INTERVIEWS-11

The decision to interrupt the activities of Giant Sand is still too fresh to balance a career of 17 years, if the idea of "balancing" may stimulate Howe Gelb at all. Also the idea of the music's meaning that generally is tried to be shown in an organic interview, defies any logical description that would simply be foreign to Gelb's nature. Instead, he's inclined to proceed by distractions and digressions. Therefore, and this is the third in as few years, the interview that brings face to face with Mucchio and the Giant Sand frontman evolves like a conversation devoid of a center and full of points of departure without links. The pleasure of the conversation, however, makes up for the poor efficiency of the professional methodology.

When we hand him some copies of Extra, Gelb points out that he's already seen a couple of issues. Attracted by its Clash cover and the subtitle Rock 1971-1980, he then starts to leaf through the third issue. He already knows what it's about and proves to know its structure. Thus, while turning the pages three by three, he starts to murmur something about the fact that the list of the hundred 70's records surely will be out-of-balance towards the first part of the decade, since, as he says, the best 70's records all came out during the first three years. Immediately, he hurries to correct himself: in the first three and in the last three, very few in the middle of the decade. Look at this, great! (he points at the cover of Los Angeles by X, 1980). One of my favorite records of all times... And this, and the other one... See? These are all from 1971 to 1973 and from 1977 to 1980. There's this period in between, those five central years, which are really sickening.. That was all multinationals' rock or disco music. Blessed be the Punk that made a clean sweep in '77. And... Oh, Four Way Street! CSN&Y. What a magnicent thing. I never again heard four guitars interact in this way. It wasn't a matter of playing separate licks. Stephen Stills' and Neil Young's guitars... they were in a dialogue. It was as if they talked among themselves. I haven't heard that in any other record that came out before or after that. There's hardly anything from '74 or '75. Well, I'd have put at least Zuma. Also John Lennon's Imagine is from 1971, you see? And Mott The Hoople's All The Young Dudes is from 1972. In 1976 the stuff from Casablanca and all that disco shit dominated. Here's T. Rex's Electric Warrior, 1971. I bought this new remastered version only recently, it's still great. We'd like to continue to talk about it for hours, but the recorder is already switched on.

The cover/non-cover, the golfer shown from behind, but especially the inscription retirement: Has the moment really come for Giant Sand to retire?

John and Joey are very busy with Calexico, and I understand them... They are doing well. But I have my solo things as well, my records and my concerts. Giant Sand existed as long as it was a necessity for each of us three and for all three together. The survival of the band was tied to the necessity. „We need Giant Sand, OK, let's do Giant Sand." All that time we went on because each day we tried to explore why this thing was necessary, and we always found the answers. Now has come the moment to retire because the motivation from the need has started to lack. None of us still really needs Giant Sand, you see? We searched inside of Giant Sand for a reason to continue, and we found one single thing: desire. In this last period we continued to do things together because we desired to do them, not because we really needed to do them. We've realised that each of us can survive without Giant Sand. We can't anymore not do without, that's all. We still like to play together and do records, but the point is that we „like" it, and at this point it's not enough anymore. Desire has undermined necessity and is not enough to maintain Giant Sand. I don't say that it was easy to accept this change, but... I can't say that I'm feeling sad, you see? For me, it's also good news because it signifies that thousands of other possibilities are opening to me. And it's the same thing for Calexico. We are getting into the situation in which „we can do it... if we want to". We aren't obliged anymore to do it. It's simply different from before, but from a certain point of view it's even more stimulating. At least for us, as persons and as musicians. Maybe not for the band or for the fans. This thing of the announcement of the retirement also contains its irony, some kind of funny celebration of what we've done, of our story. I believe that now it will be funny to see whether the desire to reopen Giant Sand will come back, if the desire comes, considering that we don't have the necessity anymore. This is a positive indication, maybe it's better than ever. And yet... I don't conceal that it's comfortable to think that this is our last record. I mean that if it must finish, this is a good end. When looking back, I say „Hey, Giant Sand were around for fifteen years!"... in fact, even for almost twenty years... and it's a very long time for a band. If at a certain point the moment has come to stop, it's better to do it in glory. Better the celebration than the tragedy.

Cover Magazine seems to be „beyond" the end of the story which maybe was finished with your most beautiful record, Chore Of Enchantment. Do you agree?

Yes. That record is the best we've done and I believe it will leave us satisfied in the after, too. So, to finish with a great record rather than wearily drag along, that's a good way to put an end to a story. Chore Of Enchantment was a record extremely difficult to realise, very costly in terms of time and energy. There were a bunch of things which didn't go in the right direction. My friend Rainer was dying, John and Joey started to do well with Calexico, some members of my family had problems of various kinds, in short, I didn't have many good reasons to be serene. The situation of Cover Magazine is completely reverse. It was a very easy and fast record.

You didn't have to carry the load of writing, too. All the songs already existed.

That's true. Ours' was a commitment as musicians and not as songwriters, which allowed us to play in a state of complete abandonment. Abandonment to the pure pleasure of the music and of the instruments. Playing something you wrote is not like doing it as an interpreter, with the unique pleasure to reproduce the songs of someone else. Paradoxically, in similar circumstances, there's much more freedom than that which you can afford with your own material. Especially on the instrument... you're thousand times more relaxed. And I also think of the song structure... you never have to ask yourself whether the bridge is at the right place, whether the last verse should be changed or not, whether this part is too long or too short. You concentrate on the playing, and it's an enormous pleasure. Nothing can be so much fun. And in the end I think that we never were so good as on Cover Magazine. We three never played better. On all other recordings there was always something, though small, that might have been done better. On this one, not.

Where does the idea come from which guided the selection of the cover songs?

From an instinct, I think, or from a concatenated series of instincts. Nothing programmatical, that is. We surely didn't want to do a summary of our influences and not even simply of the stuff that we like and that is in some form linked to Giant Sand. It's just instinct, and as such may seem a bit schizophrenic, because an old song is followed by one from last year. But it's just what occurred to us. With the judgment of then, it's not impossible to find links between the cover songs, but only if considering that all are executed by the same band, though with a certain rotation of musicians. The main working method of Giant Sand has always been this: We play what we want to play at the moment. It was also that way at the concerts, we rarely prepared a setlist. You go on the stage and you do what the moment suggests. The tracklist of Cover Magazine was born in the same way, without planning. I think that trusting the first idea, the first intuition, is very healthy. It keeps you free and independent of strategies of any type. Only the music and the pure desire to play it remain.

In the CD booklet, you appear on two distinct photos, on one side you, on the other side Calexico, as if your careers are already diverging.

I noticed that, too, but only after having published the album. That is, there's nothing intentional, no metaphor to demonstrate. Do you know our photographer friend who appears on the back of Chore Of Enchantment? Well, it's her who uses this special technique in which a stage is taken by different progressive photos, from the left to the right, so that when putting the photos together you recompose the complete picture. But the dividing lines between one photo and another remain. I was at the left, sitting at the piano, and John and Joey were at the right, and that's where we remained. It's easier than it may appear, even if now one may want to inevitably read it as an announcement of separation. Maybe you remember that the same thing happened with Chore that also showed photos in succession. By the way, on that occasion we were opening for PJ Harvey in London.

Was she informed about your intention to involve her in your recording when she visited you in Tucson?

No, and even I didn't know it. Another perfect thing for supporting an instinct. It wasn't only that she didn't know Johny Hit And Run Paulene, but I think she hadn't even heard of X before. She's so young, I must forgive her. So I told yer about that group, one of the greatest forever, and about how important it was to me back in 1980. I guess when I heard Billy Zoom playing... that was the moment when I thought that possessing a Gretsch is the only thing that counts. The first two albums of X were real milestones in that story, also of my personal story. Polly was at my home with John Parish, our common friend, I made her hear the song and a few minutes before accompanying her to the airport I put a micro in front of her mouth, and she sang like that, in a hurry and furious. One take, and away. She was already late.

Nevertheless, she succeeded in immediately assimilating the approach to the song which is exactly identical with Exene Cervenka's original. How did she do that?

This is true magic. I don't believe that she wanted to do it the opposite way, and yet she hadn't had the time to study the part. Even if she'd have wanted to imitate Exene, she wouldn't have been able materially. She did it that way simply because instantly a natural bond between her and the song was created. Last year, I talked to DJ Bonebrake (the drummer of X)... we played on the same evening, him with his jazz band in which he played the vibes, and me solo... Kristin Hersh was there, too... it was kind of a collective show... Well, while I was doing my set, DJ was with Kristin backstage. At a certain point she said „listen, he's playing one of your songs!", and he: „What?", and they continued like that, her insisting „but sure, it's Johny Hit And Run Paulene!", and him having trouble recognising it. When he realised it, he joined me on stage, which was practically empty, and started a rolling accompaniment in the back. Well, he started to keep the time with that, pum-pum-pum, and the audience seemed gone crazy. At the end of the piece I presented that strange duet like Sonny & Cher. It was fun. Later we stayed and chatted for a while and I told him that an album would come out with that song in which Polly did the part of Exene Cervenka. To which he told me that some days earlier, at one of his concerts in Canada, some kids had approached him to give him compliments and to tell him that they had much appreciated his decision to play a PJ Harvey cover song. Something that he hadn't done, though. Strange, isn't it? They liked Polly's songs, but he simply didn't play them with his band. What does this prove? That there exists a triangle in the evolution of music, a figure with three angles, to which everything returns, even if who is in it doesn't notice it. The fact that PJ captured Exene's way of singing, practically without ever having heard her, proves that the music exists prior to the persons who interpret it. That kind of mysterious energy is what we now celebrate with the cover song Johny Hit And Run Paulene done by Giant Sand with PJ Harvey.

It seems that you have a certain facility in establishing that type of magical connections. Your show at the Barbican in London (November 3, 2001), with a fantastic guest list, has been prized by Time Out as the English live event of 2001 and defined „not only as the concert of the year, but one of the most extraordinary live events in London of late". How did you succeed in uniting all those names on one single evening?

Think of it, three and a half hours of show. For some whiles it was very easy, for others it cost me some efforts, but consider that we all know each other, we are some kind of an extended family. Obviously some know each other better than others do, but none of us met any of us for the first time on that stage. That night, the streets rejoined at one blow, and it was great. I wouldn't have done it without John Parish. I owe to him, moreover, the acquaintance of PJ Harvey. Evan Dando is a friend of mine, I don't know for how long, and we're good old friends with Vic Chesnutt. It's through him that I got to know Kurt Wagner some time ago. With Mark Linkous I had participated in a benefit for Vic Chesnutt some years ago, but in London it was the first time that we played live together. He, too, worked with John Parish and PJ on his last album. You see? It's some kind of extended family, in some form we're all linked together.

The exceptional/singular thing is that all of them, Americans residents of America, came running to you... to London!

And only for one show... I must say... for various reasons, it was also a big surprise. I hoped to succeed in giving a special set, but even in my rosiest forecasts I don't think to ever have believed in the possibility to have such a talented and prestigious team. It also happened thanks to a series of coincidences, redused to two fundamental aspects: first, on that day all of them were free of engagements; second, each of them felt the desire to do it, to share a special feeling, namely that of those who don't have any relation to the rules of promotion and things like that. I think it was an act of love for the music that we love, for the idea of music that is our common denominator. Our contemporary presence on that stage on that evening identifies the truest and most profound reasons for which we are making music. We weren't there simply because „we were able to", but because the fact of being there represented the creative inspiration of doing what we do. And the tension was towards the creative necessity to reinvent ourselves by putting ourselves on the same level of artists who have a sensitivity similar to your own, artists with whom it's possible to speak the same language, though expressed in different forms, each one with its own peculiarities. It was like circulating around a gravitational force of which we ourselves were the motor. Our little world was immersed in the real world with its own identity well-defined, with a recognisable and clear form of expression. Our staying together generated a positive vibration which moreover could succeed in the minimum effect of making us forget the tragedies, the darkness and the anxiety of the future. It also was a way of celebrating those things on the planet for which it's worth while caring about. Music is the perfect soundtrack for this kind of expression of thoughts.

How did the evening exactly develop?

The initial idea was that I'd stay alone on the stage, accompanied only by one guest at a time. Then we thought to do something like Howe Gelb + Calexico + Giant Sand, so that I, John and Joey would have had to do my stuff, their stuff and our stuff together. We had done something similar in Chicago and a few times in Tucson, but a slightly strange situation had resulted from that. When you establish in advance how a show shall be structured, booking agents' affairs come into play that I have trouble with to understand. They raise the budgets and that sort of stuff... At that point, I said: „No, I can't tell you how the show will be". I preferred to leave as much as possible to chance and to the humor of the evening, limiting myself to scribble a list of names which I'd have liked to involve. It was something very similar to the wish lists they make when trading with bootlegs... Then I sent some emails without paying much attention to it anymore. Two weeks later, the answers began to arrive, and greater part of them said „OK, I'm on". One or two are OK, but I got seven or eight of them! It was surprising, indeed. Somem guys are running after a group for months to have them sign an engagement for an appearance on a festival. For me, one email was sufficient. I was lucky. There wasn't any problem with John, we are like two brothers. He also endeavored after finding other musicians, an American guy, a French girl. John may even be on tour with Calexico at the other side of the world, but he'd never abandon me. With Joey, however, it's more complicated. I think he was the last one to confirm his availability for the show. Joey is the most engaged man of the world, he's always busy, he doesn't have a family, no wife, no kids, and he's really obsessed by... you know, he's ten years younger than me and has such an energy... and he's obsessed by the mechanisms of the business, he wants to be everywhere and do everything himself. He's an ambitious guy. In fact, if they are doing well with Calexico, it's also because he takes care of every affair of the group. Therefore, there aren't many occasions for me and him to communicate. When that Beyond Nashville thing started, we met at home, in Tucson, and I became aware that we hadn't seen us for months. He had constantly been on tour, he has this attitude of an unleashed dog. When you have a family, you remain a family man even when you're far from your wife and your kids. You have a different way of thinking and of behaving, different reaction times. I have two kids and are expecting a third one in summer. I'm a head of the family! I got to take care of the home and all the rest. In fact, two weeks before leaving for London, I told Joey „Look, we already got two bassists for the show. If you want to come, OK, if not, that's fine as well". In the end, he was there, too.

What sort of material did you play?

We had one day for rehearsals the day before. We agreed on playing four or five songs with every guest involved, but then the cards were shuffled again. PJ played bass with us on a few songs and then did the same with John Parish who has a marvelous band of his own. Then she returned to the stage to play two songs of Sparklehorse with Mark Linkous. She was the most constant presence of the whole set, and in the end she confessed to me having much enjoyed and excited herself.

Did you record it?

Someone did it, so they told me. It's not impossible that sooner or later these tapes will be come out as a CD or two... (Then, no matter how or why, he reopens Extra, and when his look falls on a photo of Steve Wynn he points at it and says:) Here, this is my house.

Are you kidding?

No, really, it's my backyard. And this is the strange bicycle of John Convertino's daughter. You know that Steve came to Tucson to record his Here Come The Miracles, no? I imagine you talked about it in that interview... I hadn't seen him for five years, though we always had stayed in contact via email. When he came to Tucson to record with Craig Shumacher at the Wavelab, we met again and spent some nice days together, also with John. And then I played on some songs of his album.

In that interview, he talks about your intervention with the harmonica in one of the songs.

Oh yes, that was funny. I think it was the first time that it occurred to me to record a harmonica for an album and I had no idea of the exact procedure. Thus, I improvised, I took the pick-up from my guitar and attached it to the harmonica, just to hear what effect it would produce. The sound was really great, and the volume so high, it was deafening. And in any case, a great album came out. I'm very happy for Steve, also because I found him in splendid form. His sound seemed to me more brilliant than ever, and also he as a person, you see here? Isn't he perfect? Really in perfect shape. It'll be the life-style he conducts... He's relaxed, smiling, always enthusiastic of what he's doing and always strongly motivated. A great person.

(At this point, without any real reason, we start to talk about Urbino, about „Frequenze Disturbate" and about the possibility that Giant Sand participate at the next edition with the whole family. Immediately after that, neglecting again the logical proceeding of a respectable interview, he starts to talk about Grandaddy) It certainly wasn't difficult to involve them in the realisation of Cover Magazine, given the friendship that ties you together.

Yes, you may say that we are good friends. I started following them even before their first album came out. The three songs on the album on which Aaron Burtch and Jim Fairchild appear originate from the tour that Giant Sand made opening for PJ Harvey. The two from Grandaddy were Giant Sand members on that occasion. The Beat Goes On was taken from a radio session in Belgium on the afternoon before one of the PJ Harvey concerts. The others were recorded with a portable DAT recorder that has a great sound and is very easy to use. We were in Norway and recorded them in a few days.

Now that we think about it, isn't it strange that you want to close the story of Giant Sand, with which and for which you wrote a lot of songs, many of them great, with a cover album? Thus, your qualities as a songwriter are cut off of the band's celebration.

Before, much before starting with Giant Sand, even before thinking of forming a band that would play original material, I was a pianist who tried to get involved in a cover band-style situation. In every small town there are dozens of them... Well, nobody wanted me. They said I was too strange to play the piano in their cover group, that my style was disgusting and that I'd never be able to play Riders On The Storm as it should be. While I was playing, the other members of the group looked at each other and whispered „but what is he doing? That's not blues. What stuff is it?". But I don't know, I really couldn't find any interest in the exact replication of the songs that these groups wanted to play live. And I made huge efforts to learn the songs of The Beatles or of any other famous group. What I want to say is that I liked these songs, but I didn't like the idea to learn the part and imitate it without putting anything of myself into it. In short, I came to the conclusion that the only way to play the songs such as I wanted to was to write them myself. That's how I began. I don't know whether this is the way you become a songwriter, but this happened to me. And it was back in the 70's. More than twenty years and almost twenty albums later, the possibility to realise a whole album of cover songs is my personal revenge. It's also the closure of the circle, in a certain way.

Certainly, the Giant Sand sound never was very pianistical, and you're rather known for being a guitarist...

That's true, but my main instrument is the piano. I neglected it for so many years, but lately I have approached it again.

Even to the point to realise a whole solo piano album.

That's something I had in mind for a long time. I accomplished it, at last, between one thing and another, between a real Howe Gelb album and one of Giant Sand. In any case, Lull is totally mine, without any commercial scruples, with a limited number of copies and with a very scant distribution. I sold it through my own label, Ow Om, and put it in circulation through Thrill Jockey.

Have you ever heard of a band called Canyon?

No.

You know, it's just a personal affair, but I had to try it. The thing is, I heard their first and only album and I was overwhelmed. But I don't know anything about them, therefore whenever I can I ask around, also to find out whether they have enjoyed a streak of visibility, though subterranean. I know that you're very attentive to this type of stuff. You talked to V2 about Grandaddy and they took them. You brought up Matt Ward's name, and he instantly became a quiet tip. I myself hurried to get the album of Tracker after I had read somewhere that you like them very much, and I found it splendid. In fact, you're a talisman.

Oh no, it's just that I like to listen to these demo tapes that are handed to you in various ways. Amidst all this equal-sounding stuff there's always something that stands out for its originality or simply its beauty. I fall in love with things that... even I don't know why. Sometimes, you know, it happens that you play in clubs that are frequented by musicians of small groups in search of a helping hand. They come and slip a tape to you hoping that you'll manage to listen to it and that you even like it so that you call someone's attention to it. When I think of Vic Chesnutt, such a great talent, or Victoria Williams, a songwriter like few, or also Evan Dando... all of them had their stuff being passed from hand to hand. Today you may say that we're famous, but maybe nobody would have bet it ten or fifteen years ago. It's like playing with a voodoo doll. You stick a needle into it and somewhere else somebody feels a pain in the stomach. Now has come their time. It was 1993 or 1994 when Grandaddy gave me their demo tape. They were like so many other guys who put their demo tape into my hands on the sidewalk after one of our concerts. Well, when I listened to it, I was overwhelmed, as it happened to you with Canyon. I knew that there was a person at V2 who'd be spellbound by that tape, because he had this same sensitivity. And something similar happened to Calexico. John and Joe were playing with The Friends Of Dean Martin, but were thinking of leaving the band. For a while they were playing with The Friends Of Dean Martin and with Giant Sand, but little by little they started to become aware of their own capabilities as songwriters, too, and in the case of Joe, as singers. For a long time I tried to press Joe into singing, also for Giant Sand, but a little because of shyness and a little for other reasons he never wanted to. With Calexico I think he's doing great stuff now. Only Scott Garber, the bassist on our first albums, didn't want to make the jump, him being essentially a photographer. He still plays with various bands around Austin, but photography is his true profession. The first two drummers of Giant Sand were lucky outside the group. Tom Larkins has become the accomplice of Jonathan Richman, the one you always see at his side, after having made five or six albums with me, with Giant Sand and with The Band Of Blacky Ranchette. And the other drummer, Winston Watson, who played on Valley Of Rain, later went on tour with Bob Dylan for four years and played on two of his albums, MTV Unplugged and Time Out Of Mind. So, you see, Giant Sand were a weird lucky belly voodoo doll.