Happy birthday, Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen!

Jeff Rowe - Barstool Conversations

Dear Jeff -

I'll have to admit that it took me some while to get into your record. I will be honest with you: I think the design is god awful, but maybe that's the design nerd in me talking. The cover art is really good, the drawing of the empty bottle is something I would frame and put on my wall, but the typesetting of the lyrics... ouch. So well, that was something that put me off initially - that, and my own thoughts about another punk with another acoustic guitar. You know what I'm talking about.

Personally, I would have picked another opener instead of "Passenger". Don't get me wrong, it's a good song, a great song even, but it just doesn't set the mood. "Chasing Ghosts" or "An Island's Point Of View", however, are songs that do. So yes, you had me after the fifth song, and I went from "Shit, I'm sure this dude has some ugly tattoos and a beard" to "Oh, this is a man I would love to drink with". I kept this CD in my player. I listened to it when I got up in the morning and had my first coffee. I listened to it when I was working. I listened to it to fall asleep to - which might sound lame, I know, but it isn't. Now let me explain...

I think a common misconception about records you can fall asleep to is that they are boring. That's bullshit. I can fall asleep to Cannibal Corpse or Pig Destroyer, because blast beat after blast beat is like a mantra, a brainless one, but a mantra that helps me switch off my thoughts. But this only one side of the coin. The other side are records like yours, and I will gladly put Vic Bondi's Ghost Dances on the list as well, or Bob Mould's Workbook, you name it. They're all intense records, they're all punk records essentially, but they speak a different language: they don't scream at you. They comfort you. They are, for lack of a better analogy, the arms that hug you when you're alone in your bed. Barstool Conversations is one of these records.

It's the kind of record you have to have to learn to appreciate, you have to literally get to know it, like you get to know a stranger in a bar sitting next to you, in these small hours when you're drunk and when the borders between good luck and bad luck, between happiness and sadness start to blur, when you fucking feel like telling your most intimate secrets to complete strangers. And in turn, these strangers sometimes speak words of wisdom, of pure poetry, and you want to write them down on a beer soaked napkin, but you don't. In the morning, it's all forgotten, and all that's left is a feeling. Your songs, however, are still there in the morning.

So well, Jeff, I would like to thank you for this record. I would like to thank you that it made me take a trip to the middle of fucking nowhere, just to see you play. Thanks for that. Thank you for drinking with me, thank you for talking about books and music and life and love and struggles and hardship, thank you for that Descendents cover, thank you for singing that Propagandhi song with me, thank you for the t-shirt, but above all... thank you for that record. And now I know that is supposed to be a review, something that should tell people about how it sounds like, how good or how bad it is, why they should or should not buy it, but I say fuck it. I just can't do that.

And you know what? You were right. It's fucking lame to compare it to let's say Tim Barry or Chuck Ragan. Just because they're punks, and just because they play a similar kind of music doesn't mean shit. They might be your peers, true, your music is at home at The Fest and the Revival Tour, but it also makes sense in the backroom of a bar in the middle of nowhere, it makes sense that you are playing and touring with the fucking Landmines, because at the end of the day, it's about two things that you have put to words a lot better than I ever could:

"I've got a love that makes me weak. I've got friends that are more than are more than blood."

Jeff, thank you for making a difference in at least one person's life. And that's the glory of punk, regardless of style or genre or scene, even in 2010...

Your friend,
Thomas

www.jeffrowemusic.com
www.gunnerrecords.com

"Where I was born and where I grew up, being an artist was like being totally insane." - An interview with Irmie Vesselsky

I usually don't like Austrian music. Because, let's face it: 99% SUCKS. OK, 99% of all music sucks, that's true, but there's something about Austria that makes the suckyness even suckier. I am not going to drop names - just turn on that Austrian "alternative" radio station and be prepared to empty your stomach. There are a few exceptions to the rule, of course. One of these exceptions is Irmie Vesselsky. A lady, her voice, her piano, and that's that. She is a master of a long forgotten craft called SONGWRITING. Her album Parentheses of Antitheses is a hidden treasure, and here's a few things she has to say...

What made you start playing music in the first place?

Music itself - and everybody who told me to never ever do it. Music was always there. But in fact, I really tried to ignore it... my parents and my surroundings, "friends" told me to do so. They all gave me the feeling that there was something wrong with me, spending all my pocket money on CDs or instruments and rather "talking to my piano" than to men. Where I was born and where I grew up, being an artist was like being totally insane. So I was a good daughter and functioned, and tried to be what they wanted me to be, and music was my way to escape. Finally a breakdown/burnout back in 2008 made me follow my inner voice, and made me go back to where I was and what I had. I remembered myself as a kid sitting at the piano for hours on end, trying to escape this world, and create my own. It was wonderful. When you're a total mess and have nothig left, anyone or anything to trust or to rely on, and nothing is left but a piano in the corner of your room - what else could you do but talk to her? She was always so almighty, so tempting.... so I couldn't do anything but follow her and let it all out.

What made you realize "I can be an artist, and I can perform live and it's good"?

Have I really realized that? Am I...? This reminds me of what Katherine Hepburn once said: "I think most of the people involved in any art always secretly wonder whether they are really there because they're good or there because they're lucky." I mean, when I started writing songs, I never intended to play them live, to perform them or have them recorded. No one but my cat was allowed to listen. (And she always preferred Bach to my own songs.) When I first played "Unheard" - my first song ever - to her, she ran out of the room, shrieking...

It's quite a long way from writing your own songs to performing them in front of an audience... how did this happen? Who encouraged you? What was your first time like?

It was a long process, and it all happened by sheer chance. Who encouraged me? Well, there was a small bar in the countryside where I used to live. The bartender once came up to me saying "You are going to be a star. I can see it in your eyes.... play for me!" I thought this man was totally crazy and avoided his bar for some time. He then showed up at my place wanting me to sing for him and persuaded me to do a showcase in his bar. It took me quite some time until I agreed. Then, my first time... I really can't remember. I mean, I remember being sick, being nervous days before the performance already. I was very insecure and shy, couldn't stand those people staring at me, and couldn't understand why they were here to hear me play at all. But when I started to play, I forgot everything around me. I was in my own universe, there was just the piano and me dancing together. The applause was like an alarm clock waking you from a sweet dream. That's all I remember. I didn't really know what I was doing back then. I think, I was a mess, but quite a good one, ha!

So, after that “good mess”, it seems like you are playing constantly now, at every chance that pops up. Does it ever get boring? Are you still nervous before a show?

First of all, I do not play everything - it has to feel right for me and for the promoter as well. Playing concerts never gets boring: there's always a different venue, a different audience. Also, the way I play shows might differ. So it's still exciting for me. Things that in fact do get boring are the time between soundcheck and stage time, and moving all the equipment, especially if there's no piano. That's a thing I wish I wouldn't have to do anymore. And yes, I still get nervous! But you know what? Sometimes if I don't, I really get squirrelly, because I think there's something wrong with me. And honestly, I never ever want to "get used" to stage fright or gigging at all.

For some reason I just can't get past the idea of taking your lyrics as something deeply personal. It might be fiction, it might be just words to a song, but... you know. Dare to elaborate?

I wish I could write about something I haven't felt, I haven't experienced in my life, but I really can’t. Sometimes I do start with a fictional thought, but end up somewhere I've been before, sometimes I start with an experience and end up somewhere else my mind is dragging me to. So maybe it's a bit of both, fiction and reality. I could tell you a thousand of stories to each song, and they would all be true somehow - but isn't it ultimately more interesting which stories the listeners themselves create in their heads? It would be less fun if I told them what they should see or hear in this or that song, wouldn't it? Feel it!

www.irmievesselsky.com