TEAM LAST CALL

As one half of Georgia-based noise terrorists Jucifer, Amber Valentine plays a lot of rolls: singer, guitarist, diminutive hell-fairy, pixie-faced crooner, wailing banshee. But contrary to popular perception, for as oppressively loud and heavy as her band gets with its pitch-black sludge rock, one thing Valentine and her husband/drummer, Edgar Livengood, are not is demonic – which, should you ever find yourself face-to-face with the duo’s wall of amps and apocalyptic incantations, you’ll be glad to know.
“Yeah, we’re totally Satanists. We drink blood,” Valentine quips during an interview from her RV, which doubles as the couple’s permanent home and tour bus.
“We do tend to get inspired by darker stuff, but we’re not out there burning churches and stuff,” she laughs. “We get up there and spew some really intense, fairly negative emotions, and when it’s over we’re free to be these fairly positive people that can have a normal conversation.”
Jucifer’s music is the kind that forces music journalists to make up entirely new adjectives, like “demonolithic.” (All rights reserved.) But for every bowel-battering nut-cruncher of a metal song, the band’s got a delicate, melodious ballad or orchestral swell that feels lonelier than a princess locked in a tower. It’s a confounding dichotomy, one that’s earned the band comparisons to everyone from Slayer to The Carpenters.
“I would just assume that most people who write music and don’t explore such extremes are actively suffocating part of their personality,” Valentine shrugs. “For me, personally, and for Edgar, it would be a very conscientious effort to keep [our music] in the same area all the time.”
Self-restraint was quite apparently not on the agenda when it came to the writing of the band’s latest release, L’autrichienne, a double album that, track by track, trudges unflinchingly through every agonizing story arch of the French Revolution, with an empathetic focus on the doomed Marie Antoinette. The album is, as King Louis XVI might have put it, a tour de force, both lyrically and musically, snaking its way from fortress-smashing metal riffs to whispy, despairing laments. Track one, “Blackpowder,” sets the stage with a furious re-telling of the Revolution’s beginnings. “Fleur De Lis,” the album’s 18th track, renders the heart as the soon-to-be-beheaded Antoinette is bid a plaintive adieu by her even-sooner-to-be-beheaded husband.
But heads don’t really start rolling until Jucifer takes the stage and plugs in the amps – all 15 of them. The band has gained notoriety for its ear-splitting blasts of white noise and relentless feedback, something that fans, understandably, either love or loathe.
“It takes a lot of balls to go up there and play that loud,” Valentine muses. “The people that come into our shows not knowing that sometimes run screaming with their hands over their ears. But that’s alright, because in the end, making art is about making the art that you want to make, and not about doing anything else, really.
“At that volume, sound almost becomes a physical thing,” she continues. “We feel like we’re almost making sculptures out of sound. And sound becomes sort of a different medium depending on the size and shape of the room and the placement of the amplifiers. It’s kind of like an endless experiment.”
Valentine and Livengood have been spreading hearing loss since first uniting in Athens, GA, in 1993. With the decision to forfeit a permanent residence in favor of their RV, the couple more or less relegated themselves to the touring life – an existence Valentine will be more than happy to live out for the rest of her days.
“At some point, are you going to be 60 years old and screaming your head off in front of a wall of amplifiers? I can’t really say no to that vision,” she laughs. “I’m even going to hope for 70 or 80. We’ll be headbanging in our wheelchairs and having bands like Jucifer touring the nursing homes. As long as we still get to bang our heads, it’s alright.”
*Reprinted from Fly Magazine

It’s a mid-summer’s day in Paris. The windows are flung wide open. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. And Adam Duritz is complaining.
Whining, of course, is nothing new for the Counting Crows frontman, who has worn uncertainty and despair like a sheriff’s badge for the better part of two decades, even while living the supposed good life in the beds of various Friends stars.
Today, however, he’s got some honest-to-god reasons for being unhappy. Beyond being locked in his hotel room for an hour-and-a-half interview while his bandmates explore the Louvre, Duritz is reeling from his recent days’ activities, which have included three festival shows, one of them in 120-degree heat, and a severe case of food poisoning after an evening shucking clams.
“It’s been a hell of a few days,” he moans as he shifts around under the sheets. But even in his misery, it’s apparent that this is a new Adam Duritz, bathed and baptized in the waters of his own music.
On Counting Crows’ fifth studio album, the wonderfully jarring Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings, Duritz not only shows his scars, but reveals the knife that formed them – a scythe of depression and mental illness that’s had him wandering through a half-life for the past 15 years. On the album’s two halves – the fierce and flailing Saturday Nights and the plaintive Sunday Mornings – Duritz, now 43, explores both his slow disintegration and the painful, floundering attempts at rebirth that followed.
Team Last Call talked to Duritz about his disease, how he almost lost those famous dreadlocks and why his long December might finally be coming to an end.

Team Last Call: You’ve described the Saturday Nights half of the album as the binge and Sunday Mornings as the hangover.
Adam Duritz: I was trying to point out to people that Sunday Mornings was not about redemption. So I said to think of it more like a binge and a hangover. But that brought up a lot of misconception that the Saturday Nights part was about partying, which it’s not. Saturday Nights, there’s nothing celebratory. It’s a record about disintegration and falling apart. It’s about, your life is going to hell. Some of it’s done drunken and on drugs, but basically, that’s just about disintegration.

TLC: The hangover seems very different from recovery, which is something you’ve explored before. “There’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last …”
AD: I think recovery is a hangover. When you’re hung over, your body’s putting itself back together. It just hurts like hell. If you wreck your life, you may decide to put it back together, but you don’t have the skill to do that in any way that does anything but hurt. You don’t know how to do any of it right. You screw it up over and over again.
So most of Sunday Mornings is about failure. It’s about trying to do the right sort of stuff, but it’s all about failure. That’s how my friend put it when we were listening to the record. She said, “Boy, the healthier you get, the sadder this record gets.”

TLC: You made this record during a weird span of time when everyone was busy hating your band and you as an individual. Did that have any affect on the writing or the approach?
AD: I think I decided to talk honestly about what has been going on in my head for the last 15 years because of it. It’s understandable – I write these albums about having a difficult time in life, and meanwhile, from the outside, you look at me and you say, “Well, I don’t get it. He’s traveling the world. He’s got a band. He’s selling a lot of records. He’s screwing all these girls.” – by the way, all of which is fiction. Seriously. It never occurred to me that the press was so fake.
If I had the love life I’ve read about, I wouldn’t complain half as much as I have. Although that’s not really true, because if you think heaven on earth is dating a movie star, then you’ve never met one.

TLC: So people read this stuff about you, and then you lose your right to be unhappy because you have this glamorous life.
AD: It seems so stupid to me. They’re basically saying, “Look, you’re rich and famous, so you should be fine.” God, I was like 6 years old the first time my parents told me that being popular in school and having money isn’t the be-all, end-all of life. Isn’t that the first lesson your parents taught you? Money doesn’t bring you happiness. Popularity isn’t everything. Prom queen doesn’t mean shit. I was probably 6 when I heard that. And now at the age of 43 I’m reading some moron writer who actually uses that as a basis for writing a review of the record. All I could think of is, “What a fucking mouth-breather, man! What the hell is going on in your brain?”
Nobody around me wanted me to talk about the mental illness [on this record]. And I said, “Look, it’s gone on for long enough.” I felt like the band was starting to suffer from my reluctance to be honest about things. You’re looking at someone who looks like they have a dream life, and they’re complaining about it. Well, I have a problem. I have a serious mental illness that makes the world seem like a hallucination all day long. And this is the truth that you’ve been shitting on me about all these years.
I didn’t want to become a public spectacle while I was falling apart. But I’m a lot healthier these days, and I feel like I can sustain whatever embarrassment will come from talking about having a serious mental illness. I’ll deal with it. But you just can’t take a free shot at me anymore for being, like, a fat pig who whines. I mean, you can, but the deal is, I have a serious mental illness and I gained a lot of weight on medication. I weigh 60 pounds less now. I’m on my two feet and I made another record. You just don’t get the free shot anymore.
All I wanted to make people do is review the record. You’re still allowed to not like the record. I have utter respect for people who don’t like my record. But review the record, not me.

TLC: A lot of younger bands have started naming Counting Crows as a big influence.
AD: That is where our fan base is. It’s not the people who bought August and Everything After and are now 40. It’s 17- to 22-year-old kids whose older brothers or whatever played it for them. So our fan base has never gotten old. It turns over every year. The “Shrek” thing dropped it right down to the age of 6. [laughs] But you know, those guys, Chris [Carrabba from Dashboard Confessional] and Ryan Ross and Brendan Urie from Panic [at the Disco], at a time when we were maybe a very un-cool band, they went to journalists who interviewed them and they said, “No, no. You’ve got it all wrong. Counting Crows is our favorite band. We get everything from Counting Crows.” And the first few journalists must have shit on them for it. They took a hell of a risk doing that.

TLC: I heard that your publicist wanted you to shave your head for this album.
AD: She said to me one day, “Look, I know this is going to seem really weird to you. Just don’t dismiss it out of hand. I think this might be a really good time for you to think about changing your hair. Make it clear to everyone that you’re a different person.”
I went home and I thought about it. But the truth of the matter is, my whole life I looked in the mirror and I didn’t get it. What I would see in the mirror did not feel like me. And the first time that ever really changed for me was the day I first put those dread extensions in. It’s funny, because it’s a fake thing. They’re not real. But I walked downstairs and down the street … and I saw my reflection and I stopped and turned and looked at myself, and for the first time in my life I felt like, “Oh my god, it’s me!” All the sudden in the mirror there was this crazy thing on my head that seemed like me. It was free and it was insane and it was mad, like me.

TLC: When you think back to moments like that, does that even seem like the same lifetime?
AD: It feels exactly the same. I think that’s one of the things that’s good about me, actually, is that I have not changed very much.
The truth is, you didn’t have anything to do with [your success]. You just made your record, and other people bought it. I always say that fame isn’t something you do to yourself. Fame is something other people do to you.

TLC: You’ve said that your goal is to simply leave behind a legacy that you’re proud of. What else is there for you to do in order to accomplish that?
AD: Children and art – that’s what Sondheim says. There are only two things anyone can really leave behind in this world: children and art.
I’m very different now. There are things I can have in my life like my parents have, like my friends have, that I couldn’t have had back then. I could have children, I could have a family, I could be in love, I could get married. In fact, I met someone, and she makes every day feel like it’s OK. Whether I’m a thousand miles away from her or not, I feel good.

“We’re kind of like the dirty old uncle of the music business that everybody thinks is cool, but nobody invites when they have decent friends coming over.”
It’s not the prettiest metaphor Mike Cooley’s ever used, but it’s as good as any when it comes to describing the Drive-By Truckers’ place in the music world. For years, these torchbearers of Southern rock have been smothered with stadium-sized praise, but never really managed to graduate from the sticky-floored club scene.
“Greatest band on planet Earth” isn’t a tag that’s often bestowed upon a band that most of America has never even heard of. But there’s just something about the Truckers that makes journalists get all googley. The hell’s-bells triple-guitar attack; the blue-collar laments; the blue-collar celebrations; the bottles of Jack they pass around onstage; the burning honesty of the lyrics; the intelligence and wit; the wild abandon; and the fact that they seem almost completely unaware that they’re responsible for any of these things.
The departure of Jason Isbell, one of the Drive-By Truckers’ three frontmen, between albums resulted in a lot of nail-biting among the band’s fan base. But Cooley and his musical partner of over 20 years, Patterson Hood, didn’t get the memo to be nervous. Instead, the two holed themselves up and, with some unexpected help from bassist Shonna Tucker, sneezed out what might be the finest album of their career.
Brighter Than Creation’s Dark is, as Hood has called it, a “grower.” None of the tracks is going to make it to Top 40 in our lifetime – although lead single “The Righteous Path” could have given Neil Young and Crazy Horse a run for their money in the ’70s. But taken as a whole, the album is simultaneously the calm before, the eye of, and the aftermath of the storm, a revolving mass of earthquaking rockers, hushed ballads and instant alt-country classics.
Team Last Call caught up with Cooley in mid-February to get the Drive-By Truckers’ state of the union.

Team Last Call: Patterson called Brighter Than Creation’s Dark your best album, which I know bands are supposed to say about every new album – but is that something you agree with?
Mike Cooley: This really is. I don’t think there’s any argument. The songs overall, song for song, I think are better. I think we played better and broke some new ground.

TLC: I know you get squirmy around the word “mature,” but I think it does apply to this album. It’s more songwriting, less muscle.
MC: If you can get better instead of older, then “mature” is good. [laughs] But it’s like, you know, “Oh, they’re mature now.” And the next thing you hear is, “The big summer tour – Harry Connick Jr. with the Drive-By Truckers!” Ahh!

TLC: This time around, you individually are getting the most praise for the songs you contributed.
MC: I’ve always had my fans. Some of them are a little scary, but I think overall they mean well.

TLC: Pitchfork called you the “hell-raising, yarn-spinning fuck-up” of the band. Is that fair?
MC: I haven’t been a fuck-up in a long time, but when I was, I was a marvelous fuck-up. So that’s fair. I’m just finally getting press for it.

TLC: The songs on this album stick with the same dark themes you’ve been writing about for years – the tragic characters, drinking and drugs, murder and suicide. Where does that dark streak come from?
MC: It’s just more interesting to write about. [laughs] We’ve had plenty of close associations with all those things. It makes you think and affects you on a more emotional level than the happy stuff does. The tragedy is just a better movie. When you see somebody sliding down into the gutter, it affects you a lot longer.

TLC: You said in another interview that this has been a year of highlights for you. What did you mean by that?
MC: First of all, we ended last year with some much, much needed time off the road. That had more to do with the creative streak and the quality of the songs than anything, just being able to, for me, stay in my own space long enough to get it out and get it done. So I felt real good about that. And then we shifted right into doing the Betty LaVette record. Now all of the sudden I’ve got this chance to be a part of making a really cool soul record in Muscle Shoals. You grow up loving that music, and I figured being a part of something like that just was never going to happen. But it happened, and it was fun, and now it’s nominated for a Grammy. So, even better! [Editor’s note about the Grammy: no dice.] It’s just been a great year.

TLC FM: Isbell left the band after five years and three albums. Can you talk about what that was like?
MC: It was a friendly split. It wasn’t any big deal. It was time for him to go do his own thing. He’s talented, he’s prolific. And he’s done great. It was definitely a lot better than having somebody leave in the middle of a tour or making a record.

TLC: Did you feel like you had something to prove to fans who were concerned after he left?
MC: Not really. We were a band for five years before [he joined]. I think we just wanted to make a good record. We wanted to be creative again.

TLC: It was fun as a fan watching Shonna step up with songs of her own. I think having the different writers’ voices and perspectives is part of the whole Drive-By Truckers deal.
MC: It is! If me and Patterson had to write all the songs, we’d find a way to make it work. We’ve done it before. But her coming in with songs was kind of a surprise for us. We had no idea until we went into the studio.

TLC: You and Patterson have persevered through divorce, financial struggles, mental breakdowns, Isbell’s departure. What keeps pushing you forward?
MC: I guess we’re in love. [laughs]

TLC: When people throw things at you like “the greatest band in the world,” how do you even respond to that?
MC: I’m just glad I didn’t have to say it myself. [laughs] I didn’t get into this game to lose!

TLC: I read that you’re considering moving on without a record label.
MC: Since we signed to New West, it’s like, everything is different. I think anybody at a point of making a major decision needs to sit down and do a little thinking, because the traditional record company-artist relationship and business model is obsolete now. It just doesn’t work anymore. I don’t know what we’re actually going to do, other than try to maintain our fan base and build it. That’s what we’ve built everything on. We’ve never been able to rely on all the things that artists of the past could rely on a record company for.

TLC: But you never know – maybe New West will surprise you by landing you a tour with Hannah Montana!
MC: They could surprise me by having an original idea! [laughs]

TLC: That being said, do you talk about the things you still want to accomplish together?
MC: We’ve got this year to think about it. We’ve got this record out, and it’s on New West whether we like it or not. I would love to have kept this one for myself because I like it. But we’re going to tour behind it. We’re going to hand-deliver it to our fans like we always have. I’ve always lived by the philosophy that if you take care of what’s important, everything else will take care of itself. And our fans built us. They’re why we have a job. We’ll find a way to take care of them.
*Reprinted from Fly Magazine

“Just watch out for ‘sensitive.’ If someone starts saying they’re ‘sensitive’ to you, it’s bad news!”
Against Me! singer Tom Gabel has learned a lot in the two years since he and his anarchist-punk bandmates made the jump from an indie label to Sire Records.
The list of industry terms he’s compiled on his Blackberry is probably the funniest evidence of this. From “viral campaign” to “cultural significance,” Gabel’s assembled an impressive database of bullshit words and phrases, with “sensitive” occupying the number one position.
“If someone at a record label tells you that they’re ‘sensitive’ to your needs as an artist,” he explains with a laugh, “it means that they’re going to be very, very manipulative, but in a very subtle way.”
Against Me! have also learned another word along their travels: sellout. The myopic punk crowd, ever concerned with rebelling against the mainstream, did a major-league freak-out when Against Me! ostensibly switched teams. What they didn’t consider was the novel idea that Gabel and his band hit upon: If you’re unhappy with what’s going on in the mainstream … change the mainstream.
With the release of their Sire debut, New Wave, in July, that’s exactly what they did. The record is being hailed as one of the most vibrant, colossal and fierce offerings of 2007 – the best album of the year, if you want to listen to Spin.
In the midst of the escalating hype, Team Last Call tracked down Gabel in his hometown of Gainesville, Florida, to talk about the thin line between sellout and revolutionary.

Team Last Call: It seems like everyone on planet Earth is freaking out about your new album. What’s that like for you?
Tom Gabel: Stuff like that, it’s nice, it’s cool, it’s awesome. Anybody who tells you that they aren’t happy to have their work appreciated is lying to you. But that’s not necessarily why you do it. It’s more just something cool to show your mom. “Check it out, mom! You can go to Barnes & Noble and get this magazine!” It’s like coming home with a good report card.

TLC: On New Wave, it seems like you’re moving in a more positive direction – less “this situation is screwed up” and more “here’s something you can do to change it.” What was the catalyst for that?
TG: I think it’s not so much, “Here’s something you can do.” It’s more, “Just do something!” Whatever it is, be motivated and try to be positive about things. There were personal things that happened in my life that were a sea change. But also, it was kind of taking a look at where we were as a band and feeling grateful and very fortunate and thinking, “This is an awesome situation to be in. Why not make the best of it?” I feel like it would have been really in bad taste to put out some self-bemoaning album as a major label debut. “Life is horrible. All these things suck!” I feel like it was a real opportunity to do something that wasn’t self-centered.

TLC: What was the motivation for you to move to a major in the first place?
TG: I never wanted to be a band that was defined by its record label, because I think that’s just ridiculous. So while Fat [Wreck Chords] was an amazing label and we appreciate everything that they’ve done for us, it felt like if we would have stayed it would have been stagnating. It would have gotten less exciting, and we could have just shit out a record every two or three years and kept doing the same thing. I think in taking risks and taking on challenges, that’s where you grow as a person and that’s where you grow as a band. So it was important for us to move on.

TLC: That’s not nearly as scandalous as it’s supposed to be.
TG: [laughs] Sorry! It’s boring. There’s no devious subplot. It’s a boring numbers thing. “This makes sense for these reasons.”

TLC: People have been yelling “sellout” at you guys for years almost every step forward you’ve taken.
TG: Totally. It was funny, when it was time to face this decision – “OK, do we want to sign to Sire?” – never was there a moment when we were like, “Oh, damn, we’re signing to a major label.” We just came to this point where it’s like, “You know what? No one else knows what’s best for us. We know what’s best for us. So let’s just ignore everybody else.”

TLC: So you’re not worried about that sellout perception?
TG: Not at all. Anyone who would really throw an accusation like that is an immature person. Usually, stuff like that is motivated by jealousy or motivated by complete ignorance and a misunderstanding of the situation. I mean, the idea that somebody else who is completely removed from the situation and isn’t in the band, who’s never been in a band, who’s never worked with record labels or anything like that, would know more about it than I do – it’s stupid.

TLC: You seem on your albums like you have this overarching sense of purpose. Where does that come from?
TG: I think a lot of it comes from – as cliché as it sounds – but it comes from punk in general. For me, the most important lesson I learned from punk was to question things, to question everything. A lot of that will then in turn be questioning myself, and that’s something that I constantly do. I question my motivations, I question the way I interact with people – everything – and that comes out a lot in my writing.

TLC: For a lot of people, major labels mean limousines and pimp cups. But I read that you guys still practice in a squat.
TG: It’s a glorified storage unit. [laughs] People have a deep misconception when it comes to major labels. They think you sign to a major label and then suddenly the label just pays for everything. You couldn’t be farther from the truth. As a band, we choose all the bands we tour with, we take care of all of our day-to-day business, we pay our own taxes, we take care of setting up our own tours. All our record label does is put out the record for us and put it into stores – and they set up this interview.

TLC: I keep reading these comparisons between Against Me! and Nirvana, or between New Wave and Nevermind. How do you even react to something like that?
TG: Well, I take it with a grain of salt. Obviously, people are making that comparison because we worked with Butch Vig, who recorded Nevermind. So it’s a really easy thing to say. But in general in the music world, especially right now with every music-related business magazine talking about, “This year, sales are down 50 percent! File sharing is ruining the music industry! What are we going to do? CDs are dead!” – it’s almost like talking about the next Nirvana is the music industry’s version of Christ coming back. “He’s returned!” It’s like a fairytale.

TLC: You guys are in a unique situation where, because of the whole “punk cred” issue, you can’t really go backwards.
TG: You have to keep progressing. You want to keep growing and you want to keep learning. You don’t want to regress – I almost fear that.
For me, playing in basements and VFW halls, we did that for years, and we’ve played some of the most amazing shows of our existence as a band in those situations, and I would hate to have the memory of that ruined by going back and trying to force ourselves into that again. You want to have the fondest memories of those experiences.