Please Explain: Stephen Malkmus

What’s up with your passion for fantasy sports? We heard you played online multi-player basketball while recording your latest album, Real Emotional Trash (Matador).

I’m the commissioner for the basketball league that (current Jicks bandmates) Janet Weiss, Joanna Bolme, (Pavement drummer) Bob Nastanovich and others play in. People can protest trades, and I can flat-out reject them if I think they’re unfair. But I won’t, because we’re all adults, and people can make their own choices. Within reason. Lately, I haven’t cared about who wins the NBA Finals—it’s just a show, entertainment. The Spurs win because they do lots of fundamental things well. But fantasy is where the fun is. It’s streaky, guys drop like flies from injuries, people do well for a short time, then someone else shines and does well. You start the season full of hope, then you ride the wave.

Q&A With eels


As the old blues chestnut insists, if it wasn’t for bad luck, eels’ Mark Oliver Everett (better known by his monosyllabic moniker, E) wouldn’t have no luck at all. Having lost his father as a teenager, the Virginia native made his way to Los Angeles in the ’80s, releasing a few underheard solo albums before unexpectedly hitting it big with the quirky alterna-anthem “Novocaine For The Soul” in 1996. Then the loss came in waves: Everett’s sister, who had battled schizophrenia most of her life, committed suicide later that year, and in 1998 his mother died of lung cancer. (Moreover, Everett’s cousin was a flight attendant on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001.) eels are commemorating a decade’s worth of work with the best-of Meet The Eels Essential Eels Vol. 1 and its odds-and-sods companion piece, Useless Trinkets (both on Geffen/Universal), which document Everett’s struggle to retain his humanity and humor in the face of insurmountable sorrow.

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THE BREAKUP SOCIETY: Nobody Likes A Winner [Get Hip]

Newspaper writer and music critic Ed Masley—originally from Pittsburgh, now hailing from Phoenix—pens songs akin to those of kindred spirit Scott McCaughey (Young Fresh Fellows, Minus 5). Both offer plenty of I’m-a-loser-but-hey-so-are-you tales, spiking any self-flagellation with plenty of insight into everyone else’s pathetic human condition. Fittingly, McCaughey contributes lead vocals to the jangly “By A Thread” here, and it’s a compliment to Masley that the tune would fit perfectly on a YFF or Minus 5 effort. On the sophomore Breakup Society LP, Masley’s tough-and-tender tunes also bring to mind the storytelling of Fountains Of Wayne: “When she was young, he used to bring her flowers,” sings Masley on “13th Angry Man.” (His somewhat thin voice resembles FOW’s Chris Collingwood.) Most material here, though, is usually delivered with a rougher, YFF-y power-pop attack. Masley scores, too, with slower fare such as “This Little Tragedy,” a biting rebuke of someone who needs to get over himself, couched in a soft, gorgeous melody. If it’s true that nobody likes a winner, this album is definitely in trouble sales-wise. But Masley probably knew that going in. []

—Matt Hickey

The Aliens: Space Is The Place

After the Beta Band crashed and burned under a dark cloud of drugs and mental illness, some of its members picked up the pieces to form a fitter, happier psych/pop group called the Aliens. By Neil Ferguson

It’s a balmy early Friday evening in one of the less salubrious neighborhoods of the nation’s capital, and I find myself backstage in a venue called the Rock & Roll Hotel. I’m here to talk to cosmic Scottish three-piece the Aliens, who consist of erstwhile Beta Band members John Maclean and Robin Jones, plus Beta Band founder and occasional Lone Pigeon Gordon Anderson.

They’ve just finished soundchecking on the fourth night of their inaugural U.S. tour and have agreed to discuss their days as art students, the Beta Band and their current incarnation. The Aliens are enjoying widespread critical acclaim for their debut album, Astronomy For Dogs (Astralwerks), a gorgeously frazzled, kaleidoscopic explosion of Day-Glo psych/pop. Right now, however, I can barely get a word in. As they reminisce about how they met, the conversation rapidly descends into inter-band piss-taking, with each member ridiculing the worthlessness of the others’ individual tastes at the time.

“Fuck me, John,” splutters Anderson. “You were into some really bad dance stuff. The Brand New Heavies?”

“Yeah, well,” counters Maclean, “you were listening to what’s quite possibly the worst album of all time.”

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Q&A With Dean Wareham

As frontman for Galaxie 500 and Luna, Dean Wareham lived and prospered through two decades of indie rock. MAGNET spoke to Wareham about his memoir, an honest and surprisingly juicy behind-the-scenes look at bandmate squabbling, life on the road and the perils of cult stardom.

Dean Wareham speaks in a soft, cultured voice, punctuated by a lot of easy laughter. His frankness is a little jarring, so far is it from the cryptic tenor of the songs he wrote for Galaxie 500 and Luna. But then, Wareham has just spent a year and a half penning Black Postcards: Unreleased B-Sides And Notes From The Road (Penguin Press), a memoir of his years recording and touring with those now-defunct bands. And in order to do that, he’s been opening up lots of old wounds.

If there’s a more immediately terrifying phrase in English than “open-mic poetry,” it’s “rock memoir,” a mongrel bastard of a genre that encompasses everything from muckraking oral histories to ghost-written stroke jobs. But Wareham’s fame, such as it is, has always hinged on the fact that his bands never achieved the popular acclaim his critical rep might’ve suggested. As such, the enigmatic quality of his music, released on both indie and major labels, has always been very much a part of his public persona. And there’s a big chapter of his professional history—the acrimonious split with Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang, his bandmates in Galaxie 500—about which he’s never spoken in detail.

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EX-BOYFRIENDS: In With [Absolutely Kosher]

It’s not always easy coming up with nice things to say about an ex. But in the case of Ex-Boyfriends, genuine expressions of goodwill aren’t too difficult. The San Francisco trio refines its alternately fizzy and edgy pop/punk on the follow-up to 2006’s admirable-yet- disheveled Dear John. The group has never been one to play coy with its sexuality. Its MySpace page pretty much lays it out: “We are looking for bands that like to take long walks on the beach, cuddle for hours on end, watch Merchant Ivory films and love taking it up the ass.” Yet Ex-Boyfriends don’t spin their preference in the sack as a gimmick, either, choosing instead to see love, lust and the inevitable pain that accompany both as boundless, universal and unavoidable necessities no matter which way you lean. In fact, there’s nothing especially novel about Ex-Boyfriends’ approach. Strummed electric guitars unfurl simply with an algebraic precision (see the Sugar-y “Private D”); rhythms lurch and lunge with new-wavey panache (take your pick from a handful of XTC moments). In the end, In With’s indecisiveness is its sole drawback. A do-we-rock-out- mindlessly-or-cozy-up-and-get-cerebral? waffling is embodied in frontman Colin Daly’s oddly noncommittal vocals, which can’t quite reconcile the bawdy holler of a young Andy Partridge with the forlorn coo of James Mercer. []

—Hobart Rowland

MAJOR STARS: Mirror/Messenger [Drag City]

Listening to the sixth record from Boston’s Major Stars is a little like stumbling across a character-rich old house that’s just been given a fresh coat of paint. You can appreciate the restoration effort, but some of that ragged old charm is inevitably lost. Led by psych veterans Wayne Rogers and Kate Biggar, Mirror/Messenger still offers plenty of face-melting guitar workouts consistent with the band’s past fondness for 15-minute epics. But much of the LP is dominated by the brassy, bar-band howl of singer Sandra Barrett, which adds an unexpected and presumably unintentional layer of gloss. This being her second album with the band, Barrett’s vocals mesh well with certain tracks (the sprawling “My People,” the roaring “Can’t End Today”), but it’s sometimes a relief when her contributions are set aside and the band can fire all its engines without having to make room for a classic-rock hook. Mirror/Messenger is more approachable with its shorter track lengths and head-bobbing choruses, but it’s less memorable as well. Progress, you just can’t stop it. []

—Chris Barton

JOE LALLY: Nothing Is Underrated [Dischord]

When Fugazi bassist Joe Lally released 2006 solo debut There To Here, he confounded and disappointed many longtime fans of his seminal rhythm-section work. Lally’s intense, world-aware lyricism was at odds with the sparse minimalism of the music, which consisted of bass, occasional drums/programming and little else. Not much has changed in the algebra that went into Nothing Is Underrated, but the end result is much warmer and more accessible. Whether it’s because the lyrics are of a more personal/poetic bent or because there are more guests (Fugazi’s Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto, among others) dropping by to add their musical science to the proceedings, Nothing Is Underrated comes off like a simmering piece of 21st-century blues. No, Lally isn’t playing I-IV-V changes—as if—but the deceptive simplicity and introspective honesty at play here somehow jell more cohesively than on There To Here. There’s still nothing to remind you of the roiling bass line of Fugazi’s “Waiting Room,” but listeners who’ve matured half as much as Lally has in the two decades since that song was written will likely find much to appreciate on Nothing Is Underrated. []

—Jason Ferguson

Frames Singer Finds Luck And Love With The Film “Once”

Please excuse Glen Hansard for being incredulous and downright giddy when it comes to Once. Hansard, who for the last 17 years has fronted Irish folk/rock band the Frames, is the male lead in Once, a heartfelt rock musical that’s become an art-house sensation. He’s just been told what the micro-budgeted film has grossed—a whopping $9 million—in the U.S. since its May 10 release in New York City and Los Angeles.

“That’s fucking incredible, man,” he says of the box-office tally. “I honestly don’t know what it is. Some films get a bit of attention. It doesn’t make one better than the other. Fucking hell, this is amazing.”

The 37-year-old Hansard has been enjoying all the accolades that have come his way since Once won the World Cinema Audience Award at the Sundance Film Festival in January. (It’s due out on DVD in December.) He and Markéta Irglová, his costar in the film and off-screen girlfriend, are also performing as musical duo the Swell Season. Last year, they released their first record, which includes some of the songs that hold together the gentle, lovelorn narrative of Once. This summer, the two sold out a 750-seat venue in New York weeks in advance. But before the film, they could barely attract 50 people for an American gig.

“The reaction (to us and the film) has been shocking,” says the 19-year-old Irglová. “This is way beyond all of our dreams.”

Adding to the film’s unlikely success story is that Once almost never was. Erstwhile Frames bassist-turned-film-director John Carney had been crafting a script based on his experiences as a busker in Dublin. Cillian Murphy (Batman Begins, Red Eye) was set to play the lead. Meanwhile, Carney heard songs that Hansard and Irglová, a Czech pianist, had written and wanted to use them for the soundtrack. He was also taken by Irglová, casting her in the movie as the female lead even though she had no previous film experience. When the increasingly in-demand Murphy dropped out of the project, Carney suggested that Hansard step forward.

“I had doubts about making this movie,” says Hansard, whose only acting experience was a non-speaking part in 1991’s The Commitments. “For one, John was just jumping on the nearest person available. And two, because I wrote the songs and knew Markéta, I was afraid of this appearing like a vanity project. But John convinced me that I was the right man for the job.”

The tale of a broken-hearted street musician and the young immigrant woman who helps him record his songs, Once was shot in just 17 days without any proper permits. Its $150,000 budget came from the Irish Film Council. “We thought we could make the film and print out a few thousand DVDs,” says Irglová. “We’d travel around Ireland and play gigs in small cinemas. Hopefully then, we’d sell enough copies of the DVD to pay back the Film Council.”

Expectations remained fatalistically low after several film festivals rejected Once. Then came its breakthrough at Sundance, where Fox Searchlight Pictures bought the distribution rights for $500,000.

“It’s shaky,” says Irglová with a laugh, describing the film’s use of a hand-held camera. “Once is all about the story and the chemistry between the two people. The audience feels as if they’re being allowed to peek into someone’s lives.”

After completing a summer U.S. tour with the Swell Season, Hansard rejoined the Frames to open for Bob Dylan in Australia and New Zealand. Dylan, Hansard’s childhood idol, liked the film, and the opening slot came as a direct result of Once’s success.

While Hansard and Irglová will entertain more film projects, they plan to focus on music.

“You can’t make this film ever again: a film against all the odds,” says Hansard. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

—John Elsasser

Kasper Collin: The Man Behind The New Albert Ayler Documentary

A haunting image of Albert Ayler appears throughout a new documentary that explores the free-jazz saxophonist’s too-short life and legacy. It’s a black-and-white film clip in which he’s standing shirtless, silent, staring into the camera, the white patch on his beard beaming like a headlight. It’s as if Ayler is saying to the audience, “I told you so.” Ever-confident during his brief and underappreciated career in the mid-to-late 1960s, he had this to say about his chaotic, spaced-out brand of jazz: “If people don’t like it now, they will.”

Filmmaker Kasper Collin was one person who liked the saxophonist’s music from the get-go. He first heard Ayler in the early 1990s, when he was 18 and living in his native Sweden. “It really stood out from everything else I was listening to,” says Collin. “It’s incredible, powerful music.”

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