by Daniel Colussi | Cass McCombs is for the most part portrayed as a lone-wolf weirdo, some kind of inscrutable mystic. There are at least a few reasons for this: his nomadic adulthood spent living in various American and European cities; his distaste for indulging the music press beyond the bare minimum required of him (for the promotion of Wit’s End, all correspondence between Cass and the press was strictly epistolary); but most of all because of his music. His music seems to stand outside time.  Over the course of ten years and six albums, he has pretty much done his own thing, always sounding fresh and inspired; totally himself. Despite his heavy rep, McCombs came across pretty directly to me. He revealed an earnest, sincere reverence for music and how powerfully it can affect us. He also understood his position in the music world at large. Elusive and inscrutable? Maybe. But he’s not exactly the first rocker to loathe the repetitive and thankless task of doing interviews. This time out, McCombs was generous and forthcoming in his responses. Read on…

Hey Cass, how are you? Did you hear some of that funky music while you were on hold? I know that music well. It’s the same song every time.

So I’ve read that it was by design that you were going to release two albums this year? You recorded a bunch of tracks and then split it up into two albums. Is that correct? No. No, where’d you get that from? 

My mistake. I thought I read that on your label’s website. Hmm, well, uh, no that’s not true. What we did was, uh.. I’ve been making the first of the two, Wit’s End, since the previous record, Catacombs, and while I was on tour the last couple years, I’ve just been recording a song or two in different cities if I had extra time and just kinda put ’em all together, you know. And every song is a different band, a different location and um…totally different styles. But it’s just kind of, I dunno, what’s the word for it…kind of a “cornucopia” of miscellaneous debris.

So then you and Ariel Rechtshaid got together and did a monster session of mixing down and… The two records will never be in proximity to each other. They’re totally separate. Wit’s End was it’s own thing for years you know? And then Humor Risk is it’s own thing.

I like this idea of releasing two distinct albums in such close succession. It kind of makes me think of when The Beatles and The Stones et al would release albums every six months. Well, I’m not The Beatles! But I think that my purposes were actually for the kind of the opposite reason than why maybe The Beatles were inspired to do it. The Beatles record company – EMI and Capital – I would assume, would encourage them to release many records because they sold millions of copies. I, on the other hand, sell no copies! So…it doesn’t matter when I release. Most bands these days are encouraged to release an album every several years so that they can stretch out the life of each one. So to release one every six months is to devalue the potential of what each record can sell. Since I sell nothing, it doesn’t matter, you know? So I’ll just release them as they come.

So how do you contrast the different vibes of Wit’s End and Humor Risk. They seem like different beasts, like they have different personalities. Is that fair to say? Yeah, I mean…sure! Yeah. As are the records before them. I’m constantly trying to…you know, challenge myself and learn things about music and learn different lyrical techniques. There’s just so many different things you can do with music, and…I want every time I record to be an entirely different scenario. There’s no other way to keep it fresh. And really, music is just about freeing the soul, you know? And it’s hard to free the soul if you’re holding – if you’re tied on to any kind of format or aesthetic idea, or even a genre.

I can see that. And looking back over the course of your albums over the past ten years, it seems like there’s been no point when your albums have become caught up in trends that’ve come and gone at any given time. The production of your albums and the songs themselves seem to never get tangled up in what’s happening at large. Well that’s good to hear. I mean, yeah, I would think that what I’m doing is kind of like the insect of the music world. It’s almost undetectable. And you can step on it, but it won’t die you know? {laughs}

Well, I wonder how you perceive your place in the music world. I mean, Domino is a big label with a lot of big bands. But it seems like you don’t get holed up into any corner. Well I don’t. I don’t follow the industry whatsoever. This isn’t…I don’t do this for money. And, in fact, I think if you’re making money at this point in music then it means you’re doing something wrong. Truly, because most of the music I like is underground music; experimental music and traditional folk music, which are the pariahs of the music industry. That’s what I enjoy.

So you play with different people all the time, you record all over the place, your band is always changing. So I guess you feel more in touch with that kind of scale of things? Are there contemporaries that you identify with or that you get psyched on? Only my friends. I only follow what my friends do. And I don’t even follow musically what they do as much as. I’m interested in hearing from their own mouths their ideas of what they want to do. And I internally compare those to my ideas or things I’m working on. Sometimes friends, ah, although you might be emotionally connected with them in a relationship, in a friendship, you are artistically in different corners. And that’s actually exciting, when you can see that someone you respect has a completely opposite idea of an intent than I do. 

I see. So that’s part of your practice – to record in different spaces with different people to keep it fresh? You like that sort of conflict or tension? Well sure, I mean, I think that everyone brings — it brings different things to the table. Ideas. And it just…I wanted these last couple of records to sound like what they are: a large group of people from different walks of life contributing in minor to a greater work. Kind of like a quilt or something like that. Everyone comes in and touches it for a moment and then hands it over to the next person to touch. 

TOURING

So you’re coming up the coast in a couple weeks. Is it going to be the same band as when you toured Wit’s End? It’ll be a couple of them. Um, kind of. I’m always changing the band. Who knows. I’m crazy. I can do what I want. I’m a psychopath! {laughs}

Do you like touring? Do you like that kind of mentality that takes over when a group of people are confined together for a long time? Yeah, I do. It’s just enjoyable to get on stage and…improvise music. Because although a lot of my songs have a pretty tight lyrical structure, musically there’s huge abysses where we can stretch out as individuals and also connect as an ensemble. So, that’s just like a privilege to be able to do that every night. Even when I’m at home I can’t do that. Play with a bunch of guys and find the holes to explore in? Like musical caves? It’s kind of incredible. Now, the traveling and lack of sleep and the lack of personal space kind of turns you into a dog. Or some kind of feral animal. But, usually that all disappears when the beat kicks in.

You know, that last time I saw you play here I detected a bit of a Grateful Dead vibe in the performance of some of the tunes. Was that an intention at all, was that discussed? Well, I grew up doing to Dead shows, you know.  And uh…so…but it’s not something that was ever discussed, I don’t think. It’s just something about kinetic…whatcham’callit that made it happen, you know?

It’s nice to hear that you’re so dedicated to playing.  Often people say that they’d rather just stay at home and record and not have to deal with the necessity of touring to promote an album. I wonder why these people do it. Who, who…what are they trying to prove? Why don’t they just take a nap? You don’t make any money at it, so what’s the big deal? No one cares if you don’t. The market is flooded anyway. If you don’t like it go home. 

Yeah, well there are so, so many bands, and a million labels. It’s hard to focus on things with so much coming and going. It seems like bit of a saturation point. Yeah, I mean…it’s all terrible. It’s like Occupy Wall Street in reverse, where the 99% is evil and the 1% is righteous. It’s in reverse, it’s a mirror image.  {laughs}

It does seem like there’s so much that just isn’t worthy of your attention. I don’t know if that’s just a matter of getting older and not engaging with music in that same way as when you’re fifteen or if it’s just that there’s too much to digest. I dunno, I don’t think about it too hard. If something hits me I know if right away. I don’t waste my time. I give everything about two seconds and if it doesn’t impress me, you know. I’m pretty well satisfied with the music I listened to when I was seventeen years old. But can always go back to Hank Williams and be 100% satisfied. I don’t need to seek out a lot of the new music, unless it touches me. Unless it finds me. And then it’s real. That’s just my personal thing.

What about videos nowadays? You’ve made a fair number of videos. County Line had two videos. How do they tie in with what you do? Are they a necessary evil or is making videos something you enjoy? I like videos. Many of my friends are filmmakers so I get to work with them.  When I started no one made videos. It wasn’t even — it was a blip on the radar. I started around 2000, 2001 and videos were dead, dead, dead. The only people who made videos were, like, the Backstreet Boys.  Underground music didn’t make videos- the was no place to show ’em! And there was no internet really, not like we have today.  So it’s been kind of a, I mean, I don’t know if I’ll always make videos. But it’s been fun in the last couple of years to experiment with things and hang out with my friends. I’m not obliged to do it by any means.

Cass McCombs plays the Electric Owl Dec. 6th {image via Planet Lyrics}