Interview TK: The Breeders Hang Up The Phone, Move On

Kim Deal wants to kick my ass. Which kinda sucks, because I love Kim Deal. I was one of those folks who always said the only thing wrong with the Pixies is Kim Deal doesn’t write and sing more of their songs. I loved the Breeders and was super-jazzed when Kim’s sister Kelley named Feel Nice, the debut album by the Psyclone Rangers (my band at the time), as one of her top 10 faves of 1993 in the pages of Rolling Stone. My fellow Rangers and I met up with Kelley backstage at Lollapalooza the following summer and a plan was soon hatched to have her sing on the follow-up album we were going to record that fall in Memphis. Unbeknownst to us, Kelley had developed a heroin habit in the interim. I remember long, drowsy phone calls with her from the control room of Ardent Studios, wherein she would say she still wants to come but she is feeling poorly. One day, we were sitting in the TV lounge when an MTV News Special Report announced that Kelley Deal had been arrested for accepting a FedEx package of heroin.

Fast forward four years or so, and I was in New York with the Flaming Lips. During a smoke break with drummer Steven Drozd, he casually mentioned that the last time he was in New York he was in bad, bad shape. With some gentle prodding, he mentioned that he was playing on a Breeders album (which ended up never seeing the light of day). It was around this time, as you may recall, that Kim Deal went off the rails, going through drummers faster than Spinal Tap and finally deciding to teach herself how to play so she could get the sound and the beat she was looking for. Drozd described the recording sessions as a druggy trainwreck and told me he packed up his kit in the middle of the night and left without saying goodbye. Some variation of this was included in MAGNET’s Flaming Lips story, and it eventually got back to Kim Deal.

Fast forward to now. The Breeders are back, everyone is clean and sober, and there’s a decent new album, Title TK. MAGNET arranged for me to do a phoner with the Deal sisters. It was pretty rough going at first; Kelley was friendly, Kim was surly and had been drinking. Kelley got angry with Kim for being rude. I decided to play the chaos card, and it went downhill fast:

—Jonathan Valania

I heard Steven Drozd played with you guys for a while.
Kim: [Annoyed] No, he didn’t play for us, dude. I know him, he’s a friend. He came up to New York because I asked him to work on some songs. He did so for about 10 days, and then he left. He never played for the band.

OK, I guess I heard wrong then.
Kim: Yeah, you did!
Kelley: God, Kim.
Kim: This is the dude that wrote that crap that Steven … Whatever, man. (Sonic Youth drummer) Steve Shelley was not in the band, either. I don’t know if you thought that—he was just a friend also.

I never thought they joined the band, that they just—
Kim: They didn’t join the band!

Can I ask a Pixies question?
Kelley: Jonathan, I’m gonna hang up.
Kim: No, I’ll shut up.
Kelley: I don’t want to talk about it … It was nice talking you, Jonathan. [Hangs up]
Kim: Kelley just got mad and hung up.

Is she mad at me or mad at you?
Kim: She’s mad at me. What’s the Pixies question?

If Charles Thompson called you and asked—
Kim: Shut up! Go away! Pass! What’s the next question?

Uh …
Kim: Dude, I’m out! Bye! [Hangs up]

Joe Strummer: New World Order

At the heart of the Clash’s local rebellion always lay a good amount of global thinking. A quarter-century on, Joe Strummer revels in his hard-won freedom to wander all over the map. By Fred Mills

It’s a breezy fall afternoon in New York City when Joe Strummer strides rather testily into Irving Plaza, a 1,000-seat venue located in Greenwich Village. He’s been stuck on a tour bus from Hartford, Conn., five hours longer than he’d anticipated. He still has a soundcheck with his band the Mescaleros to do. There’s also a photo shoot and magazine interview on the itinerary. Worse, he has the beginnings of what promises to turn into a nasty, throat-ravaging cold.

Yet these concerns aren’t what have Strummer visibly agitated. He’s fretting, instead, that schedule delays will mean tonight’s opening act, rock-steady ska-punkers the Slackers, will get the shaft, time-wise, on their soundcheck.

“Where’s Simon Foster?” he barks to no one in particular, prompting Strummer’s Hellcat Records rep Chris LaSalle to rustle up tour manager Foster. When the duo returns, Strummer is unequivocal: “What time are the doors?”

“At 8 p.m., Joe.”

“Hold ‘em until the Slackers are done.”

When I bring up the incident later, Strummer gets a thoughtful look on his face and observes, “See, when you’re being crudded upon by others, you say to yourself, ‘One day, when it’s my turn, the support band’s always gonna get a soundcheck.’ Because you learn what it’s like to be in that position: ‘Sorry man, you can’t get a check because Waffleface has got to mend his fuzzbox!’”

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Ryan Adams: Saving Private Ryan

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Is Ryan Adams one of the greatest singer/songwriters of his generation? Or will he emerge as another in a long line of pretenders to the Dylan throne? If only you could ask him, he’d surely set you straight. By Corey duBrowa

“Time let me play and be/Golden in the mercy of his means.”
—Dylan Thomas, “Fern Hill”

The Legend Of Ryan Adams has taken on the outsized dimensions of urban folklore. The myth has become so preposterous—we’re talking Bob Dylan-sized footprints here; the only thing missing is the invented motorcycle accident—that it’s remotely possible Adams himself is now embarrassed by some of the brushstrokes that have been applied to his impressionist portrait. Sorting out the truth from fiction takes a little doing.

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Nick Cave: Let There Be Light

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Once a holy terror trespassing on hallowed ground, Nick Cave has given over to tender mercies and spiritual hymns. He’s still got the devil inside him, only these days he’s feeling closer to God. By Jonathan Valania

He was born like this, he had no choice. Nick Cave was born with the gift of a golden voice. He asked Leonard Cohen, “How lonely does it get?” Leonard Cohen hasn’t answered yet. But Nick Cave hears him coughing all night long, a couple floors above him in the Tower Of Song.

In the beginning, there was the Birthday Party. And it was good. Rock ‘n’ roll as sonic aneurysm: screeching, cataclysmic and cruel. The Birthday Party was scary. Not in the silly Count Chocula way of the misguided goths who would follow in its steps, but, like, Exorcist scary. Danger was the Birthday Party’s business, and in the early ‘80s, business was good. Nick Cave was the human cannonball at the microphone, and the band would light the fuse and run for cover. When the audience demanded blood, Cave could open up and bleed with the best of them. When he got bored with that, he would jump into the crowd for a good punch-up or maybe just drop-kick the head of any audience member who dared to stand in the front row. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. The Birthday Party nicknamed one tour the “Oops, I’ve Got Blood On The Tip Of My Boot” tour.

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All This Useless Beauty: George Pelecanos Interviews Steve Wynn

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Bars, hotels and cars are settings common to Steve Wynn albums and George Pelecanos novels. MAGNET had Wynn (pictured) and Pelecanos (also an Emmy-nominated writer and producer for HBO series The Wire) drive to a hotel bar (in a car) to discuss all things punk, pop and pulp fiction.

Were this a Steve Wynn song or a George Pelecanos book, our main characters would be sketched out like so: two strangers who cast long shadows in their respective fields meeting out of mutual admiration. Here they are in Washington, D.C., at the Henley Park, a small hotel at 10th and Massachusetts, hunched over the bar with tape rolling.

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