New Wet Kojak, Distortion Felix, The Owners
Satyricon,
125 NW 6th Ave., 243-2380
10 pm Sunday,
June 18
$7 advance
Do Things
is on Beggars' Banquet, not Touch & Go, New Wet Kojak's
old home. McCloud explains the switch as a result of losing
touch with T&G's Corey Rusk, not getting dumped by the
label: "It was just about falling out of the loop," he says.
"We're all still totally friendly."
When Girls Against Boys signed to Geffen and released Freak*On*
Ica--a laser-pierced, techno-pulsing ode to the near-nihilistic
pursuit of nightlife's transient pleasures--Christ, did
the indie purists erupt into fits of predictable whingeing.
But not even the staunchest lo-fidelity fundamentalist
could object to New Wet Kojak, the undressed indie-jazz-funk
band featuring GVSB guitarist/vocalist Scott McCloud and
bassist Johnny Temple, plus three friends from their old
District of Columbia stomping grounds: Charles Bennington
(sax), Nick Pellicciotto (drums) and Geoff Turner (keyboard,
xtra guitars).
New Wet Kojak's latest release, Do Things, continues
the band's habit of smoking loose musical joints packed
with loping drumbeats, midnight saxophone mewls, slurred
come-ons and occasional crackling electro-noise. It's not
always pretty, and it rarely sounds polished, but it's a
hot time in the old town if you let your mind drift away
on its curling, nocturnal clouds of sound. Scott McCloud
recently phoned Willamette Week from his apartment
in New York's East Village to give the scoop on the coolness.
Willamette Week: Some people don't get
your style of lyric writing: slangy catch phrases, sexual
non sequiturs, etc. Have you ever thought about, if the
whole rock and roll thing falls through, writing ad slogans?
Scott McCloud: Yeah. Well, I mean, not really. But I sort
of get a weird, twisted inspiration from advertisements
anyway, and I could imagine a lot of New Wet Kojak and Girls
Against Boys song titles being like an ad for Obsession
or something. Some of the stuff I see just feeds back into
my lyrics. We live in a place where we're constantly surrounded
by this barrage of information. To speak that language,
or twist it around and take that back, is what I'm trying
to do.
The beats on Do Things almost have a dance groove
to them. Since you're not as responsible for guitar-playing
in this band, onstage you must bust out some disco moves.
Definitely. One thing that's really fun about it for me
is I only play acoustic guitar. I can just kind of go into
my own little zone.
Do you have any special moves you've been saving for
the occasion?
I've got a few special moves. Sometimes the music makes
me lose control. [laughs]
Girls Against Boys just scored a film, and since people
are always calling you a "lounge lizard," would you ever
want to do the John Lurie thing and turn to acting?
I don't know whether I'd be...I don't know what kind of
actor I'd be. I went to film school for a couple of years.
But I never really had any real desire to be in front of
the camera.
That's funny, because people see you as the quintessential
"guy with the style."
Yeah, hanging out, smoking in the noir flick. I guess in
a way music seems like an opportunity to let yourself go,
but in other ways not even really be yourself. Kind of forget
about yourself. Obviously if you're an actor you do that,
too. You get so into the character that you're not self-conscious
anymore of being on film.
The other day I stumbled upon dawsonscreekmusic.com,
a whole Web site about bands that have been played on Dawson's
Creek. And I was listening to "Do Things" this morning,
with its string sample in the background, and thinking,
"I could almost see this in Dawson's Creek."
Yeah!
So I'm trying to visualize you guys, who have this infamous
"sleazy" thing, on Dawson's Creek.
They'd kind of be cruising around, and run into New Wet
Kojak somewhere.
In a bar, of course.
Or a gas station. In the garage.
Now that movie 200 Cigarettes, when the characters
go into the punk club and there you are, playing onstage--how
the hell did that come about?
I don't even remember...it just kind of came up. They just
said we could be the band in the bar, and we said, "Cool."
Having never done that before, it was definitely an experience.
When you're in there and they're filming it, there's no
sound because there's people talking in the bar. And there's
people slam dancing and pogoing and stuff, so what they'd
do is bring up the music a little bit so people could get
the pacing of the song, then they'd turn it off completely.
All you could hear--because we were silent on stage--was
the sound of 300 people's clothes rubbing together. It was
the weirdest thing.
Do they just say, "Ready... set...slam dance!"?
Sort of. "OK, here we go!" And they bring the music up
for a second to get people started, and then they bring
it down. And people continue jumping and you just sort of
mime. You can barely hear the music. We could kind of tell
where we were in the song. It was very strange.
And you were all dressed-up, punk rock-style.
It was pick-your-own dog collar!
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Willamette Week | originally
published May 10,
2000
|
