
By Doug Wallen
Black Lips have a bad reputation. Whether making out on stage or fleeing India for fear of prison , they're known to some as gimmicky brats and others as brazen punks. But their albums speak for themselves. After a few promising cult platters, the Georgia quartet signed to the equally contentious Vice Records to release 2007's Good Bad Not Evil, the best garage album since White Blood Cells.
Finding themselves suddenly at the peak of accessibility, Black Lips decided to follow it up with 200 Million Thousand, a weird little record more notable for groggy atmosphere and dirge-like pacing than for any crossover potential. But damned if it isn't a grower, thanks to such diverse gems as the defiantly poppy "Starting Over," the dirty-ass "Big Black Baby Jesus of Today," and the Wu-Tang-damaged "The Drop I Hold." The band blurs the tragic and comic as well as the ugly and beautiful, and their blown-out analog vibe is as vintage sixties as their sinister guitar leads, slurred vocals, and shambling rhythm section.
Death+Taxes managed to snag some quality phone time with soot-voiced front man Cole Alexander while the rest of Black Lips were shooting a segment for MTV's Subterranean on the roof of the Vice offices. It was sprawling conversation that proved once and for all that the band aren't sloppy smartasses but raw showmen from a long line of them.
Read the full interview after the jump.
You guys have described yourselves as "flower punk." Are you still happy with that?
Honestly, it was a little tongue-in-cheek. A lot of times journalists and media want some sort of catchphrase. We always felt like we were a punk band but we weren't into the machismo. We were like a wussy punk band. There is this form of psychedelic punk music, and there've been a lot of bands doing it for the past thirty years. It can cross a lot of borders, like King Khan & BBQ Show. Even Butthole Surfers were like a punk band, but they were psychedelic. We always thought we could mix the two.
Did signing to Vice bring a more diverse audience to your shows?
Definitely. When we first started playing, we found ourselves playing to a lot of forty- and fifty-year-old record nerds who were into garage rock. We'd drive ten hours [to play to], like, twenty people. We've been playing for nine years now, so at some point we just wanted to get out to more people and not play for this picky niche crew. We were actually trying to get some other, bigger labels to sign us, but they weren't interested. Vice was the only label with a little bit of exposing power to really come up to us. It's definitely helped. But then you gotta back it up, any kind of media exposure like that. I think in a live sense, we've definitely done that. And we're working on it in a recording sense.
Yeah, the band once had this reception for trashing stages, but you've toned that down.
We made a conscious effort in the beginning, because we didn't know how to play. We wanted people to get our name out. And we were pretty young, so we were immature at the time. They're kind of gimmicks but we never did them every night. It had to be spontaneous. People expect that to happen every night, but it's not like a trick pony. Journalists [will write], "The Black Lips show includes urinating and nudity and French kissing." I would get off stage and people would be like, Why didn't you puke? How would I puke every night? It's not like GWAR. If you go to a Black Lips show and you see blood, I promise you it's real. We’re not gonna bleed every night like Kiss and GWAR do, but when you do see the blood, it's gonna be real.
On the new record, "The Drop I Hold" has this eerie hip-hop vibe. How'd that come together?
We're a garage rock band, but I grew up listening to Wu-Tang and Portishead, and I always liked how they would sample old sixties records. I was always into sixties music, so I could always identify with that. I believe sampling can be like a magical portal to a different dimension. All the samples on [that song] are from dead people. The girl's voice is this country singer who died recently, Sammi Smith. If I can interact with her spirit by singing along with her, she's still alive today. There's a sample from Jim Jones' death tape: the intro is from right before they killed themselves. This lady had this passion about giving up her life for what she believed in, wrong or not. Between her and Sammi Smith, we're interacting with these dead people. But then I didn't know how to sing it. So I actually did a rap, which I was really insecure about. Like, I hope this doesn't come out like Limp Bizkit or white-boy rap shit. But people liked it because it's different. Somebody even showed it to GZA from the Wu-Tang, apparently, and I heard he really liked it. We're actually trying to get him to rap on the remix.
Have there been remixes of your songs before?
Yeah, Diplo did a remix of "Veni Vidi Vici" [from] our last album, which was our other song that was a sample-based loop. When we do an album, I always try to do one song that could be bumped [to] in a club because I figure it's a foot in the door. I try to meet people halfway. I'm not really gonna change what I do, but I'll do one little off-the-beaten-path thing to meet the mainstream halfway. And we do it our way. That's like Black Lips' version of rap, I guess.
It even sneaks in some self-promotion for the band's website.
I'm glad you mentioned that. I do that twice. On "Meltdown" I say, "Blacklips.com Vietnam" and on that one I say, "Blacklips.com in Islam," I want our album to be mirrored in real life and work on a surreal, existential level, so I'm getting these guys to make us these websites, one in Arabic and one in Vietnamese. So when we say shit on the album, we mean it. It's not just bullshit, even though the lyrics seem arbitrary at times.
What's the story behind the song "Big Black Baby Jesus of Today"?
There are certain African Americans that really inspire me so much, and one of them was Jack Johnson. He was a boxer in the early nineteen hundreds. I thought that no matter what he lived life his way and he had probably the hardest time doing that. Ol' Dirty Bastard was another influence on the song. He said he was "Big Black Baby Jesus." He was guttural, and he was so creative, doing stream-of-thought. That's one of the reasons I think Lil' Wayne has found success--just to be free and not write stuff out. I imagined the coming of a black Messiah, and meanwhile the whole Obama thing started happening. I haven't seen that many shirts of a man since Tupac, who people also thought was almost divine at times. People looked up to him so much. So it's this ultimate African American--that's what the song's about.
Black Lips recently got "kicked out of India." What happened?
The way the shows would run was just so opposite to what we're used to: no booze allowed. No cigarettes. Done by midnight. We were put in this faux-Westernized setup, like the Hard Rock Cafe. It was really awkward and unnatural, and we just wanted to jam out with psychedelic sitar groups. So we snuck in some whiskey and promethazine--the [drug] that all the rappers do. It was this cheesy Honda-sponsored concert and we were doing cartwheels and jumping into the crowd, and security's going nuts. I think the kicker, though, was when I decided to kiss [guitarist] Ian [Saint Pe]. That's one of our trademark moves, to make out while we play the guitar. I don't know if you heard, but a couple years ago Richard Gere kissed a famous Bollywood actress in front of the media and got in a lot of trouble. So when two men were kissing--we read later that that is an obscene, lewd public act that can be punished with three months in prison.
Basically the whole tour got pulled out from under us. The [promoters] wanted us to get out of the country because they thought the cops were gonna come. We drove ten hours [to get] out of the state and all of our shows were canceled. The promoter started demanding ten thousand dollars from us, saying that we owed them for all the expenses. At one point he grabbed our passports and locked them in the trunk of a car. We surrounded the guy and got our passports back and basically got the next flight out. It just got real sketchy. But I wouldn't take it back for the world. I think we exposed a lot of kids to something they'd never seen before. If we turned on one kid to blasphemous acts of rock and roll, it was all worth it.
You mentioned that you actively sought out bigger labels...
Yeah, man, anybody with a dollar and a pencil, I would've signed [with]. Unfortunately, people weren't interested in what we were doing. At the time, even Vice wasn't really doing stuff like what we do, so I really commend them for going out on a limb. We tried Touch & Go, Sub Pop and we would have done even a major, but I think it worked out best this way. I think it's the best thing that ever happened to us, signing with them.
After so many albums, has it gotten easier or harder to write songs?
I feel prolific as hell right now. I can write, like, three songs with the same riff and not really worry about it. I felt like anytime I pick up a guitar and have a recorder, I can just make a song. There've been times where it felt dry, but even then I can spontaneously make something. I don't know if that'll last forever. We just cut an album with King Khan & BBQ. When we fled India, we went to Berlin [and] did a gospel-inspired record called The Almighty Defenders. That's the name of the group. It's King Khan & BBQ and us. We wrote all new songs on the spot. We're pretty prolific right now.
I must say, I'm glad to hear that your talking voice sounds just like your singing voice.
My voice has actually gotten horrible over the years from screaming. I got, like, calluses on my vocal chords. It fucked up my voice for a long time but I've learned to sing [with it]. I used to have more of a normal voice, but I've just torn it to where when I talk, I sound like a twelve-year-old kid and an old man at the same time. But I figure if I'm going to die tomorrow, I want to have something to show for myself. If I'm [making] a record, I'll sing until my vocal chords shred because I wanna lay it down hard. Guttural music is what I've always identified with, so I'm willing to destroy my voice in a sacrifice to music.
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