and probably annoy the hell out of the mixer, just tweaking things. I was there the whole time, and it's insane to think about that now. With Dave Fridmann, I did get to go there. Me and Mark Barry, the drummer and engineer in the band, traveled to Dave's studio and stayed there for a week, mixing our record, Vide Noir. But it was definitely "let Dave do his thing" during the day, and then we reviewed it at night and make some notes and tweaks. He would find all kinds of stuff that I didn't even remember was in there and make that the feature, and sometimes it worked out great. He gave that record such a cool sound. Because I had so much respect for stuff he had done before, I was more willing to let him do his thing. But he was extremely gracious and willing to collaborate with us too. That was a cool experience. He would push us too. He'd get done mixing a song, or where he felt good, but he'd say, “This needs this. I want you to go record it.” We would try it. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but it was a pretty nice back and forth with him.
As you make more records you reach a level of maturity where you can let that stuff happen. I think when you're younger, it's harder to.
Yeah. I think that is part of it. There's one song on this record, “Nothing That I Need,” where we finished up a tour in Nashville, and I thought, “Maybe I'll go in with a producer here and do a Nashville session and see what happens.” We hooked up with Jay Joyce, who's done a bunch of country records and some big alternative rock records. I went in there with a song and a day, we hired some Nashville cats, and we made a song. It was crazy giving that much control to somebody else for the first time. He arranged it all and mixed the original mix. Then I took it back and worked with the band, adding a few things, giving it the flavor of the record, and did a little remixing. But it was mostly Jay and his team who put that song together.
How did that feel for you?
It was odd. It was freeing in a way, though, and interesting to try it. I guess some people start their career that way. They're used to working with producers and having that part handled by somebody else, to some degree. It probably doesn't seem that strange to a lot of artists. But, yeah, for me it was a new experience.
You're also a painter. Where do you see the art, music, and writing intersecting?
For me, they're all a means to express the same thing. I guess the place my creativity has come from is trying to find the most eloquent way of expressing this mystery. And for the way I think about the stuff I make is not about answering questions so much as opposing questions or pondering things. I definitely don't think I have any of the answers, but I think I know a lot of good questions that I like to ask. To me, all those different disciplines are different means to getting at that. It's hard to describe exactly what that thing is that I'm chasing, but I keep going back to that idea of mystery. Mystery and beauty are intertwined in a way that's pretty much reliant. It's almost like beauty is the shadow of mystery or vice versa. Sometimes I can't tell which way it goes, but everything that I find really beautiful seems to have a real mysterious element to it. Love and the cosmos and nature. It's almost just an attempt to express the awe that I feel in the face of those things. A lot of this record was about reflecting on some of my past and the genesis of my musical inclinations. I was listening to a lot of records that I loved growing up. There's this Hum record that I had. Do you know that band?
Oh, yeah.
Oh man, Downward is Heavenward. I was thinking, “What a fucking vibe this record is.” And a bunch of Blonde Redhead, which is how I started thinking about Kazu again. I went to see a Blonde Redhead show here in L.A., and I'd been trying to find a female vocalist for that song. My wife said, “Why don't you ask Kazu? She’s the perfect person for it.” Blonde Redhead was my favorite band in high school. Feeling they're unattainable and then finding out you can just reach out and she's down. Wow.
You put the work in, so there’s no reason why people that you appreciate wouldn't appreciate you.
Yeah, I guess that's what it is. It’s that same mystery that I was talking about. I don't read a lot of music biographies. I want to maintain some of that because there's so little mystery left in the world nowadays. I want to try to keep some of that feeling that I had when I was a kid, looking at the back of a 12-inch and wondering who the fuck these people were, and how they possibly made this beautiful thing. I don't want to know how the sausage is made. I want to get out there and try to make it.
Unfortunately, you know how the sausage is made. Make high-quality sausage.
Yeah, right. No additives, no preservatives.
