19 Years: A Collection of Alex Chilton
April 2, 1991
He’s the whiniest rock god ever. His limber guitar has informed such persuasive arguments as R.E.M., The Replacements, the dB’s, and the rest of their ilk with the crucial elements of blues, country, gospel and good old R&B. He’s Alex Chilton, and Rhino has brought us a whole batch of him on one happening CD (or tape, if you don’t mind a fat retrospective with no bonus tracks). Only a few songs will be new to the collector, but the newcomer will get a thorough sample of all the solo Chilton phases.
We begin with “Free Again,” which was recorded in 1969 between the Box Tops (that’s 16-year-old Alex singing “The Letter”) and Big Star, the Memphis trio too good to survive itself. By the time their third album was recorded in 1974, Big Star had become Alex Chilton, and everything since has been Alex and whomever. 19 Years takes us right up through High Priest (1987). (Rhino leaves us to count to 19 any way we’d like.)
So: you’ve got your pop Alex (“Nighttime,” “Thing For You”), your glitter Alex (“Like Flies on Sherbert”), your rocker Alex (“My Rival,” “Rock Hard”), your disturbed Alex (“Kanga Roo,” “Holocaust”), your blues Alex (“Lost My Job,” “Tee Ni Nee Ni Noo,” “Take It Off”). And you’ve got the best camp lyricist since Chuck Berry. In “No Sex,” his resigned commentary on AIDS, Chilton’s lament includes the couplet: “Pretty soon we’re all gonna get it/Time to buy some stuff on credit.” (This is late Alex, or if we can keep him alive, middle Alex.)
Rhino, like all good bad boys, has grown up a little, and here provides a nice set of liner notes, with lots of quotes from Alex and real good pictures. It’s pretty much everything a person could want in a CD, except maybe jazz. There is attention to technique, to high hat, and to recording in general. And there’s plenty of delay. That’s his favorite. Or at least that’s what he whines to the sound man when he needs to take a breather. Hardest working rock god in show business.—Renée Crist
TÜNETOWN
October 1, 1996
By Sandra Koufax or Jo Cline
Mention Albemarle County resident David Berman among indie rock cognoscenti and you’ll get instant recognition. But most people around here just say “Isn’t he that tall cool guy?”
The Silver Jews is Berman’s band, founded in 1990 when he shared a Hoboken apartment with Steve Malkmus and Bob Nastanovich, both erstwhile Charlottesvillians via UVA, and both better known as M.O.P.: Members of Pavement. Their music is pensive and tuneful, with no real pyrotechnics. It’s almost folksy: simple music about important things which inspires you to sing along.
Despite the differences from Pavement, the Silver Jews have been unfairly labeled a Pavement side project. That will change. The Jews’ second full-length comes out today on Chicago’s ultra-hip label Drag City. Called The Natural Bridge, the album is chock full of Virginia references and Virginia moods, and the same gentle wit that made their first album, Starlite Walker, a quiet triumph among the in-the-know.
Bridge spawned gossip long before it was recorded: after a week of practice in Charlottesville last October, the Silver Jews returned to the same studio in Memphis where they’d done Starlite. But something wasn’t quite right.
“I didn’t feel like they were entering the songs the way I wanted them to,” Berman explains. And, knowing he was costing lots of people time, money and inconvenience, he scrapped the sessions.
Finally recorded in June at Studio .45 (an old Colt gun factory) in Hartford, Connecticut, Bridge features Peyton Pinkerton and Matt Hunter from New Radiant Storm King (with whom the Silver Jews released a split single in 1993), producer/drummer Rian Thomas Murphy, a Drag City fixture, and keyboardist Michael Deming.
“I needed people who understood the Silver Jews,” Berman says, “but didn’t feel like they had to be in the band.” This lineup change took some feather-smoothing on Berman’s part, but he says that Malkmus and Nastanovich are still in the Silver Jews, and his next project will be with them.
Many of the Bridge songs were written last winter, says Berman, “when I was trapped in the house. All of them were written on cloudy days.”
He made tapes of the songs and sent demos to the other musicians a couple of weeks before meeting to record. “By the time we got to the studio,” says Berman, “they knew the songs better than I did.”
He describes the two weeks of recordings as kind of hellish because he had severe insomnia, so severe that he was having waking hallucinations and being “constantly on the line with God,” praying to be able to sleep again.
One day driving to the studio, a tractor trailer truck from Guaranteed Overnight Delivery—G.O.D.—was parked perpendicular to the street, blocking their way, and he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep in Connecticut.
Bridge songs are populated with God, prayers, death, churches and even a hearse, but rather than gloom, Bridge invokes a kind of company for thought, a jumping off point for a pondering mood.” More polished than Starlite, Bridge music points to the lyrics.
“When I go downtown I always wear a corduroy suit/Cause it’s made of a hundred gutters that the rain can run right through.” —”Black and Brown Blues”
“In the cold places where Spanish is spoken/Most wars end in the fall.” —”Pet Politics”
The lyrics, Berman’s deep soothing voice, and the pretty melodies team up to make the record a beautiful listen. Famous for trumping up reasons why he won’t play live, Berman says he’ll break down and do it within the next year (you heard it here). In the meantime, he’s doing a spoken word tour in Europe, including a Peel Session. He sheepishly points to his own words in “The Frontier Index” to describe his situation: “When I was younger I was a cobra/In every case I wanted to be cool/Now that I’m older and sub-space is colder/I just want to say something true.”
Sandra Koufax has never pitched more than a story idea in Los Angeles.
David Berman sports facial hair and a trumpet or something.
TÜNETOWN
January 14, 1997
By Jo Cline
The Tünetown New Year’s Resolution:
Letting you know if you might need earplugs. We certainly didn’t need them for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, surprise, surprise. And being oldish, we wish we never needed them (hint, hint, soundpersons), but we know some people (more being oldish) who already can’t hear well, due to a rock-filled life without squishy day-glo, two-dollar earplugs. So get some protection for the finely-wrought instruments on the sides of your head!
So Bodacious!
If you’ve heard of Sebadoh, you don’t need your pal Jo to tell you what’s up: three guys, some angst, some amps, some riffs, and more indie-rock credibility than you can shake a stick at. (Well, not counting the single by frontman Lou Barlow’s other band, the Folk Implosion, that made it onto the soundtrack.)
If you’re not turned on to Sebadoh, here’s their scoop. Lou Barlow used to be in a band called Dinosaur, before it had to be called Dinosaur Jr. due to some legal hoopla. It was based in Western Massachusetts (reserved, bleak), and headed by J. Mascis (morose, genius) and had a lot to do with how “alternative” rock sounds today. After an acrimonious parting (J., Lou) and some ugly press squabbles (bitter, resentful), Lou made Sebadoh, and J. made a video in which he plays golf in Manhattan (silly, knickers, golf cart). Sebadoh are mighty prolific and mighty good; they have the best song about being on the rebound (“Rebound”) in the known universe. When “Lo-Fi” was a darling term of the media (scrambling, out of adjectives) Sebadoh were the patron saints of it. So go have your skull blown off in the pleasantest of ways. (P.S.: O.K., I can’t resist—they’re all really cute.)
Where to catch Sebadoh: Monday, January 20, Trax.
What to wear: Flannel and corduroy, and maybe a thermal shirt for good measure.
What to drink: Beer is always appropriate.
Earplugs? Probably
Swing north, sweet chariot
The Squirrel Nut Zippers (named for candy) have been tooting and thumping around the Research Triangle for a couple years now, and the formula is bizarre. Dress-up clothes, horns, strings, ragtime beats, chanteuses et chanteurs—all with a kind of Gatsby-cum-thrift shop vibe that’s all about good times and reminiscence. Sound too weird to be true? Actually it’s more than catchy; it’s really big fun. Biggest recent coup: Drew raves (and a quick camera pan on CNN) when they played Atlanta during the Summer Games and made an Olympic pool-sized splash.
Where to catch the Squirrel Nut Zippers: Saturday, January 18, Trax
What to wear: Glad rags.
What to drink: Too bad they don’t serve Old Granddad.
Earplugs? A crime.
A Tasty Hors D’oeuvre
Your appetizer for the new year is actually a band rescheduled from November, the popular Cracker, whose guru, David Lowery, is a big boon to the local music scene via the Sound of Music studio in Richmond, where he records and produces lots of our fave records with soundgod John Morand. Lowery used to head up Camper Van Beethoven, and this latest Cracker record has got that old mid-’80s sound to it—much to the delight of Lowery’s older (over 25) fans. (The young ones are out in force; Option magazine reported some Cracker website-inspired ballot-stuffing in its 1996 readers’ poll: when the new Cracker album beat out Beck, the editors got suspicious.) Anyway, it’ll rock, it’ll have some chewy chords, and people will be jumping around.
Where to catch Cracker: Friday, January 17, Trax.
What to wear: t-shirts from Cracker, Camper Van Beethoven, the Bangles, Sparklehorse, September 67 (who might open the show), or Honor Role. Make your own if you need to.
What to drink: Wine, but only if there’s a nice Cotswold or some brie.
Earplugs? Probably.
TÜNETOWN
February 18, 1997
By Jo Cline
WriteNow
This week’s rock scene is big news from home and afar; even if you want to stay in and stay warm there’s bound to be something to tempt you out. And that’s the way we like it. Also, in honor of Tünetown’s first hate mail (stay in the dark if the word “Ambrosia” doesn’t ring a bell [Letters, February 11]), I’d like to say that Tünetown is about bands who are lively locals or locally live; we’re just extra happy when those two categories intersect (see also this Friday night). In other words, I meant to do that.
Ugly with a capital U
Isn’t it ironic? Although Juliana Hatfield is not much like Alanis (and I mean that in the best way), she sang “Ugly” a few years back even though—au contraire!—she isn’t ugly at all! (I’ll go ahead and tell you how lovely she is, just like I do for foxy boy bands, because the gods have always revered beauty. Of course, they ate ambrosia for breakfast.) Hatfield has blistered our town more than once: back in 1990 (twice) with the Blake Babies, and a couple years back at Trax, where she showed off her pipes and guitar chops with her own band.
Even if you can’t remember all her songs, including the best anthem to sisterhood of all time (though she has no sisters, only brothers—isn’t it… well, you know), this former Sassy cover rocker is a sure bet for a great show. This tour is unusual: she’s playing solo acoustic (we hear it’s because of a delay in her already-finished album’s release date, due to some contractual, um, stuff with a label formerly known as Juliana’s, but that’s all talk, ahem) and we can all say a little Lenten prayer that she’ll dip into any era of her grand songwriting canon, although if she didn’t remember the worlds to “Swill and the Cocaine Sluts” back when she played at Zipper’s, she probably won’t remember them now. She’s put a lot of warm bodies into Trax, so get your tix in advance for this more intimate show. And our own True Love Always opens! We’re all going to be in song heaven.
Where to catch Juliana Hatfield and True Love Always: Wednesday, February 19, at
Tokyo Rose
What to wear: Your stovepipe jeans, which the chanteuse favors.
What to drink: Cape Codders; she’s no stranger to beachfront Massachusetts.
Glad Reunion Day
That’s the name of an old Baptist hymn about heaven, and it could be the theme song du jour about Friday night at Tokyo Rose. We got mightily bummed a few months ago when the Curious Digit’s beloved drummer Jimmy decided to see what life was like Way Out West, but now he’s back, reclaiming all the cool jeans he left behind in the Digit’s version of the Honeycomb Hideout, and he’s ready to thump and brush his way back into our hearts. The Curious Digit are glasses rock for visionary people, and they thrash sensitive in their own quirky style. If you haven’t heard their debut full-length CD on Charlottesville’s own Jagjaguwar label, you’re missing one of the best treats of 1996. Okay, I know you’re sold, but get this: Jagjaguwar labelmates Drunk, who hole up in Richmond, are joining them for this glad reunion day. Drunk are a little dreamier, and a little twangier, and rumored to be as beloved in England as Mickey Rourke and Jerry Lewis are in France. (Well, at least they’re getting there.) This is a true talent showcase.
And here’s some bonus trivia: the Curious Digit got their name when bassist Josh was watching a documentary about some furry primates with one massive finger on each hand, and the narrator said “the [blank] uses his curious digit to…” and Josh said “Eureka!” or “That’s it!” or “Cool…” (or something).
Where to catch the Curious Digit and Drunk: Friday, February 21, at Tokyo Rose
What to wear: Your own glasses, or buy fake ones at the mall.
What to drink: Plenty.
Disclaimer: Tunetown and Jo Cline bear no personal ill-will toward steamed publicists who exhibit public disdain for the media they’re paid to entice.
