Digging into the Past: My Stephen Malkmus Profile

I wrote this story a little over 13 years ago for a music website that lasted all of three months. My reason for posting it today is simple: I’ve been listening to Stephen Malkmus’s solo output quite a bit lately. And his self-titled debut has long been a summer friend. So there. Please enjoy, my three loyal readers.

THE SOLO YEARS

Stephen Malkmus Finds New Life After Pavement

By Joe Ehrbar

During a recent phone interview, Stephen Malkmus confesses to me that he’s watching “The Dating Story,” listening to Bach, and strumming a guitar “all at the same time. And I’m talking to you.”

So I’ve got your undivided attention, I joke.

“Yeah, I’m paying attention,” he assures me, though his tone suggests otherwise. This, after another Malkmus confession: he’s sick of talking to reporters. “I don't know if [giving interviews] sells records,” says the former Pavement singer gone solo. “If it does, that’s good, but I don't think it does. Do you think it does?”

Um … no? (Not that I care about helping Malkmus hawk his new record, although I’m well aware that he wouldn’t be talking to me otherwise.)

“I’ve done so many of them already,” he says wearily. “I’ve been in like every single magazine." Some might think his complaints to be trivial and vain. Malkmus himself might even agree—if he didn’t have to discuss Pavement’s break-up or the possibilities of a Pavement reunion every time the phone rings. Such is the case when the singer of the one of the 1990s’ most beloved and important rock bands dissolves the group and goes solo, as Malkmus has done with the release of Stephen Malkmus, an album recorded with fellow Portlander musicians drummer John Moen (Maroons, Dharma Bums) and bassist Joanna Bolme (Minders, Jr. High), also known as the Jicks.

Pavement’s break-up isn’t broached during the 20 minutes of this particular interview partly to spare the singer from having to repeat himself. But if you haven't heard already, the Pavement split was caused by a combination of strained relationships among band members, withering enthusiasm and cooperation, and poor communication. With regard to a future Pavement reunion, Malkmus says anything’s possible. “I’m not saying that we won’t reunite for a ‘Monsters of Indie Rock’ stadium tour in 10 years,” he recently told Revolver magazine.

Obligatory interviews aside, Malkmus has taken to his solo career a rejuvenated man. He’s all grown up and able to articulate his vision just fine on his own. This couldn’t be more obvious on his self-titled debut. Loose, airy and seemingly more direct, Stephen Malkmus recalls the spirited recordings Malkmus made with Pavement circa Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain (1994). The difference is that songs are shorn of their scruffy lo-fi curls; they're spiffed-up and polished. Yet, even with the semi-glossy new look, the music is no less compelling.

There’s room for everything under the radiating sun of Stephen Malkmus. It has its straight-no-chaser rock (the Lou Reed-esque “The Hook”), its tender ballads (“Church on White”), and its daydream musings (“Trojan Curfew”). Best of all, it’s rife with that wry Malkmus nonsensical wit served up on a deadpan, as exemplified in “Jo Jo’s Jacket,” where Malkmus sings, “I’m not what you think I am/ I’m the king of Siam/ I got a bald head/ My name is Yul Brynner/ And I am a famous movie star….”

One of the album's highlights, “Jo Jo’s Jacket” nearly got the ax, says Malkmus. “I wasn’t going to put that song on the record,” he explains. “I just started babbling in the studio. Then I had that first line, and we came back a month later and I’m like, ‘I still like that,’ you know? Those lyrics are definitely made up on the spot; they’re not changed. Normally, a lot of things are made up on the spot, and then you alter them. But I sort of like how it sounds—yeah, it’s a cool song.”

Indeed, Malkmus is in a playful mood throughout the album, taking risks with his singing, guitar playing and arranging, and having fun with some of his most inspired narratives yet. And it all had to do with recording an album under the right conditions.

Unlike Pavement’s studio finale, Terror Twilight, whose sessions were fraught with intra-band tension and had the band paired with fastidious studio wiz du jour Nigel Godrich (Radiohead), the conditions under which Stephen Malkmus was written and recorded were much more casual and relaxed—in spite of the fact that his first record post-Pavement has subjected him to more scrutiny by fans and critics than ever. “There was no pressure,” Malkmus insists. “It was great.”

Malkmus attributes much of his studio triumph to bandmates Moen and Bolme and producer Jeff Saltzman—all of whom played a tremendous role in the album’s creative process. “You have to make sure you’re around the right people,” he says, “because the wrong people can lead you astray. You get soft.” The fact that all parties involved reside in the same city as opposed to being scattered across the country—which was the case with Pavement—also helped matters. “That’s why this one feels this way,” Malkmus says. “It helped that everybody knew the songs [before recording them].”

Stephen Malkmus only showed up in record stores a month ago, and yet the singer/guitarist is already eager to start working on new material with the Jicks. He’d also like to resume work with the Silver Jews, a band led by Malkmus’s long-time friend writer/poet David Berman. According to Malkmus, working on the last Silver Jews album, 1999’s American Water, was what initially inspired him to abandon Pavement. “American Water is a great album and that was one of the reasons I wanted to get out of Pavement,” he says. “I had so much fun doing it that I wanted to do something like that, you know. Not that my album is like that, but I wanted to get on a roll sort of like that. It was done fast and furious. There’s talk of doing something in August, but we’ll see.”

Until then, Stephen Malkmus expects to spend the next several months on the concert trail performing songs from his debut. And if you must know, Malkmus says Pavement songs will indeed be on the set list. 

Blues for the Jews

The Silver Jews have lost their luster—at least that’s what singer/songwriter/ guitarist David Berman, the man behind the moniker, believes. So Berman is mothballing his critically acclaimed band—perhaps for good. According to a message board post credited to him on the worldwide bathroom wall last week, Berman suggested it was time to find a new line of work, that the band he started with Pavement’s Stephen Malkmus and Bob Nastanovich in 1992 had played its final note.

Coincidentally, around the time of his announcement, I was entertaining the idea of writing a post on the Silver Jews, just a quick little ditty to spotlight my favorite Berman lyrics. So that's what I’m going to do.

Normally, I try not to chase stories covered by all the other blahgs, so I won’t dwell on the whys, how comes and say it ain’t sos of this breakup story. What I will say is that Silver Jews have erected a magnificent and sturdy palace of sound in an ever-increasing ramshackle indie rock ghetto. Through six albums (including last year’s excellent Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea), three EPs and a handful of singles, Berman has explored humanity and all its banalities and absurdities from a most unique, idiosyncratic perspective. His songs, whether steeped in the absurd, the abstract, the droll, the metaphorical or the existential, have been routinely strange. But in their weirdness exists a thicket of simple truths. What’s more, Berman’s songs are impeccably crafted (he is an actual poet after all); they're unburdened by frills and cliches, favoring economy to deliver his peculiar profundities. Likewise, Berman’s dry, adenoidal, twangy delivery coupled with the organic, unadorned execution of a sympathetic band (think Velvet Underground meets Hank Williams) has made the perfect vehicle for his musings. With that, I give you my favorite Silver Jews lyrics:

“Repair is the dream of the broken thing.
Like a message broadcast on an overpass,
All my favorite singers couldn’t sing.”
‑“We Are Real” from 1998’s American Water (Drag City)

“Punk rock died when the first kid said
‘Punk’s not dead, punk’s not dead.’ ”
‑“Tennessee” from 2001’s Bright Flight (Drag City)

“There is a house in New Orleans.
Not the one you’ve heard about,
I’m talking about another house.”
‑“New Orleans” from 1994’s Starlite Walker (Drag City)

“In 27 years, I’ve drunk fifty-thousand beers.
And they just wash against me like the sea into a pier.”
‑“Trains Across the Sea” from Starlite Walker

“Hey boys supper’s on me.
Our record just went aluminum.”
‑“Dallas” from 1996’s The Natural Bridge (Drag City)

“So you wanna build an altar on a summer night,
You wanna smoke the gel off a fentanyl patch.
Aincha heard the news? Adam and Eve were Jews.
And I always loved you to the max.”
‑“Punks in the Beerlight” from 2005’s Tanglewood Numbers (Drag City)

“Time is a game that only children play well.
How can I love you if you won’t lie down?”
‑“How Can I Love You If You Won’t Lie Down” from Tanglewood Numbers

“I asked a painter why the roads are all colored back.
He said, “Steve It’s because people leave and no highway will bring them back.
So if you don’t want me I promise not to linger.
But before I go I have to ask you about that tan line on your ring finger.”
‑“Random Rules” from American Water

“My ski vest has buttons like convenience store mirrors in the L-B-C.”
‑“We Are Real” from American Water

Postscript: The Silver Jews made their final appearance on Saturday, January 31, in McMinnville, Tennessee. The venue was the Volcano Room, located in the Cumberland Caverns, some 333 feet underground. Said Berman of the location: “I always wanted to go out on top. I guess this works, too.”