Interview with Jerry Crisp of Baby Bear Lo-Fi

Folk music doesn't mean some white dude whining over an acoustic guitar. It means "music of the people," and it is an old tradition - the oldest musical tradition, in fact. There's not a soul on Earth who can claim to know the exact moment "music" started - I'm talking about even before the word "music" existed. I've always defined "music" as "sound with form." It makes things easy for me. Most definitions of "music" are antiquated, unfamiliar with the progression of sound art in the modern era. But at some point in human history, a person made a sound through movement or voice, and then that person curiously, skeptically made the same motion or vocal emission just to hear it, enjoy it, or inspect it again, and that's when music started.

The thing about folk music is that the only difference between it and the previous example is the sharing nature of the thing. If you've got a group of people sharing a musical tradition, whatever sound it is, it's folk music.

Jerry Crisp, a Miami transplant by way of Ohio and most freight train lines, has a repertoire of more than 150 songs, some from more than a century ago. While many artists concern themselves with keeping up on trends, Jerry finds importance in gathering knowledge, be it Varg Vikernes' newest polemic, the Art Deco architecture on Miami Beach, or the trajectory of folk music. Jerry's also a bit of a privileged folky because he's a jaw harp player - jaw harp is one of the oldest instruments still around, meaning that his concept of folk music is older than a lot of other people's. His preternatural memory and love for history gives him an edge where other musicians may have a difficult time.

Jerry plays solo as Baby Bear Lo-Fi and does outlaw country as part of The Revolvers. We got hot dogs and had a chat. Here's how it went down.

Jerry Crisp: So where do you want to start?

Jordan Reyes: Well, let’s start with the first song you learned.

JC: The first folk song I can remember learning was from the Sharon, Lois, and Bram show, which was on Nickelodeon in the 80s. It was a show created for children of 60s folk artists with its group of cheesy folk people. They had this song “Skinnamarinky Dinky Dink/Skinnamarinky Do” and my mom used to play that song with me. Also, “Puff the Magic Dragon.” My mom plays folk music so I remember my whole life with her playing guitar with me. She’s into Joan Baez and folk women of the 60s.

JC: We used to play children's songs of that era and Elizabeth Cotton’s “Freight Train,” if you know that song. She was a nanny and house maid in New York City. She was discovered by Pete Seeger. She learned how to play guitar in like 1898 and didn’t get discovered until 1963 right before her death. She said when they recorded her that she hadn’t played guitar in 40 years. She took a regular guitar, but played it left handed with the bass string on the bottom, so she had a very distinct style.

JR: So how did Pete Seeger know her?

JC: He hired her as his maid and nanny! (Laughs). One day, the story goes, she just picked up the guitar. I don’t remember the specifics, but I know that one day he discovered her after she was working for him.

JR: How do you pick up these stories about people existing before your time?

JC: Well, a lot of it is passed down orally. You get together with people who make folk music, and they tell stories. Everyone has their own way of telling the story, too. Some people will always tell it like it happened to them, even if it’s not a story that actually happened to them, but that’s just their way of storytelling - they inject themselves into the story. Some people are more along the lines of telling fables. I do a little bit of both. Sometimes I’ll tell a story not exactly how it happened - maybe it’ll be a story that happened to someone else and I’ll tell it like it happened to me, just to make the conversation flow a little better. I don’t really have a style as much as just…not being good at public speaking, so it’s sort of done to make sure I don’t stutter the whole time (laughs).

JR: Do you think that has any dishonesty in it or is that besides the question?

JC: I don’t think it has dishonesty unless you’re trying to use it to gain something personally, like if you’re changing stories around to garner support or pity for yourself, but if you’re telling a story and someone is there expecting you to tell stories, then it’s just a story. Stories aren’t truthful or or not truthful to me. There’s a difference if someone asks “Well, what’s the truth behind that story?” But it’s almost like you have a song and prepare it - same way with a story.

JR: So your mom had played guitar for a while, and when did you pick it up? Did you pick up guitar first and then banjo or banjo and then guitar?

JC: Guitar and then banjo. Banjo came much later. I had an acoustic guitar when I was probably six or seven. I would play along with my mom, but then I lost interest when I started playing sports. I wrestled for a long time, played sports, and learned martial arts. I was also in choir so I sang a lot still, but then, when I was around fourteen, I asked my mom for an electric guitar, which is what I learned first. Then banjo just kind of came along. In 2010, I think, someone gave me a banjo in Sarasota. I was living in Key Largo at the time, which is a really interesting place if you live there. It’s very isolated. Being down in the keys and not having much else to do meant that I was playing a lot of banjo, which is when it started becoming my main instrument.

JR: You still consider it your main instrument?

JC: I consider the jaw harp, personally, as my main instrument. I approach all music playing with the mentality of the jaw harp. It took me a long time to know what notes I was playing or the names of chords. I still couldn’t really tell you off hand the names of chords I play. I play everything by ear.

JR: I guess I wouldn’t have expected that. I think you’re the first person I know who plays a jaw harp, but you’re also the only person I know who approaches music like that.

JC: Yeah, the jaw harp’s a weird thing. It’s like a children’s toy, but it’s really old - tens of thousands of years old. It’s one instrument that, because the human body is the actual thing you move to make the notes, you can feel the music you’re making with it. The music you’re making with it is very similar to that of prehistoric times on the same instrument. How much has the human body changed in ten thousand years? (laughs) So the instrument has pretty much stayed the same.

JR: I remember you told me once you have about a 150 song repertoire and how many songs have you written?

JC: I’ve been in bands, playing bass, banjo, or percussion for a while. I enjoy writing songs in a band, but I don’t count those as songs that I’ve written. That said, I’ve played in bands since I was sixteen, so that’s twelve years of writing songs with other people. But as far as songs that I regularly played that are one hundred percent mine is probably ten or less. Then there are another ten that are straight rip offs from traditional songs.

JR: Yeah, but that’s in the tradition of folk music.

JC: Oh, totally. I learned that from Woody Guthrie. That’s all he did.

JR: I got to see Billy Bragg cover Woody Guthrie songs and he gave a lecture, basically, about Guthrie and his life. It was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

JC: He’s an interesting guy. I don’t always agree with what his idea of folk music is, because I don’t think he takes it back far enough. And maybe that’s my privilege as a jaw harp player is to see that folk music predates all concepts of what “music” is, whereas I feel like Billy Bragg might think that music started when it began to get recorded. He’s like “Americans invented the blues and then the British made them better and then it came back to America,” which is a very British point of view, in my opinion, but his music is great (laughs). Even the stuff he did with that band Wilco was pretty good.

JR: Yeah, I think that was the Woody Guthrie stuff - he somehow got these notes that Woody had written but never ended up recording them so there was no actual music. The thing about folk is that the hard part is usually the lyrics because the music’s already in the tradition. So, this is what he was talking about.

JC: Ah, I didn’t know that about that record Mermaid Avenue.

JR: Yeah I think Woody’s granddaughter had the notes.

JC: What’s her name? Nora? I think it’s Nora Guthrie.

JR: And you’re about to put out a record, right?

JC: Yeah, hopefully. I’ve made plans to go into the studio and record it. I’ve put out lots and lots and lots of recordings, probably a third of my repertoire is recorded at this point, but I did them all on my tablet or cellphone. That’s why I have the band name Baby Bear Lo-Fi. “Baby Bear” is my nickname, but I added “Lo-Fi” to get the one-man-band concept.

JR: Your mom had that name for you, right?

JC: Yeah, well, my name’s Jerry and being born in the 80s had people calling me “Jerr Bear” and so that always existed, but then I had a friend who called me “Bear” in a playful sense, which stuck. Then when I was doing a lot of political work, there’s a tradition of not introducing yourself with your real name for some reason, so I went with Bear, and I just got to introducing myself as that. I still do - it’s a true nickname I’ve had my whole life. “Baby Bear” came from one time  I was with Miller, another local musician who I play in bands with. He’s a big, burly guy with a long beard and he introduced himself as Miller and I said “Hi, I’m Bear.” And the person responded “You’re not a bear - you’re a baby bear,” cause I was standing next to this big guy. Being around him on tour is where “Baby Bear” came from. But I’ve had “Bear” my whole life. I’ve even got it tattooed on me [Tattoo reads: If You Must Be A Bear, Be A Grizzly].

JR: You mentioned that you have a ton of stuff coming up for the rest of the year.

JC: Oh yeah, I recorded four full-length albums last year. Three of them in my bedroom and another at a friend’s house, which he uses to record folk punk bands. That was just me on a nylon-string banjo. Last year I did these four full-length records all within six months. It was nice, and felt great to generate it all myself, but it left me wanting to make a studio album, which would have other musicians playing my songs. A lot of the stuff I made last year didn’t have any originals so I want to do a release that has more originals, but also a backing band - drummer, lap steel, upright bass playing. So the goal is to make a country record and it’ll be called “Americana Renaissance.” That’s the concept. Other than that, I’m playing in a local band called The Revolvers, which is outlaw country. We have lots and lots of shows coming up for that.

JC: The biggest thing I’m doing I think is called the Fringe Art Fair or Fringe Art Fest - I’m not exactly sure - but it’s part of the greater Art Basil event. I’m going to be doing a show a day at it of different things. One will be just me doing my typical folk music stuff, then I’ll do one with my friend from New York who does banjo and I’ll do jaw harp on top of that, and then I’ll do one that’s more along the lines of folk punk with an electric guitar and a band. Then I want to do a set that’s primitive, with no instruments - vocals only. I have a lot of songs that are a capella, I guess. They’re like work songs. One of the favorite things I’ve done was in the New York City subways - just singing and holding my hat out - no instrumentation. That’s my preferred method of performance. The guitar is burdensome. You have to carry it around and it needs six strings. I’m very much a simple artist. I think that’s my strong suit. If a song had one word and two tones, I’m all about it. It’s like Shepherds’ music if you know the tradition. I think some of my best performances were me on a mountain alone.

JR: In a shower?

JC: Exactly. And I do other stuff, both for myself and for the performance aspect, but I prefer the simplistic, almost, and I’m not a spiritual person, but it fulfills my spiritual needs. I do Buddhist chants at home.

JR: I’ve done crystal bowl meditations where people in this class start joining in with their voices and that was one of the coolest auditory experiences I’ve had. And it’s very simple. There’s someone who’s making a bowl sing and everyone else has their eyes closed and everyone’s making tones even though there’s no scale to go off of - nothing can be in conflict with anything else.

JC: It’s really interesting when those moments of Western Music, like what makes Western Music, can be stripped away. Everything you can discover about music outside of twelve notes. I think that’s why American Folk Music and country music is easy for me to understand and play. It’s also why my repertoire keeps growing and growing - cause there’s only twelve notes! I’m used to infinite notes and that’s how I like to make my music, drawing from infinite amounts of sounds. Then all of a sudden you only have twelve? But there’s beauty in simplicity, too. Even in twelve notes you can find great beauty.

JR: Yeah, and in Japan they have the Shamisen…

JC: Is that the fretless instrument?

JR: Yeah.

JC: It’s considered in the same family as the banjo.

JR: Really?

JC: Yeah, well it’s a drum with a number of strings attached to it. It’s like a banjo. Early banjos didn’t have five strings either - they had however many the person put on there. Then someone put the fifth string on. I think they started with three strings and a shorter fourth string. In Mongolia they have the Horse-head fiddle, which is a banjo you play with a bow. They have snakeskin heads. In China they have the Xiqin, which has three strings, and fulfills the same thing. The tenor banjo from Ireland has four strings. A banjo is just a drum with strings.

JR: You prefer the banjo to the guitar at this point?

JC: Yeah, well I’ve done guitar for so long at this point that I have the benefit of not really having to think to play it. A lot of things come naturally. Banjo I’ve only been playing for four or five years so I’m very much still learning on it. It was definitely the first instrument I felt able to get in the zone or let loose on. In a lot of ways it helped my guitar playing reach the level it’s at now by learning to relax while playing. Even playing bass guitar for years and years in bands still never got me to the point of relaxation like I did when I first learned old time clawhammer banjo.

JR: You recently started double thumbing too, right? This year?

JC: Yeah. I always listen to other banjo players and try to imitate the techniques and sounds that I hear. The technique of double thumbing has always been difficult, but now I’ve got that down. Basically there are two ways of doing clawhammer - drop thumb and frailing and I’m trying to do this technique where you do both at the same time. It’s really challenging, but it’s what I’ve been working on lately. I’ve been doing double thumbing for a little over a year now, so it’s a move I have, whereas I can either drop thumb or frail - I can’t do both in the same song. Even though banjo is having a resurgence in popularity, people are playing it with a pick or strumming it like a guitar. Some people will say “Never play your banjo with a pick!” But I’m not one of those people. Play your banjo however you want to play your banjo. If you’re a musician and you’re playing a banjo, you’re a banjo player. I started off playing four strings, tenor style, before getting into clawhammer so I’m not one to tell anyone else how to play the banjo. I definitely have a soft spot for the old time clawhammer style. I’m happy to see banjo making such a resurgence. The five-string banjo is truly an American instrument and sound. It has related instruments all over the world, but that five string banjo are ours. It’s as ours as the hot dogs we just ate.

A Conversation with Ryley Walker & Bill Mackay

In January 2015, Ryley Walker and Bill Mackay of Darts & Arrows got together for a residency at The Whistler, known as much for its mixology as its live music schedule. Bill and Ryley, fixtures in Chicago experimental and folk music, collaborated once a week, playing both original compositions and covers, leaving room for improvisation where the duo saw fit. Land of Plenty compiles recordings from their fourth and fifth shows in January.

As is the case with guitar duos, wonder comes from the exchange of energies and thoughts. A melody picks up and another diminishes. Rhythm becomes lead and lead becomes bass. The Whislter, no stranger to music riding a theme, like jazz, became an evocative, effective setting for Bill and Ryley. The room, gracefully littered with polite tables and chairs, decked in candle light, took on a pensive mood as the two began their string-spoken dialogue.

We met at the J & M tap to trade tales on collaboration, coffee, and church groups. Our story begins, as all good stories do, in media res after Bill has showered us with cupcakes for Ryley’s birthday.

Ryley Walker (to Bill Mackay): What were you doing at age 15?

Bill Mackay: I was just reading a lot of books.

RW: Ah, man, you were the smart, intelligent guy like “Wow, the world holds so much mystery.” I was just like smoking pot.

BM: Oh, well, I was doing that too.

RW: Trying to get a fake ID and being a shithead.

BM: I had met some older guys when I was 15 and we became really close, back in Pittsburgh. They were 18 or 19. I naturally gravitated towards people who were older than me. They were into smoking and drinking too, but they got me into coffee. We’d hang out in these all night diners.

RW: First dose is always free. Coffee. I drink it religiously. Not in the morning, though, surprisingly. If I have it first thing in the morning, I feel paranoid when I’m drinking it. Once I’ve settled in, then I feel good about it. I prefer a noon coffee or a lunch coffee. I drink a lot of water in the morning. I’m talking like a gallon of water. Your stomach stretches out for the day, but it’s therapeutic. Just slam it. Have a few glasses.

Jordan Reyes: I think it jumpstarts your metabolism too.

BM: That’s huge. I have to do that. I always feel dry. If you wait until later, I don’t think it has the same power.

RW: I’m around Brian and Matt all day, and they make pot after pot of coffee, but still take naps. It’s like the coffee never stops brewing.

JR: Yeah, I guess it’s nine pm and here I am, drinking a Red Bull. It’s like that, ice cream, and now cup cakes, are my only vices, but they’re serious ones. They’re also social, though.

BM: Exactly. That was the great thing about the coffee thing, getting into that because of these guys.

RW: What year was that?

BM: Oh, it was in the 80s.

RW: I was just born then, but like…coffee wasn’t good at that time, right? One of my friends who is forty-five or almost fifty was saying that coffee wasn’t good until the mid 90s. He said that for a while that coffee was just the shit you got at a diner. Starbucks wasn't yet the national front where you’re like “Oh, wait, coffee’s actually good.” He was arguing that Starbucks, who, yeah, they’re corporate - they suck, in a way, inspired coffee to be good.

BM: That’s kind of true. We liked it because it was what was available and you could get it for free all night long at these places, and you’d drink it for six hours. But the only good coffee you had to get at Dunkin’ Donuts.

JR: Dunkin’ Donuts still has good coffee.

RW: I swear by it. I live next door to Dunkin Donuts. I can see the orange and pink from my door.

BM: Yeah, well, coffee went along with the Bohemian thing too - people were writers or musicians, getting together about ideas. Coffee sort of fueled the talk. There’s a good reason why coffee is tied in with Bohemian lifestyle.

RW: Was the term “Pour-over” in the National Dialogue? Was it part of the conversation every day? Cause it is now.

BM: You know, the only places you could really get serious coffee would be like in Boston in the Italian neighborhood, where they’d pour coffee the old way, where they’d have the old machines. They were making the real thing. I have this theory that coffee used to be good in the 30s and 40s, and then it got dumbed down, and now it’s back on the rise.

JR: When I was a beer salesman in Chicago, I had this account called the Rail on Damen and Lawrence and the guy who owned it was this Italian guy.

RW: I used to live next door to that! That was my first apartment when I was 18 - sorry to interrupt - but this guy would let us in even though we were underage. There was this old hippie dude who didn’t card us.

JR: Ah, cool. The guy who owns it is off his rocker. Once he threatened to pull a gun on me - he like reached inside his drawer and was like “I’m gonna shoot you if you fuck up my order again.” I was like twenty-two years old. And I was like “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that.” But anyway, after that, he got me this Italian espresso maker. I still have it. He also gave me a bunch of imported espresso from Italy - pounds of it.

RW: That’s a nice way to console you after threatening to kill you.

JR: Totally. It was really strange. I use that espresso maker all the time. Maybe he started feeling bad, but hadn’t gotten to the point where he knew he had to make up for it.

BM: There’s stages. There’s denial, then acceptance, then restitution.

RW: This is a weird thing I noticed. In Europe, iced coffee doesn’t exist. In Spain, I saw someone drop like a cube of ice in an Espresso, and I asked “Why don’t you just order an iced coffee?” and the guy was like “What?” "You know, cold pressed coffee?" You can’t not see it in America today, especially in the city. So I was talking to this guy, and I was like, “Yeah, they figured it out - you don’t have to dilute it anymore - they figured it out!” So I’m trying to bring it over, Reverse Christopher Columbus Style. Hopefully I’ll just bring back the iced coffee and not bring back like Small Pox or something.

JR: Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.

RW: Goddamn, those cupcakes! I can smell them from here. They are so good. Bill - eat one!

BM: I will eventually. We can close the box for a minute if you’d like.

RW: It’s crazy - do cupcakes usually even have a smell? You know - you smell sausages or like cookies, but I’ve never really smelled cupcakes before. I’m not ever like “Hey, you smell those cupcakes?” In my twenty-six years, I’ve never smelled these cupcakes before. I guess I’m getting all these new abilities.

BM: People go through changes like that, though. People will get in a car accident and then they’ll end up speaking in an accent. Savant things. It’s cool, but I wonder if the human mind can pick up enough of an accent just by hearing something in your life and then you base a whole accent, way of speaking on it. People have come from accidents and they end up speaking with a French or German accent. It seems a little disconcerting.

RW: Mine would be so lame. I’d hit my head and then I’d be a big Cory Feldman fan or something - I’d be obsessed with him. I wouldn’t be able to like play piano well or something after an accident. I would just really like the 80s movies with Cory Feldman in them. [Jukebox song changes] Whoa. Dave Matthews - Satellite.

JR: Song’s great.

RW: This jam’s fucking sick, dude. Nobody realizes how dark Dave Matthews’ music is.

JR: I worked the Dave Matthews caravan in Chicago - we sold thousands of kegs that day. That was my first 21-hour day of work. It was hot, too. It was on the Southside of Chicago out East though. It was just this big dust bowl in Chicago. Flaming Lips played, Kid Cudi, Liz Phair, and Dave Matthews played. It wasn't a great experience, but I worked it.

RW: These grooves are found in King Crimson songs though, man. Put a little bit of ring wear on the cover and say Robert Fripp played on it - same groove. [To Bill] You like King Crimson?

BM: Yeah, I especially like their early stuff, but I also like their tunes in the 70s.

JR: Ryley, how was your Pitchfork experience? 

RW: It was fun - can’t complain too much - had a good time. We played that show, you know - you were there.

JR: (To Bill) Were you there too?

BM: Yeah, I was able to go for a bit.

RW: I wouldn’t even eat food - I’d wake up and be like, “Well, time to go to Pitchfork.”

BM: I was really happy to catch about half of Ryley’s set. Were you there?

JR: Yeah, I didn’t see too much, just because I had to work the [Moniker Records] booth the whole time. I saw Ryley’s set, Steve Gunn, and about ten minutes of Bitchin’ Bajas.

RW: I got to catch Madlib & Freddy Gibbs, and then I caught some of Run the Jewels too. I just have a hard time fitting in with the thousands of people. Maybe it’s my problem. Being at a festival in the midst of tens of thousands people - “Oh, I’m surrounded by people, but I feel like an alien.” I get keenly self-aware at those.

BM: I get that too. It used to be a lot worse. I remember seeing the Kinks one day in Pittsburgh. I was probably high or something too, but I remember thinking that all the people close to me were watching me. I was experiencing this super paranoia, even though I was in a big anonymous crowd.

JR: When was their last show?

RW: ’81.

BM: (To Ryley) I wanted to ask you this. Do you think it’s easier to play for a larger crowd or intimate, small crowds? Is there a difference?

RW: Well, the large crowds I play for are only a couple hundred people. A fest like that is an anomaly - happens once a year or so. It’s a treat. It’s fun. It’s somewhat easy because there’s so many people there to help you. “What do you need? Can I help you?” People are giving you drinks or food.

BM: So your nerves aren’t that different?

RW: Maybe I get a little more excited, but if I play a fest, there’s, you know “Wilco” and “Chance the Rapper” and “And Many More!” and I’m still at the “And Many More” or “To Be Announced” level. I’m happy with that. So I’d just hang out with the more TBA crowd. We’re all so green and excited.

BM: No one’s jaded yet.

JR: When did you guys start writing songs together?

BM: Well, we met at Ben [Boye]’s birthday party and got talking. We got together shortly after that - I’d say it was two years ago maybe two and a half?

RW: We both just love music and found each other. (Bill laughs).

BM: We started getting together sporadically, every month or so, but it started to bear fruit when I got the residency at the Whistler. I had been thinking about doing it with someone. Ryley came to mind, and we decided to do it together. We would get together during the week. It was kind of beautiful, how it unfolded. We’d get together once during the week and once the day of the show. Sort of like workshops.

RW: We got smokin’ hot!

BM: Yeah, the new songs and improvisations would enter the set too. So each week we were adding a little bit and by the end we had all these songs. (To Ryley) Does that sound about right?

RW: Yeah, that’s right. It was never high pressure. I think Bill’s the god of all guitars. I can hang on riffs, but Bill can dance around. I’m the stinky cheese, but Bill’s the fine wine that pairs so well with it. You have a sip of Bill’s fine, sweet-headed wine, and you say “Ah, I guess this cheese can work now.” 

BM: (Laughs) Put it on record that I beg to differ. Mutual dancing. There was a lot of give and take, carrying the rhythm. That was the most beautiful thing to me - interweaving melody, and rhythm. Switching between bass and melody. The songs seemed to pour out. Almost as soon as we sat down, something would materialize.

RW: I think part of it was Bill’s living room. He has a very nice living room with wood floors and he had Fig Newtons. He’d give me these Fig Newtons and coffee. So we’d play a song and then we’d have a Fig Newton. So it’d be like “Wow, this song is really great.” Then we’d have some coffee, a fig newton.

BM: Yeah, it does feel a bit magical to me, too. I play in that room a lot. It’s a whole world unto itself, I think.

RW: It’s a good universe within this universe. It has its own ecosystem and God and Jesus and the Virgin Mary.

BM: Its own biology.

RW: Its own biology! But, you know, it has an existence - you get a little out of body. The space itself is cool.

BM: So there are things on the record that began as a bare theme, which we’d develop and improvise. Most of the things came out of there. We’d refine them as we played at the Whistler too.

JR: The recording is from the fourth show that you guys played at the Whistler, right?

BM: I think it was the fourth and the fifth, actually. Mostly the fifth. Five songs are from the last show and two songs were from the fourth. That was nice because we got the time to gel and roll towards that conclusion.

JR: I think I saw the first two or three shows you guys played and then I moved to Miami. I hope you don’t take it personally.

BM: Yeah, what’d we do? Did we play that bad?

RW: Played so bad you just had to leave the state.

JR: In so many words.

RW: Yeah, one day Bill was like “What do you want to call the record?” and the first thing that came to mind was The Land of Plenty.

BM: I think that was after the song,“Land of Plenty.”

JR: Is that the one on soundcloud?

BM: It is. The single.

RW: The number one, smash-hit single. I don’t think is political, though.

BM: I have a few thoughts about that. It came together kind of late. Maybe it’s because titles, and poetry to me, seems like it has a political, philosophical tone.

RW: I see it as the way the tunes were made coming from bountiful fields of fruits, and berries, and vegetation - how we play. It’s a little different read than yours. It’s the land of plenty and, boy, is it a good harvest. (All laugh).

BM: I like that interpretation. That’s probably a more positive spin on it then the sort of ironic way I was thinking, riffing on everything that’s going on today.

RW: Bill’s heavily involved in politics too. I am too, but Bill’s an activist. He’s on the front lines.

BM: I was thinking about interpretation on the way over. If you have a specific interpretation about something and you feel it’s about one thing, you hope people get that, but you can’t control it. It’s up to people to find an interpretation, and even if it’s violently opposed to the one you have, it can be valid. They’re entitled to the interpretation they have. But I agree with Ryley - I think there’s a beautiful richness to the record. Overall, it is a positive thing. I take away different themes from everything. Things are very symbolic to me. I can’t help but look at that cover and the back cover that play off each other.

RW: It’s great art. Bill drew it.

BM: I was doing a lot of colored pencil drawings from my Portland days. I regret dropping off a bit. Some of the things I was developing slipped away a bit from me. I was psyched that Ryley wanted to use some of my art for the cover. I was hoping that that stuff would find its way out somehow. I have a lot of drawings sitting in a suitcase, growing old.

RW: Something that was twenty years old found new life.

BM: Exactly, and it made me realize that all of a person’s work is one big piece. It all plays off each other. It takes on a new meaning - it has a lot of meaning for me.

JR: So when you drew that piece, what was going on in your life?

BM: I’m not sure if I recall. There were a lot of good times at the house where I was staying in Portland. We had this funky house where people played music and hung out. There was a period when people would do drawings around this big table. A lot came out of that. It was also a pastoral, beautiful time to be in Portland. A lot of young people and energy, and a lot of art. We were living close to downtown and bands played or rehearsed there. It was $500 a month for the whole house. People have told me that now it’s a $2000 or $3000 place. On the one hand it was a tough time because people weren’t very motivated to do anything - it was too easy.

RW: So you were part of the slacker generation that everyone talks shit about.

BM: That’s it! I was trying to draw my way out of that, into being a productive citizen (laughs). In a way, I really was. It was hard to get stuff off the ground, but there was a collective lack of motivation. People were creating, but it seemed like projects didn’t get off the ground easily. I did get a lot of ideas and material out of it.

JR: Certain eras seem to call for certain kinds of success. The 2000s were about software and the 2010’s are about websites and the 1990s were about getting the internet started and the 1980s were about hardware to make stories get told through some sort of media diffraction. And it’s like, if you’re not in line with what’s able to get success at the time, it’s hard to have success or be productive.

BM: That makes a lot of sense. There are a lot of paradigmatic, monolithic things that drive culture. Whether you’re stuck with it or not, it makes you have the reference and think of the big energy in the culture.

RW: What made you feel the traveling energy?

BM: Just whimsy, I guess.

RW: I feel like you’d had nine lives or something - Boston, Portland, and others. You’ve lived in so many places and done so much in your life.

BM: Yeah, I was lucky to work enough to survive. [My wife] Cheryl and I would be some place for a while and then decide to leave after things got static. We wouldn’t be able to feel the pulse anymore. I feel fortunate to have come here and had such a complete shift. I mean, my mom grew up here, but we didn’t really know people that well here when we moved. How’d you get here, Ryley?

RW: Oh, I grew up right outside. Classic story. By the time I was a teenager, I’d come downtown to go see Ska bands or something, nothing cool.

BM: How old were you when you picked up guitar?

RW: I was twelve, but I wasn’t good or anything. I didn’t pick it up and think it was awesome either because I couldn’t figure out how to tune it. No one would teach me. So I was just like “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” I really wasn’t into music until I was like 13 - I was into sports or whatever before that. My parents weren’t music heads either. We’d listen to the Eagles on the way to work. It wasn’t like “Hey, have you heard this Sun Ra live set?” I have some friends who had their dad’s awesome record collection and it’s like what the fuck? I had to work so hard to figure out who some of these people were and this was just given to you. All this knowledge! “Hey, my three year old son, check out The Love Supreme.” Whereas I had to research everything. I wouldn’t have it any other way, of course, but it blows my mind that some people have parents who are poets or into art. What are you talking about? My dad builds tractor parts and drinks beer and gets pissed off.

BM: The working man’s poetry!

RW: Yeah, the working man’s poetry.

JR: I started working when I was real young - I was a skateboard instructor and then worked in a warehouse and then started cleaning beer aisles when I was 18 or so.

RW: Beer has done well for you. It’s been your bread or butter.

JR: Pretty much - even since before I could drink it.

BM: (To Jordan) When did you start playing music?

JR: Well, I got my guitar when I was like 18 and I started after that. I only really listened to hip hop and Latin music before that. But then I heard “Tangled Up in Blue” by Bob Dylan and it really kicked open the door to my mind. So, that was a big day. Then I got a copy of Sublime’s third record and Nirvana’s Nevermind and that’s how I fell into that. I was always a good kid. I got like straight A’s and was captain of the track team. All I was really preparing to do was go to a good college and after I did that, I was like, what the fuck do I do? I was sort of aimless. That’s when I started playing guitar and going to shows. I caught on late.

BM: And you got into writing as well.

JR: Yeah, well I was raised very religiously. My mom was Evangelical. We lived in this real wild house that backed up to this incredible forest in Virginia for a while. We had peacocks in our backyard somehow, snapping turtles - our dog took down a deer once there. When I was like 15 or 16, I went to these classes at Northwestern University in the summer and I took this creative writing course and the teacher had given us a prompt to write whatever we wanted. And I was like, “What do you mean, write whatever I want? How can I write that? Tell me what you need.” So I started writing horror stories and that was my way into more liberal, free-thinking ideas. I’m so different now. I had to like wear collared shirts growing up and recite Bible verses on the way to school. Been a bit of a wild ride, I suppose. All aboard the Jesus Christ Express!

RW: I played in an Evangelical Church’s band. I got $50 a week. I really enjoyed it. It was a bit of a “Come to Jesus” thing, but I got to play guitar and church songs - they were nice songs - and they’d let me do solos too. I had a nice time with the Evangelicals. My first gig was with them.

BM: A lot of peoples’ first gig is in the church!

JR: I imagine one day - it’s a dream - to own a church and live in it, and have bands that I like come in and play.

RW: Oh, man. Go to Europe. They have tons of things like that. If you go to Belgium, there’s a bunch of people who squat in churches. If you live in a place and save your receipts for the government and no one kicks you out, you can stay there.

BM: You get squatting rights.

RW: Yeah - they’re so far ahead. Basically in World War II, Belgium got bombed to shit, and the government wanted to fix all these places up. And if people fixed the places up, they’d get to have it. Many people died or left the country so all the left over people had houses. A lot of artists will move into castles and just live there.

BM: I can see that. When I was in Liverpool with Cheryl about ten years ago, I was surprised. It still looked like there was World War II rubble. It’s probably been picked up since because the economy has gotten better. It was really raw. A lot of it looked like it had never been fixed. But, if your economy never gets that great, and if the money is never there, then what happens?

JR: It seems sort of hit or miss in terms of which city gets the reboot and which cities are forgotten. I guess maybe that can be good for artists.

RW: Yeah, that’s like Detroit right now.

BM: So maybe you’ll find your church to live in.

JR: I really don’t like the cold, but I like the culture that comes with a place that is cold. If you go to a place like Boston or Detroit or Chicago, people are forced into being around each other and make good of a shitty situation. In Miami, it’s always good and it’s easy to be alone comfortably. In Chicago, you have to be around people. There’s pros and cons, of course.

RW: There’s the conflict of the cheap rent here. They call it the winter tax break because you have to suffer through the winter so you make sure your landlord keeps your rent manageable or affordable. That’s coming from someone who’s not living in total poverty, but if you do what we do, it’s manageable - you can work through it.

BM: There are always people grinding away, but I think the fact that it’s not unreasonable to live here has made it a haven for artists and musicians. It’s been great that way. If you keep enduring and meet more people, it gets better.

RW: I feel less sociable than I was five years ago, though. I used to go out a lot more. I guess I still do, but now I just go to bars.

JR: Instead of what?

RW: Shows, I guess. When I first moved to Chicago, it seemed like it was this Golden Age of basement gigs and house shows. Every night you could go out. It’s like that scene in Goodfellas where the main protagonist is walking through this restaurant, taking his date out, and he’s walking through all these places and he knows everyone there. “Hey, how’s it going?” It was like that for a while.

BM: That’s nice, the camaraderie.

RW: Now there are people who come to my mind once every few months and I wonder “What happened to that guy? What happened to that girl? They used to have a noise band where they’d fart into a microphone and use a hundred pedals on it.” Seriously. What happened? Some people dip out. I still know people from that first year I came here though.

BM: It happens. You know people from one thing, in this early period, and then it disappears like smoke.

RW: And, you know, it probably still is like that, but I’m just doing the whole “Back in my day” thing. It’s still sick. It’s sick right now.

BM: All eras have their thing. (To Ryley) I was wondering about the songwriting thing. Do you write about incidents or people directly? I feel for me it’s like a spill thing - things just spill out more in an unconscious way as opposed to having a theme.

RW: I think I’m better at being literal and truthful. I’ve had a sense of truth in the last few records I’ve done, but like a Halloween costume kind of truth. “Hey, here’s Ryley, but here’s this cool vampire costume too!” I’m a little bit of a character at this point. Obviously, taking situations that are good or bad and trying to convey them in a compelling way. Some people can write a song like “I woke up today and made an omelette and it was really cool,” but I can’t do that.

BM: But there’s a lot of that going on like that. I ask myself “What is the value of that? Why is there so much of that?” Not to be super critical, but why is there so much that doesn’t have much edge or personality. Maybe it’s the need for solace that people have - people needing things that are purely tranquil and non-confrontational.

JR: I think it’s an easy way to nod out of life. When you have music or art that’s innocuous, it lends itself to living that way.

BM: It’s sort of a drug to be that way.

JR: Yeah, and that’s fine. Some people need that. It’s difficult for me, but I can be a difficult person too. I need a lot of alone time. If I don’t get it….well, think about it this way. If you had arm hair that kept growing and growing and your alone time was the only thing that trimmed your arm hair, well, eventually, you’re going to be tripping on your arm hair.

Interview with Daniel Bachman

American Primitivism is a guitar style started by John Fahey in the 50s, reconciling the avant-garde with bluegrass finger-picking. Many noticeable guitarists have come from this tradition such as Jim O'Rourke, Richard Bishop, Jack Rose, and more, but the style owes itself to the folkloric tradition of Appalachia and other rural American sites. Appalachian guitar is obviously not an oral tradition, but it does seem to share its quasi-hereditary aspect not unlike a would-be ninja tradition of mainland North America. It is either heard and mimicked or instructed. Monkey see. Monkey Do. Monkey learn to play guitar too.

That's not to say that aping a technique is the same as excelling in it, which is what Daniel Bachman, originally of Virginia, does. Simply put, Bachman is an excellent guitar player. He's got witchfingers that seem to make a very strong case for how the speed of sound may actually be quicker than the speed of light...or is that the speed of human perception? Regardless, take a minute to watch his Tiny Desk concert on NPR and you'll see what I mean: it's hard to keep up with the dance of his hands.

Bachman's got an upcoming LP on Three Lobed Recordings set to emerge from hibernation around the time leaves begin to reappear on trees. Before that, though, he will be continuing his relentless perma-tour, doing a couple weeks in February, a week in March, two weeks in Europe during April, and finally a three week US tour in May. He's playing two shows in Chicago on February 15 & 16 and you should be there! I'll include the rest of the dates below the interview.

Daniel Bachman: What’s up, man?

Jordan Reyes: Hey Dan, what’s going on?

DB: Not much, I’m just working on this radio show that I’m doing tonight. I’m putting down tracks and getting stuff settled, which is kind of stressing me out. Today is fucking insane.

JR: What’s the radio show?

DB: I’m doing this program with my buddy Grant. I've got a lot of White Gospel records, which I guess can be considered Pentecostal or Mountain Gospel. We’re doing a three hour show tonight on the Chapel Hill station. It’s going to be fun, but I’m somewhat crunched for time. I usually am not this busy, but I've got this interview and another radio thing at four, so it’s just a wild day.

JR: I actually lived in Durham for four years so it’s funny you’re in Chapel Hill.

DB: Oh, I live in Durham now. I live on North Roxboro on the other side of 85.

JR: Awesome! Do you know Chaz at Bull City Records?

DB: Oh, fuck yeah, dude! Chaz is from Richmond!

JR: Yeah, he’s a buddy of mine! I used to spend hours at his shop.

DB: He is a great dude. I haven’t been in the store for a minute, but I should go this week. It’s just that today and tomorrow are fucked up for me. I just got back into town last night actually.

JR: From tour?

DB: No – my family took me and my girlfriend to the Outer Banks for a couple days.

JR: Oh ok. I was actually talking to your friend Ryley Walker last night.

DB: And what did he have to say for himself?

JR: First of all, he said to tell you hello, and that I should ask you about food, so…are you a fan of food?

DB: Yeah, I love food. I’m cooking food right now. (laughs) I’m cooking my lunch right now.

JR: Nice. What’s the meal plan for Daniel Bachman?

DB: Well, I haven’t been grocery shopping in a while so I've got some eggs and some sausage, which I’m going to eat that for breakfast and lunch, and then I’m going to get some soup for dinner with my buddy after the other interview stuff.

DB: (laughs) That’s really funny about Ryley. He just knows that food is very important to me. I always look forward to eating and going to different places. He’s had to go around with me before when we've tried to find something just to get sandwiches or something.

JR: Yeah, he specifically said to ask about sandwiches.

DB: Just yesterday we tried this new place in Greensboro called B’s Barbecue. They had typical Carolina barbecue but also corn sticks and all the sauces for sandwiches were in Seagram’s gin bottles. It was a country-ass fuckin' place, but it was really good.

DB: I’m always on the lookout for that shit. I have a long list of places that I really like. I actually don’t have one for Chicago. I’ll be up there for two days next month.

JR: Nice! You should fix that.

DB: Yeah, totally. Let’s fuckin’ do it. I’m playing at Ryley’s house and also at the hideout. The house show is going to be crazy – it’ll probably just be a big party.

JR: Have you been touring a lot the last few years?

DB: Yeah, I go out every month for at least a week. This month is kind of my vacation month: I’m only playing local shows, but I’m playing a lot of them. I’m doing two weeks in February, a week in March, two weeks in Europe in April, and finally three weeks in a US tour in May.

DB: But I’m going back to college hopefully and working for the park service all summer so I won’t be on tour for the summer, and if I get into school, I won’t be able to tour for a while.

JR: Do you think you’ll still be able to put out records and stuff?

DB: Oh yeah. That’s not going to be the problem. And I’m going to be paying my bills by doing weekend gigs, driving up to Baltimore or down to Atlanta, but I'm not going to be able to go out for two weeks and hitting an entire coast.

JR: What are you going to study?

DB: I don’t know yet. I want to get into the American studies program at UNC and then see where that goes. I’ve always wanted to go there since I was a kid, but we didn't have the money when I was a kid. Out-of-state tuition is very expensive. Who knows, though? I’m trying really hard to get in and I’ve got the time and energy now. I can always go on tour, but I don’t know if I’ll always have the opportunity to go to college.

JR: I've always had a desire to do something like that – really submerge myself in the arts. I wish I had taken a year maybe between college and high school and done it. I think you've made a great choice.

DB: Yeah, even my mom was asking me the other day if I were disappointed that they weren't stricter on me to get stuff done for college. I dropped out of High School and they let me. I did two years at a university in Virginia but dropped out to start touring more. The whole time my parents were very emotionally supportive of my decision, but my mom was honestly asking me if I wished they had been on my ass a little more, and I had to reflect and say “No, I’m happy, but I’m ready to go back to school and also keep doing what I’m doing.”

JR: Tell me a little bit about the upcoming record you have for Three Lobed. What was the process behind it? What’s it like?

DB: Well, naturally it’s a series of songs and it’s probably the best sequenced record I've ever made. The playing on it is my best too. It’s very slow and the album’s pace is different from what I've done before, but that was the goal. I wanted to make slow, sad songs.

DB: There’s one side-long song that’s about fourteen and a half minutes, which is on the A-side. It took me a couple months to write. The rest of it is pretty slow, lazy river music.

DB: I’m really happy with how it turned out. It was also the first time I went into a studio to record so that’s exciting. I worked with a guy named Brian Haran here in Durham. We did it all in a day. Everything was a first or second take. It has a very live feel to it. It doesn't feel like we were dwelling on anything, which is what I wanted.

DB: (grunts) Here I am, putting my arugula in the pan. Sorry, I’m trying to be time conscious. It’s crazy. I haven’t played guitar in two weeks either. I've just been touring so much, and I have this live recorded show at four and I’m nervous about how it’s going to sound since I haven’t played in two weeks!

JR: Do you think Virginia and North Carolina and Virginia have any impact on the music that you play?

DB: Oh yeah, totally. Not so much North Carolina because I’m not from here. It’s similar sometimes and different in others. The plants look different. The trees and soil are different. But as I get older, I get more into that stuff. Fredericksburg is right between Richmond and D.C., for instance, which has a ton of history. It has definitely impacted me, whether it’s music or food or whatever.

JR: Why did you start playing guitar?

DB: It was kind of by accident. My dad was a guitar player and I never wanted to play the guitar. I played the banjo for three or four years, which are in open modal tunings. But when I got into that, I realized it was somewhat limited. Anyway, I ended up hearing some solo guitar music – Jim O’Rourke. And I remember that I thought to myself “Oh, I could probably do that,” so I started tuning to an open tuning. I didn't know about the other guys that did that.

DB: Slowly, the banjo started fading out and the guitar became a bigger part of me. But I never wanted to since it was my dad’s thing, and I didn’t want to be like my dad. Everyone feels like that.

JR: You’re totally right, and then you realize that your dad is actually somewhat of a cool person.

DB: Yeah, I've got a shitload of his records from the 60s and 70s. He had great taste.

JR: Did your dad put out any music?

DB: He did in the 90s and stuff. He lived in New York for a while in the 60s and ran around that Greenwich Village scene, but didn't play out a lot because of Vietnam. He had to get a job to avoid the draft so he didn't have the same experience. Maybe if the war hadn't been going on, he would have had a similar experience to what I've had. He was in blues bands always playing guitar.

JR: Who do you like to listen to now?

DB: It’s all over the place. All I’m listening to today is gospel. I've got a stack of about a hundred records in front of me and I have to go through each of them and pick out four songs each for the radio show tonight. That’s the stuff that gets me these days.

DB: Canned Heat has been a big fixation of mine for the last few months. I've just been jamming fucking hard to like every Canned Heat record.

JR: I've never listened to a Canned Heat record.

DB: Man, they’re so fucking good. Seriously. They have a great sense of humor and the best musicians. Bob Hite grew up with John Fahey. All those guys go way back. I’m learning some of the guitar player’s tunes. He’s got some recordings from when he tried to commit suicide – hospital room tapes – they’re pretty spooky.

DB: Damn, this lunch is pretty good.

February 2015 Tour Dates

Feb 8 - Durham, NC - The Pinhook 
Feb 9 - Athens, GA - The World Famous 
Feb 10 - Asheville, NC - The Mothlight
Feb 11 - Nashville, TN - The Stone Fox
Feb 12 - Louisville, KY - tba
Feb 13 - Bloomington, IN - The Artifex Guild w/ Tyler Damon
Feb 14 - Lafayette, IN - The Spot
Feb 15 - Chicago, IL - The Hideout w / Lagartha
Feb 16 – Chicago, IL – Ryley Walker Sponsored Party House Show
Feb 17 - Milwaukee, WI - Cactus Club # presented by Acme Records & Music Emporium
Feb 19 - Iowa City, IA - The Mill
Feb 20 - Minneapolis, MN - 7th Street Entry w/ Steve Palmer