mommaTy » Kurt Wenzel http://mommaty.com RSS on Motherhood, Style & Life Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:56:29 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2 en hourly 1 My favorite Book Covers of All Time http://mommaty.com/?p=756 http://mommaty.com/?p=756#comments Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:50:07 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=756 Catcher in the Rye, J.D. SalingerAs a lifelong writer,  I have been fascinated by book covers.  I decided to try to find the best ones, some I've read and some I will get around to some day.  Don't forget to comment and let me know who yours are.  I'll put them up!  Here we go... The Catcher in the Rye Exposure: A [...]]]> As a lifelong writer,  I have been fascinated by book covers.  I decided to try to find the best ones, some I've read and some I will get around to some day.  Don't forget to comment and let me know who yours are.  I'll put them up!  Here we go...

Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

The Catcher in the Rye

"Exposure: A Novel" by Kurt Wenzel

Exposure: A Novel

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Dracula (Vintage Classics)

Brideshead Revisited

Brideshead Revisited

Michael Chabon - Maps and Legends

Maps and Legends

White_Like_Me.large

savage

when_you_are_engulfed_in_flames.large

red

TO SEE THE COMPLETE LIST CLICK BELOW!

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=756 0 Writing & Progress http://mommaty.com/?p=680 http://mommaty.com/?p=680#comments Tue, 10 Feb 2009 14:33:19 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=680 I've been writing a novel for two years now. It isn't the first novel I've ever written, but it will be the first I will eventually show people - hopefully my agent and others. What's taking so long? Good question, though difficult to answer in a quick blog post. It's hellish.  My first book, Behind [...]]]> I've been writing a novel for two years now. It isn't the first novel I've ever written, but it will be the first I will eventually show people - hopefully my agent and others. What's taking so long? Good question, though difficult to answer in a quick blog post. It's hellish.  My first book, Behind Bars: The Straight-Up Tales of a Big City Bartender, was nothing compared to this.  After all, that was a memoir, everything had happened, I just had to document it in an organized witty way - which I hope I accomplished. 

The most challenging part of writing every day (besides the utter isolation), is snapping out of the story. Living in one's head is incredibly difficult when trying to maintain a *normal* family life, as trying to break out of character takes some time. Not a good idea to be writing right before dinner... especially if you want to chit chat about whatever whilst passing the butter. Last night I couldn't stop thinking about a dream I had about one of the characters in the book. Sometimes a character, whether fictional or real, will take over your life. I haven't been able to stop thinking about him for longer than five minutes. What would he do at dinner? Would he talk about the rumored coup? Would he go on a hunger strike? Yada yada... So stop writing at least an hour before dinner. It's quite distracting.

The issue is that writing is such a grueling process. I hadn't mapped it out as well as I thought from the start. Then a minor character became a major player, thus changing the landscape completely. So around Thanksgiving of last year, I had to trash all of the previous version of the book and start anew with what I had. What helped tremendously was outlining the story from beginning to end, leaving less moments to writer's block, and more to just "aha!" moments, as the process resumed. I can't emphasize enough how important it has been to flesh out every single character, every scene, ever intimation. If I had done that sooner, I might have been finished by now, instead of having to trash 350 pages of story that really needed that extra something.

xo

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=680 0 Sabah Gazetesi article about Kurt and me in Turkish! http://mommaty.com/?p=672 http://mommaty.com/?p=672#comments Tue, 25 Nov 2008 06:43:52 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=672 Türk'le evlendi hayat? de?i?ti Bir Türk k?z? ile evlenen ABD'li Kurt Wenzel hem dinini de?i?tirdi hem de e?inin etkisiyle kitap yaz?p ?öhret oldu Kurt Wenzel ad? belki Türkler için henüz bir anlam ifade etmiyor ama ba?ta New York olmak üzere Amerikan edebiyat çevreleri 36 ya??ndaki Wenzel'e edebiyat?n yeni y?ld?z? yak??t?rmas? yap?yorlar. Yaz?n piyasaya [...]]]>

Türk'le evlendi hayat? de?i?ti

Bir Türk k?z? ile evlenen ABD'li Kurt Wenzel hem dinini de?i?tirdi hem de e?inin etkisiyle kitap yaz?p ?öhret oldu
Kurt Wenzel ad? belki Türkler için henüz bir anlam ifade etmiyor ama ba?ta New York olmak üzere Amerikan edebiyat çevreleri 36 ya??ndaki Wenzel'e edebiyat?n yeni y?ld?z? yak??t?rmas? yap?yorlar. Yaz?n piyasaya sürdü?ü ilk kitab? "Lit Life" ile ummad??? bir ba?ar? yakalayan Wenzel'in edebiyatla ha??r ne?irli?i rakiplerinin aksine çok da eskilere dayanm?yor. New York'ta Patroon adl? bir restoranda garsonluk yapan Wenzel'in hayat?n? de?i?tiren olaylar 1997 y?l?nda ba?l?yor.

OKUMUYORDU B?LE..
Kendi deyimiyle de?il kitap yazmak, okumaktan dahi s?k?lan bir beyzbol fanati?i olan Wenzel bir gece restoranda hayat?m?n a?k? dedi?i Ty Bat?bek ile tan???yor. Türkiye'de do?mu? ve belli bir süre burada ya?am?? olan Bat?bek ile ç?kmaya ba?lad?ktan sadece 1 ay sonra Wenzel kitab?n? yazmaya ba?l?yor. Bat?bek'ten Türkiye ve ?slamiyet'le ilgili her?eyi ö?renen genç adam 1999 y?l?nda Türk k?z? ile evleniyor. Wenzel, ?slamiyet'ten o kadar çok etkileniyor ki dinini de?i?tirerek Müslümanl??? seçiyor. Kitap tamamlan?nca bu kez her amatör yazar?n kar??la?t??? sorun Wenzel çiftinin de ba??na geliyor. Kitab? basacak yay?nevi problemi... Wenzel'i kitap yazmaya te?vik eden ve kitab?n yaz?m a?amas?nda ba?tan a?a?? etkili olan Ty Bat?bek bir kez daha kollar? s?v?yor.

Continental Restoran'da barmaid olarak çal??an Bat?bek, her mü?terisine kocas?n?n bir kitap yazd???n? ve yay?nevi arad?klar?n? söylüyor. Nihayet bu çabalar son buluyor. Ve New York'un sayg?n yay?nevlerinden Random House editörlerinden Pamela Cannon kitab? okumay? kabul ediyor. Edebiyat çevresinde dönen dolaplar?n anlat?ld??? kitap editörün ho?una gidiyor ve kitap Haziran ay?nda bas?l?yor.

YEN? K?TAPLAR YOLDA
Wenzel'in pek de umutlu olmad??? "Lit Life" iki hafta içinde New York Times, Washington Post ve Publisher Weekly'e konu oluyor. Tüm ele?tirmenler kitap için "edebiyat çevresini ak?c? ve komik bir ?ekilde anlat?yor" yorumunda bulununca kitap ciddi bir sat?? ba?ar?s?na ula??yor. ?u s?ralar yeni kitab?n? yazmaya ba?layan Wenzel roman?nda kahraman?n? bir Müslüman'la evlendiriyor. Kitab?n?, hamile olan e?inin önümüzdeki Haziran ay?ndaki do?umuna yeti?tirmeyi planlayan çiçe?i burnunda yazarla, yay?nevi ?imdiden 2 kitapl?k ve bol s?f?rl? bir anla?ma imzalam?? bile.

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=672 0 Women of the 21st Century = Men? http://mommaty.com/?p=330 http://mommaty.com/?p=330#comments Fri, 29 Aug 2008 05:35:48 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=330 My husband, Kurt, and I have a running joke around here.  I'm the "husband" and he's the "wife."  He's a big hunk of a man, really, but he is not your typical man's man - despite the fact that he's a cubano smoker and worships the Red Sox.  He cooks gorgeous dinners for us EVERY [...]]]> My husband, Kurt, and I have a running joke around here.  I'm the "husband" and he's the "wife."  He's a big hunk of a man, really, but he is not your typical man's man - despite the fact that he's a cubano smoker and worships the Red Sox.  He cooks gorgeous dinners for us EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.  He lets me know when it's time to do some laundry and does all of the grocery shopping.  But...

He has never known a hammer or screwdriver in his life.  He can't hang a picture, spackle or use a power tool to save his life.

Now, I'm a carpenter's daughter.  I came with power tools, spackle, adore my new chain saw and am typing this post with a swollen right hand from a scary wasp sting whilst felling a dead pine tree that I couldn't take any more.  And I hate to cook, and doing dishes - well, I hate that the most.  The only traditional "wifey" thing I'll still partake in is doing the laundry.  Kurt got spoiled by the lovely Korean laundry women in Little Italy in Manhattan.  Who does their own laundry in Manhattan?  Nobody, that's who.

I am beginning to realize that I married a man who had a rotary phone when I met him ten years ago.  He barely knows how to send an e-mail and panics when he gets a new cellphone because setting it up is a major fiasco to him.  I used to resent this side of him, still do a little.

But this summer, as I've been clearing the backyard of the woods on its outskirts to make a larger lawn for Kurt (yes, he does LOVE mowing the lawn), I realized something that hit me.  I actually love doing the man's job at home.  If he enjoys cooking salmon with peach chutney, buying great wines every night for us to try, I am a happy woman.  I know way too many families eating garbage these days.  He's an amazing father that fills with pride at almost everything Kyle (our son, 6) does.  He's very much an in-touch, hands-on Dad.

So I'm over the fact that my man will never own a circular saw, or handle our chain saw without terror in his eyes.  It's okay - that's my job.

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=330 0 The Journal News (Kurt Wenzel & Kyle Smith write together!) http://mommaty.com/?p=196 http://mommaty.com/?p=196#comments Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:29:30 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=196 BY KURT WENZEL AND KYLE SMITH (Original publication: April 15, 2004) That afternoon, Diana Hall told the cab to leave her off on Fifth Avenue near the park. She hadn't been to the city in almost a year and wanted to start off right in the thick of things. The cab zipped in and out of traffic, [...]]]> BY KURT WENZEL AND KYLE SMITH
(Original publication: April 15, 2004)
That afternoon, Diana Hall told the cab to leave her off on Fifth Avenue near the park. She hadn't been to the city in almost a year and wanted to start off right in the thick of things. The cab zipped in and out of traffic, going too fast, and the city smells came wafting through the open window. Why was it, she wondered, that you only noticed how fragrant the city was when you'd been away for a while? She smelled car exhaust, vendors' food, burning subway steel, asphalt mixers, and the dull stink of two excremental rivers. It was a mélange that excited her.

Getting out of the cab, Diana decided to head down Fifth; though it was spring, the idea of walking through the park had been trumped by the itch for a glass of wine. Near Rockefeller Center she wandered into Morell's Wine Bar. The lunch crowd was winding down and Diana was able to find a stool and relax with a Spanish white that was all the rage. Checking the clock above the bar, she noticed that back in Larchmont her daughter Karen would be coming home from pre-K right about now. It was strange for Diana to think she wouldn't be there to greet her daughter, but then God knew she needed a break. In fact, when her husband Bill had returned from a business trip just last week, he'd found her weeping openly in the kitchen, complaining that she had lost herself, that she didn't feel like a person anymore.

"That's it, you're going to New York," Bill had announced, springing into action. "I'll take some time off and watch Karen. You go see some friends, get your head together."

"You miss the city so desperately," he'd added. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Delicious wine," Diana told the bartender now. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Guy over there took care of it."

She looked across the bar to see a well-dressed, older gentleman raising his glass to her. Slightly embarrassed, Diana half raised her own glass and turned away, blushing.

"Fantine?" he said, his eyebrows dancing.

My God, she thought. Victor?

"Afraid not," she said, turning to the window to look at the heavy flirting action on the sidewalk tables.

Was he going to ask her permission to come and join her? And would that be unwelcome or welcome? Unwelcome, she decided. Inappropriate. They barely knew each other, and she was a married woman.

Not just a little married. Larchmont married.

She swiveled back to her left to put on her rejection face. He was sitting next to her.

"I dreamed a dream in time gone by," he was saying. No, singing. Her cheeks went hot.

The bartender was loving it. "Another one, Senator?" he said.

•

Senator? Diana ran through her mental catalogue of senior statesmen from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut. No way. Couldn't be. She would have heard about it. On the other hand, she hadn't exactly been spending hours perusing the New York Times. She no longer had the luxury, and maybe not the brain either. Yesterday she had spent 45 minutes investigating the disappearance of Karen's Elmo cup.

Victor made a gesture and the bartender slipped away. He'd always had this talent, she remembered. People lined up to receive orders from him, and leapt to carry them out. Often to their regret.

"I dreamed that love would never die," he was singing, louder now. Giggles all around the bar. Diana's cheeks were flaming.

"Victor, please don't," she said, and without thinking, she placed a hand over his. "Nice to see you. Are you still an angel?"

And how the hell did you get to be a senator, she restrained herself from adding.

"Ex-angel. Ex-lots-of-things, but it's the broken wings and soiled robes that weigh on me most heavily. What's new with you?" he said, then, annoyingly, answered his own question. "Married, I see. Well-dressed, designer everything. You're drinking at three on a weekday, thus no job, so the husband's doing well. Two kids and three bedrooms in Scarsdale by now, I expect."

"One kid," she said. "And I don't live in Scarsdale."

"Oh," he said. "So how is Larchmont?"

Another glass of wine appeared. Diana looked at it, looked at Victor. And then she smiled.

He continued: "I guess I got your life pretty accurately, so no doubt you'll want to hear about mine. Well, after I failed as a Broadway impresario—"

"Don't," she said. "It was a nice effort." Diana had been understudying doomed Fantine in "Les Misérables" — she had never gone on, spending two entire years in chorus hell, thanks to the titanium vocal chords of the honey-haired Dallas-bred princess ahead of her — when, dangerously bored, she had met Arthur at a party at the Rainbow Room. Sixty-five stories above this very spot.

Arthur was old money Manhattan, venerable as a brownstone, dying to produce his first show. Angels, that's what they called these producers, not financiers, because producers knew the money they sank into a show was likely to stay sunk. Arthur had instantly offered her a big part as the doomed Alice Roosevelt in "Rough Rider," the musical based on the life of Teddy Roosevelt, correctly guessing that she had a weakness for death scenes and the standing ovations that usually came with them. Sex had, of course, ensued. Their affair had lasted three weeks, or two weeks longer than the show. She had ended it. She had definitely been the one to end it — Victor had thrilled her in bed in a way that she was not comfortable exploring for long, but had somehow never forgotten.

Bringing the wine to her lips, she realized that her new glass was already half empty. Nerves, she decided.

Victor called out to the bartender. "Gina, please, more wine for the mother from Larchmont."

"No…"

Gina was already topping off her glass.

"You're wicked, Victor, you know that?"

"Nah, I'm an angel, sweetie. Remember?"

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him looking to the back of her stool to see what the baby had done to her behind.

•

She woke three hours later with a sulfite headache, watching dusk ebb in a room too dark to recognize. As her eyes adjusted to the fading light, she saw the Laura Ashley wallpaper, the opulent mirrors, the mini-bar...

"Damn you, Victor," she said aloud.

He grunted lamely, positively comatose.

She jumped up and began hastily throwing on her clothes. "Well, that hadn't taken long, had it?" she thought. Here she was in the city a little over four hours and already she was reverting to old ways. Thinking of her family, she suddenly felt a wave of self-hatred. "I am loathsome," Diana thought. A terrible wife, unfit mother. "Karen, I'm so sorry!"

There was a knock at the door. She was rendered mute in her panic, but Victor was finally roused.

"Senator?" said a voice from behind the door.

"Yes?" he called back, throat like gravel.

"You have a dinner engagement, sir."

Diana relaxed, recognizing the voice of Victor's bodyguard. She remembered, somewhat humiliatingly, that he had followed them back here to the hotel.

"Five minutes," Victor called back.

Diana picked his pants off the floor and fired them at his chest as he sat up.

"Relax, Fantine. Nothing happened."

"You go to hell," she said. "Is this what you do, Senator, get married women drunk and—"

"You called it off," Victor said emphatically. He was not pleased, but seemed resigned to it now. "You called it off. After that, I don't know. We must have passed out."

"Yes!" she thought. She hadn't done anything.

She would get away with this.

Victor dressed quickly as she fixed her hair. Like many rogues, he had an old-fashioned sense of courtship. So when he suggested they could at least ride the elevator together, then separate in the lobby, she agreed.

As they headed to the door, she asked, "You married, Victor? I realize I never bothered to ask."

He grimaced guiltily — sort of a smirk, really. Diana rolled her eyes.

Victor opened the door, and then, after taking just a step each into the hall, they both gasped in unison.

"Smile, Senator," came a voice from below.

On his knees like a sniper, a photographer fired off five rounds with his camera. Then he turned and was gone.

•

"Um, Victor?" she said. "Who was that?"

"Oh dear," he said, whipping out his Motorola. "Another one of Rodriguez's boys. Or possibly Rodriquez. Bruce?" he said to the phone. "Time to put on your track shoes."

Hustling through the lobby and out under the canopy they watched as a black Town Car with official government plates squealed up to the taxi stand, cutting off two cabbies. The photographer and his motorcycle were already dissolving into the traffic snarl heading toward Central Park South.

"Fancy a chase scene?" Victor asked, yanking Diana into the car.

Bruce was going 30 miles per hour by the time Victor pulled the door shut.

"Don't worry," Victor said, as Bruce the driver reached under his seat and found an amber police light that he stuck on the roof of the car with a magnetic thunk. "Happens all the time. Rules of the sport. This was close, though."

The motorcycle was momentarily sandwiched in between a bus and an illegally-parked FedEx truck. Sometimes the city's lawlessness could be turned to advantage. Especially when you had a whirling light and untouchable license plates.

"What sport?" Diana said, breaking a nail as she gripped her armrest with both hands. What kind of senator got into car chases with women he picked up in bars? Diana was beginning to suspect Victor was some kind of gangster, or maybe a Kennedy.

"Politics, you know. It's a contact sport. Ouch. That's okay, Bruce. We can get another rear view mirror."

"Are you really a senator?" she asked. "From what state?"

"This one!" he said.

"Um, excuse me," said Diana, "You don't look like Hillary Clinton or Chuck Schumer. Or does New York have three senators?"

"Actually, New York has 62 senators," Victor replied. "I'm a state senator. Six months or so in session, about $80,000 a year plus fees for staff, company car, unimpeachable state official license plates. It's really not a bad job. Which is why the Rodriguez boys are miffed. Or possibly Rodriquez."

"And who is Rodriguez?" said Diana, clutching the hand strap over the window and riding the Town Car like a buckaroo as it bounced and jostled through the urban rodeo, over potholes, curbs, perhaps small children. Going up Central Park West now, the motorcylist was in the clear, but the Town Car was thundering after him like Zeus chasing a faun through the forest.

"Well, my state senate district in Queens is about 40 percent Irish, 60 percent Hispanic. My opponent was Angel Rodriguez. Unfair advantage, really.

"That's why I asked Alejandro Rodriguez to join the great American political process and make his maiden run for political office, which as I pointed out to him, could involve a significant increase in salary over his job as busboy. It wasn't my idea that the ballots should be in alphabetical order. And when Bruce found a guy named Angel Rodriquez working at a car wash, we thought he might be persuaded to make a run for it too. Long story short, I won, with Angel Rodriquez a surprisingly strong second."

"And the guy who held the seat before you?" Diana said, who was discovering that things looked nicer with her hands over her eyes.

"A disappointing fourth," Victor said with a shrug. "Voters can be so fickle. Anyway, now former state senator Angel Rodriguez wants to smear me in time for the election this fall — ignore that red light Bruce, it'll be fine, those kids will hop out of the way by the time we get there — and former car wash attendant Angel Rodriquez, who in my opinion is less than grateful for all we've done to advance his political career, has gained a taste for statesmanship since I only beat him by 350 votes. But this election is all about jobs. Bruce needs a job, and I need one too. Ah," he said, nodding with admiration as the car made a savage left onto 79th.

Despite his skills, though, Bruce did not stop the photographer; it was the pretzel cart that did that. Being pushed across 79th Street by a weary-looking vendor, the cart provided the paparazzo with a spectacularly doughy end to the day's work. The pretzel guy ran around madly, his mustache flapping in time with his shouts. Three teenage white boys in gangsta regalia helped themselves to pretzels from the cart's storage bin and stood munching over the fallen shutterbug, asking without interest if he was all right. The photographer, his leg pinned by the toppled cart, moaned obscenities to the effect that he was very far from all right, calling for medical attention and a pretzel. Bruce got out of the Town Car and walked up to his foe. He took away his camera but gave him a pretzel.

"So," said Victor, patting Diana on the hand. "What time is your train to Scarsdale?"

"Larchmont," said Diana with a growl. How she missed it. And didn't.

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=196 0 Publisher’s Weekly on Gotham Tragic http://mommaty.com/?p=201 http://mommaty.com/?p=201#comments Mon, 23 Feb 2004 04:35:29 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=201 Wenzel's funny, acerbic second novel chronicles the bubble period of the late 1990s in New York, a time when the city was awash in money, CEOs were still masters of the universe and restaurants were the new nightclub. The star of the book is Kyle Clayton, a New York writer with a bestselling novel under [...]]]> Wenzel's funny, acerbic second novel chronicles the bubble period of the late 1990s in New York, a time when the city was awash in money, CEOs were still masters of the universe and restaurants were the new nightclub. The star of the book is Kyle Clayton, a New York writer with a bestselling novel under his belt (he was also the hero of Wenzel's first novel, the witty Lit Life). But Clayton's literary star has fallen since his acclaimed debut, and the former playboy has married a Turkish woman and converted to Islam, something that pleases the Muslim staff of City, a swank eatery where Clayton now spends much of his time. One of the owners of the restaurant is multimillionaire Lonny Tumin, a businessman a few years past his prime (he's a virtual carbon copy of Tom Wolfe's character Charles Croker from A Man in Full). Erin Wyatt, a beautiful aspiring actress whom Clayton had a brief affair with years ago, is now a waitress at City, and she manages to catch the eye of both Clayton and Tumin. A fatwa, a bogus IPO and a manuscript rumored to prove the existence of God fuel Wenzel's clockwork plot. Satirizing Manhattan while also providing an inside glimpse of some of its most powerful players, this sprawling, ambitious novel is mostly entertaining and smartly written, despite an occasional smugness and Wenzel's juvenile wordplay (for instance, a young Asian woman is named Wey Tu Yong). A too-quick resolution, along with some improbable plot twists-not to mention a saccharine happy ending at odds with the tone of the rest of the story-aren't enough to spoil the fun promised by this irrepressible and highly entertaining novel.

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=201 0 Corrosive Characters in Two Novels About Journalists – The NY Times http://mommaty.com/?p=204 http://mommaty.com/?p=204#comments Thu, 12 Feb 2004 04:37:48 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=204 BOOKS OF THE TIMES - The New York Times Corrosive Characters in Two Novels About Journalists By JANET MASLIN LOVE MONKEY By Kyle Smith 336 pages. William Morrow. $23.95. GOTHAM TRAGIC By Kurt Wenzel 312 pages. Little, Brown & Company. $23.95. The skirt-chasing jerk at the center of Kyle Smith's first novel is self-centered, cynical, royally obnoxious at some times and soggily sincere at [...]]]> BOOKS OF THE TIMES - The New York Times
Corrosive Characters in Two Novels About Journalists
By JANET MASLIN
LOVE MONKEY
By Kyle Smith
336 pages. William Morrow. $23.95.

GOTHAM TRAGIC
By Kurt Wenzel
312 pages. Little, Brown & Company. $23.95.
The skirt-chasing jerk at the center of Kyle Smith's first novel is self-centered, cynical, royally obnoxious at some times and soggily sincere at others. Of course these attributes are actually selling points among commercial novels about the dating woes of hyperadorable young women. If men deserve equal time in this inch-deep genre, Mr. Smith earns his place with an unstoppable string of glib but hilarious wisecracks. He's a whole lot funnier than he deserves to be.

Kyle SmithMr. Smith, according to a biographical note, "divides his time between the front room of his apartment and the back room of his apartment in New York City." He also edits the book and movie reviews at People magazine, which may explain the professional milieu in which the hero of "Love Monkey" dwells. The hero, Tom Farrell, works for a tabloid newspaper where "every day is spent abusing three drugs: caffeine, MSG and information."

What does he do there? "Just minding my own business," he explains. "Actually, I'm minding the business of celebrities and criminals."

In his leisure hours Tom's "most time-consuming hobby is collecting ex-girlfriends." And this book follows him through the process of chasing and estranging a few of them. There is one romantic prospect named Julia with whom he is particularly smitten, which leads to moments of highly uncharacteristic tenderness from Tom. "Do you ever wish," Julia asks Tom at one of the book's mushier junctures, "that we could skip over this part?" Well, yes.

That's because Mr. Smith's more frequent mode here is to spin off a nightclub act's worth of quips. "When did I last push anything heavier than my luck?" he asks when contemplating weight-lifting at the gym. "For me, every recipe begins the same way: disable all alarms," he says about cooking. And one unhappily married man in the book declares of his spouse: "She's a trophy wife. A Westminster Kennel Club trophy." As a man who sees serious parallels between his own life and Bugs Bunny cartoons, Tom will appeal to a relatively narrow readership. But his mordant, masculine view of the single life in Manhattan is more amusing than most. ("She's 5 minutes late. Which in girl time is 10 minutes early.") And his perspective on tabloid journalism is nothing if not sharp. "The most dangerous place in New York," he writes, "is between a thirsty hack and a bar."

In the course of "Love Monkey" Tom occasionally turns his hand to reviewing. Since his newspaper's longtime film critic seldom sees anything longer than a trailer, Tom's services are a definite improvement. When it comes to reviewing David McCullough's biography of John Adams, though, he finds it much more convenient to look up Nexis clips of other reviews than to do any actual reading. "No one's ever going to accuse you of not having read the book if your review is a valentine."

Proof that "Love Monkey" has been read: this effervescent if occasionally sophomoric novel winds up curdling over one serious misjudgment. The story's time span includes Sept. 11, 2001, and has a cynicism-free account of journalists scrambling to make sense of what they've seen. But then a day or two passes, and Tom essentially forgets all about this. He's back to worrying about his career and his sex life, but it's not that easy. The book, thus sobered, never successfully gets back onto a lighthearted track.

On a big expense account and a lucky day, Tom Farrell might make his way into City, the restaurant around which Kurt Wenzel's second novel, "Gotham Tragic," revolves. City is an elitist watering hole that caters to high rollers. Boorish behavior is tolerated and even encouraged here, since it indicates that the liquor charges will be sky-high. Many of the book's characters are low-ranking members of the City staff, and they are Muslims. The waiters here constitute what the book calls a Bengali Mafia.

Kurt WenzelEnter Kyle Clayton, the caustic hero of Mr. Wenzel's extremely winning first novel, "Lit Life." Kyle is a patron at City but just barely: his stock in the New York literary universe remains dangerously low. He once wrote a book so popular that everyone who's anyone still hates him. Now he is "Kyle Clayton, centerpiece of scorn, prey to a thousand Page 6 drop kicks." And he is also a converted Muslim.

Mr. Wenzel's more strained but still sharp-eyed book describes what happens when Kyle, who adopted the faith of his Turkish wife, Ayla (even though he refers to her father as an Ottoman ogre), draws desperately on his religion for material. He writes a magazine article called "The Counterfeit Conversion" to stay afloat. Quicker than you can say "jihad," Kyle has made enemies on all sides of this darkly sardonic story, which also features a rich, loutish mogul ready for his Tom Wolfe close-up. Mr. Wenzel's social satire isn't that acute, but he clearly knows whereof he speaks.

"Gotham Tragic" winds up manipulating its corrosive characters onto a collision course, where the book's financial inequities, literary ambitions, sexual betrayals and religious disparities finally explode. It isn't easy to pull a happy ending out of this mélange, but Mr. Wenzel nonetheless tries. And he, too, invokes the World Trade Center, this time as an elaborate ice sculpture that decorates an outrageous turn-of-the-millennium party at the restaurant. In every sense it signals the meltdown to come.

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=204 0 In the Drink With GbV http://mommaty.com/?p=219 http://mommaty.com/?p=219#comments Wed, 02 Oct 2002 04:57:24 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=219 bobgreatOriginally published on Privy Magazine Due to popular demand, here is the interview that my husband, Kurt Wenzel, wrote when we interviewed Bob Pollard and Guided by Voices: IN THE DRINK WITH GbV Dinner with Guided By Voices? Dinner with GBV? This is the daunting and unlikely prospect we are confronted with on a recent night in NYC. On [...]]]> Originally published on Privy Magazine

Due to popular demand, here is the interview that my husband, Kurt Wenzel, wrote when we interviewed Bob Pollard and Guided by Voices:

IN THE DRINK WITH GbV

bobgreat

Dinner with Guided By Voices? Dinner with GBV?

This is the daunting and unlikely prospect we are confronted with on a recent night in NYC. On behalf of Privy Magazine, my wife, Ty and I have requested an interview with indie-legend Bob Pollard. What better way, we ask, to launch the debut issue of a magazine dedicated to celebrating unsung art heroes than with the lead singer of the best and most unsung rock band on Earth? After much friendly give and take (picture it: hitting your answering machine and hearing, "Uh, this is Bob Pollard, I got a message saying...") we decide that a phone interview just won't do, and something more intimate is in order. Then, much to our fortunate surprise, we learn that the band just happens to be in town the following week for a private show! And so, somehow, dinner is planned. How this happens we are not quite sure. A joke is made and taken seriously; a suggestion is made and then upped - it doesn't matter: We are having dinner with Guided By Voices of Dayton, Ohio. The whole band. Yes, dinner, at our least favorite, but their most beloved, restaurant in NYC, La Mela; in the heart of what is left of what is still known as Little Italy.

We are having dinner with Guided By Voices, and we are a little frightened.

The night of the interview we prepare by sipping Red Stripes for courage in my Little Italy apartment, listening to "Tonics and Twisted Chasers", a collection of GBV out-takes. There are three of us: Guillermo, Ty and myself. We are strangely quiet, and an air of the ominous hangs over the proceedings. If you've ever seen GBV live, you cannot blame our trepidation. This is Guided By Voices, folks, the band that has a roadie strictly in charge of beer; that has a tub of iced Budweiser in front of the drum kit at all times, as familiar and omnipresent as another instrument. The band whom when they hit the stage you can tell have been drinking since sound check. The one with the lead singer who has perfected the art of continuing to sing though he has fallen through a wall of amps and is lying flat on his back in a puddle of suds. The band that brings the "family size" Jack Daniels on stage - and finishes it.

My God, what have we done?

bobtonys

Drinks, we think. Drinks with GBV - that would have made sense. A bar. A controlled environment, a drinking environment. But dinner - Jesus! We'll get thrown out - this, we think, is inevitable. There'll be gnocchi fights, bottles of beer flying like boomerangs. Law suits. Table clothes on fire. La Mela in cinders. (Only this last thought can make us smile).

We look at each other, check our watches. It is time. We amble down Mulberry Street, sweaty-palmed and silent, prepared for drunkenness and disorder. For carousing and chaos. For anarchy and -

Ah, but what do we find? Four quiet and unassuming gents smoking cigarettes and waiting patiently for our arrival. By God they are early, and clearly sober. Friendly too, though dare I say a little shy? And hell, yes, even on second inspection.... sober. And so of course now we are confronted with our own naiveté, our own taste of the rock and roll illusion: The one of rowdy wild-men Gods, debauched untouchables, needles hanging from their arms as they are interviewed, barfing on your tape recorder...

We have been duped. We have seen one Behind the Music too many. GBV are pleasant, mild-mannered young fellows.

We are escorted to a table for ten, magnums of red and white wine open, waiting for us. Bob acts instantly as sommelier, pouring before anyone can sit down.

The night, I am reminded, is young.

* * *

Back now to1994. The year of reunion tours and their inflated prices. Tickets for shows were going for $40, $60, $100. But for those of you lucky enough to be there at Irving Plaza, NYC, for the Guided by Voices, Alien Lanes tour, $10 got you two and half hours with the greatest band in the world. $10! For they were, at that moment, the greatest, the coolest band in universe - and everybody who saw that show knew it. I remember knowing so little about them that night. It was the joy of pure discovery. I'd read a good review of Alien Lanes and picked it up. The album had just began to take hold of me, it having needed more than a few spins to get into. (And here is the secret to GBV, and, perhaps, all good music: be wary of stuff you like on the first try.) On first listen, Alien Lanes seemed esoteric, and, worst of all, ironic, which was, to me, the bane of rock in those years. The too-cool-to-rock deconstructionist garage college-punk bands. Weezer being the unfortunate model of the form.

So we went in blind, Guillermo and I. A kind of lark. Ten bucks, we thought. How bad could it be?

Isolation DrillsAnd then out comes Bob Pollard. Having no idea what these guys were supposed to look like I thought for sure he was a roadie, this dude with his corduroy slacks and untucked striped shirt straight from your local Chess King. Obviously he was not a rock star. He had a cigarette and a Bud long-neck in the same hand, while high-fiving the front row of fans with the other. Yes, a roadie, I thought. The rowdy one whose job it was to rev up the fans. Then he grabbed the mic, and the band took their places. An intrepid fan, I was thinking now; I must have missed him sneaking up on stage. As I waited for security to hall him off they kicked into Over the Neptune...

And wow! I remember looking at Guillermo halfway through the song, him nodding back at me, both of us knowing right away that this was it, that we had stumbled across something extraordinary. The set heated up, one song right after the other. Just as one two minute classic was ending, Bob would scream "one two three four!" and they would crash right into another. No, these were not the most accomplished players in the world, but fuck did they rock. The lyrics were inventive, intelligent without being artful or too worked over. Yes, we decided then, this was it. The great void that had been left after the demise of the Pixies and the Replacements was being filled. This was the new shit.

For a while, that seemed to be the pinnacle. The album Under the Bushes, Under the Stars was the last with the old band. The GBV lineup changed a year later. The results were mixed. The album Mag Earwig had great things on it, but seemed diffused, disparate. A free concert in Central Park seemed flat. The new band has no camaraderie, we complained. We missed Tobin Sprout's effete vocals, a great foil to Bob's bombast. Sure, we knew Mitch Mitchell couldn't play guitar much past power cords, but does Doug Gillard seem a little aloof? The band, the group of rag-tags from Nowheresville, Ohio, pumping out classic albums from the basement is over. It is done... Or so we thought.

kiss

Back at dinner, the wine moves fast. Before the bread can arrive, the half magnum on our side of the table (no vouching for the other side) is almost gone. Bob, of course, is leading the charge. And here the first Bob Pollard Fun Fact is revealed. Are you ready? Drum roll ladies and gentlemen... Bob is shy. The drunken louche you have seen lolling about on stage, preening and pumping his fist at you, is actually quite reserved and bashful in person.

I, for example, have the tape recorder on, clicking away with my camera. Guillermo, Privy Mag's very own walking music encyclopedia, has jumped right into the "questions" period, but Bob, we notice, cannot look him in the eye. Nor can I get him to pick his head up for a few photos. At first we take this for remoteness. Who are these New York smarties looking at me? we see him thinking. Judging me. But no, it's quickly revealed that Bob is shy and the drinking is to make himself comfortable, to quell self-consciousness. The tub of beer on stage, I now realize, is to get Bob through the show.

I can't socialize, Bob sings on As We Go Up We Go Down, I'll be institutionalized.

They have driven up from Dayton in a minivan, via a quick stop in Cleveland to pick up guitarists Nate Farley and Doug.Gillard. As Bob tips the magnum of red once again, I ask him if there is ever a time when he is not in the mood to drink before a show.

"One time," he says, eyeing the tray of appetizers as they're set down. "There was one show where I didn't drink, it felt really weird. I think the audience felt like they were being cheated somehow."

Doug amends this idea. "It's kind of part of the show," he says. "They like this idea that it's one big party."

Yes, I think. Beyond the songs, part of the greatness of GBV's live shows is the feeling that it's a big party, a party you're invited to. I've seen Bob give out many a beer over the years to some thirsty folks in the front row.

This party atmosphere though has occasionally gotten GBV - and more specifically, Bob - into some trouble. Especially with the bands they've toured with. They were booted from a show in Austin for heckling the opening band. Cheap Trick, whom they played with for part of the Do the Collapse tour, often lectured them about their drinking, and lead singer Robin Zander seemed none-too amused when a loaded-up Bob came out during the Trick's set at the Hammerstein Ballroom for an unrehearsed duet of "Surrender".

And then a few years back, there was the incident with Urge Overkill, another band they toured with. Something about GBV not knowing it's place.

"Their roadies started gettin' on me about whose stage it was," Bob told us. "They pushed me, then I pushed back, then they beat the shit out of me. I was fuckin' drunk, man." He smiles a little bit as he tells us this. "We didn't know our place, you know."

I think I understand this smile. It's of a man pleased to be a part of something, to be continuing the spirit of unpredictability which is so sorely missing from music. No need to lecture here on the prefabrication, the sterility of contemporary rock and its practitioners, but instead to praise those who avoid it, and for whom operating within those confines is just not worth the ride.

"Another red, please," someone asks the waiter. I finally get Bob to mug for a picture, playfully giving the lens the finger as he does. They're out of red at the other side of the table, and so Nate Farley - who is really the bands biggest partier - begins swigging the white wine right from the bottle. Things are going well, we think. Things are getting looser.

The question of the new GBV , though, the new lineup, still hovers over the table. We can feel it. As always - and deservedly - Bob is fielding most of the questions. Nate and Tim are relatively quiet (the drummer, Jim MacPherson is to fly out tomorrow we are told). But Doug Gillard is very friendly and talkative, which is welcome and perhaps a little surprising; we had guessed him the quiet one in the band. He punctuates a lot of Bob's answers, and in his assertiveness I see a point being made, subtly by firmly. This is not simply the Bob Pollard show, he is saying. This is a band. I am a part, and integral part of Guided By Voices.

And of course he's right. Anyone who has listened to Do the Collapse can tell that whereas Bob Pollard wrote most of the guitar music for the old GBV, Doug Gillard is the man now. In fact, Pollard's last solo effort, Speak Kindly Of Your Local Fire Department, is actually co-credited with the guitarist. The album - an absolute must for all GBV fans - is filled with blistering licks the likes of which we know Mitch Mitchell was never capable, love him though we did. (Check out the track Slick as Snails, if you don't believe me. It's as crisp a lead as you will hear in music this year).

"What about the old lineup?" I ask Bob, and as I do, I notice Doug straighten up a bit in his chair. It's a sensitive topic, I know, but I can't help it, I really want to know what's happened to the old guys, the where-are-they-now thing.

"They're doing okay," Bob begins. "Toby's got his solo stuff, and Mitch has got his own band now. Mitch Mitchell and the Terrible Experience."

"How is it?" we ask.

"It's alright," Bob says enthusiastically. "You know, it rocks pretty good. Kevin Fennel on the other hand..."

"Oh, yeah, Kevin," Doug says.

We are told that Kevin Fennel, the drummer of the band's yesteryears, has found God. Fair enough, we all agree - good for him - except Bob goes on to tell us that he has renounced GBV as "the Devil's work". We look at Bob dumfounded. Then one of us laughs - we think he must be kidding. But no, Doug reaffirms this. The "Devils work", he repeats. This seems astounding to us for a number of reasons, especially since we've seen the very cool documentary of GBV called Watch Me Jumpstart. There the interviews with Kevin show him as perhaps the most gung-ho of all the band members, and certainly the most romantic, speaking eloquently of his "rock and roll dream", which was finally being fulfilled with GBV.

Bizarre we all agree. Doug fidgets, and then, sensing the potential minefields that lay ahead in pursuing this territory, we move on to other things.

Doug and I talk briefly about the Replacements - "I loved the Replacements," Bob chimes in, but were "pussies" for not being able to drink and play at the same time - Gillard telling me a story about the late Bob Stinson. Doug was playing with his very first band, he tells me, and after the gig he was approached by the Replacement's guitarist who let him know how much he liked Doug's work.

"I was nineteen at the time," Gillard tells me. "You can imagine how much that meant to me."

Yes indeed, I tell him, I can imagine.

Still, I can't help thinking there is a sub text to this story. All the while now, I believe Doug is thinking something else. There is a question in his mind, and it is only a matter of time - perhaps after a few more drinks - until he pops it.

* * *

Rob Pollard is the most prolific songwriter in rock, hands down. In an off year, fans can expect at least two albums, one GBV record and one solo. Then there are the B-side compilations (the best, in my opinion, is Tonics and Twisted Chasers. A real find.) All told, Bob estimates that he as written over 5,000 songs. Yes, folks, that's right. Five thousand songs. Just last year we had Collapse, Fireman, and the brilliant Ask Them, by the Pollard-led Lexo and the Leapers. A startlingly fecund year for any artist.

Now, coming in September we are given Suitcase. A box set of no less than 100 new songs. 100! It's almost hard to believe. These are out-takes going pretty far back - way back, in fact; "There's something on there from my high school days," Bob says, though we don't know whether this fact is charming, or something we should be wary of.. No doubt there will be many throwaways and so-so demos of what became better songs, but also there will surely be the diamonds in the rough, the jewels that are too good to pass up. Though Bob has a routine - the morning coffee, a pencil and notepad - he can write songs anywhere, we are told. Driving in a car, brushing his teeth. Sitting in a bar...

I want to live the Lit Life. The Lit Life...

After dinner the entire gang goes across Mulberry Street to Tony's, a simple bar that I know they like because it reminds them of their more familiar watering holes back in Ohio. Nate buys the shots - Tequila for the band (To-killya, Bob jokes), bourbon for the New Yorkers. And after a few rounds Bob hears that Kurt will be publishing a novel next year called Lit Life, which he immediately turns into a song. The hand goes up for the air-mic, and off he goes, "I want to live the Lit Life. Ev-er-y night, the Lit Life." The lyrics are strangely appropriate, and a song I fully expect to see on next Suitcase II.

And, I fantasize, it will be a favorite of Ray Davies. The former Kink's front man is a big GBV fan."Yeah," Bob says, "I heard this through the grapevine. When Ray wants to get his Beatles fix on he listens to Guided By Voices." Bob is obviously pleased by this, we can see. And why not? At Tony's bar, he mentions the Kinks and the Beatles as two of his favorites, along with The Who, REM., and perhaps most unlikely, Genesis (the Peter Gabriel years).

Movies, though, are not an influence. Especially - and nor here is Bob Pollard Fun Fact #2 - Bob is not into horror movies.

"Don't like 'em," says Pollard. He downs another To-killya and chases it with a sip of Bud, then admits to us that he has always disliked the films of Hitchcock, for example, and finds the images of horror in films upsetting; even traumatizing. "Horror is more pernicious than pornography," he cites.

This surprises us, we tell him, since many of his lyrics have elements of horror imagery. We sight Smothered in Hugs, among others.

But these are his nightmares, he tells us, and writing them is a way of purging them.

His favorite film of last year?

"Flawless," Bob says.

Flawless? We rack our memories. He doesn't mean the one with Phillip Seymour Hoffman in drag, DeNiro as the homophobe. He couldn't...

"That's the one," he says, straight-faced. "Hilarious."

We dispose with yet another tray of Nate's shots, then and are back out on the street, wandering through the Lower East Side to a bar Mr. Farley has in mind. He lived on Rivington Street a few years back and wants to say hello to an old bartender friend at the Parkside Lounge. It's around 2a.m. by now, and this has to be the last stop, as I'm living the Lit Life right now, I think, feeling groggy from drink as we shoo away shoebox-sized rats that scoot out in front of us as we walk.

At the Parkside, I ask Nate and Tim if they can make a living from GBV. Yes, a slightly trashy inquiry, but then I've always been curious to know what the money is like in a mid-sized act like GBV (Haven't you?). Tim and Nate are forthcoming, agreeing that the dough is not great, but they get by, sometimes taking an extra gig hear and there. Nate even does a little bouncer work from time to time. They both are looking forward to the new album, set to record some time in March. Hope springs eternal: They're both sure this is the one.

Then Doug sits down next to me. He's not through with me yet. There's that question he has for me. That bone he has to pick.

We continue on as friendly as ever. Chummy as Bob is, by now I'm thinking that Doug Gillard is hardly aloof at all, is in fact the most approachable guy in the band, the one most likely to become your buddy. He is not content to simply let you fire questions at him - he is actually interested in you, in what your doing. He asks me about my book, where I live, tells me about his side project, Gem, which I know I will look into. And then, because we are drunk, we begin to talk about guilty pleasure artists.

He mentions Cat Stevens. A brave move which I happen to agree with, and so I try to top him with Marshall Crenshaw. But nothing doing, he loves Crenshaw too.

"Downtown is a good album," I say.

"Try Mary Jean", he says. "Even better."

Nate is acting as barman here too, and another beer appears in my hand along with one for Doug. This reminds us that it's men's room time, and as Doug and I tack on to the back of the line, we find Guillermo there, one man ahead.

Now, having us both in his clutches, Doug springs it on us, the question he's been wanting to ask since dinner - the question he probably would like to ask all longtime GBV fans, and it is so honest and direct that we are taken unawares.

"You guys preferred the old lineup, didn't you?"

Doug has directed this arrow more towards Guillermo than me, so I turn away, pretending I didn't hear. There is a moment of quiet, and then Guillermo, God bless him, turns and looks Doug in the eye and tells him the absolute truth, speaking for both of us, echoing an opinion we have agreed upon for many months now.

"I did," he tells Doug, "until I saw the Irving Plaza show last January. That show blew me away. That was the best GBV ever."

How true, I think, though at the time I didn't think it was possible. Though we loved Do the Collapse, we went in to that last show skeptical, almost as a kind of 'for old-time's sake'. After Central Park we'd all but given up.

But we ate crow that night. It was, no kidding, the most rocking two hours I have ever seen, a new precedent, the best Guided By Voices show ever. GBV fans talk of it in hushed tones, the stuff of legend. It has all come together, we discover, everything has jelled. Bob was in all his sodden glory that night, his voice richer than ever, and he even added to his repertoire a good fifteen minutes of stand-up shtick late in the show, cracking jokes and goofing off extemporaneously. The band, especially Doug's guitar and Jim's drumming was superb. And, of course, debauchery reigned, especially when Nate bowed out of the last few songs letting whomever could reach play his guitar and sharing his family-size Jack bottle with everyone in the front row.

We are won over, GBV is better than ever. An awesome night.

We tell Doug all this and he smiles a little, and then I know it's time to go home. All business is finished. The night is complete.

* * *

The next evening is a private gig at the Bowery Ballroom. Rumor has it that the last time GBV played here Bob was a little too drunk, having fallen through the drum kit and causing a twenty minute delay. Sorry we missed it.

This night though, feels a little different. An invite-only show, the room is filled with dot-commers and not the usual band of GBV fanatics that give their shows that great energy. Still, the tub of Budweiser is delivered on stage, and Nate Farley comes out swigging from the 'family size' Jack. As he plugs in, he leans down to my wife, gives her a peck, quickly reminiscing about last night, telling us that he went out after we all left the Parkside, drinking somewhere else until dawn. At this we don't even blink.

The concert confirms our feelings of the 'new' GBV. The show is great, loose and confident. It's a shame that the room is only 3/4 full, but then it's nice to be able to walk right up to the stage. It's open bar, and Bob urges the audience to drink up, to take advantage, though we are shying away tonight; just one or two to break last night's spell. They play a half of Collapse and Fireman, and of course some old goodies, then close with 'Baba O'Reilly', the first cover we've ever heard from them. And it packs a wallop! Bob's vocals positively out-Daltrey Daltrey. What a voice, we think.

After the show the dressing room is tight, cluttered with pizza boxes and more tubs of iced beer. Obviously the night for GBV is just beginning, though it's time for us to say goodbye. Bob stands up and gives me a sweaty, alcohol-laced, hug and kiss (I swear to everyone that I'll never bathe again), then I shake with Nate and Tim.

Then Doug comes over, thanking us for last night's dinner. He tells us he had a good time, which we choose to believe. The new album is due in Marsh, he reminds us, maybe GBV will be back in the spring and we can get together again. I shake his hand, hoping this will happen.

Walking home, sounds of the show still echoing in my ears, I realize I haven't thought about the old GBV for a long time now. Mitch and Toby and Kevin seem a lifetime away. Another era, another band.

Instead I just choose to think of Guided By Voices, such as it is, and their coming album, and how they kick ass, and how lucky we all are to have them.

Q&A by Guillermo Nanni

bobguybest

Guided by Voices is an entity in the mind of Robert Pollard. Some say it is a band, a rock band. Guided by Voices has always been the figment of Mr. Pollard's imagination. And what an imagination! Through several line up changes, Bob is the only one to remain on the ship. That is because it is his to captain. Any doubts? In 1999 he produced 4 albums and 1 ep's worth of material. Only one bore the GbV logo, the rest are solo albums and/or other figments of his imagination; Lexo & the Leapers, "Ask Them" for example. These multiple outputs stem from his prolific song writing and his association with recordhead/LUNA music (IN) & Rockathon Records (OH). Having a website (GBV.com) also helps. So if his major label TVT (NY) is not interested, the stuff comes out anyway. This is post-Matador Pollard,

gone are the alternate releases between solo and group material. Since he no longer has to teach 4th graders, his output has increased dramatically. And if you measure him by what GbV releases, throw away that grade school ruler and break out your industrial measuring tape.

Whether your talking to GbV, Lexo, Nightwalker, Crabmeat Izreal or the Grand Poo-Bah of the Monument Club, you are talking to Bob. Bob, from Dayton Ohio, a/k/a "the land of good dudes". It seems this place is his wellspring of inspiration and that moving on up in typical rock star fashion is not his modus operandi. Then again Bob is not your typical rock star. Mr. Pollard is more of a "stay at home" type. We like our rock stars to live on the edge or at least a life that most of us don't get a chance to live. Where do you think most artists get their inspiration? Some say drugs, booze, etc. But it is the limb they choose to climb on, the unconventional life, that gives most creative types their inspirations. Grow up in some mundane small town, escape it through their musical abilities, transform yourself into something you once dreamed of being, live on the road, never settle in one place, flirt with death, etc. Mr. Pollard and his band have stayed right where they are. We get the better end of the deal through their endlessly inspired music.

Although there have been several line up changes, Bob and his circle are close. This comes with his deep roots and his willingness to stay mostly with the local color. Many of the photos in his cd's feature snapshots of several "good dudes" who aren't musically in the band, but are closer to the spirit of the GbV than most other bands are to their music. This in the current climate of music is such a breath of fresh air that you might just start to hyperventilate. Music is still a relationship between artist and listener, this seems to be the deal for Bob. Keep it simple, don't kill the music. Asked if he ever had writer's block, "Nah, I'm always at least an album ahead... No! Fuck it, fuck writers block!". Not fashion conscious, not video conscious, etc., might relegate GbV and Bob to the basement of the current music business. But, as you can see in the photos inside the last GbV realease "Do the Collapse", being the janitors suits them just fine as long as they can continue to rock out with their cock out.

Q-Lexo & the Leapers was a great and overlooked cd from last year. Is there any of that material that you want to re-release under the GbV flag?

Bob- Yeah, "Fair Touching". It deserves a better quality recording. I like that cd very much as it is. We practically recorded it live, with vocal overdubs.

Q-Last year you toured with cheap trick. It was strange seeing you as an opening act.

Bob- We got to play for 75 minutes, it was sort of like a double bill. Overall though I would rather not open.

Q-You seemed to have some interaction though, you joined them for a song if I remember correctly.

Bob-Yeah well they were not too crazy about that. I was not invited, I just went up on my own. I think I spilled beer on one of them. They tried to be nice in a fatherly, veteran kind of way.

Q-When you're on the road how do you handle the music selection of what you all listen too?

Bob- Well we're pretty democratic about it, with similar taste. We listen to Jimmy Webb or the "quiet tape" (no music at all).

Q-How do you fit in with the music that comes out from the mid-west?

Bob-Well, Ohio seems to produce different bands; Devo, Pere Ubu, they say there is something in the water. But for us in particular, we just didn't have anything to go on. We pretty much kept ourselves in the basement, doing our own thing. It always seemed pretty derivative of other things, but there were so many influences that went into what we did, that eventually it sort of twisted itself around into something original.

Q-You seem to be a great fan of music. Your music shows the multitudes of songs that you yourself have listened to and your influences show through. Most artists have one or two major influences you seem to have steady stream of twenty.

Bob- Yeah, its really hard to pinpoint the influences. Since I'm 42 years old and I started out listening to Mersy Beat, bubblegum and 60's pop, then I went through all the musical eras from there and picked up on anything that was good. Glam Rock, Psychedelic through Punk and Post-Punk. Although when punk first hit I have to admit it did not grab me in quite the same way that the Post-Punk era did; Wire, Devo & XTC. Some people like to pigeon hole us as a sixties band and that's just not true because there are too many things going into the music we make. I was a pretty avid listener through 1980, after that it gets pretty spotty. Early R.E.M. was great, though. Besides the obvious 60's melodic influence, Peter Gabriel era of Genesis was a huge lyrical influence with his stream of consciousness, far out style, as were Bowie and Lennon's use of surreal imagery. Wire and were also a giant influence, "154" is a great album. Those post punk bands are what really shaped my songwriting, it was a total revelation to me.

Q-How do you write your songs? Do you start with music first?

Bob-I have used different techniques in the past, but right now I tend to start more with words. Before I used to brainstorm with song titles and come up with pages of titles and then go back over it pick the choice ones and then work lyrics with a particular title. That's how I worked up on through "Do the Collapse". Sometimes a melody will come first but that is a more difficult way to go about it. I write lyrics on coffee a lot of the time. For me the harder and more complicated the lyric, the easier it is for me to remember when I'm singing it live at a show. I don't find it necessary for it to make sense. People can interpret it themselves. For the new cd I have 15 songs and that is it, no added tracks like "Under the bushes...". I have more focus and direction going into recording this record than I've ever had. We're going into the studio to record it sometime in October, it will be called "Broadcaster House". Some of the

song titles are; 'Keep it Coming', 'Skills like this', 'North American Vampire' and 'Twilight Campfighter'. You see, I write lyrics first now, because I've learned how to sing these words. I've learned how to take a

good lyric and sing it. This time around, on the new album, the songs are more poetic. Lyrically it is much better.

Q- Do you have a release date?

Bob- hopefully February or March.

Q-In September a new box set of solo Bob Pollard comes out. "Suitcase-'Trashed Aircraft & Failed Experiments'" features 100 songs over 4 cd's. How far back does this material go?

Bob- Well there is one song I did in high school in the mid-seventies. Its ridiculous. Its embarrassing, I figure what the hell. You know I was embarrassed when the original GbV box set came out, because at the time I figured that we were a much better band and I did not want people to hear that, but there were enough interested people that in hindsight, it was not that embarrassing. On "Suitcase" however, there is some real embarrassing stuff but its funny, its humorous, it just about covers every style of rock music in the rock genre that you can cover. On a couple of songs Mitch Mitchell sings lead. The title is a reference to the suitcase you keep under the bed, filled with stuff that you don't want people to see, but that's part of the fun. Every fidelity also is represented , from the lowest to..., for example there's a song on there called "Mr. McCaslin will sell no more flowers" and I did it on two really cheap tape recorders. You know when you record yourself on one tape recorder and then play it and then record on the second recorder what was playing before. That's the lowest fidelity and it actually goes up to some 24track recordings we did. Its by far the strangest thing we've ever done. It's hard to get through it. It's the kind of thing where you're going to have a party with a bunch of people who like GbV and we're going to get stoned or drunk and listen to it. Or by yourself. I'm not saying its wine and candle light stuff. There's also an abridged version called "Briefcase-'Drinks & Deliveries'" with an abbreviated selection of nineteen tracks.

Q-When you're doing a new album are you going to the well and drawing on old stuff?

Bob-I always do occasionally go to the well and rework a song or just one line from a song or steal a bridge or a finale from an old song. I usually go with fresh stuff and sometimes something old will pop up. My solo albums come together a lot quicker. I have a bunch of new songs and bam that's it. As to where with Guided by Voices albums, it takes a lot longer to make and occasionally I'll go to the well. On "Do the Collapse" 'Teenage FBI' is an old song. The original is shorter and rougher.

Q-On your earlier albums was the low-fi thing by design or just a necessity?

Bob-Well we would spend all this time in studios in Dayton, spend money and it would always sound like shit. At the same time we started to experiment with 4track and it sounded good but I thought it just didn't have enough quality to be a record. Then after a while, I liked that, that sounds good I'm sticking with that. To me it sounded more immediate, it sounded more like the way it sounds in your head. There's not a whole lot of sounds of instruments competeting with each other, because you got that noise from the tape hiss and that causes it to be bright so you hear really bright sound quality. Its not radio friendly but to me, my ears are kinda worn from the high end stuff , so it sounds good to me. We did'nt start this because it was "low-fi", it just sounded good to us. The strange thing is on "Speak Kindly to your Volunteer Fire Department" Doug Gilliard recorded all the music on his 4track and to me it doesn't sound low-fi, it sounds like 60's hi-fi and I love that sound.

Q-There are GbV caliber songs on "Speak Kindly of Your Volunteer Fire Department". Was it just a matter of timing that they did not end up on a GbV record?

Bob-Whatever I write, that batch of songs goes on whatever comes next. So if the GbV record is already in the can then whatever name I give it, that's what it is. It could be Lexo & Leapers, or it could be my new band "Psychic Pricks".(laughs)

Q- It was a pretty abrupt line-up change between "Under the Bushes, Under the Stars" and "Mag Earwig". What was the reason?

Bob-I decided it was time for a complete overhaul. Toby was quitting to be with his family. I thought Mitch was loosing his enthusiasm. Kevin was loosing his mind. It also took some time to find these guys but my band right now is super-groovy! They're shagalicious! (rest of the band cheers)

Q-How are the ex-members of GbV doing by the way?

Bob- Toby is doing well with his solo career. Mitch Mitchell is doing well. Kevin, last I heard had found God and he decided that Guided by Voices was the devil.

Q-Did you get a lot of flack from your family while you were pursuing the rock thing?

Bob-Yeah. Until I started making money, cause they thought I was being irresponsible. We spent our own money making the earlier records, we were taking out loans that we had to pay. They thought that it was an unnecessary money spending. But they're proud now.

Q-Do you have a quota for song writing? Do you write every day?

Bob-No, I just write when I want to. When I write, I write a bunch. I don't write every day, maybe once a month.

Q-You chose an odd path for a rock band. You stayed where you were from and took your time doing it.

Bob- Because we took so long we became the heroes of all these struggling people trying to make it in the music business. But that's not our philosophy. We're not selling ourselves, we don't want to make it. But we wanted to make records, even if all we did was put them on a shelf in the basement. Back then we thought we would have to go to Cleveland or New York.

Q- You come from the self-proclaimed "Land of Good Dudes". Would you ever leave it?

Bob-No I thought about it but I can't do it. My friends are mostly my age and are into music but more of a classic rock (Beatles, Stones , Who, etc.) Basically the Good Dudes are my drinking buddies. We bring 'em sometimes to NY for a show, you know kinda' like the Beverly Hillbillies, we pack 'em up. Its great to see New York hipsters grooving with the "Good Dudes". We do well in New York, its kinda like home to us. We also do well in Portland, San Francisco, London and in Australia. There we did real well. Teenage FBI was a hit, Surgical Focus was getting played on the radio too.

Q-How do you work with the band as far as arrangements?

Bob-I give them the songs and they interpret it as they wish. Sometimes Doug and I exchange tapes. That's how we did "Speak Kindly..." I mailed him some songs, he mailed me some instrumentals and we just exchanged stuff. Our label TVT was really cool about that because they were willing to let us do our own thing on the side, as long as they could have a first look at it. If they pass on it we just put it out as a side thing. The people that complain that we've sold out obviously have not heard these side projects because they are certainly not hi-fi. We had 4 releases last year and by the end of this year there will 4 releases. #4 is pretty interesting. It's a band called "Hazard Hotrods" with me, Toby and Mitch its real lo-fi, its trash, its scum-rock.

Q-What about the drinking onstage? Is it all for the party atmosphere?

Bob- It started out, out of nervousness. But then it got to the point where it became expected. I don't get so nervous anymore. One time I went onstage completely sober and I was oooh! Their all out there. I see

people looking at me. And they were like 'what's wrong?'.

Q- but at least you guys can still play when you're lit. Unlike the Replacements...

Bob-Yeah but there're pussies(laughs). They could'nt drink and play, they could hang though. Neither can I. I'm glad these guys (points to GbV) can play when they're drunk. I can play guitar and sing, I just can't play guitar, sing and drink. It's the three things together that gets sloppy.

Q-Since you like the Gabriel era of Genesis, have ever wanted to do a concept album?

Bob-Oh yeah, "Mag Earwig" & "Same Place the Fly got Smashed" are sort of concept albums. "Kid Marine" is a concept album about the guy with the mullet you see in the photos of the album cover. He represents the typical Dayton guy who has nothing better to do then get drunk down at the American Legion and watch TV all the time. The concept is TV and drinking.

Q- What is the song "Men who create fright" about?

Bob-That's about Hitchcock , Stephen King, those guys that are big celebrities that think they are doing something good for the world. But I believe that they are not doing something good for the world. I believe they are putting bad imagery in the mind, especially in the youth. I think fright is worse for you than pornography. When I was a kid I was always having bad nightmares from these movies, I wished I had seen porno instead, at least I would'nt be having these terrible dreams. Something I read said "What you create you will meet. Your creations are real in the afterlife." Although I don't like horror movies I love gangster movies. It seems to always be about family. Like the 'Sopranos'.

Q- How about organized crime in Dayton?

Bob- Just a redneck mafia.

Q-Bob what would it be like for you to see the Who perform 'Larger Massachusetts'?

Bob-I'd be crying. That song should be on 'Quadrophenia'. Originally we wanted the earlier songs to sound like long lost outtakes from the Who, Beatles & Kinks.

Q-When it comes to the Beatles most people like to claim that they are either fans of John or Paul. Where do you stand?

Bob-I'm a John man. He was a much better song writer. "Happiness is a Warm Gun", "Come Together" are two of my favorite songs. "Hot freaks" was inspired by "Come Together".

Q-In the beginning your songs were very short.

Bob- It's the get in get out approach. At first I thought it was me being lazy, but the songs are what they end up on record. It makes you want to listen to it again. On the other hand we used to jam a lot. I am Sir Jamalot. But we used to have controlled jams. We'd have a title for it. We would wait for someone to come up with something cool and go with it and then cut it. Controlled jams are what we used to call it. We also have something called "Blind Leads", on an overdub, we would want a guitar player to play a lead but we would let them know what part of the song they were at. We love to play "Blind Leads".

Q-How about the current line up.

Bob- I finally assembled the band that I wanted, that I dreamed of, and now Jim is leaving, so we have to get another drummer, actually we have a drummer, let's just call him drummer X. He's real good though, he has to be because " the drummer is Rock'n Roll" (Tim Tobias). You see I get the reputation for being a tyrant, that I fire everybody and for the most part I don't. They just leave me, sitting on my hands. Unless we're talking about 'Creative Differences', like he owes me $100., I created $100. for him and he can't recreate that $100 for me, so he's fired. That's 'Creative Differences'. (laughs)

Q- Where do your ideas come from?

Bob- Most of my ideas come from misinterpretations or things I hear wrong.

Q-Do you have any conflict of interest between being a rock band and being a father? Would you want your son to get in this business?

Bob- He's in a band. They're called TOO PROUD TO PRACTICE.

Q- You produce so much, where does your work ethic come from?

Bob-Its not a work ethic. I love music, I love rock and to become a part of that no matter how minute it is, I just really happy about that. It does not seem like work at all. I just tend to write what does not exist anymore, just stuff that makes me happy.

Q- Do you have a favorite album & song in your repertoire?

Bob- I have a soft spot for the 'Vampire on Titus' era, but my favorite song is definitely "Tractor Rape Chain".

Q- What do you think of the internet?

Bob-It keeps us alive. That's how I can do what I want to do and release as much as I want. I don't have anything to do with it, it was created by our fans, but it is essential to what we are doing.

Q-Did you feel you had to justify your dream to your family?

Bob- Oh Yeah! I had to show my first check to my family so they could see it was real. I love Dayton its where my friends, family, my parents are. I left a couple of times but I had to come back. Actually I have not been able to write songs anywhere but in my house.

Q-Do you miss being a teacher?

Bob- No but after I quit teaching I went back with my first check, not to be egotistical, but to show them that I haven't lost my mind. Because when I quit, the principal asked me to explain what I was doing to the faculty. So she took me to the teacher's lounge and I basically told them that I was leaving because I wanna' rock! I had to rock out with my cock out!

twirlingmike

- Guillermo Nanni

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=219 0 Powell’s Review (paperback) of Lit Life by Kurt Wenzel http://mommaty.com/?p=208 http://mommaty.com/?p=208#comments Tue, 23 Jul 2002 04:44:45 +0000 mommaty http://mommaty.com/?p=208 Publisher Comments: Which is worth more—celebrity or credibility? Set in Manhattan and the Hamptons, Lit Life identifies and deconstructs this dilemma as it takes the reader on a hilarious tour through the world of two eccentric writers. Kyle Clayton, a “once hot, now not” young author and provocateur with a serious case of writer’s block, navigates [...]]]> Publisher Comments:

Which is worth more—celebrity or credibility? Set in Manhattan and the Hamptons, Lit Life identifies and deconstructs this dilemma as it takes the reader on a hilarious tour through the world of two eccentric writers. Kyle Clayton, a “once hot, now not” young author and provocateur with a serious case of writer’s block, navigates New York nightlife in an inebriated haze until he meets his literary hero, the dyspeptic and obscure novelist Richard Whitehurst, who is smitten with the notion of Kyle’s former fame. Richard is suffering his own form of breakdown because of the looming collapse of his marriage, not to mention years of public ambivalence toward his work. As the two writers’ lives collide, they find in each other the crutch they’ve each been seeking—and, perhaps, the salvation that has eluded them both.

Kurt Wenzel’s taut, coruscating prose and intimate, precisely rendered take on the literary scene make this the most brilliantly realized novel about the publishing world since Martin Amis’s The Information.

Synopsis:
Set in Manhattan and the Hamptons, "Lit Life" is a wickedly funny and provocative debut novel about the passions and perils of the writing life that the "Los Angeles Times" calls "irresponsibly intoxicating."

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]]> http://mommaty.com/?feed=rss2&p=208 0