Billy Nayer Show: Band, studio, movies, surfboards, more...

When Frank Swart, bassist in The Billy Nayer Show (and who engineered The Pixies' first recording, is responsible for many of Morphine's fat tones, and continues to record his band Post Junk Trio), discovered that I had taken on the challenge of writing about his band he said, "I've been doing it for four years and I still have a hard time explaining it to people." I, in turn, have sympathy for the reviewer who elegantly gave up and wrote, "I don't know what the fuck to call it. Just go see them." Why all the sympathy? Read on. Billy Nayer is not a real person. However, like a strange cousin of Sgt. Pepper, he has his own band. Billy is an animated character in a short film called Billy Nayer with music by The Billy Nayer Show. Cory McAbee, lead singer and autoharpist in the band, told me that Billy Nayer "was just an off-the-cuff name that a friend of mine suggested."

There are few boundaries around what they'll make, how they'll make it and the lengths they'll go to in order to finish it. To date they've released a critically acclaimed feature film titled The American Astronaut, three shorter films compiled in an unthinkably surreal DVD called The Early Years, seven records, numerous comic strips, postcards, a magazine, storyboards and soundtracks — and they currently have a new feature film, an album and an illustrated novel in the works. As Cory put it, "If you actually sit down and tell people, 'Well, we write and paint and draw and sing,' and you go through the list, you just sound like an idiot. Whereas if you say, 'I'm a painter,' or 'I'm a songwriter,' and you say that you're one of these things, they take you seriously." But those attitudes obviously don't hold them back. Drummer Bobby Lurie built a recording studio in Manhattan called Mavericks and formed BNS Productions, BGM Records and Fickey Publishing (just the necessary business entities). Somehow they also manage to aggressively tour the US and Europe — and they do all of it with adherence to an artistic vision that, initially, makes you scratch your head and say, 'Huh?' To maintain and realize this vision demands artistic and contractual independence, a ton of elbow grease and a healthy dose of loyal friendship. Cory and Bobby met back in the early '80s in San Francisco, where they'd sit up all night discussing their plans for films and music. Today, Bobby sees his role as Cory's "artistic bodyguard," making sure nothing disrupts Cory's creative flow. Frank joins Bobby in his faithful support of Cory's creativity: "Cory is a kid writing songs."