Rolling Stone, November 29, 2018: Difference between revisions
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my dad, who had become squadron leader by that time," Lowe says. "But he had thought it was pretty funny." | my dad, who had become squadron leader by that time," Lowe says. "But he had thought it was pretty funny." | ||
Lowe grew up on military bases in Jordan and Cyprus. (He remembers pushing toy cars around in Amman, Jordan, with a young King Hussein, who had taken a liking to Lowe's father and would occasionally show up at their house in his newest sports car.) As a kid, Lowe had a ukulele, and his mother taught him a few chords and turned him on to her rec-ord collection: Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee and Lowe's favorite, the impossibly exotic Tennessee Ernie Ford. He taught himself Ford's "Fatback Louisiana, U.S.A." phonetically, "almost as if it was French or something. I didn't know what he was singing about. The lyrics were like, | Lowe grew up on military bases in Jordan and Cyprus. (He remembers pushing toy cars around in Amman, Jordan, with a young King Hussein, who had taken a liking to Lowe's father and would occasionally show up at their house in his newest sports car.) As a kid, Lowe had a ukulele, and his mother taught him a few chords and turned him on to her rec-ord collection: Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee and Lowe's favorite, the impossibly exotic Tennessee Ernie Ford. He taught himself Ford's "Fatback Louisiana, U.S.A." phonetically, "almost as if it was French or something. I didn't know what he was singing about. The lyrics were like, 'Every house ain't the Ritz, but it's handy when you're hungry 'cause they're made out of grits.' I thought, Whoa! 'You get a black-eyed pea instead of a pill.' It was all about this food that sounded revolting." | ||
Lowe possesses a talent, common among a certain strain of middle-class Brits, of marrying congenital self-effacement with supreme confidence, with neither personality trait ever quite overriding the other. He's a natural-born raconteur, and he knows it, which allows him to launch without fear into meandering and digressive 25-minute anecdotes that inevitably pay off in spectacular fashion. And yet at the same time, most of these stories deliberately humble Lowe, wind up making him the butt of a joke. Take his origin story as a musician. It begins with Lowe being sent to boarding school in Suffolk, England, where, in 1963, he formed a band with his classmate Brinsley Schwarz. When Lowe volunteered to play bass, a friend from woodworking class built him one that had to be tuned with a pair of pliers. The band didn't last. Lowe, upon graduating, had dreams of becoming a war correspondent, inspired by the hard-living men who would come to the base to talk to his father, but after landing an unsexy entry-level job at a suburban newspaper, he realized he couldn't cut it — sent to review The Love Bug, Lowe got drunk and passed out during the screening — and instead reconnected with Schwarz, who by that point had signed a record deal with his new Sixties-pop band, Kippington Lodge. Lowe joined, insisting they ditch the session musicians who had been backing them in the studio: "I said, | Lowe possesses a talent, common among a certain strain of middle-class Brits, of marrying congenital self-effacement with supreme confidence, with neither personality trait ever quite overriding the other. He's a natural-born raconteur, and he knows it, which allows him to launch without fear into meandering and digressive 25-minute anecdotes that inevitably pay off in spectacular fashion. And yet at the same time, most of these stories deliberately humble Lowe, wind up making him the butt of a joke. Take his origin story as a musician. It begins with Lowe being sent to boarding school in Suffolk, England, where, in 1963, he formed a band with his classmate Brinsley Schwarz. When Lowe volunteered to play bass, a friend from woodworking class built him one that had to be tuned with a pair of pliers. The band didn't last. Lowe, upon graduating, had dreams of becoming a war correspondent, inspired by the hard-living men who would come to the base to talk to his father, but after landing an unsexy entry-level job at a suburban newspaper, he realized he couldn't cut it — sent to review The Love Bug, Lowe got drunk and passed out during the screening — and instead reconnected with Schwarz, who by that point had signed a record deal with his new Sixties-pop band, Kippington Lodge. Lowe joined, insisting they ditch the session musicians who had been backing them in the studio: "I said, 'This has got to go, boys! We've got to play on our own records. What kind of band are we?' " They turned out to be a band that sounded terrible without session musicians, and was soon dropped by the label. | ||
The group soldiered on, eventually landing a weekly residency opening for Yes at a hot London club, and began a move, sonically, in the direction of American influences like the Band and Crosby, Stills and Nash, changing its name to Brinsley Schwarz. Lowe played bass, became the lead vocalist and began writing songs — including "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding." A massive U.K. publicity campaign to push the Brinsleys' 1970 debut — including flying a planeload of British journalists to New York to catch what turned out to be a disastrous show at the Fillmore East, where the band opened for Van Morrison and Quicksilver Messenger Service — backfired, and the band found itself the object of national ridicule ("the biggest hype of all time," according to Melody Maker). It got a second chance with the rise of what became known as pub rock, a brief but influential London scene of bands like Dr. Feelgood, Ian Dury and the Blockheads, and the 101ers (Joe Strummer's first group) that represented a welcome, back-to-basics reaction against the bloat and pretension of the prog-rock era. "It really was the precursor to punk rock," Lowe says. "There were a lot of oddballs who would not have got a look-see elsewhere." | The group soldiered on, eventually landing a weekly residency opening for Yes at a hot London club, and began a move, sonically, in the direction of American influences like the Band and Crosby, Stills and Nash, changing its name to Brinsley Schwarz. Lowe played bass, became the lead vocalist and began writing songs — including "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding." A massive U.K. publicity campaign to push the Brinsleys' 1970 debut — including flying a planeload of British journalists to New York to catch what turned out to be a disastrous show at the Fillmore East, where the band opened for Van Morrison and Quicksilver Messenger Service — backfired, and the band found itself the object of national ridicule ("the biggest hype of all time," according to Melody Maker). It got a second chance with the rise of what became known as pub rock, a brief but influential London scene of bands like Dr. Feelgood, Ian Dury and the Blockheads, and the 101ers (Joe Strummer's first group) that represented a welcome, back-to-basics reaction against the bloat and pretension of the prog-rock era. "It really was the precursor to punk rock," Lowe says. "There were a lot of oddballs who would not have got a look-see elsewhere." | ||
Around 1971, Lowe suffered something close to a nervous breakdown after years of taking too much acid. As he told the journalist Will Birch in the pub-rock history No Sleep Till Canvey Island, "I had to be literally led around for nine months. . . . I was covered in lice and I had gonorrhea. I was a horrible hippie case." Lowe cleaned up, cut his hair, made the shift from LSD to booze (which is what passed for detox in the early Seventies), and a reinvigorated Brinsley Schwarz began playing the pubs. With their chops, they soon became the darlings of the scene. They introduced new material every week, mixing covers of whatever was topping the charts with their own songs. A kid in Liverpool, Declan MacManus (the future Elvis Costello), became a fan, nervously introducing himself to Lowe after a show. "There were all sorts of terrible imitators," Lowe acknowledges. "I've even used the expression myself, | Around 1971, Lowe suffered something close to a nervous breakdown after years of taking too much acid. As he told the journalist Will Birch in the pub-rock history No Sleep Till Canvey Island, "I had to be literally led around for nine months. . . . I was covered in lice and I had gonorrhea. I was a horrible hippie case." Lowe cleaned up, cut his hair, made the shift from LSD to booze (which is what passed for detox in the early Seventies), and a reinvigorated Brinsley Schwarz began playing the pubs. With their chops, they soon became the darlings of the scene. They introduced new material every week, mixing covers of whatever was topping the charts with their own songs. A kid in Liverpool, Declan MacManus (the future Elvis Costello), became a fan, nervously introducing himself to Lowe after a show. "There were all sorts of terrible imitators," Lowe acknowledges. "I've even used the expression myself, 'oh, that's a bit pub rock,' to denote a sort of worthy blues chuggery: don da don da don da don. To call something pub rock can be disparaging now. But originally it was quite fun." | ||
Still, five albums into their career, Brinsley Schwarz failed to cross over to the mainstream, and in 1975, the band broke up. Solo and adrift, Lowe wrote that novelty song about the Bay City Rollers (a hit in Japan!) and toured the States as a roadie for Dr. Feelgood, where, in San Francisco, he met Huey Lewis, later of "and the News," at the time one of the singers in a band called Clover, whose records had somehow found their way into the hands of the pub rockers. Through Lowe, several members of Clover would serve in the backing band on Costello's debut, ''My Aim Is True''. | Still, five albums into their career, Brinsley Schwarz failed to cross over to the mainstream, and in 1975, the band broke up. Solo and adrift, Lowe wrote that novelty song about the Bay City Rollers (a hit in Japan!) and toured the States as a roadie for Dr. Feelgood, where, in San Francisco, he met Huey Lewis, later of "and the News," at the time one of the singers in a band called Clover, whose records had somehow found their way into the hands of the pub rockers. Through Lowe, several members of Clover would serve in the backing band on Costello's debut, ''My Aim Is True''. | ||
"We didn't even know that scene existed," Lewis tells me. "Nick introduced himself as a fan and we invited him to sit in. Back in those days, playing four sets a night, you'd get anyone you could to sit in. Nick said, | "We didn't even know that scene existed," Lewis tells me. "Nick introduced himself as a fan and we invited him to sit in. Back in those days, playing four sets a night, you'd get anyone you could to sit in. Nick said, 'How about we play "Wine and Cigarettes"?' This was an obscure Clover song we'd never played live. Nick played it perfectly. We ended up taking him and the entire band up to my mom's house in Bolinas." | ||
Back in the VW, Lowe checks his phone — the words NICHOLAS' PHONE appear on the car's Bluetooth screen — and says, "Let me give Pete a ring. Get the lie of the land. See how she wants to play this." He means Peta, his wife. They've invited me to dinner, and she has a short list of items for Lowe to pick up. | Back in the VW, Lowe checks his phone — the words NICHOLAS' PHONE appear on the car's Bluetooth screen — and says, "Let me give Pete a ring. Get the lie of the land. See how she wants to play this." He means Peta, his wife. They've invited me to dinner, and she has a short list of items for Lowe to pick up. | ||
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Roy asks, "Is he still alive?" | Roy asks, "Is he still alive?" | ||
In the mid-Seventies, Lowe suddenly found himself on the ground floor of the U.K. punk scene when Jake Riviera and Dave Robinson, a pair of managers from the pub-rock boomlet, decided to start their own label, the proto-punk Stiff Records. At 27, Lowe already felt too old for the room. "The Damned used to call me | In the mid-Seventies, Lowe suddenly found himself on the ground floor of the U.K. punk scene when Jake Riviera and Dave Robinson, a pair of managers from the pub-rock boomlet, decided to start their own label, the proto-punk Stiff Records. At 27, Lowe already felt too old for the room. "The Damned used to call me 'uncle' or 'dad,' " he says. Graham Parker, at the time an unknown singer-songwriter from southeast England who was being managed by Robinson, recalls, "Dave's dream was to start a label and sign all of these people who couldn't get arrested, including Nick Lowe. I thought, 'That's a waste of time.' All I knew about Nick's songwriting was he'd written a song called 'We Love You Bay City Rollers.' Then I heard Brinsley Schwarz, which sounded like Bob Dylan sitting in a chair. And I didn't think Nick was going to be a songwriter of any note." | ||
Parker's skepticism notwithstanding, Stiff would launch the careers of Costello, Madness, the Pogues and the Damned. (Lowe would also produce two of Parker's best albums.) "Nick was all of Stiff Records when I read about the label in the music papers — their first and only artist, their proposed in-house producer and eventually my producer," Costello notes via e-mail. The label's first single was by Lowe: "So It Goes," a wordy, infectious Steely Dan rip that would appear on his 1978 full-length debut, Jesus of Cool. (The self-mocking title, deemed too edgy for American audiences, was scrapped in the States in favor of Pure Pop for Now People.) With the Welsh singer and guitarist Dave Edmunds, Lowe also formed a power-pop band, Rockpile, and in 1979, the duo simultaneously released a pair of excellent solo albums, Lowe's Labour of Lust and Edmunds' Repeat When Necessary, that were both, in reality, Rockpile albums, a Speakerboxx/The Love Below move 25 years ahead of its time. Labour of Lust featured Lowe's biggest U.S. hit, the barbed pop confection "Cruel to Be Kind." For the video, he used footage from his wedding to Carter; Edmunds played the limo driver. | Parker's skepticism notwithstanding, Stiff would launch the careers of Costello, Madness, the Pogues and the Damned. (Lowe would also produce two of Parker's best albums.) "Nick was all of Stiff Records when I read about the label in the music papers — their first and only artist, their proposed in-house producer and eventually my producer," Costello notes via e-mail. The label's first single was by Lowe: "So It Goes," a wordy, infectious Steely Dan rip that would appear on his 1978 full-length debut, Jesus of Cool. (The self-mocking title, deemed too edgy for American audiences, was scrapped in the States in favor of Pure Pop for Now People.) With the Welsh singer and guitarist Dave Edmunds, Lowe also formed a power-pop band, Rockpile, and in 1979, the duo simultaneously released a pair of excellent solo albums, Lowe's Labour of Lust and Edmunds' Repeat When Necessary, that were both, in reality, Rockpile albums, a Speakerboxx/The Love Below move 25 years ahead of its time. Labour of Lust featured Lowe's biggest U.S. hit, the barbed pop confection "Cruel to Be Kind." For the video, he used footage from his wedding to Carter; Edmunds played the limo driver. | ||
In addition to making his own music, Lowe had become an in-demand producer, earning the nickname Basher for his quick-and-dirty approach in the studio. "Nick's production style (if that is the right word, as I had no point of comparison) was to exhibit massive enthusiasm for the moment and seem possessed with the conviction that whatever we had just played was absolutely | In addition to making his own music, Lowe had become an in-demand producer, earning the nickname Basher for his quick-and-dirty approach in the studio. "Nick's production style (if that is the right word, as I had no point of comparison) was to exhibit massive enthusiasm for the moment and seem possessed with the conviction that whatever we had just played was absolutely 'IT,' " Costello writes, adding that, more than as a producer, Lowe "has always been a songwriter from whom I've taken cues — see his song 'When I Write the Book,' and my song 'Everyday I Write the Book.' " | ||
Lowe met Carter at a 1978 recording session in London. Edmunds had been brought in as a producer on her debut, and Lowe showed up to play bass and asked Carter out a few days later. "I went to see him at Top of the Pops," she recalls. "He was doing | Lowe met Carter at a 1978 recording session in London. Edmunds had been brought in as a producer on her debut, and Lowe showed up to play bass and asked Carter out a few days later. "I went to see him at ''Top of the Pops''," she recalls. "He was doing 'I Love the Sound of Breaking Glass' in his Riddler suit, covered with question marks. We had chemistry. On our first date, we wrote a song! We hadn't even kissed yet." (Ironically, it was a breakup song, "Too Many Teardrops," which appeared on Lowe's 1982 album ''Nick the Knife''.) | ||
For a country music fanatic like Lowe, meeting his future in-laws proved a surreal experience. At the time, Lowe says he looked like "a very English, Spinal Tap sort of guy": long hair, thrift store shirts, tight jeans. Carl Smith, Carter's father, a country music star from the 1950's, "regarded me with some suspicion," Lowe admits. "It was like the village idiot coming to call." Smith eventually warmed to Lowe, showing him home movies of Carlene being pushed around in a pram by Elvis Presley. | For a country music fanatic like Lowe, meeting his future in-laws proved a surreal experience. At the time, Lowe says he looked like "a very English, Spinal Tap sort of guy": long hair, thrift store shirts, tight jeans. Carl Smith, Carter's father, a country music star from the 1950's, "regarded me with some suspicion," Lowe admits. "It was like the village idiot coming to call." Smith eventually warmed to Lowe, showing him home movies of Carlene being pushed around in a pram by Elvis Presley. | ||
On their first visit to the Cash family home in Hendersonville, Tennessee, Carter Cash led Lowe into a bedroom filled with antiques "that could have come out of the palace of Versailles. And there's a huge bed, in which lay John, in his silk pajamas, receiving visitors. I thought, | On their first visit to the Cash family home in Hendersonville, Tennessee, Carter Cash led Lowe into a bedroom filled with antiques "that could have come out of the palace of Versailles. And there's a huge bed, in which lay John, in his silk pajamas, receiving visitors. I thought, 'This is about as cool as it gets.' " Lowe eventually overcame his awe. "John was so fabulous to me, so friendly and kind," he says. The pair would stay up late, getting drunk and listening to old rec-ords Cash thought Lowe should hear: Mahalia Jackson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Johnny Horton. Later, the Cashes would visit and stay at Lowe and Carlene's home in Shepherd's Bush, where June would come down to their tiny kitchen in the morning wearing a dressing gown, diamond rings and a jeweled turban. Around this period, Cash recorded a version of one of Lowe's songs from Labour of Lust, "Without Love," making it sound like a Sun Studio outtake. | ||
After his early, ill-fated encounter with record–industry hype during the Brinsley Schwarz years, Lowe had cultivated a cynicism about the music business that served him well when punk hit. Working as artist and producer, with "a foot in both camps," only distanced him further: "I heard how the people at the labels talked about the artists rather disparagingly, and indeed I joined in on occasion. At the same time, it helped me to be more objective about my time in that pop arena coming to an end. I was quite cynical about it all. I never bought into it." | After his early, ill-fated encounter with record–industry hype during the Brinsley Schwarz years, Lowe had cultivated a cynicism about the music business that served him well when punk hit. Working as artist and producer, with "a foot in both camps," only distanced him further: "I heard how the people at the labels talked about the artists rather disparagingly, and indeed I joined in on occasion. At the same time, it helped me to be more objective about my time in that pop arena coming to an end. I was quite cynical about it all. I never bought into it." | ||
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Edmunds attempts a sort of intervention with a wasted, slurring Lowe, pleading with a stern tenderness to his friend, "You have gotta pull onto the hard shoulder, mate." | Edmunds attempts a sort of intervention with a wasted, slurring Lowe, pleading with a stern tenderness to his friend, "You have gotta pull onto the hard shoulder, mate." | ||
Years after Lowe's marriage to Carter dissolved, Cash's haunted cover of another Lowe composition, "The Beast in Me," would become a standout on his comeback album, American Recordings. When Lowe appeared on the WTF podcast, Marc Maron couldn't believe those lyrics had no grounding in some unspeakable personal darkness. But Lowe, regrets aside, has never felt like he's struggled with an inner demon caged by frail and fragile bars. In fact, he'd stayed up all night writing the song before one of his father-in-law's Shepherd's Bush visits, deliberately attempting to channel Cash's voice. In the 1990 BBC interview, he tells a funny story about croaking out the song for Cash the next morning in a high-pitched warble, hungover and terrified: "The night before I'd been Johnny Cash. . . . But when I got down and sang this song . . . it was the wimpiest thing you ever heard." | Years after Lowe's marriage to Carter dissolved, Cash's haunted cover of another Lowe composition, "The Beast in Me," would become a standout on his comeback album, ''American Recordings''. When Lowe appeared on the ''WTF'' podcast, Marc Maron couldn't believe those lyrics had no grounding in some unspeakable personal darkness. But Lowe, regrets aside, has never felt like he's struggled with an inner demon caged by frail and fragile bars. In fact, he'd stayed up all night writing the song before one of his father-in-law's Shepherd's Bush visits, deliberately attempting to channel Cash's voice. In the 1990 BBC interview, he tells a funny story about croaking out the song for Cash the next morning in a high-pitched warble, hungover and terrified: "The night before I'd been Johnny Cash. . . . But when I got down and sang this song . . . it was the wimpiest thing you ever heard." | ||
One of the starkest manifestations of Lowe's self-effacement comes through in his songwriting, which he approaches with a Brill Building-era professionalism. "I'm always writing for somebody else," he says, adding later, "I'm really pleased Marc thought that I was on the edge of a cliff, staring down. And I do know how it feels to feel bad, believe me. But I try and not make my songs autobiographical." | One of the starkest manifestations of Lowe's self-effacement comes through in his songwriting, which he approaches with a Brill Building-era professionalism. "I'm always writing for somebody else," he says, adding later, "I'm really pleased Marc thought that I was on the edge of a cliff, staring down. And I do know how it feels to feel bad, believe me. But I try and not make my songs autobiographical." | ||
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{{Tags}}[[Nick Lowe]] | {{Tags}}[[Nick Lowe]] {{-}} [[Brinsley Schwarz]] {{-}} [[Stiff Records]] {{-}} [[The Damned]] {{-}} [[(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding?]] {{-}} [[Cruel To Be Kind]] {{-}} [[I Love The Sound Of Breaking Glass]] {{-}} [[Carlene Carter]] {{-}} [[June Carter Cash]] {{-}} [[Johnny Cash]] | ||
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<small>Photo by [[Ian Dickson]].</small><br> | <small>Photo by [[Ian Dickson]].</small><br> | ||
[[image:2018-11-29 Rolling Stone photo 02 id.jpg|380px]] | [[image:2018-11-29 Rolling Stone photo 02 id.jpg|380px]] | ||
<small>Photo by [[Keith Morris]].</small><br> | |||
[[image:2018-11-29 Rolling Stone photo 03 km.jpg|380px]] | |||
Revision as of 03:01, 19 April 2020
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