It seems like an easy jab: those who can, do, those who can't, teach. It's also easy to fall into the mocked side of that dichotomy. How many writers take up a full-time teaching gig -- for whatever reason -- and maintain the same pace and quality they did before? Grading endless stories instead of writing your own clearly takes its toll. Unless you're John McNally.

Now, I'm sure John would be the first to say that he would rather be writing during the times that he is teaching or grading students' work, but he hasn't let his duties as a faculty member at Wake Forest University or other teaching stints dull his progress. He just issued his fifth book in the past decade, the satirical After the Workshop. In addition, he has edited six anthologies, taken a crack at screenplay writing and continues to write and place short stories.

Given that output and work ethic, it seems we can put to rest any supposition that McNally's characters are thinly veiled versions of their creator. After the Workshop's Jack Hercules Sheahan may share a bit of McNally's resume -- Iowa Writer's Workshop graduate and one-time media escort for traveling writers -- but unlike McNally, Sheahan has debilitating writer's block that has relegated his one-time debut novel in progress to a box tucked out of sight.

Sheahan is the latest McNally protagonist with more talent than ambition. These are working-class guys who have nothing handed to them... or if it is, it will probably just make things more difficult for them. But McNally renders these tales with considerable empathy and boatloads of sharp humor that allows him to tackle topics much deeper than he might otherwise be allowed.

McNally has been involved in academia for 27 years, either as a student or a teacher, and brings the lessons learned during that time to bear on his next project, his first non-fiction book, The Creative Writer's Survival Guide: Advice from an Unrepentant Novelist. That book, forthcoming this year from University of Iowa Press, will perhaps offer some insights that will allow readers to better understand how it is possible for McNally to continue to crank out such top-notch fiction while his attention is pulled in any number of directions.

Caveat: I met John when taking a course he taught at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival at the University of Iowa. I signed up for his class on short fiction after reading and loving Troublemakers. I was not disappointed; John was an insightful, funny and personable instructor, and it has been a pleasure to stay in touch with both John and his work since.

Note: McNally reads from After the Workshop at Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City on Tuesday, March 9 at 7 p.m. I am hosting the reading, and will lead a Q&A with John after he reads. Listen online here.

TIRBD: While many novels have been written about writers and writing, none that I know of take on writing programs in general, and specifically the Iowa Writers' Workshop, as directly as you do. That, coupled with the fact that you used real Iowa City institutions and geography made this really resonate. Was there ever a moment where you considered fictionalizing things more, and why did you decide instead to choose this path?

JM: When I was in the Workshop in the late ‘80s, I read a lot of books set in Iowa City, like John Irving’s The Water-Method Man and W.P. Kinsella’s The Iowa Baseball Confederacy, and I still remember that shock of recognition I experienced every time a real place appeared in one of the books. In my first novel, The Book of Ralph, I used a lot of real places as well, but I never named the city, except to say that it was on the southwest side of Chicago, and I’ve since regretted it. With this book, I didn’t want there to be any ambiguity about place.

There is a real love-hate relationship with the Workshop here, and you'll surely be asked how much of Jack is you given that your own time in the Workshop is so prominent in the promotion of the book. So, how much is you, how much is friends and acquaintances and how much is made up of whole cloth?

As with most of my fiction, my starting point is often autobiographical, but it tends to veer quickly away from that. I was a media escort in Iowa City; I graduated from the Workshop; I kicked around for a number of years before my first book was accepted. But I never experienced the writer’s block that Jack does, and I didn’t remain in Iowa City after graduating. (I moved back about seven or eight years later.) Jack is a slightly more pathetic version of who I was. But we shared the same fear that this whole thing – being a writer – wasn’t ever going to come to fruition, and there were many times, back when I was driving writers around as an author escort, that I questioned my reason for being, as Jack does. As for other people and places, I can say that some of the scenes grew out of conversations I was privy to, and some of the characters are composites of types of writers I’ve met, but that’s true of almost every book I’ve written. In The Book of Ralph, Ralph is a composite of three kids I knew, and yet everyone I grew up with thinks they know for sure who the real Ralph is. I’m suspect the same thing will happen with After the Workshop.

One significant way you differ from Jack is that you have published several books, with five novels and story collections of your own and several anthologies. Was there a point at which you were in Jack's shoes, unable to finish something and wondering if you ever would? If so, what pulled you out of that? Are you ever scared that could still happen?

I have rarely had writer’s block. I’ve had stretches of not being able to write because of situational things in my life, but it wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to write about. Unlike Jack, I was always able to finish the books I was working on, but I wrote two novels before my first book was published, and I’ve since written two novels that haven’t seen publication. So, my fear isn’t so much that I’ll be blocked as it is that I’ll write another book that won’t get published. In that regard, I could empathize with Jack’s wondering what the hell his life is amounting to and what, if anything, he can do about it.

You're becoming quite adept at poking institutions that don't welcome the provocation. First came the Bush Administration in America's Report Card (and, of course, ACT), and now the fabled Iowa Writers' Workshop. This makes for edgier fiction, to be sure, but are there repercussions that ever make you doubt the wisdom of that course?

My way of thinking (and, I’ll admit, it’s probably not sound) is that you’re only going to suffer repercussions if you have something to lose. I suppose the Workshop will never ask me to teach there as a Visiting Writer, but you know what? It’s not something I’ve pined for, and there’s a 99.99 percent chance it wasn’t going to happen anyway. I haven’t been waiting by the phone, in other words. Also, my intention in writing the novel wasn’t to take down the Workshop or the publishing industry. It was to write about a guy with a crappy job who’s questioning his purpose in life. In doing so, I hold up a few institutions and gently poke them, but I honestly don’t think I’ve poked fun at anything that can’t take it. Oh, and I’ve gotten pretty good at building bookcases these past few years, so if the whole writing thing dries up as a result of some serious miscalculation on my part, I’ve got a fallback plan.

Humor again plays a part in your work, deployed most effectively as a way to deflate some of the odd inner workings of the Workshop and the publishing world. As a graduate of the Workshop and someone dependent to an extent on the publishing world, did you worry about biting the hand that feeds, and did that lead you to temper things at any point? Did the humor let you get away with more than you might have otherwise?

Humor lets you get away with a lot. In both satiric novels – After the Workshop and America’s Report Card – I’ve had to trim back places where it seemed too rant-like. In After the Workshop, I tried to leave no stone unturned. I wanted it all in there. But what happens is that the first draft had passages that were too essay-like, passages that lacked humor and didn’t do anything to service the story or the characters, and so those had to go. As for biting the hand that feeds me…no, I’m not worried about that. I never tempered anything in the book for that reason.

You mentioned the last time we did one of these Q&As that your next book would be your Gravity's Rainbow. Is this that, or did this pop up in the middle? And to that end, when you start something, do you finish it or do you let the heat of inspiration pull you in a different direction when a new idea surfaces, no matter what it might interrupt?

I said that? Yeah; well…my problem is that I work on too many things at once. There’s a long, complicated novel that I’m working on, but when the idea for this novel was presented to me (I was having a conversation with my then-agent, telling her about my days as a media escort, and she said, “You should write that book.”), I sat down and wrote a few pages to see if there was anything there, but once I started writing, I didn’t stop until I was done. (Well, okay, I did stop to sleep and eat, but I kept knocking out a few pages a day.) With this book in the bag, I returned to the big novel again, but I’ve since had an idea for a short novel, so that’s what I’m working on right now. It’s unlike anything I’ve written, and I’m having a great time with it, so I want to keep going with it to see what happens.

Your next book is The Creative Writer's Survival Guide: Advice from an Unrepentant Novelist. You have taught writing for years. Was the act of writing down your thoughts and ideas illuminating at all? Did the process of organizing potentially disparate notions cause you to rethink any long-held beliefs?

What it illuminated was just how damned hard it is to write a nonfiction book. I walked away with an even greater respect for nonfiction writers, for whom I already had enormous respect. I’m not sure it made me rethink any long-held beliefs, though. It’s a highly opinionated book, and after spending 27 years in academia as either a student or a teacher, and almost as long writing and sending work to magazines while writing books, I’ve formed a lot of opinions. The book does come with this warning: “You may not agree with me.” At some point down the road, I’ll probably update the book, and I suspect some of my opinions will have changed in the interim, so I’m looking at it as an amorphous project, and I’m granting myself permission to disagree with myself when the time comes.

Labels: books, Monday Interview

For some reason, I never got around to reading Craig McDonald's second novel, Toros & Torsos. In a way it was a fortuitous oversight, because it meant that I got to spend the last 10 days completely absorbed in the world of Hector Lassiter, reading that and McDonald's third, Print the Legend, back to back. 600-plus pages later, my only regret is that there aren't 600 more... yet.

Anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time has probably already read a Q&A with McDonald. He's the Monday Interview record holder (sorry, Craig, there is no cash prize), having assented to answer four batches of questions. Each time, I learn something new: McDonald knows a hell of a lot more about books and literature than I do.

Print the Legend is the third of seven books to follow Lassiter, a pulp and crime fiction writer who is chums with Ernest Hemingway. In Toros & Torsos, the two get wrapped up in a series of murders that are tied to the surrealist art movement. In Print the Legend, which picks up where T&T ends, it is five years after Hemingway killed himself, and Lassiter is in Idaho looking into some questions about Papa's remaining unpublished work. This is a crime story, however, so there is plenty of intrigue and action along the way.

The genius of these books is that McDonald has created a perfectly believable world in which Lassiter interacts with real people, reacting to actual events (and occasionally bringing them about), and does so in such a way that he doesn't affect what truly took place. He does so with impeccably researched details that add to the verisimilitude without intruding on the story. It's intriguing to read about Hemingway (and I learned more about the man here than in any textbook), but the story would be just as compelling if it were about a fictional character.

There are four more Lassiter books to come, though they follow no chronological order (the nice segue from T&T to PTL was thanks to a new editor at a new publisher), so we'll continue to learn bits and pieces about Lassiter's life as we read.

The only downside is knowing that McDonald has plenty of other work that must wait years to see publication.

To read about McDonald's first author interview collection, Art in the Blood, click here.
To read about McDonald's first novel, Head Games, click here.
To read about McDonald's second author interview collection, Rogue Males, click here.

You've obviously fully absorbed Hemingway's work and done considerable research on the man. But writing in his voice is still quite a challenge. How did that work, and did you get it right the first time?

It’s really up to the reader as to whether I pulled off writing a lost chapter of Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, or in drafting Hemingway’s alleged suicide note. In terms of the actual writing of the “lost chapter,” I reread Hemingway’s Feast, then wrote the chapter in a single sitting without very much revision. The suicide note was also written in a single pass.

I think if I’d really gone over and over those pieces, they might have come out as over-thought…over-cooked. Hem’s voice in his letters, which I used to write Hem’s dialogue in my novels, is pretty far away from Hem’s formal fiction prose, so I shot for that tone in the suicide note. Feast had a narrative voice all its own…longer, more interior…not so laconic and stripped down as the prose style most think of when they think of Hemingway’s writing. So I think trying to capture that voice from the memoir, you’re less apt to veer into something that might come across as a contender for the annual Bad Hemingway writing contest.

You have several books in the Lassiter series ready to go. Are you continuing to tweak them? Do you plan to bring all of them out before anything else, and if so, are you building a backlog of work that will eventually see publication when this series is done?

Every once in a while, I’ll make a trip through one of the unpublished books, or lay in a sentence or two. Some of that is driven by new stuff introduced in the editing process…some from just having the books around for so long that I have the luxury of continuing to bind them tightly together. As to when they get published, and in what order, much of that is in the hands of acquiring editors. The editor who brought me over to Macmillan left there just before Print the Legend launched. Together we edited what I expect to be the next novel, Roll the Credits, just before he went on to Little Brown. So at the moment, I’m not certain what might happen next. It’s truly out of my hands.

You've said that the order of the books was changed when you moved to St. Martin's. That makes the most recent two -- Toros & Torsos and Print the Legend work well chronologically. Why was that not the plan before, and how does this reshuffling affect the overall story arc in your eyes?

My original notion was to ease readers into Print the Legend, whose tone is very different from any of the other novels and a world apart from that of Head Games, particularly. No question, Print seems to come right off the end of Toros & Torsos.

But my original plan was to follow Toros with what might be my favorite in the series, a Hector novel set in Paris in one week in 1924 and tied to a nihilistic religious cult and the whole mystique of the Lost Generation. It was my notion, early in the series, to see Hector and Hemingway together in Paris as unknowns before going into the twilight scenes of Print the Legend. Now, what we’re most likely going to end up with, largely, is a sequence of novels with a twenty-something Hector.

There seems to be some playful self-deprecation here in your treatment of the literary scholar Richard early on, with his pursuit of all things Hemingway somewhat mirroring what a reader imagines you have done, to some extent, in your own pursuit of the man. Was this a knowing admission?

Again, that’s probably a call for others to make. I didn’t really see myself as pursuing Hemingway in the way Richard Paulson, Hemingway scholar, does. Richard’s wife, Hannah, indicates Richard tends to go at the surface aura of the man…the houses, the places and bars…the kind of iconic clutter around Hemingway, without really grasping the essence of the writer or of the writings. I’m much more interested in Hemingway as writer and flawed literary innovator. His swaggering, larger-than-life mystique doesn’t entice me. For Richard, on the other hand, well, that’s all he sees.

How is it different writing a character who actually lived vs. one like Lassiter who is entirely fictional?

In a funny, or even unsettling way, Hector ceased to be a fictional character for me some time ago. I put together such a detailed biography and chronology for the character at my first editor’s insistence, that I came to approach him as a living or historical figure and feel an obligation to be as true to Hector’s biography as I am in writing Hemingway, or Dos Passos, or Orson Welles.

Your Lassiter series is historical in nature. Do you foresee yourself ever writing something thoroughly modern in terms of setting?

I’ve got several manuscripts that would fit that description. Some are out there now, being shopped. One or two haven’t really been pushed in that way. You do tend to get typed and I think for the moment, I’m the “historical thriller” guy. For a time, after the interview book Rogue Males was released, I was kind of threatened with being perceived as a nonfiction writer, which is not the way I want to be typed… another reason why I’m very resistant to the possibility of anymore interview books. They tend to muddy the marketing waters, in a dangerous way, and sad to say, in this current milieu, writers have to really be cognizant and protective of “brand.”

Hector bristles at the tag "mystery writer," preferring that his books be labeled "crime fiction." Do you share similar thoughts? What do you make of the ongoing debate over the merits of genre and the general classification of books?

I’m getting that question a lot for some reason… perhaps because Print the Legend takes on that subject full bore. To the first part of your question, I view myself as “a storyteller,” without any qualifiers. My first two novels were sub-headed, “A Novel.” The first cover mock-up of Print the Legend said “A Mystery” and I pitched a fit. We settled on “A Crime Novel,” for Print’s cover.

For my part, I think the tag “mystery” embodies certain expectations on the part of readers… expectations my books do not and never will fulfill. It’s a matter of honest advertising, in that sense. In terms of Hector’s own resistance to the term, when he was writing, “mystery” was a kind of repugnant or dismissive term if you look at most of the writing being done in genre. Hector also went to Paris in the 1920s to be a literary writer in the vein of a Hemingway. But Hector got typed early as a crime writer more in the Chandler/Hammett vein than Christie and company. We see in Print he eventually took radical steps to shrug off that label. The next novel, Roll the Credits, will make more explicit how far Hector went to reinvent himself in the late-1960s.

As to the bigger and perennial literary vs. genre debate, I’ll only observe that you see a lot of literary writers big-footing into the genre pond these days, but no genre writers running the other way. Maybe that’s because “literary fiction” has come to be a term associated with novels unpopulated by compelling characters and devoid of enticing stories… these too-often arid, shrug inducing tomes that are just death to anyone who cares about story.

Labels: crime fiction, Monday Interview

After reading Steve Hamilton's first novel, A Cold Day in Paradise, it didn't take me long to zip through the rest of his seven Alex McKnight novels. The last time I was this captivated by an author and his main protagonist, Michael Connelly was hooking me with his Harry Bosch books.

There are a few similarities there: A police background, a loner who pushes people away and a keen mind that is adept at solving crimes. There are similarities in the writers, too, in that both write extremely well about characters yet don't let that get in the way of deftly plotted stories. Theirs are the kinds of books that reveal the whole "style over substance" argument as it relates to crime fiction a sham.

If Hamilton's new novel is any indication, he and Connelly are soon to share another trait: successful novelists who are able to weave together a career alternating between series books and top-notch stand-alones. Connelly has proven adept at the practice, and Hamilton, with The Lock Artist, proves he is more than up to the task.

Instead of McKnight, a former pro baseball player and cop who now lives in a cabin in the remote Upper Peninsula of Michigan, we get Michael, someone once know as "the miracle boy" who now is a talented lock picker and safecracker. He is unlucky enough to show off his skills in the wrong company, and now he is forced into a life of crime. Further complicating things is that that "miracle" event left him unable to speak, so the best way he can communicate is through his detailed, skillful drawings. (If you want more than that, look around the web. Hamilton plays with time here, so to give away much more is to give away too much).

With this book, Hamilton has stepped up his game. Though the McKnight books are awfully good, The Lock Artist is the best thing he has done, a cleverly plotted, sophisticated story full of rich, well-drawn characters that leap off of the page. It should be a career-defining book, sating the appetites of patient fans pining for the next McKnight book, and drawing in many more who have been oblivious to this top-flight talent.

TIRBD: From a reader's perspective, The Lock Artist is a book that clearly takes your writing to another level and is quite different in almost every aspect from the McKnight books. Does it feel that way from your perspective, and what signifies the differences for you?

SH: It does feel a lot different, yes. It’s a younger character, and the overall feeling in the book ties in a lot more closely to things I’ve felt in my own life. Not so much the lockpicking and safecracking, obviously, but the feeling of alienation and loneliness. With Michael, that feeling is a lot more dramatic, but otherwise the whole story could be like a strange dream version of my own teenage years.

You mention that writing Michael allowed you to write about alienation and loneliness. But Alex McKnight certainly deals with both of those things, too. How was this different?

I suppose you could do some psychoanalysis on me and find out why that's such a recurrent theme – but in this new book those feelings hit a lot closer to home for me. Alex has his own brand of solitude, of course, but he was a good 10 years older than me when I first started writing about him (funny how I seem to be catching up to him now), and he'd already been through a career as a cop, a divorce, and a lot of other things that I can only imagine. In Michael's case, he's 17 and his life hasn't even started yet. So, that's something I could definitely relate to, looking back at that same point in my own life.

The book is quite specific in its detail about how to pick locks and crack safes, and has the feel of being more than a recitation of research. Did you try your hand at these things to get a feel for them and better your descriptions of the act?

I was fortunate enough to work with a lock expert – somebody who knows a lot about lockpicking and even more so about opening those $5 combination locks you see on every gym locker. (Very easy to open, it turns out.) I also found a gentleman who happens to be one of the best safecrackers in the world. He was incredibly kind and generous in helping me to understand what it feels like to open a huge, 800-pound safe. (He’s not a criminal, by the way! He’s a legal safecracker and that’s the only thing he does, every single day.)

Is technology getting to the point where a book like this might one day be historical fiction because everything will be electronic and skills like these will be dated?

Apparently (and don’t quote me on this), the electronic safes are fairly easy to crack if you have a special computer that can transmit the different codes at a high speed. There’s something about a good old-fashioned metal combination dial that people just naturally trust. I don’t think that’ll change for quite a while.

I would imagine that the character of Mike evolved for you as layers were added: young kid who suffered a tragedy and can now pick locks and can't speak and is a great artist... did you worry at any point that you'd gone perhaps one step too far in giving Mike things to deal with, or did all of these seem vital from the start in terms of telling the story you wanted to tell?

It all started with the fascination with locks, and how that tied back to this thing that had happened to him. The muteness literally didn’t occur to me until I got to his first line of dialogue. Then it was just like, No, he’s not going to talk! That’s going to be the thing he has to deal with, every moment of every day. The talent with art followed after that, because without speaking he needs some way to impress a girl, right? Otherwise, it’s hopeless.

You set up an interesting premise that is fairly unique in crime and mystery fiction: the protagonist who is forced to use his skills in criminal pursuits. How does it change the dynamics of a crime story when there isn't the clear cut choice between doing right or wrong?

Mike does know it’s wrong, of course, but he does it anyway, because it’s essentially the best choice he has. Although the first time was clearly a mistake, letting himself get roped into this seemingly innocent thing, because he succumbs to the basic idea of finally being popular at school. Eventually, he’s on the edge of becoming a full-fledged criminal, but at that point it’s just about impossible to turn back. He does it for what he sees as a perfectly justifiable reason – to protect the one person he’s ever loved.

You mention on your web site that you're back at work on another McKnight book. Does that process feel different now that you've been away for two books? Do you bring anything to it this time out that you learned from writing those other books that you might not have otherwise?

That was the idea. Take some time away from the series, recharge my batteries, become a better writer. (And never, ever get to the point where you’re just mailing it in!) I didn’t plan on doing two books outside the series – this new one just sort of got in my head and wouldn’t leave – but I’m glad it all turned out that way. Now that I’m back to work on the next Alex McKnight book, it all feels new again.

Given the success of The Lock Artist, do you foresee a new schedule that finds you alternating between series and non-series books like Michael Connelly, Laura Lippman and many others now do?

Absolutely yes. I’ll keep doing new and different things, and I’ll keep going back. (As long as people are reading the books, anyway.)

What is the status of the various film projects associated with your McKnight books?

I’ve been working (and reworking and reworking) on the “Cold Day” screenplay with Nick Childs – the director I worked with on “The Shovel.” He hopes to get that off the ground this year. Actually, this new book might get adapted first! There’s been some real interest, and talks are ongoing, as they say. Just think about it – some young actor gets to be in every scene, without ever having a line of dialogue! Talk about a breakout role, eh?

Labels: books, crime fiction, Monday Interview

I first heard Franklin Bruno when I picked up an album from his band Nothing Painted Blue (ØPB). I'm not sure what led me to the purchase; perhaps a good review in a fanzine or simply the visual appeal of the album cover, but it was a fortuitous purchase. A Baby, A Blanket, a Packet of Seeds started what has been a 20-year streak of dependably outstanding releases.

My look back was precipitated by Bruno's own. He just released a collection of his solo odds and ends from 1992-98, dubbed Local Currency. Listening to all of these songs in one place rather than on the scattered pieces of vinyl or compilation albums, I'm struck not by the consistency, but rather by the variety. While there are plenty of pop gems like those Bruno has sprinkled throughout his career, I had forgotten the noisy, more obtuse experiments. Just when you think you have a guy pegged, he surprises you.

This trip down memory lane had me pulling out a lot of Bruno's back catalog, and I was glad for the excuse. Too long had elapsed since I had spun some of the earliest ØPB releases, and they deserve to be back in rotation. The band broke no new ground musically, but the territory it traversed it did very well, melding a very slight punk attitude (though more in the "let's make our own records" vein than anything sonically) with pop smarts and the most erudite lyrics around. Bruno cites the Go-Betweens as an influence, and I'd bet that Stephen Malkmus would cite Bruno and ØPB as one, too.

It has been difficult to keep up with Bruno's output, released as it has been on albums, 7" singles, cassettes (long live Shrimper!) and various compilations. Thankfully, Local Currency helps to fill in some gaps and makes listening to some of his less readily available work note quite so arduous. In addition to his work with ØPB and his solo recordings, he has worked with the Mountain Goats' John Darnielle as the Extra Glenns (whose lone disc, Martial Arts Weekend is superb) and with Jenny Toomey (of Tsunami, et al) on the disc Tempting. A new group, Human Hearts issued the disc Civics on Chicago's Tight Ship Records a couple of years back as well.

In addition to the music, Bruno is an accomplished academic and an insightful music critic. He has kept a handful of blogs, Nervous Unto Thirst being the latest (his recent look at Brad Paisley's "American Saturday Night" shows you how entertaining the reports from an enlightened critical ear can be). He has written for many publications, including the Believer, which in its November/December 2009 issue published a great interview Bruno conducted with musician/artist Peter Blegvad. He wrote a book on Elvis Costello's Armed Forces for Continuum's 33 1/3 series and, in the first thing I read that showed me his talents beyond music, he wrote a scathingly funny (and spot-on) review of the horrid indie rock novel Our Noise that ran in Matador Record's shortlived newsletter, Escandalo!

Bruno reports below that there is more in the works. So, catch up with Local Currency, then get ready to dive back in.

TIRBD: Any surprises or revelations when you heard all of the material gathered on Local Currency?

FB: I always had in my head that that group of songs -- especially the one on my first 3 7"s -- were a kind of album-by-other-means. (That's part of the reason there were four or five short songs per single/EP.) So I knew that they would hang together, somehow. That said, on going back to the original recordings, I was surprised that so many of them include some "experimental" element, whether it be low-rent sound collage or some kind of noisy intrusion (or alongside) these formally tidy little songs. I guess my ideas about recording were a little stranger than I realized at the time. Beyond that, I'm pleasantly surprised that some of my guitar playing still seems interesting, to me at least, and less happy to find that I could have taken more care over the vocals. I shouldn't apologize too much -- that diffident attitude towards getting certain things "right" could also be heard as a kind of immediacy. Either way, that approach was part and parcel of the '90s indie scene. Also, since I've been playing some of these songs live again for the first time in many years, I'm relieved that some of them stand up -- with a rhythm section, "Cat-Scratch Fever" (not a Nugent cover) has turned into a full-on Smiths pastiche.

Any thought of putting out more of your hard-to-find material on CD or digitally? Your Shrimper cassettes and the first Nothing Painted Blue LP in particular...

I'm more interested in my current projects (see your later question), so it isn't a priority. There are also practical problems: I've never been a good archivist, and there may not be "master" versions of the material from the Shrimper tapes, in particular, that would merit digital release without a lot of clean-up work. We still have the half-inch masters and multi-track tapes for the first ØPB album (all-analog as matter of necessity, not ideology), but that record was pretty under-realized owing to our lack of studio experience. It's a document of where we, and I, started, but I'm not sure I'd make people spend money to hear it. (The other side of this is that I don't object if that material is distributed, ahem, unofficially.) All that said, there's probably a CDs worth of post-Emotional Discipline ØPB singles/compilation tracks/unmixed songs dropped from other records that I wouldn't mind assembling at some point -- we were fairly prolific in out day, and there are some buried songs that (perhaps) deserve a wider hearing.

I've always found your music criticism and analysis fascinating but I wonder, does the penchant for thinking so deeply about music have an adverse effect on your ability to listen for pleasure? Can you turn it off?

I don't find that it's a matter of "turning it off." I don't experience myself as having any trouble marveling at the music that I love, whether that's realized in composition (songwriting) or performance or both, and I think it's possible that my analytical side opens me to an appreciation of craft and structure, which I think have as much aesthetic potential as, say, "intensity." (I suppose I'm often looking for the place where mere craft and skill transcend themselves, if that makes any sense.) Generally, I've never held with the idea that critical analysis "destroys" what's valuable in aesthetic experience. First of all, I'm not sure what the metaphor is supposed to convey. I mean, what's there is still there whether someone purports to account for it or not, so I don't see what's actually "destroyed." And also, if you truly believe that there's something genuinely ineffable or inexpressible about how a piece of music (or poetry or film or what have you) works, then all the language in the world won't touch that. (I'm sorry if this is the kind of "intellectual" sounding answer that people might expect from me, but there you go. Trust me, this answer could be longer.) On the other hand, having been around for a while does probably make it harder for me to be enthusiastic about some new bands -- a revival of some style (neo-psych-folk or angular dance-rock or whatever) is less exciting when you were around for what's being revived. (Though there are always individual remarkable exceptions.) None of that is a function of being a critic as such -- it's just a matter of age.

Do you put the same thought into your own music, or rather, do you become your own harshest critic? Does that ever limit what you are willing to release?

These are tough questions, John. Given some of what I've seen written about myself, I'm pretty sure I'm not my own harshest critic! And, while I'm certainly aware of the failures of craft or execution on just about everything I've released, I can't believe that most artists don't feel the same way, and what I find dissatisfying in my own work is probably not the same as what outside listeners, critically inclined or not, might find lacking. As for "thought," I do sometimes have critical or mildly theoretical ideas that guide a particular recording. For example, on the Human Hearts album I'm working on now, I've decided not to use any strings (even though I'm friends with some wonderful players and arrangers), as a kind of push-back against the tendency in indiedom to use "orchestral" instruments as a signal that something is to be taken more seriously than a "mere" rock band. (I find the implied hierarchy here a bit undemocratic, or undemotic -- even though I have this rep as "brainy" or "quirky" or whatever, I'm still much more interested in music that retains some tie to vernacular traditions.) I could go on (I'm more interested in horns), but it's just an example.

I do think that being a critic, or at least trying to be a widely-informed listener, does make it harder to be a "true believer" about one's own music. When you're, say, 20 and involved in a tight-knit local scene, as I was, it's easy to have the conviction that you and your friends have found the way, and to reject other possibilities out of hand. (Consider the asceticism of Fugazi, which wouldn't really be possible if they had been "open-minded.")

Lastly, while I certainly drop songs or recordings for various reasons (like, they suck, or they're too evidently derivative), I'm not a perfectionist -- no one working in any artistic medium who actually intends to put something into the world more than once a decade can afford to be. (Okay, I'm a perfectionist, or nearly so, about one thing -- though it works when the Minutemen or Stereolab do it, I mostly can't abide lyrics that violently distort the conventional syllabic stress of a word in order to fit a melody, and avoid this at all costs.)

Are the people in the academia side of your life aware of your musical career (and vice versa) and what is the reaction from those who are?

My sense is that the criticism and journalism puzzles academics more than the music does. And I suspect other musicians may not care one way or another what I do outside of that realm. But, ultimately, you'd have to ask them.

Your entry in Continuum's 33 1/3 series is on Elvis Costello's Armed Forces. Could you imagine a book-length look at one of your own releases, and if so, what might be the approach?

It would be flattering, but I'm too close to the records to imagine how (or why) someone would do this. What made it possible for me to do the EC book was my interest in connecting the record to the political context of its moment (Rock Against Racism, the National Front, the run-up to Thatcherism) and some of its deeper roots in earlier British fascist movements, and also as a way of working through - though not to any kind of final conclusion - some of the thorny issues around, well, rock and race, using the so-called "Columbus incident" and EC's subsequent career as a case study. I hope all that gives the book a richness that wouldn't be there if it were all just formal commentary on the song-structures and performances. It's not clear that any of my records could be convincingly tied to their social context in a similar way -- but then again, it's not clear that they couldn't. From my own perspective, the second Nothing Painted Blue album, Power Trips Down Lovers Lane, was very much affected by being in Southern California at the time of the uprising following the Rodney King case, and by reading Situationist polemic (especially Raoul Vaneigem on the earlier Watts riots -- he's quoted on the back of the "Swivelchair" sleeve) while watching the riots go down. (I recognize that it's perverse to filter all that through a musical vocabulary that rests more on the dB's and the Go-Betweens than on, say, Public Enemy.) And then those concerns were connected in vaguer ways to ideas about architecture, the suburbs, and my own experiences doing white-collar temp work. (And, yes, all of these things recur on later records.) But how someone should go about writing about these connections, or how they relate to their musical realizations, isn't for me to say.

What is the status of your various projects (Nothing Painted Blue, Extra Glenns, Human Hearts and your solo work)?

Nothing Painted Blue: We're all still friends, so there's never been an official breakup, but we're geographically dispersed, so there's nothing on the horizon. I've played with both Kyle and Peter separately in the last few months -- Peter is on the Human Hearts album-in-progress, and I played a duo show with Kyle in L.A. last November. Never say never.

The Human Hearts: I'm playing under this name around New York, usually with drummer Matt Houser, and whoever I can rope in for a few songs for a given show. (We've also gone to Boston and D.C.) I wouldn't mind finding a more permanent bass player, but it's intended to be more of a fluid "project" than a stable band. There will be a 7" on Fayettenam later this year, and I'm about halfway through recording a new album with various guests, which will be done when it's done. I'd say the next record after that is at least half-written already.

The Extra Glenns: John Darnielle and I have changed the name to The Extra Lens (for private reasons I won't go into), and we've finished a new album that should come out late 2010/2011. That will probably be the next thing to see the light of day. Pretty sure we'll tour a bit -- possibly just John, myself, and Peter Hughes (who's releasing his first solo record in years soon). I'm excited -- John and I sometimes manage to be more than the sum of our parts.

Solo -- Well, I still play under my own name when it's genuinely just me and a guitar, but I don't really plan to release new material "as" Franklin Bruno anymore. As much as I admire many artists who use "bandonyms" for their one-person projects, I've always felt uncomfortable with the practice, probably because I don't attempt to construct a performing persona distinct from the one I project in day-to-day life.

I should also mention two other projects: My partner/spousal equivalent/squeeze Bree Benton performs a cabaret/theater act as "Poor Baby Bree," doing vaudeville and parlor songs from the late 19th c. through the 30s, and I'm the pianist/arranger ("musical director," in theater parlance) for that. We just did our first shows with additional musicians, a fantastic violist and trombonist, and we should be doing more later in the year. Also, Jenny Toomey and I have just started talking about doing something new in the vein of Tempting -- that record had her covering some old and new songs of mine, but this one we'll probably co-write.

Labels: books, Monday Interview, music

Joshua Ferris seemed poised to take up the mantle as the best of the country's young literary satirists. His debut novel, Then We Came to the End, was a critical hit and a National Book Award finalist. It was the rare modern novel that was funny and spot-on in its depictions of the workplace. It even took stylistic chances thanks to Ferris' use of a first person plural narrator (the book opens with the wonderful lines, “We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise.”).

Instead of following that path, however, Ferris has gone in a completely different direction. His new book, The Unnamed, is a much darker tale. It tells of Tim Farnsworth, a successful, hard-charging New York attorney, who suffers a peculiar affliction: He is compelled to walk, with no seeming provocation, until he can walk no more. He will get up from a hearing, excuse himself if his body is pointed in the right direction, and head out of the courtroom and onto the street, stopping only when his body is no longer able to carry him. He'll then drop and sleep, waking in any number of situations. A call placed to his wife, Jane, alerts her to his location, and she drives to retrieve him.

All of this has a predictably negative affect on everything in Tim's life: his career, his marriage, his relationship with his daughter and his health, both mental and physical. Ferris offers a fascinating look at that impact, but that evidence doesn't add up to a diagnosis. Ferris leaves much to the reader's interpretation. Is Tim suffering from a mental illness? Some unknown physical ailment? The jury is still out (and a look at the many reviews of the book reveal an emerging spirited discussion on the topic as well as about whether the book is an allegory for something else).

If nothing else, the Unnamed shows that there is much more to Ferris than a gift for satire. He mentions below that he has no interest in repeating himself, which, based on his first two books, means we're in for quite a ride. His third novel, he says, is well under way.

Ferris, who earned an undergrad degree from the University of Iowa and an MFA from the University of California at Irvine, reads from the Unnamed Tuesday at Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City. I'll be hosting the event, which will include ample time for a Q&A with the in-house audience. Ferris granted me the opportunity for a dry run below. To hear the reading live, Listen online at 7 p.m. CST.

TIRBD: There is a lot of speculation among reviewers and readers about whether Tim’s affliction is mental, physical or spiritual, and whether it is an allegory for something larger. Are you surprised by any interpretations, or has your own view of the work been altered by any of them?

JF: My view of the book hasn't changed. "Interpreting" it, I think, is a generous way of describing what some reviewers do (I had one review, for instance, which read in its entirety: "Joshua Ferris' WTF tale of a successful man who walks out on his wife, kid, and career." Not a lot of care there). I didn't write it as an allegory -- allegories don't interest me as a reader, far less as a writer. Speculation is certainly part of the book -- a mental disease? or physical? and what might answers to those questions imply for what it means to be human? Reviewers kind to the book -- those that have read it with sympathy and sophistication -- have touched upon them.

I have seen mention of Emily Dickinson poems, a Poe short story, John Cheever’s “The Swimmer,” Forrest Gump, White Noise and other works as being precedents/influences. Regardless of whether they’re right, it puts you in good company. Were you aware of similarities between these works and your own, and did that knowledge steer the story in any particular direction?

Never consciously aware. How what a writer reads and assimilates might affect what he or she writes is an alchemy no one will ever fully diagnose or understand. Cheever, Dickinson, DeLillo, Poe -- these writers have all been important to me at various times.

The direction of the story, however, was always in my hands.

Was there any actual shoe leather research done on the book so you could bring some verisimilitude to the sections where you describe what happens to Tim on his long walks?

Yes, with a couple of trusting and intelligent doctors, as well as some old-fashioned reading. My conversations with friend/doctors were particularly helpful. They have all the hard facts about the body, about sickness, about death -- and when I asked them to start dreaming, all that knowledge opened up into fantasy. It was a rewarding experience.

You were seen as daring with the publication is Then We Came to the End. Now, you’re seen as daring (or to some, foolhardy) for not following the path suggested by your debut. Was there a conscious decision on your part to not do the same thing twice?

No, not conscious, if you mean by conscious "calculating" or "shrewd" or "career-centric." I'm not nearly as interested in how my books are received as I am in writing them. I write what's next down a long line of preoccupations and obsessions. What might be seen as daring or foolhardy is a momentary referendum that quickly passes and luckily happens long after I've started on the next thing.

That said, I do think I'm constitutionally incapable of doing the same thing twice. Part of a writer's thrill -- and duty, too -- is to throw the gauntlet down every time, and give yourself no excuse for phoned-in, half-hearted measures.

The Unnamed is one of the first books on your editor’s new imprint, Reagan Arthur Books. Does this put an added burden on your shoulders?

Oh no, no burden. Only pride, happiness, and hope for the beginning of a successful imprint for a loving and important editor.

You sold film rights to the book well before you were finished, after just 120 pages. The book takes some curious turns after that point. Did you worry about delivering on what was promised in those earlier pages when writing the rest? Did you think about the book cinematically as you were writing given the knowledge that it was destined for the screen someday?

If I don't write for critics, or even those who might constitute a readership, I'm not going to write for a producer whose desire for how the book concludes is out of my grasp. If I had, I would have certainly written a more straightforward story, to increase the odds of production, which is always a long shot. In fact, it's part of the reason, that long shot, never to write with a film in mind.

You now have a young son, so I’ll ask a two part question: Are you at work on your third book, and has the writing life changed for you because of this new addition either in terms of your schedule or your worldview?

I'm at work, and -- with the exception of promoting The Unnamed -- pretty steadily, despite the little guy. The worldview changes, of course, but it'd take forever to describe all the ways. Perhaps it's sufficient to say he's lying on the bed right now making farting noises with his hand in his mouth. That's a lot of fun.

Labels: books, Joshua Ferris, Monday Interview

I started reading Ed Gorman because I felt I should; I keep reading him because his books are always entertaining and captivating, and I love his voice.

As an arts & entertainment writer for five years with the daily newspaper in Gorman's hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I somehow never read Gorman's work. I'm a mystery and crime fiction fan, but there was another guy on staff who was a Gorman fan who snapped up his books to review. Practicing the same snobbish conceit that I find so distasteful in others, I decided that someone from Cedar Rapids probably wasn't worth following, and dismissed the glowing reviews as little more than fealty to a local author.

I left that job for another a few years ago. Later, I helped to set up a (still pending) event in support of the Iowa City library featuring Gorman and fellow Iowa mystery writer Max Allan Collins of Muscatine. I'm slated to moderate a discussion between the two at some point, and figured that I had better familiarize myself with Gorman's work (I've already read a lot of Collins). That was 18 months ago. In the time since, I've read a dozen or so of Gorman's books, including a smattering of the Sam McCain novels and at least one each of his other series. A couple of his excellent stand-alones, including Cage of Night and The Midnight Room also made the list. I can't include Sleeping Dogs in that list of excellent stand-alones, because Gorman just announced that a follow-up to that political thriller, Stranglehold, is due in November.

The discovery of this new favorite author is bittersweet: While I now have dozens of books I know I'll like that I can pick up whenever I need a good mystery to read, I kick myself for ignoring what was under my nose for so long. If asked to describe what I like about Gorman's work, I might be hard-pressed. The closest I can come is that his books are always real. Even with the most fantastic of the stories he spins, I can imagine them unfolding in exactly the way he describes. These are no-nonsense tales with just the right mix of grit, intrigue and humor.

And he keeps getting better. While I found the first McCain book a bit precious thanks to its 1950s sock hop-era setting, the character was compelling enough to hook me. In the latest McCain novel, Ticket to Ride, we're now in the 1960s, and race relations (and their violent underpinnings at the time) drive much of the plot. McCain is a deeper, richer character thanks to the story that Gorman has developed over the books that bridge the gap, and Gorman's voice, always a key draw for me, is deeper and richer as well.

You can learn a little about Gorman and a lot about authors of mystery and western fiction on Gorman's blog. He's not only a chief purveyor of both genres, but something of an amateur historian as well. He does all of this while battling multiple myeloma, a cancer that, while treatable, is not curable. He is candid about that on the blog, occasionally taking a break to deal with treatments.

Some have reported that Ticket to Ride is the last McCain novel, but despite all that Gorman is dealing with, he assures us below that more will follow. That's good. While it will be years before I catch up with all of his output, it's nice to know that list will continue to grow.

TIRBD: From all indications, Ticket to Ride is the last Sam McCain novel. If true, did you set out to tell a story with this particular arc of books, or are there other reasons behind drawing things to a close?

EG: Originally, my first editor on the series wanted me to take McCain into the Seventies. I had some doubts about that, but one night at dinner with Max and Barb Collins Max came up with an idea for a final McCain. I liked it and told my current editor about it. Then the editor and I started kicking around ideas for a few more books to do before the final one. So there’ll be a few more.

You have written very candidly about your cancer and its treatment on your blog. Beyond the obvious affect on your energy and ability to spend time on it, how has it effected your writing?

The first time I was diagnosed with cancer I took it on as an experience.The prognosis was very good and I wasn't unduly afraid. People thought I was in denial, in fact. But the second time when the prognosis was a cancer that was treatable but incurable, that made me more insular and introspective than I've ever been. I'm not sure how this has effected my writing. I think the characters in my darker stories have always been fatalistic. I suppose they're more than way now.

Most of your books are set here in Eastern Iowa. Has that ever felt constraining? Do you ever feel as if your work is judged differently because of that setting?

Well, even though the McCains constitute my longest series, they’re a small part of my resume. I don’t find them constraining because I know that after I finish one I’ll do a very different kind of book. For instance in July a very dark thriller called The Midnight Room came out. Completely different from the McCains. As for the Iowa stigma, oh yeah it’s still operational. I once spoke to a very hoity-toity critic who said that he’d looked at a McCain but he just couldn’t imagine reading a book set in Iowa. It’s stupid snobbery but just part of the flyover country joke. And yes I'm sure there are readers who share his bias. Who the hell would want to read about Iowa?

Through your blog, your work with magazines and your general efforts to support the work of other writers, it seems safe to say you're among a handful of the most-beloved crime fiction writers out there. What is it about the genre that appeals to you so that makes you give so much toward nurturing and sustaining it?

Well, I don’t know how beloved I am but I have tried to help new writers because so many writers — especially Max Collins — helped me when I shifted from short stories to novels. I know a number of established writers who lend a hand when they feel there’s something they can actually do. But the New York publishing scene is in such disarray that even most established writers are scrambling so helping new writers gets more and more problematic.

In your conversations with other writers, do you mull over problems in stories, spitball ideas or collaborate informally on projects?

Not very often. If I do it’s usually with Max or our friend Bob Randisi or the agent all three of us share.

I know you have an incredible grasp on the history of crime fiction and Westerns. What are a few books that you wish you had written and why?

Wow. That would be a long, long list if I put any thought to it. Off the top of my head I'd say Axe by Donald Westlake, The Chill by Ross Macdonald, How Like An Angel by Margaret Millar (Ross' wife), A Key To The Suite by John D. MacDonald, just about any of Simenon's psychological suspense novels. As for westerns, True Grit by Charles Portis, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, Valdez is Coming by Elmore Leonard, A Partnership with Death by Clifton Adams and the short stories of H.R. De Rosso.

You came out of the advertising world when you began writing. At what point did you see yourself more as a novelist than an ad man? Did that experience give you anything that gave you a leg up as you transitioned to that new role?

I’ve been asked this many times. I worked for five agencies by the time I was done and I was a terrible employee at each. A champion slacker. I divided my time by trying to figure out how I could get out of anything that resembled work and working out plots for the downscale men’s magazines I was secretly selling to. I just sort of passed through without leaving anything behind or taking anything along.

Labels: books, crime fiction, Monday Interview

2009 was a very good year to be a Big Star fan. Rhino graced us with a boxed set that gathered up seemingly every stray sound recorded by the band, while a limited-edition two-CD version of Chris Bell's lone solo album (the posthumous I Am the Cosmos) rescued every scrap he laid down.

But, strangely enough, the best Big Star-related thing wasn't something you could listen to, but rather something you read. Bruce Eaton's entry in Continuum's excellent 33 1/3 book series dealt with Big Star's Radio City, the band's sophomore outing. In the book, Eaton offers not only the most complete history of Big Star during that period, but he actually gets the notoriously difficult Alex Chilton to talk about that era. He places the album in its proper context both in terms of the work of the musicians involved and its place on the music continuum in general. In doing so, he does what the best 33 1/3 books do: He gives new life to an album that rabid fans likely thought they had completely absorbed. I came away with a much better understanding and appreciation of a favorite album, hearing it in a completely different -- and superior -- way.

Eaton knows of what he writes. He backed Chilton on some concert dates in 1979, has promoted concerts and written about music. All of this experience is brought to bear on his subject. Any Big Star fan worthy of the name has or soon will acquire the boxed set and the Bell release. But to really appreciate what you're hearing, getting a copy of Eaton's book is essential.

By the way, that's Eaton in the photo above, performing with Chilton on June 23, 1979, at McVan's nightclub in Buffalo, N.Y. Eaton keeps a great blog where he writes about the book, the band and his other experiences in the world of music.

TIRBD: Why Radio City and not #1 Record or Third?

BE: A few reasons. It's the Big Star record I heard first and spent about six months absorbing it before I could track down a copy of #1 Record. Also, given that I could only write about one record, Radio City encompasses the range of Big Star the most of the three records. You can relate #1 Record to Radio City and Radio City to Third, but Third doesn't really connect to #1 Record unless you're familiar with Radio City. I thought it would provide the broadest platform for the living central members to discuss. It would be hard to write about #1 Record without Chris, and Third wouldn't include John Fry much, let alone Andy Hummel (or even promo man John King). So it was the best of the three to explore Big Star and tell a good tale in the process.

You spend a lot of time with John Fry, which was illuminating. Why do you think other analyses of Big Star's sound have given him short shrift, and how important is he to that sound?

John was everything to the classic power pop Big Star sound. He built the studio, chose the equipment, taught everyone how to use it, gave them the time and space to experiment, and laid down the standards for how things were recorded at Ardent. And he by all accounts was an exacting genius at recording and mixing. Listen to a Raspberries album back to back with Radio City. The difference is 99% Fry. And as Richard Rosebrough said, Radio City was his zenith.

I think John has been overlooked for a few reasons. First off, he retired from working behind the board fairly soon after Big Star so he didn't really build up a significant body of work over decades. A lot of what he did wasn't really high profile in terms of big credits on albums (Stax) or big hit records. You really have to read the fine print on albums to pull together his resume. It happened over a relatively short period of time over 35 years ago. Also, John doesn't fit the image of a rock and roll guy. He looks and dresses like an engineer working in the business world. He's a fascinating, down-to-earth guy. I thought his personal story was really fascinating. Those teens in the 50s doing all those grown-up things -- recording, broadcasting, setting up businesses, flying planes... really amazing. Getting to know him a bit was for me a major highlight in writing the book.

Listening to #1 Record, Radio City, Third and some early Chilton albums, I'm struck by how clear the evolutionary line of his sound is. Why is the common story that he radically changed, and why is Radio City seen as being of a piece with #1 Record when it's clearly a transitional record between chiming power pop and atmospheric oddity?

I think the main reason for this is the change in producer/engineer from Radio City to Third. I've sometimes tried to listen to Third imagining what it would have sounded like with Fry behind the board and doing the mix I think then that the three albums would have seemed more to be part of continuum rather than Third being a sharp left turn.

You got more out of Chilton than anyone else in a long time. Do you think you understand his motivations and goals for Radio City now in a way you perhaps didn't before?

Great question and, yes, I do see it all a bit differently. I think that Radio City represented at the time a natural progression for him. He had been in the Box Tops, a band over which he had little creative control, if any. He had fooled around with solo material and recordings but probably realized he had a way to go. He had joined Big Star as an already existing artistic platform and a step up from the Box Tops as they were a "real rock band" and he would be allowed to contribute freely. So when the suggestion was made to make another record (Radio City), my guess would be it seemed like a natural and easy progression. When he joined Big Star, he was a co-pilot to Chris's vision. Now he would be the pilot more or less and free to follow his muse in terms of experimenting with song structures and recording. I think he probably saw it as yet another way to grow as an artist within a band and environment that he felt comfortable with. He liked all the people involved, it's all right around the corner from where you live: why not give it another try?

I also think it was probably the last time he allowed himself to be optimistic about the commercial potential for a project in any serious way. After the failure of Radio City, I think he makes records as musical statements and moves on. I doubt he's ever looked at a copy of Billboard or any sales chart for any record he's made since then.

There have been a lot of bands over the past couple of decades that are compared to Big Star or cite the band as an influence. Is there anyone who really captures Big Star, either in sound, attitude, songwriting or in some other way?

I think there are bands who are reminiscent of Big Star (or obviously imitative) but, as with any great band or artist, there isn't anyone who really captures them because that's really close to impossible. Everyone has influences. But the great bands are able to transcend their influences and become something unique, usually fairly early in their careers. When someone tells me that a band sounds like "X meets Y with a little bit of Z" I'm not really that intrigued. I'm far more interested in bands that sound totally like themselves (if that makes any sense). Think of any number of great bands from the 60s or early 70s. Whether it's the Stooges or Santana (and you could spend all evening making a list), they started almost right off with a fully formed sound that transcended their influences. So while there are a number of really good bands that are influenced by Big Star that I can appreciate and who can even make for enjoyable listen or night out hearing live music, in the end I don't think anyone captures the band. And I think that's sort of the nature of the beast...

Labels: Big Star, books, Monday Interview, music

I'm not sure why I first picked up Anders Parker's music. The first time I heard him was on a Space Needle album, but that's about as far from indicative of his sound as you could get. Perhaps it was the appeal of that disc, however, that led me to the debut of Parker's other band, Varnaline's 1996 album Man of Sin. The disc was appealing, but because it was essentially four-track demos, it didn't feel like the unadulterated voice of the artist. Not yet. That came soon enough, however, with the band's self-titled sophomore album and the contemporaneous A Shot and a Beer EP. From then on, it was clear that Parker was someone I was going to follow as long as he kept making music.

Varnaline kept cranking out good-to-great music through the '90s, capped by 2001's Songs in a Northern Key. After that, Parker transitioned to releasing music under his own name, and now has three solo LPs and an EP to go with the four Varnaline LPs and EP. All of it blends elements of alt-country, rock and folk, with Parker's expressive vocals and cinematic lyrics atop it all. His discography is rounded out by Death Songs for the Living, a collaboration with Jay Farrar under the name Gob Iron.

With that recap, we're up to the boldest move in Parker's career, Skyscraper Crow. The double album gathers two of four new collections of songs Parker has completed. He recorded a quiet folk album, an all-electronic album, an atmospheric instrumental guitar record and a full-band rock album. The Skyscraper part of the new album is the electronic album, the Crow part is the folk record. Together, the represent poles in Parker's sound. While Skyscraper is the most jarring, it is also the more interesting of the two. Anyone doubting Parker's songwriting chops need look no further, because despite the fact that he limited himself to sounds he could make on his laptop, the result is an organic, beautiful collection of songs. There are a couple that sound a bit forced because of those constraints, but by and large it is a collection of good Anders Parker songs that just happen to have been made on a computer.

Crow, on the other hand, is of a piece with much of his back catalog. Perhaps a bit quieter, but solid top to bottom.

The other two discs in this four-album burst of creativity await release. Parker says he hopes to release the instrumental album digitally sometime in early 2010, while there are no concrete plans for the other.

If you're a fan, you'll happily add these to your collection. If you're new to Parker, this might not be the best place to start, but you'll certainly find some gems that will hook you and lead you deeper into his catalog. Sample two of the new tracks below:

"72nd St. Horses" from Crow
"Calling Out to You" from Skyscraper

TIRBD: You've recorded four albums that all are very different from one another, and chose to release these two first. What was the thinking behind putting out a stark acoustic album and a wholly electronic record at the same time?

AP: The short answer is that I thought that they made interesting companions. They're different, but complimentary. I'd been meaning to do a very stripped down acoustic record for a long time, but circumstances were not ripe for working on that record in my old apartment in Queens, so I started fiddling around with various programs that I had on my computer and the seeds of Skyscraper were sown. Crow was written and recorded last of the four, and it was kind of way to wind down from all the work that preceded it, if that makes sense... low-tech and intimate after all sorts things that weren't.

I didn't really envision Skyscraper Crow as a sprawling Beatles White Album type of double record, but more as two extremes of things that I do. The tether between the two is my voice and songwriting.

Do you envision a similar pairing for the improv guitar instrumental album and the "rock band barn burner" record?

No. The so-called "band" record is on the shelf right now. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it yet.

The instrumental guitar record is entitled Cross Latitudes. I'm releasing that as a digital download record via iTunes, Amazon, etc. soon. I may do a very limited run of hard copies next year.

I imagine you seeing these albums as the components of an exploded view of your sound. Is there any accuracy to that, in that these are the isolated components that comprise the whole found in your past work?

Yes, generally speaking I'd say that's accurate. If anything I'd say that these are even more distilled elements of things that I do. (Although Skyscraper doesn't really relate to anything that I've done before as far as using technology to that extent in the creating of the music.)

The idea for the parameters of the projects evolved as I was working on them. There's something about creating strict guidelines that can be freeing... Counterintuitive, but true, in my experience. The reduced possibilities forces you to be creative within the structure.

Was there a shift in your songwriting or recording process when you dropped the Varnaline name and started working under your own name?

I don't think there was a conscious shift in my songwriting... more of an evolution (hopefully!). The decision to drop the Varnaline name was more about the dissolving of the touring band and wanting to mark the change.

How has geography played a part in your music, particularly these new collections of songs?

Geography always plays a part in the songs I think. Consciously or unconsciously. And after I move to a new place I always seem to write a whole lot.

Are there things you'll take away from this process that will affect the way you make music from here on?

Well, I think the next project/album will be totally boundless... But I don't know what it's going to be. I'm just writing with no agenda right now. I wrote a lot this summer and in the past weeks I've been writing a lot again.

I think learning different recording programs that I used for Skyscraper will be helpful in the recording process. It's always good to have different tools. And each album is a learning experience unto itself.

Labels: Anders Parker, Monday Interview, music

It seemed for several years as if Richard Davies was going to be another casualty of the music business: A wildly talented performer with a rabid cult of fans but little commercial success, forced to take a day job to make ends meet. No one can fault a guy for wanting to be able to make a living, but the loss to the creative world is a blow.

He left behind as strong a back catalog as any artist recording in the 90s, from the work of his Australian band the Moles to his bliss-inducing (and list-topping) album with Eric Matthews as Cardinal to his more challenging but no less rewarding trio of solo albums.

And then, nothing. Davies, who moved from his native Australia to Massachusetts, earned his law degree, opened his own practice and seemed to put his guitar and four track on the shelf.

Lately, however, it seems as if we Davies fans, the few, the proud, have a lot to giddily anticipate. The first new music from him since 2000's solo album, Barbarians, came in the form of a collaboration with former Guided by Voices leader Robert Pollard. The disc, Jar of Jam Ton of Bricks from Cosmos, found Davies and friends creating song beds over which Pollard sang his own lyrics and melodies. Unlike most such Pollard collaborations, four of the songs includes Davies' vocals, for all intents and purposes solo tracks. It's an album that blends Davies' twin sounds: stripped-down acoustic beauty with more fleshed-out pop (Davies' "Hail Mary" and the Pollard-sung "Nude Metropolis" are two of the best).

Even more exciting was word that Davies and Matthews had come together again after 15 years to work on a follow-up to their self-titled Cardinal debut. The four completed songs, while a bit less majestically produced that the first album, still fulfilled the promise of this long hoped-for re-pairing. Word was that the pair couldn't get along, however (which seems to have been the problem with Cardinal in the first place) and that the project had been shelved. As you'll read below, however, it seems the two realize the fruit of their troubled labors is worth the effort and plan an album in 2010. Keep your fingers crossed.

Finally, a long-gestating fourth solo LP from Davies seems to be in the offing. An album cover for something called Night Music is found on Davies' quasi-official fan site, and Davies reports here that something under his own name also is tentatively due next year.

Add to this the fact that Davies seems to be crawling back into the light via the Internet. He has a more active MySpace presence these days, shares news occasionally via the above-mentioned web site and, most interestingly, has a blog where he shares thoughts, old reviews, correspondence and photos. It all whets the appetite for more music, and finally, it feels like he has the time and inclination to deliver.

TIRBD: After earning critical acclaim with Cardinal, you issued three solo albums and then, for all intents and purposes, vanished from the music landscape. I know you got a law degree and started practicing. Was there a conscious decision, or perhaps a need to leave music behind to focus on law? Did you keep writing and playing even though you weren't necessarily recording or performing?

RD: I was 34 years old, and somehow had managed to ride the music industry from being in a good but unpopular band (the Moles) in Sydney to the point where I owned a house and had a wife and dog. lots of touring at that time and long stretches away from home helped make the decision easy - despite my eccentric music, I have a fairly balanced brain, and I always liked the law, I love my practice. I never stopped writing or recording for my own amusement though.

You have returned with the Cosmos project with Robert Pollard. How did that come about? Does this signal a re-emergence for you musically?

I'd always liked Bob s music and I knew David Newgarden, the guy who manages him, from when I first came to America. Bob and I wrote some letters back and forth and the album grew out of that. I had to take on a different role with Bob, by doing backing tracks for him etc, which was a real challenge and a lot of fun.

It seems like I'll be playing at CMJ with a band made up of a shoegazer-loving bass player and Bob Fay and his buddies the Whyte Kastles, a husband and wife team who specialize in weird soundscapes from Easthampton, Mass.

I'm working on some Cardinal stuff - four songs are done and recorded, and I have a solo record kind of finished - they may be coming out in early 2010.

How did Cosmos turn out compared to your initial expectations? Do you see a future for that project, or was it a one-off?

Cosmos is just out of the loop - it might have a future - I have done some ideas for any possible Cosmos recording. I love the way it turned out, like Bob said, its strangely beautiful, which is exactly what we were shooting for.

You have had some strong collaborators, but also done a lot of work almost entirely on your own. Do you prefer one or the other? What does each scenario provide, beyond the obvious, that the other does not?

I like collaboration the most because its the most fun to see what other people do with your ideas. That said, I like the challenge of finishing a song on my own too. I like that my collaborator collection includes Cosmos and Cardinal, because while they haven't sold a lot of records or filled stadiums, the music is mostly on target, but even more fun, I don't think Eric Matthews likes Bob Pollard and vice versa.

People got very excited by word that you and Eric Matthews had gotten back together to record, but it seems as if that project has been permanently shelved. Having heard the four finished songs, I'm surprised, and assume it's more a matter of personalities than music. Would you care to address that at all?

Well, we're back together, man, for the time-being. I think the music is uniformly strong that we managed to patch together, and there is more good stuff in the pipeline, but you are spot-on with your observation - we might come up with an album's worth of material, but our personalities are extraordinarily different. To be in Cardinal is to drink of the poisoned chalice, but if you have a strong constitution, you'll be perfectly fine.

The accolades heaped upon your music must be flattering and empowering, but are they also stifling or limiting in terms of the pressure or realization that new directions might not be tolerated?

I think that's the same for all creative types, writers, painters, etc. I simply don't care what people approve or disapprove of. I tired that for a while (e.g. see Telegraph, my attempt at a VH1 album - that one didn't work, although it has good music in there). Ultimately, its been surprising that the energy I put into music has made a few people here and there react to it. That's always rewarding. Ask Mick Jagger - his last solo album sold 900 copies, but it won't stop him doing another.

Is your outlook on music -- including as a listener, writer and performer -- different now because of the time you've been away from the grind of trying to make a career of it?

Yes, very different. A lot less grind is way for the better. I have a house, children, a dog that escapes and chews my important papers, but I still have music friends, Bob Fay I've known for 15 years, Bob Pollard, people like that.

With the music stuff these days, I just come to the canvas and have at it, let it pile up, then if it looks like somebody is going to want a show or a record, I dig in and finish that *h&t up.

Will we ever hear the unreleased music you've been making over the past several years? How does it compare with your three solo albums?

Chapter Music, a label out of Melbourne Australia, run by Guy Chapman, is set to put out a solo album in early 2010. It may be vinyl only, . They also will be putting out a Cardinal record of some description.

The unreleased stuff is pretty hi-fi for the most part, at the same time more on the front-foot (meaning more aggressive, or savage) than some of my other solo releases.

You mention having to play a different role in Cosmos with Robert Pollard because you had to provide him backing tracks. Do you take anything away from that experience that will affect your own music?

Oh, I think so. The stuff I've been writing in the last few months has been a mixture of either solo, Cosmos, or Cardinal. It all starts out at the same place, piles of lyrics on scraps of paper and mounds of musical ideas made with whatever comes to hand, then a period of sifting, winnowing and contemplation. The difference I think this time is the volume of stuff I have lying around because it tends to just pour out on a Friday or Saturday night and accumulates, then gets seized upon if there is a need to beat it together for a project.

Labels: Monday Interview, music