Punk Past: Mike Watt explores life as a 53-year-old punk rocker.
Not every man can combine a love of Hieronymus Bosch, The Wizard of Oz and punk rock into a 30-song treatise on middle age, let alone make it a compelling listen.
But in Mike Watt’s bass-popping hands, the seemingly incongruous influences come together to form a mesmerizing display of passionate playing and contemplative lyrics on the punk legend’s new Hyphenated-Man.
The album is a throwback to Watt’s days in pioneering punk band the Minutemen, formed with his best friend D. Boon in 1980. Boon died in a van accident in 1985, and everything Watt’s done since—leading the band fIREHOSE, releasing four solo albums—has been an homage of sorts to his fallen comrade.
Yet nothing Watt has done since D. Boon’s death has had quite the direct line to the Minutemen years as Hyphenated-Man. When a couple of filmmakers came to Watt for help in making We Jam Econo, a 2005 documentary about the Minutemen, he was forced to listen to more Minutemen music than he had since D. Boon died.
“That made me interested in working in that Minutemen style again,” Watt relates from the road, where he and his Missingmen, guitarist Tom Watson and drummer Raul Morales, are playing 51 shows in 51 days.
“I wanted to write about right now because I’m in a weird place in my life. I’m a 53-year-old punk rocker. And I wanted this weird mixture of the familiar—my past—and something very strange, very different, so it wouldn’t be some whack, punk version of Happy Days.”
By that, Watt means he didn’t want to just make some bogus nostalgia trip of an album. Rather, he wanted to explore the myriad issues of being middle-aged while staying grounded in that old Minutemen style. That’s where Bosch comes in; Watt always thought the Dutch painter’s works, full of tons of small, ornate images, were similar to Minutemen records that would combine upwards of 40 short tunes to create a cohesive whole.
The Wizard of Oz got Watt thinking of middle age, too. “My take on Dorothy is that she’s tripping on what guys do to be guys,” Watt relates. “Part of middle age, I think, is figuring out what it is to be a man. And she was doing that, looking at the Tin Man and the Scarecrow and Lion. It’s kind of a coming-of-age story for her.”
Hyphenated-Man is the most instantly gratifying listen of Watt’s solo excursions since 1995’s Ball-Hog or Tugboat? He wrote the entire album on D. Boon’s old Telecaster guitar, and every song explores a different aspect of Watt’s psyche, using hyphenated titles throughout (songs include “Bird-In-The-Helmet-Man” and “Blowing-It-Out-Both-Ends-Man”).
“I was afraid to talk about certain things on this album, but I thought D. Boon would help me in a way, give me courage,” Watt says. “Middle age is about reconciling a lot of things. Part of it is dismissing that self-important shit, especially in this line of work, when people are so self-important just because they strap on machines and make sounds. That doesn’t mean they’re better than other cats.”
Watt is known as one of the nicest guys in rock because of just that attitude. He and D. Boon started the Minutemen partly as a response to the bombastic rockers of the ’70s who held themselves above their fans. Watt, on the other hand, hangs out with his fans after every gig, and encourages them to start their own bands every night from the stage.
Hyphenated-Man has been met with rave reviews, and even though punk rockers don’t really care about such things, Watt appreciates the response.
“Back in the old days of punk, you learned not to care what people thought because 99 percent of people hated it,” Watt says. “But I’m very grateful to get that kindness. It shows that younger people, or people in general, are more open-minded about music than when I was a younger man.”
String Theory: San Francisco songcrafter John Vanderslice is living his string-laden dream.
At 43, John Vanderslice has finally found what he’s been missing: strings.
The singer/songwriter grew up listening to classical music and developed a love for the violin. He also took vocal lessons for five years. “My teacher was heavy into Barber, Schubert—you can’t help but be changed by it,” Vanderslice says. But in his teens, rock bands like Led Zeppelin and the Beatles were what he and his friends listened to.
“For me, [classical music] was a private thing, because no one else cared. When I finally met other people into it, things just started to click. It happened recently—in the past two years,” Vanderslice says, referring to his recent collaboration with Minna Choi and Magik*Magik Orchestra on the 2011 release White Wilderness.
He waited a long time to come out of the classical closet, especially since the experimental pop-rock musician is somewhat of an indie legend. Based in San Francisco, where his recording studio, Tiny Telephone, is located, he’s produced and recorded acts like Death Cab for Cutie, Spoon and Band of Horses, among others.
Now his little studio is gaining an addition to create an affordable space for up-and-coming acts. Remodeling is making things hectic, but Vanderslice is used to multi-tasking—be it recording, touring, taking photographs or listening to classical music.
The two Tiny Telephone studios will be connected. “We’ll have a communal kitchen and bands will come together and share for their first time,” Vanderslice says. “I find the social aspect of it really, really fun. I think it’s the most rewarding. It’s an open vibe.”
Through their collaboration, Vanderslice has become close to composer Choi, whom he met through unusual circumstances. After moving from New York City, the goal-driven Choi sent him an e-mail, stating she wanted her orchestra to be his house band. He receives a lot of e-mails from studio musicians, but this one was different.
“You don’t see that kind of ambition all that often. So I just thought, ‘This is someone I need to hook up with,’ ” Vanderslice says. “Mostly because I grew up a classical fanatic, it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Although Choi had never orchestrated an entire record before, Vanderslice gave her very basic demos. He says he gave her total freedom, because she’s really cinematic in the way she thinks about composition, which is similar to how he writes. “I like when lyrics are visual,” Vanderslice says, “when there’s recognizable faces and events and a geography to the music.”
White Wilderness has the feel of a movie score. And the subject matter diverges from the not-so-subtle political undertones of his oeuvre since the late ’90s. Almost every song is autobiographical.
“Minna also responded to that. She knows a lot about me and my life. There is kind of an intense connection,” Vanderslice says. “I made her feel very comfortable to ask questions about the lyrics so she could conceptually expand upon them. She’s very intellectual in how she creates music.”
Because the average orchestral string player is much more intensely schooled than almost anyone in rock, Vanderslice says he was continually humbled during the three-day whirlwind of recording at Tiny Telephone.
But he’s a versatile player himself, and he’s figuring out how to make the elaborate arrangements on White Wilderness work live, although without his beloved strings.
“When you’re ambitious sonically, you have to give up the idea that you can be 100 percent authentic to the song live,” he says. “That’s inspiring. Live shows should be something different and realized on their own terms.”
