Keywords: Live shows and touring, Influences - Jim James, Memes and rumors, The Dawn of My Morning Jacket, Patrick Hallahan join the band, Songwriting, This is not America, The Way That He Sings, My Morning Jacket/Songs:Ohia Split EP, Spirituality, Career and commercial sucess, It Still Moves
If you haven't yet sampled the earthy yet otherworldly reverbsploitation of Kentucky's My Morning Jacket, it's time. I hereby predict that this wholly unpretentious band will go the distance for you, figuratively and literally (their last album was 74 minutes and came with a long bonus disc of demos, and at 41 minutes, MMJ's last EP was longer than many bands' proper records). The five-piece's warm but desolate rock sounds like Sun sessions held on the moon, and Jim James' pipes, which seem to come from somewhere beyond himself, can make others' 'intimate' vocals seem like stilted Merchant-Ivory performances.
On stage, James wields a flying V. He's an immovable crooner one minute and a flailing headbanger the next. His eyes and grin seem naïve, but also convey that he might know something you don't, or be attuned to something you aren't. Looking spacy, sweet and stout, he's a Manson-meets-the-Snuggle-Bear who could put you in a figure-four leglock. He can be hilarious: when playing at a club beside a club where the Genitorturers were playing, he deadpanned a public service announcement about how people shouldn't go around torturing people's genitals. He can be confounding: at one show he put a sort of stuffed buffalo puppet head on the mike, draped his hair around it, and sang 'through' it. At another he was barefoot in a tie-dyed muumuu.
And what's with all the dark songwriters voicing such cheer outside their songs? Modest Mouse's Isaac Brock, who's penned many a sociopathic verse, explains in the current issue of Bookforum how reading John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath made him "want to be kind to people." Jim James has a similar thing happening: after closing one album shuddering, "I think I'm going to hell," and opening the next one yelping, "All your life is obscene," he actually presents himself as gleeful and willing to praise Mom, Disney, and love.
This interview, conducted during the band's current tour, went pretty well considering the fans-should-never-meet-artists shenanigans that plagued the interviews I used to do for a small paper. Steve West and I talked about the Civil War more than Pavement; I once made an OJ Simpson joke out of a certain band's song, earning a stream of one-word answers; and Peter Murphy stopped me and asked where my soul was. Ambitious, excitable, funny and ever enigmatic, all Jim James did was fend off my questions about vocal influences, lyrical influences, why darkness and introspection appeal to him, the buffalo cozy, and the muumuu. Hallelujah.
Pitchfork: Howdy homesnake. No sense trying to play it cool: I'm the guy who's grabbed you, a little sloshed, after each Florida and D.C. show in the past year, self-nominated as one of your sad ambassadors. I think I only make friends or go on dates long enough to get people hooked on My Morning Jacket, and then I move on, like Michael Landon on "Highway to Heaven".
James: Hello, old chum. Thanks for the enthusiasm, dawg.
Pitchfork: So how did the decision to be so explosive live come about, as opposed to the albums' mellower sounds? The consensus being that the acts you open for, bless their hearts, are regularly upstaged.
James: I wouldn't say anyone gets upstaged; it's just two different things, you know? The others are very talented at what they do. We just all play kind of differently. I think we just like to have fun and try to convey that to the audience as well, without losing all the meaning. We're not trying to be Poison. Once we start getting more time to do full sets, you'll definitely see a lot more of the acoustic side as well as the rock side.
Pitchfork: Speaking of Poison, you head one of the few acts in which one hears as much metal as soul. What's the soundtrack in the tour van?
James: Oh man, everything. Danzig 2: Lucifuge has been in heavy rotation, as has Europe's The Final Countdown. Roy Orbison's Best Of. Strange mix CDs. And Erykah Badu live. Also we've been jamming to the new Swearing at Motorists, Bobby Bare Jr., and Ben Kweller. As well as the Scorpions' Love at First Sting and The Muppet Movie soundtrack.
Pitchfork: Did you get your ears on Willie Nelson's killer version of The Muppet Movie's "Rainbow Connection"? Whoooo.
James: I saw Willie do it in concert and nearly cried. The crickets were out and it was at the state fair. It was a beautiful night for a beautiful song. My mom was there too and that meant a lot, because that was a big song for us growing up. It was a magical moment.
Pitchfork: Sounds like it. Any old-school rap in your mix? Some Public Enemy?
James: I really really enjoy some old school rap and hip-hop, the likes of Tribe, NWA, Chronic-1-era Dre, The Predator by Cube, and Young MC, to name a few. With rap I'm mainly a singles man. I'm never really a fan of just a group, but rather a bunch of songs from an era.
Pitchfork: What do you think of the wave of instrumental stuff that gets called 'post-rock' or 'math-rock', much of which has connections to your Louisville turf?
James: I'm not sure, I don't really listen to it.
Pitchfork: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot? The Genitorturers?
James: Yankee is a great album, indeed, though when I'm in the mood for Wilco I always return to Being There. That is a classic fucking album. Timeless. Foxtrot is a little too modern for me, but it is great. The Genitorturers can do no wrong in my book.
Pitchfork: What other mediums inform My Morning Jacket? Do you read a lot and go to films or are you pastoral, ascetic meditators?
James: We try to go to movies, but we just enjoy the explosive ones. Since none of us can read, books and other forms of printed entertainment are out of the question.
Pitchfork: I heard you guys were Disney-bound, or at least Epcot-bound, when you were last in Florida.
James: Epcot was nothing compared to the grandeur that was the Magic Kingdom. I love the Magic Kingdom. Epcot was okay; it was cool to go up inside the ball. The fiber optics in 'Mexico' were amazing.
Pitchfork: Are you regularly wild on the road, or do you just drink bottled water and look out for your cousin [guitarist Johnny] Quaid?
James: We have our wild nights. Rarely does a hotel room escape unscathed from our brutal rampages. They're mostly brought on by us reading books, or brutal TV fights and pillow fights.
Pitchfork: Wait, you just said that you guys read in the hotels, and that none of you can read. Which assertion do you want to stick?
James: None of us can read.
Pitchfork: Okay. Why is crack so funny when it shouldn't be?
James: That is weird. Crack is so damaging. Yet old crack and lightbulb jokes always get people laughing. I wish there was a way to help all the people who feel crack is an answer. I really do.
Pitchfork: Characterize, if you will, the formative years of My Morning Jacket, the individuals and the band. Were you typical city-farm Louisville-ians glad to be south of sometimes-stagnant Ohio's cusp?
James: We live and lived in an around Louisville, on and off farms.
Pitchfork: So you had to work bad jobs?
James: Yes. We have worked and will have to work many, many hard, stupid jobs. Jobs are so fun, I hope we can work them forever! My Morning Jacket started off as just me and an acoustic guitar, as it was a vent for songs my band at the time couldn't use. That band was called Month of Sundays. It featured Dave Givan and Ben Blandford on drums and bass, and I played guitar and sang. They're playing in a band called Panure right now. Very talented guys. I'm really proud of the music we made and I'm remixing some of it to hopefully release it someday. We were more into weird times and heavier stuff so lots of the stuff I was writing wasn't suited for that band. So I did my own thing as My Morning Jacket, but then John [Quaid] got so involved and the boys all followed suit, and we just kind of guffawed our way into playing all the time. Every single day! And making records too. Yeehaw!
Pitchfork: There have been several lineup changes. Does the band intend to blow through a Spinal Tap-ish number of drummers, or are you settled with new drummer Patrick Hallahan?
James: He is our savior. We love him and intend on keeping him for a long time to come.
Pitchfork: And keyboardists Danny Cash, who sits like Grandpa Thunder in the back of the stage at shows, is an addition. How did his role come about?
James: He just volunteered one day and it was magical. Cash is master of all things with keys. He is a mastermind; I'd hate to think of ever not having his delicious sounds grace us.
Pitchfork: What proportion of your songs are written collaboratively? Do you bring a skeleton and then everybody chucks some meat on it? Or are you a micromanager like that Smashing Pumpkin?
James: I bring in the skeletal structures and the boys flesh him out. His name is Orange Roughy and we like to tenderize him until he takes on different shapes and sounds just right.
Pitchfork: Is there ever tension in a band in which you, the writer, singer, and lead guitarist are so focal? Four other people have to hang back from time to time for your more stripped-down hits.
James: No. The boys are angels. They realize that we are on a mission and that that mission involves many aspects. They are my saviors. And they are amazing.
Pitchfork: What's your mission?
James: I guess our mission is just to bring some mystery and some fun back to rock and roll. It seems like there is no mystery or fun nowadays. It's all so serious. I just don't feel any real emotion from some of the more widely accepted artists these days. Although there still are many great bands right now that are keeping it real, such as Swearing at Motorists, Flaming Lips, Wilco, Stories for Boys and The Summer Life.
Pitchfork: That's interesting that you mentioned enjoying lots of music that's more straightforward than the often slippery, uncanny, even nonlinear lyrics and song structures of MMJ. Outside of some of The Tennessee Fire one hears a lot of psychedelia in MMJ, for example. There are many moments of anything-goes, experimental songwriting in the extended MMJ discography, yet you guys are consistently labeled 'alt-country'. Is your sound the result of natural inclination, or conscious pursuit of a sound? Do you resent that label as ghetto-izing or do you appreciate the benefits of its insta-following?
James: I don't really understand... I don't understand 'alt-country'. I appreciate people recognizing maybe some of our country roots, but anyone that explores our catalog can easily see we are not an alt-country band. The only label for us is rock and roll. That encompasses everything.
Pitchfork: Okay, time for some song- and project-specific questions. I understand that there's a Dutch documentary about MMJ, that you guys have a zealous following over there. Tell us about that.
James: The Dutch documentary was very eye-opening. It felt really weird to be looked at and probed by the public for the first time, but the Dutch are very friendly and kind people. They did a wonderful job and we love them dearly. They were the first group of people to really make us feel like what we were doing was really listenable; you know what I mean? It felt so good to actually know that maybe we could make this thing work, that maybe one day our dreams of changing rock for the better might come true. It made us want to work harder and try, I know that.
Pitchfork: Will the doc ever be commercially available stateside?
James: I doubt it will be available. I'm very proud of it but I feel that we were very young and naïve when it was made and since we've added and changed members, it's not very relevant. But it was very well done, so I don't mind people seeing it.
Pitchfork: Where do the infamous covers fit into the My Morning Jacket canon? You've released your own versions of songs by Erykah Badu, Elton John, Berlin, and Nick Cave, and you regularly perform Black Sabbath. Are these serious reappraisals to show what you can do with a good song, crowd pleasers, or what?
James: We try to think of a song we love and that other people would get a kick out of hearing, too. We try to make them not a typical song that a normal group would do, but something just a little unusual. I think covers are a good way to connect with people who are unfamiliar with you, and a good way to have fun all around.
Pitchfork: Is "The Way That He Sings" from At Dawn about someone specific? Is there a story there?
James: "The Way That He Sings" is just about all my favorite singers, really, just the fact of being in love with the way something is, rather than what it appears to be or is presented as. There is nothing more pure and beautiful than the human voice and oftentimes I just drift away listening to Roy [Orbison, Pitchfork assumes] or Neil [Young, Pitchfork assumes] sing a song, and it doesn't matter really what they're saying or they're playing. You know, it's all about the moment. And I feel the same way about love. I kind of mention that little rascal too from time to time; I guess it's inevitable.
Pitchfork: Did you mean love as in "I love you" or Arthur Lee's band Love?
James: Not the Arthur Lee kind. I mean just loving things for what they mean, not just what they seem to mean. Dig?
Pitchfork: How'd the Songs: Ohia split CD come about?
James: Jade Tree approached us, and since they're such a great label, and Jason [Molina] is such an excellent songwriter we thought it would really be a neat way to reach a crowd we normally wouldn't reach.
Pitchfork: Why does the sped-up track on that split "The Year in Review" exist?
James: To make people laugh. To make people think. Maybe every release doesn't always have to be cut-and-dry. Maybe some things can be funny or stupid or not make sense at all. That topic kind of makes me bummed because from some of the reviews I read I could tell people clearly don't understand what we're trying to do. Regarding "Cobra", they say things like "twenty-four minutes is too long," or, regarding "The Year in Review", "Why was there a sped-up version of all the songs?" Or back to "Cobra", "Why is there weird-sounding eighties rhythms and no reverb"? We just want to try everything there is to try and we think EPs are the best place to try weird things out. Sure, not all of them work, but I always try to not let experimentation get in the way of still giving people their money's worth when they buy something. I think on both the new EPs, there is a lot of really good music on there, even though some of it may be really fucked up.
Pitchfork: I think it speaks to how unpindownable the band is, along with your at once tossed-off and profoundly mysterious cover art. Where does that stuff come from?
James: God sends it to me.
Pitchfork: Is some religion at work in MMJ? Or in the background?
James: I believe there is a force that controls and guides everything I do. I totally believe in it and pray to it though I don't know what it is. I am grateful for what it has given me. Every night I tell it this prayer which I learned as a child.
Pitchfork: Do you have a message of hope for people who, to quote your lyrics, also think they're going to hell, all of whose lives are obscene?
James: Stay off crack. Believe in your product. Believe it is worth the trouble. Every day is a gift. Every gift is a day. Listen to Bill Hicks.
Pitchfork: What are the pleasures of Bill Hicks for MMJ? His Southernness? His politics? His suspicion that Gideons are ninjas?
James: Bill Hicks tells it like it is, and I think we all appreciate that. I don't necessarily believe in everything he says, but I appreciate honesty. He says a lot of things we all think but are afraid to say.
Pitchfork: Then let me ask you how it feels to be on so many people's 'unsung titans' list. Ain't it time you guys blew up? I ask this as someone who thinks you should be headlining a Monsters of Rock revival.
James: We don't really think about that stuff. We are grateful to everyone who comes out to see us whether there are five or five hundred people at a show. Dig? Of course it'd be fun to make a living off of this. Sure. But that's just a pipe dream anyway. Or is it?
Pitchfork: I think you're walking the tightrope. You've got the recipe, as a band whose craft is treasured by music lovers, but whose songs' swooniness attracts boppers. The rock delivers, and meanwhile someone screams "that's my new boyfriend" about each band member at every show.
James: I don't know how to respond to that. I don't think we've experienced attracting 'boppers' to our shows yet. The day panties start flying at the stage and there are lines of women waiting to get into our dressing room, then maybe I'll be able to respond to that.
Pitchfork: While we're discussing the future, what can you tell us about your upcoming album? Same label? Just as long/epic as the previous two?
James: As of late I'm not quite of liberty to say anything. Top secret. It will be rockin'. And it will be mysterious. And it will be quiet. And it will feature instruments and people. We are so excited. We are shitting to get back to the studio and record.
Pitchfork: Do you get sad at the post office?
James: I get sad everywhere and nowhere, all the time.
