is from my friend Rainer, and itīs one of the last songs he wrote, in 1996. He was my oldest and my dearest friend. We started playing together in the 70īs, and now we only can do it this way: by making start his music before our concert, with the band coming in as if he were still with us. Because heīs always inside of us, even if heīs not anymore.

Sage Advice dates back to the 80īs, from an album of my old group The Band Of Blacky Ranchette. I remember having written it in my old ī66 Barracuda during a drive from the place where I lived, near Jushua Tree, to Tucson: Seven hours in a car across the desert which in that car always was hotter but also seemed more beautiful. It directly followed Rainerīs piece that night of the show at the Barbican Theatre in London: Last November 3 was a special date because so many friends were with us for whom weīve become some sort of accompanying band. The event was baptized Beyond Nashville.

Shiver is from Chore Of Enchantment, and if you listen attentively to the introduction you can hear the voice of Hank Williams taken from a radio-spot in which he does a commercial for his book about „how to write good songs". I got Hankīs recording from Lemmy, alias Michael Leimer, our agent in Bologna: I started using it to open Shiver because the song was used for a TV-spot in the States.

Seldom Matters is from Ramp, from 1991, when Joey Burns joined the group. On the original, Victoria Williams sang and played banjo and harmonica. Songs such as this one seldom matter, but when they matter, itīs all that they do.

Spun: Here you can start to understand how much we love the transition from one song to the other, and how much more important and fun they are than the solos... trying to discover the best way to tie the songs together, like a puzzle, while we are playing them, even if this means that some concerts may be worse than others. Itīs a piece from Glum, sadly inspired by the war in Bosnia: a theme, war, that is acute in these days again, hoping that it soon wonīt be it anymore.

Johny Hit And Run Paulene was our first cover song at the London concert: Itīs from X, the band from Los Angeles – which I loved very much, especially live. I opened for them when they played in Tucson in 1980. The female voice is PJ Harveyīs, who has become our dearest friend thanks to the bandīs family-type relations getting ever more ample; in this case itīs the merit of our new cousin John Parish, also present this evening among other musicians like Evan Dando, Vic Chesnutt, Kurt Wagner and Mike Linkous. It was a bit like a family reunion, musically and spiritually.

Blue Marble Girl is on my last solo album, Confluence, and on Giant Sandīs Cover Magazine, too, where it was performed with Grandaddy because at the same time Calexico where engaged in their tour. Here, the line-up is the same as in London, and the ending has something magical: Every evening, something occurred to these songs that never had happened before, and this is for us one of the most beautiful moments. The only inconvenience being that when I tried to add a Miles Davis CD to the bandīs music, the CD player didnīt function well and threatened to ruin the whole thing. As a compensation, a fantastic, bizarr Odyssey, Iīd almost say, a symphony came out.

Film Score In A Minor may be found in some form on my solo piano record Lull. Here, we played it following the film that collectively projects itself in our heads while we are sleeping. Thatīs what we are above all: narrators of dreams.

Sunshine Of Your Love was played at a concert when we supported PJ Harvey in Hamburg, with Jim Fairchild on guitar and Aaron Burtch on drums, both from Grandaddy, plus Saholy and Laureline on guitar and bass. I think I played the baritone guitar. The song is by Cream, and it reminds me of my childhood. What can I say? All of us have a skeleton in the closet, and sometimes itīs good to celebrate it.

Astonished. Never deciding a step allows the situations on stage to stay alive and involving. To our surprise, this song from The Rock Opera Years: Official Bootleg Series Volume 2 decided to come to light whilst attempting a Thelonious lick. Itīs all rather felonious, donīt you think? It happened in Milan and ends again with a CD player. A Goldfrapp-ending.

Delta Whip Around. Sometimes things just occur, and we have no right to judge but just to bear witness.

Corridor. Where we live, in Tucson, itīs like a large corridor. The old Mexican streets are flanked by brick houses one sqeezed to the other. This song from Purge And Slouch tells you what it means to live there during the rainy season. So donīt go to Tucson to find it out yourself. Stay at home, and listen.

Le Finale is also, more or less, from the piano album. And again, the TV set was left switched on while we were sleeping.

Static. And the same occurred to the radio.

The Beat Goes On. I listened to this recording only after having defined the project of this live-record, and decided that it should enter by force. Listen to the New York audience singing in chorus, itīs exceptional... and Noah is getting extremely good in playing the conch shell. Itīs very difficult not to have a kindly crazy grin stamped on your face after having survived this song. And now raise your glass to the survivors. Cheers!

Howe Gelb

Denmark, May 2002

The Interview