Now that they’ve been out working in the limelight for a couple years, our old pals the Kirkwood brothers are once again delivering the goods on the interview circuit. This has been a welcome development for Meat Puppets fans of all stripe. Even if you no longer care for the music, the Kirkwood ink can still hold the power to inspire, enthrall and sometime even frighten — especially if you’re the interviewer. One thing’s certain about these two, when they go on tour, they like to leave their internal editor at home. You never know what they might say. The most important job of the journalist in attendance is to keep his head down and try to stay out of the way.

When I put together the “Classic Puppets” retrospective for Rykodisk, I excerpted extensively from my collection of print interviews, creating in effect a chronological collage of quixotic quotes (sorry), but I’ve barely begun to delve into those interviews in my collection taped from the radio. With this post, I attempt to work on this imbalance with a couple of recordings from the early 80s.

The first one is from Corvalis, Oregon, during our tour with Flag in the summer of 1983. Black Flag bassist Chuck Dukowski and I do most of the talking. Chuck slides comfortably into the alpha chair at first, not realizing that the Puppets don’t ever willingly relinquish the spotlight. It doesn’t take long before both Kirkwoods work to challenge the Black Flag dominance. For my part, I’m content to just hang out with Chuck and enjoy his rap (if you’ve ever witnessed it, you know what I mean). But almost immediately Curt steps in: “I’d just like to say that I’m not happy to be here and I think you’re all fucked.”

This was Curt’s only on-mike contribution, but it sets the tone for the rest of the session: it prompted an angry call from the station manager who got Curt on the phone (off the air) and bawled him out personally. Cris takes a more effective approach, going out to the pay phone in the parking lot and placing a prank call to the station. At first, the Flag guys think it’s one of their own crew. But when they fail to recognize the voice, they assume it’s a legitimate caller. Cris leaves both Chuck and drummer Bill speechless.

The second interview takes place in NYC during the fall of 1984. Curt had tried to find something to eat before the interview, but there hadn’t been time. The deejay takes it lightly, saying we have “more important business” to attend to. But as we were to learn in later years, to ignore Curt’s ectomorphic calls for food was to risk sending him into a blind torrent of abusive rage. But he manages to hold it together here long enough to offer one memorable quip. When the deejay prods him to admit that he drops acid on stage, Curt replies, “the only liberties we take with our freedom is to occasionally inflate our tires with milk.”

In both interviews, it’s clear that Bostrom is a poor comedian. He seems content to believe that people actually want to hear about the band’s history, and he goes about trying to pass on the correct details. The Kirkwoods obviously find this approach tiresome, and actively work to keep the facts succinctly soundbytable, so as to leave more room for zaniness. And the zaniness continues right up to this day.

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When the Arizona Republic ran their feature on the Kirkwood reunion last summer, they asked a handful of Phoenix luminaries for a list of their favorite local “influences,” to be printed alongside the feature. I was included in the cattle-call, which included business entrepreneurs and broadcast celebrities as well as my fellow musicians. Naturally, I submitted a little more than just a list — it was a perfect opportunity to add a little historic context, giving a little extra credit where it’s due at the same time. Though the article itself made it online, as did the rest of the sidebar, I never saw anything by me, except in the the print edition. Whatever; I still have my copy:

Too often, a list of “influences” is just a bunch of artists somebody likes. This time, I’ve chosen to avoid the usual suspects (Hazelwood, Cooper, Tubes, et. al.) and attempt to rescue from the dustbin a handful of obscure Phoenicians who had an actual influence on me. If you’ve never heard of ‘em, that just underscores how badly they need some ink.

1. Mike Condello Mike “Commodore” Condello was my first personal hero. His two “Mini Albums” released under the aegis of the Wallace And Ladmo show were my prized possessions as a kid. It took me months to save up enough allowance and visit the old Ladmo Drive-In for my copies (which I still have). Suffice to say, I knew Condello’s take-offs on Sergeant Pepper and Jimi Hendrix long before I discovered the originals.

2. Dolan Ellis Back when we were teens, “Arizona’s Official Balladeer” was a rich source of derision for my friends and I. To my by-then thoroughly Beatle/Hendrix saturated ears, Ellis’ super-straight country crooning was profoundly kitschy. But Dolan’s outlasted ‘em all. He’s still hanging in there.

3. Jack Knetzger Back before there was a Meat Puppets, my first musical mentor and I had a band called the Atomic Bomb Club. Perhaps if Jack hadn’t been so determined to complete his college education and find a “real” job, Nirvana might have covered three of his songs instead. But he’s also still going strong — his web site at http://www.knetzcomics.com/ features several albums worth of free downloadable tracks, as well as a generous selection of old Bomb Club recordings (many of which feature guest performances by both Kirkwood brothers).

4. John Vivier The original renaissance man of the Phoenix punk scene. I first heard about him when his group the Heavy Metal Frogs played a stealth lunchtime gig at my high school. This was before the days of punk, but the group’s psychotic performance earned them an escort off campus just the same. By the time I got to know him a couple years later, John was a member of most every cool band in town (Feederz, Liars, Cicadas, Killer Pussy, International Language). Hard living caught up with him in 1983. To this day, I’d like to smack him.

5. Don Bolles When your favorite local drummer (the Liars) joins your favorite band (the Germs), there’s only one word for it. Out here in Goldwater Country, we call it “pride.”

6. David Wiley Even after he moved to Los Angeles, first with the Consumerz and later singing for the Human Hands, David and I maintained a correspondence. Once the Meat Puppets got on its feet, David got us our first gigs on the west coast, and made for us the crucial introductions. If anyone is said to have “discovered” the Meat Puppets, David is the man.

7 & 8. George Dillon & Bill Bored No mere bedroom noodlers, these boys helped break the Phoenix club scene open to local punk bands. Not only did they get their hands dirty, dealing with the local club owners, but they carried water for the rest of us. You can bet if Bill’s popular new wave outfit The Nervous or George’s uptown art/noise crew International Lanugage managed to con a bar into giving them a night, one of their scruffier fellow bands would also be on the bill.

9. Gary Russell When the Puppets first burst out of their little suburban practice space onto the greater Phoenix scene, the Killer Pussy’s guitarist was the first to take us under his wing. His wacky sense of humor and free-form approach to performance made him an instant kindred spirit. Our early jam sessions with Gary helped us develop the improvisational spirit that left a lasting mark on our live shows.

10. Damon Bostrom With all the artistic foment occupying the local scene in the early 80s, it was only a matter of time before my brother jumped in. A classically trained composition major, his groups the Noknownames, Happy Sirens and Funston Arts Ensemble eschewed rock music for a more whimsical, cerebral approach. Combining serious musical aspirations with a loose undisciplined performing style, my brother’s shows were fascinating not-to-be-missed events.

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I got another great bite the other day while trolling the web with my ego feeds. Amidst the endless social networking pages (”Now Playing: Backwater”), reviewer hype (”original drummer Derrick Bostrom declined to participate”) and right wing rants against so-called lapdogs of the “liberal media,” I found another effort by a generous fan. Once again, I am saved by my energetic constituency from having to expend any effort.

The European cassette-only “Bethel” compilation dates back from 1983, and traces its origin to an offer to contribute to a collection of “industrial” artists. Since the Meat Puppets were busy mining country and classic rock at the time, we were somewhat unsure of our place alongside of such artists as Boyd Rice, Foetus and Nurse With Wound. But I dutifully snipped a few minutes from a warm-up noise jam from one of our home rehearsals and sent it in. At one point, Curt says, “I blow my nose in your soup.” After the recording cuts off, entirely by accident, the next thing on the tape is my voice saying, “I think I’ll have a bowl of soup.” Impressed by the odd serendipity, I left it on the submission. Unfortunately, the compilers didn’t catch on, and faded the track out before my spoken line. Disappointed, I listened to “Bethel” once then threw it into the archives. There were to be better Pups noise jams over the years, and this one had little to recommend it.

But fans have clamored for this track ever since I included it in my band discography. Thanks to Cranio and his “The Thing On The Doorstep” blog, I can cross that one off my list. And now that you’ve heard it, so can you. One interesting item of note: my copy came in a thin cardboard box with skeletons riding bikes printed on it. Cranio’s copy appears to have come in standard cassette packaging with a teal cover.

The Thing On The Doorstep: Various - Bethel

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I still like to keep abreast of what’s being said about my old group. And if it floats my boat sufficiently, I’ll poach it for inclusion here. Case in point: I’ve long toyed with the idea of putting together a “lost album” of sorts, all the various promotional tracks and b-sides released during our Polygram days, but never collected anywhere, and for the most part no longer in print.

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Music | 90 Comments »

This post is for all of you who kept your copy of the first album. I know there are a few of you out there for whom the apparent disparities between Meat Puppets records is no mystery, who were able parse the whole tapestry without feeling betrayal every time we released a new album. There may even be a few of you who wish they could hear more from the first album sessions. Well, your patience has finally paid off: here’s almost an hour of outtakes.

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