You know those guitars that are like, double guitars?

Nardwuar, Japandroids, Planes.

Sep 29, 2024

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I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since Mark and I turned in the book, so I’ve been catching up on some reading, in both online and print forms. Here’s what’s been on the reading pile this week…

And doot-doola-doot-do…

Years ago, I reached out to someone on Nardwuar’s team to see if he wanted to do a Rank Your Records interview where he chose and ranked his ten favorite interviews. They very politely declined, which I totally respect. The legendary interviewer doesn’t let himself be on the other end of the microphone very often and I was honored they even humored the request. (Nardwuar, hit me up if you’ve reconsidered!)

So I guess this Vulture interview he did this week is the closest I’m going to get to seeing the ranking of his body of work. He talks about his worst interview subject (Sebastian Bach–wow, not the tense Rollins interview in ‘98, huh? Interesting.), longest wait for an interview (Ashanti—12 hours), and his dream interview (Obama). Now I can’t stop imagining Nardwuar saying, “You’re Barack Obama, we have to know!” and Obama going, “Uhhhhh now let’s be clear, Nardwuar…”

Nardwuar was also asked for his worst “doot-doo” and, as someone who has had a not-great experience interviewing Rob Zombie, I found this answer very relatable:

One time I did an interview with Rob Zombie over the telephone, and I went “Doot-doola-doot-doo,” but he just walked out of the room and didn’t answer. And so I’m on the phone and kept going, “Doot-doo, doot-doo-doot?” Finally, about ten minutes later, a cleaning person came by and said, “Hello?” I’m like, “Oh, is Rob Zombie there?” She said, “He left ten minutes ago. I’m just cleaning the room.” I was like, “Well, doot-doola-doot-doo,” and the cleaning person went “Doot-doo.”

Fate & Alcohol

Japandroids also don’t do a whole lot of interviews. They hadn’t done one in four years. I don’t think I’ve ever requested one, mostly because I am afraid my questions would all be along the lines of “Hey you know that part in your song when the guitar is all weee-waaa-nana-nana-nanawaaaa?” Imagine a cross between Otto the busdriver saying “You know those guitars that are like… double guitars?” and Chris Farley asking “You remember that? That was awesome.” That’d be me.

So I’m glad Ian Cohen did the yeoman’s work over at Stereogum. You can read his profile for yourself and infer what you’d like. I saw it as a portrait of two guys who were maybe never as tight as fans hoped they were, who had drifted even further apart over the years, especially after one of them sobered up, started a family, and realized he didn’t have the room in his life for a touring band anymore. It seems Japandroids have effectively been over for a while, and their forthcoming album, Fate & Alcohol, is their long overdue obituary.

Ultimately, this profile left me a bit bummed. Japandroids, at their best, represented excitement, and no one seems particularly excited about this new album. The question that didn’t really get answered for me is: Why? If they’re not going to tour on this album and it wasn’t all that pleasant to write, why make it? I haven’t heard Fate & Alcohol yet, but haven’t found the teaser singles particularly thrilling.

This is a funny thing for me to say, because I truly love Japandroids, but I did not need this record. If making it was a necessary step in Brian King’s recovery, fantastic. I’m in full support. But the older I get as a music fan, the less I need closure. Some things just end and you don’t get to say goodbye and that’s okay. I once celebrated the idea of a beloved institution returning after many years away to take their victory lap, but you sit through enough dreadful reunion shows or lackluster Beetlejuice sequels and start feeling otherwise.

Goodbye, Japandroids. Thanks for all the excitement. Dudes rock, etc.

Do You Still Love Me?

Everything I just wrote is going to make what I’m about to type next sound incredibly hypocritical, but I got to hear the forthcoming Planes Mistaken for Stars record and it really did a number on me. In case you haven’t been following, Planes frontman Gared O’Donnell died of esophageal cancer at the way-too-young age of 44 in 2021. (David Anthony and I recorded a podcast episode about what a legendary force he was if you’d like to dive deeper.) Gared was working on this record, Do You Still Love Me?, right up until he passed, and his bandmates have completed his vision in his absence.

I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to a voicemail from a dead relative or friend, but as soon as Gared’s vocals kicked in, I was immediately filled with the same feeling. Like a gut-punch from beyond the grave that opens the floodgates of memory by linking the past to the present. Again, I didn’t need this record. I am not owed closure. But hearing that inimitable voice one more time gave me an end to this story I didn’t realize I needed.

I will write more about Do You Still Love Me? in the future, but for now, I’ve been reading this little history of the band that they recently posted on their website. I’m sort of a megadork about this band, so I can’t say there was a lot of new information for me, but I do always love the reminder that at one point in time, Planes spent a tour opening for the Ataris.

Bonding by Maggie Siebert

I love an author who just likes to write bodies coming apart. Nothing fancy, just some good old fashioned grotesque viscera strewn across the pages, just to see what it looks like. Maggie Siebert’s Bonding scratches that bloody itch for me.

Her fiction is short without much fat on the bone, but Siebert manages to get a lot across. Like any short story collection, if I can find even one story that sticks with me, I’ll feel like I’ve gotten my money’s worth. Lots of violent and macabre imagery to revel in here. There’s a story about a sick dog that I’m sure will upset people. But for me, there is a mock oral history about a boy who is, let’s say, spiritually amiss. I can’t really go into it more than that without giving it away, but the ending is the shit that chills your blood.

I picked this up because my friend and fellow bodies-coming-apart author Chris Norris designed the cover.

You can also read the final essay, Every Day for the Rest of Your Life, right here.

FFO: The sound of bones breaking, horrific demises, Cronenberg moodboards.

P23175

I spent last Sunday at a book and record fair nearby that specialized in vintage smut and handmade goth literature. Generally speaking this is extremely my shit but it was too fucking hot to be outdoors, flipping through books and zines even though, again, this is my favorite thing to do.

I found myself looking through a photo book at one table. “Do you know what that is?” the burly dude selling it asked me. “Like, do you get what you’re looking at?” He told me that his friend did 25 years in prison (I did not ask for what) and managed to sneak a cell phone in, which he used to text photos from inside. The title, P23175, was his inmate number. There are some pretty gnarly shots of tattoo guns, workouts, and toilets. A lot of fucking toilets. I felt like I should leave the sweaty book fair with something, so I bought his last copy.

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