November 18, 2022
November 3, 2022
"We don't accept defeat, we never will retreat..." - "Freewheel Burning"
|Ian Hill, Glenn Tipton, Rob Halford, K.K. Downing, Les Binks|
July 10, 2022
Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
March 28, 2022
|Pollard, March and Gillard|
February 21, 2022
From 1997-2001, I served as the Music Editor of Entertainment Today, one of Los Angeles' oldest weekly entertainment newspapers. The Internet was still something of a fledgling thing in those days, but a website for the paper did eventually exist.
As a new feature of E-Rockracy called "Eric's Archive," I've rescued some of my more interesting Entertainment Today pieces from the dustier corners of the Internet, and have posted them here and below.
I fondly recall this interview I did with Butch Vig, producer of Nirvana's Nevermind and a key member of the band Garbage. I remember Vig being quite personable and forthcoming. His response to my question about Nevermind is something I still remember:
"I know that Kurt sometimes tried to repress his pop instincts, but he was a genius when it came to that: He'd just pick up a guitar and he'd start ad-libbing something, and it was all this amazing stuff."
Butch Vig... talk about a guy that was present at the birth of a major rock movement. Without further adieu, here is the feature article/cover story from January 1999:
The Future, Thy Name is Garbage
Überproducer/drummer/Wisconsinite Butch Vig sounds off on success, musical evolution, Y2K and the next big thing
by Eric Layton
It's hard to believe that Garbage started as a fluke. When engineer-producer/"grunge architect" Butch Vig and his two Madison, Wisconsin buddies Duke Erickson and Steve Marker first laid eyes on the Scottish singer currently known as Shirley Manson, she was on MTV, crooning with the band Angelfish. That was nearly six years ago. Since then, the thirtyish Manson and this elder trio of Midwestern producers have become one of the dominant forces in modern rock. By taking traditional pop songs and hacking them apart with processed guitars, hip-hop beats and mutating, post-industrial soundscapes, the quartet delivered a knockout blow to the music world and alternative listeners bored with self-serving grunge misery. Fueled by such hit singles as "Only Happy When It Rains" and "Stupid Girl," their eponymous 1995 debut went quadruple platinum. In the meantime, Garbage became a ubiquitous presence on MTV, radio and the concert trail. In a truly queer turn of events, fans and critics finally seemed to agree on something: Garbage didn't stink.
This group could have easily become their own worst enemy - how in the world was this internationally recognized act going to follow-up such a promising first effort? The resounding answer is with Version 2.0, which, as its moniker implies, is a evolution of the sound and fury they began on Garbage. The sophomore release finds Manson, Vig, Erikson and Marker truly cohering as a unit; they not only wrote the material as a collective, but produced it together as well. It's a sonically futuristic, emotionally striking song cycle worthy of the overused description "fully realized." Manson's lyrics have taken on a whole new maturity (she may be a lusty heartbreaker, but she's paranoid, vulnerable and optimistic too), while the kaleidoscopic aural textures are pure ear candy - audible paintings that reveal something different with each spin. But where the first record was a nervous, kitchen-sink splatter of Basquiat-ian proportions, Version 2.0 is crafted with a decidedly Van Gogh-ish flair, its colorful layers the product of painstaking workmanship. Cuts like "Hammering in My Head," "Special" and "The Trick is to Keep Breathing" are perhaps the finest examples of their artistry.
Speaking by phone from a Chicago hotel suite just before Christmas (Garbage was in the Windy City to perform at yet another multi-act radio festival), the 40-year-old Vig sounds especially chipper. And he should. Version 2.0 has been shifting serious units, and is on its way to triple platinum status (since this interview, it's been nominated for two Grammys, including Album of the Year).
Possibly adding to Vig's general state of happiness is the fact that he's had such a deep impact on '90s rock. Besides his contributions to Garbage, he's the "superstar producer" who sat behind the boards on such albums as Nirvana's impossibly huge Nevermind and Smashing Pumpkins' breakthrough platter Siamese Dream. Grunge may be dead, but its influence is still being felt on the music of today. One case in point is Garbage, which couldn't have existed without the genre; how many knob-twiddlers, really, have been able to form and play in commercially and critically viable band? Vig is enigmatic in this way, though his pleasant conversational manner and dude-next-door attitude indicates nothing but a Wisconsin guy who's made good. Real good.
Since Garbage had tasted and bonded over the sweet nectar of multiplatinum stardom before recording Version 2.0, one might assume a four-way traffic jam of inflated egos might have slowed down the album's creative process. However, Vig claims that it was easier to reconcile all band members' varied personalities into Version 2.0 - especially that of Manson, Garbage's golden-voiced focal point. "I know that Shirley had a lot more confidence in her singing and lyric writing. I think she just felt freer to express herself," he remembers. "It was very awkward when she joined us on the first album - she didn't know us from anyone, and had to immediately go in and start writing and producing. She sort of took the ball and ran with it, and I think she's really grown as an artist. I think that the four of us just interact much better now than we did before."
Attaining musical perfection is a process that has kept the Garbage members, who each have an iron in the production fire, burning the midnight oil on countless nights. Their often-schizophrenic sound is a mélange of synthesized noise, drum loops, grinding guitars and atmospheric touches that could probably be remixed an infinite number of times. Vig and co. are notorious for their studio overkill, so when he's asked his thoughts on the famous quote, "Art is never finished, it's abandoned," he chuckles in tacit recognition.
"I think that, if left to our own devices, I'd probably still be in there working on Version 2.0. I think there's a point where you sort of lose yourself in [the recording process] and you get so obsessed with it that it's hard to have any objectivity. That's one of the good things about having four very opinionated producers - at one point, somebody will say, 'It's good. We're going too far.'"
They may be workaholics, but it's a small price to pay for keeping Garbage, one of the most visible rock acts of the mid-to-late '90s, creatively vital and on the road. And Vig understands that the clock is ticking. "I think we realized that Garbage is very of the moment now. I don't know that we can sit around and think, 'Do we want to be remembered for a song 10 or 50 years from now?' We're enjoying making music and playing live, and we have loose plans to make a third album. Because we love this so much - even though we're exhausted all the time - it's our job and it's also our passion."
Vig is humble about it, but his band can rightly take credit for forging a style that a slew of current acts has adopted, from the Sneaker Pimps to Morcheeba to Girls Against Boys. Though he's cognizant of Garbage's influence (he finds other groups' appropriation of their sound "complimentary and irritating at the same time"), he doesn't want its artistic vision corrupted by vain self-congratulation. "We don't necessarily want to tell people that we're waving a flag, that we started some new trend. One of the reasons we call Garbage a pop band is because you can embrace a lot of different things. It's important to us, though, to make records that we think are cool for ourselves - if other people think that's cool, that's great."
Videos and MTV have played a critical role in Garbage's climb to the top of the alternative rock heap. From the next-to-ignored late '96 clip "Queer" to more widely-seen fare like "Only Happy When It Rains" and "Stupid Girl," the foursome has had a talent for marrying their music to an always-stimulating visual canvas. Not so surprisingly, Vig really digs the medium, even though he doesn't watch much MTV these days ("I don't have time," he admits). "We really enjoy videos - we've always been very visually oriented. Steve and I met in film school, and we're all into cinema. I think that, for a lot bands, [videos] are a drag, and I can see where it takes away some of the mystique of the song. And to a certain extent, I believe that also. But we also feel like it's a chance to make a mini-movie that is at least one visual representation of a song."
That fusion of sound and vision was also important to Vig's former collaborators in Nirvana. Their single "Smells Like Teen Spirit," with a little help from its video, became anthemic in scope, and pushed the album Nevermind into the stratosphere. When prodded, Vig shared his thoughts on why that watershed album, a collection that heralded the beginning of this decade's grunge movement, worked as well as it did.
"I think one of the reasons is that it had some amazing songs. It was a combination of the sort of energy that I was able to capture on that record, and the passion, the angst and all of the multiple, complex emotions that came out of Kurt. [The songs] were all well crafted and had intense passion, but you could sing along with them all. I know that Kurt sometimes tried to repress his pop instincts, but he was a genius when it came to that: He'd just pick up a guitar and he'd start ad-libbing something, and it was all this amazing stuff. That is extremely rare. And I think there was something in his personality - he touched a generation of kids who were dissatisfied and looking for something, and could relate to some of that in his lyrics and his singing."
At this juncture in popular music, grunge is extinct, electronica's failed to become the next big thing and bubblegum (Hanson, 'N Sync, Spice Girls, etc.), as they say, is blowin' up. But Garbage is in a class by itself, so learning about Vig's taste in current music was especially interesting. "I love Massive Attack's album, Mezzanine and I like PJ Harvey, Elliott Smith and Hole. And Fatboy Slim is probably the most played [artist] in the Garbage dressing room every night. Then we usually listen to Frank Sinatra when we come off."
And once they're offstage, the sex and drugs part of the rock 'n' roll equation is tackled with a drooling ardor, right? Well, not quite. Although Garbage has boasted that one its favorite pastimes is drinking, moderation, according to Vig, typically wins out. However, for this 40-year-old, it's still a challenge to stay healthy and balanced when he's on tour. "Our vices aren't that bad. If you're 20, you feel indestructible. But touring really wears you down - I've lost like 10 pounds since we started this tour. You know, we like an occasional beer or a good glass of wine or a cocktail, but we feel we need to be responsible to put on a good show every night."
The road, as they say, goes on forever - or for Garbage, at least until Y2K. They're currently on a European trek, with possible tours in South America, Japan and Australia on the docket. Vig is incredulous. "We're kind of laughing, kidding ourselves that we're going to tour until New Year's Eve, 1999. It's scary to comprehend."
Scarier yet, in the opinion of some, is the Y2K crisis. But Vig can't be bothered with such pre-millennial tension. "It's still too far away for me to worry about, I think. I don't think [the year 2000] will be that different than [the present]. I think that music is evolving into something new, and I don't know what that is, but I think we're sort of in a transition period again. I think something's gonna come out in 1999 or in 2000, kind of like Nevermind did, and blow everybody away. I don't know whether it's going to be a rock album or a punk album or a techno record, but I think we're sort of in a period where we're waiting for something to happen. I can't quite define it, but I'm excited. If I knew who it was, I'd sign them."
Whatever the future holds, Vig says that Garbage is determined to do another record, though the timetable for it, at the moment, is murky at best. "We have plans, when we finish this tour, to try and score a film. We've been talking to several directors - Oliver Stone, David Lynch, Ron Howard - but nothing's been finalized yet. Part of it has been a timing issue because of touring. We want to make a third Garbage album, but we have no idea when or what it's going to sound like. But I think that we feel, creatively, that we want to push out beyond where we've been on the first two records. It's enough to keep us busy for awhile."
February 20, 2022
At 40, Renaissance animal man Henry Rollins sounds off on his band, his acting career, his changing priorities and his new spoken word disc, A Rollins in the Wry
by Eric Layton
“You think I’m doing any of this against my will?” fires back Henry Rollins, when asked how voluntarily he carries on his multi-hyphenated existence.
It’s a telling exchange. Indeed, there is just no stopping this guy. While everyone in life plays at least a few roles — employee, spouse, friend, addict, etc. — Rollins has totally upped the ante in regard to an individual’s possibilities for nearly 20 years. He’s been the singer of Black Flag, a spoken word artist, the leader of two incarnations of his namesake, post-punk band, an author, a publisher, a voice-over talent, an actor, and all along, a vein-popping weight lifter. You can also add TV host to that resume, as Rollins will be pulling a Rod Serling and emceeing the Fox horror series Night Visions, which premieres in May.
Rollins’ situation when he pauses for an interview reinforces his Renaissance man-dom. He was in the midst of recording the next Rollins Band album, about to do a spoken word tour behind his new talking CD A Rollins in the Wry (taped during his two-month residency in 1999 at the now-defunct L.A. club Luna Park) and recently filmed parts in three movies. The day after his 40th birthday, the garrulous icon, who will talk at the El Rey Theatre April 11 and 12, unleashed his tongue on Wry, why Clinton beats Bush, the upcoming Rollins Band record and his changing priorities.
Entertainment Today: Was it difficult to go through all the tapes of your Luna Park gigs?
Henry Rollins: Yeah. I hate doing it. Every two years I do a talking record, and it’s an excruciating task, sitting and listening to myself, and I never look forward to it. I always try and palm it off on my manager. Most of the time he’ll go, “Look, I heard these shows and I think this was good and this was good,” and I’ll listen to them and say, “Yeah, I think you’re right.” And that’s kind of what we did on this new one — he listened, I listened… I actually listened more than he did. But it was 18 hours of stuff, and I did not listen to all 18 hours. I kinda made notes after every show, like, “OK, that was cool, that was fun, that idea kinda fell on its face, we can leave that out.” So I consulted my notes, and it helped me cut some corners.
ET: What you wrote in the liner notes suggests that you were sort of coerced into doing the Luna Park residency. True?
HR: No, no, I was just having fun writing that. It’s just that I do a lot of shows and a lot of work. And my manager oftentimes knows better than to waste my time asking me if I want to go do a tour or something. He just says “Yes.” And then he’ll call me up and say, “Alright, you’re going to Australia for a month and you’re leaving in 10 days.” And I’ll go, “Cool.” And so his nickname is Richard “he’ll do it” Bishop. It was just a joke. I was in the studio mixing the new record and Carol from the book company called up and goes, “We need a paragraph of liner notes for the In the Wry CD right now, like in the next 20 minutes, or we’re going to miss the deadline.” I said, “OK, I’ll hit you with an e-mail in the next 20 minutes.” And I sat and wrote it right after hanging up the phone — one draft, one take, in seven minutes. I thought it was funny. There wasn’t a whole lot of thought that went into it.
ET: Positive audience response aside, what qualities do you feel constitute a good talking show?
HR: That I made the points I wanted to make, that I didn’t ramble too much and that I kept it going.
ET: What do you like the most about doing spoken word?
HR: The free range. You know, not having to [worry] about blowing the chorus or keeping in time. I enjoy that discipline as well, I just also like having no leash.
ET: What’s more exhausting, spoken word shows or band shows?
HR: Physically exhausting? Band shows. But they’re also physical like a work out — it’s an exhaustion you can deal with. The mental exhaustion of a talking show, six weeks [into a tour], becomes a heavy bear to wrestle.
ET: You express admiration for Bill Clinton on the new CD. Do you have any comment on the Bush presidency thus far?
HR: He hasn’t had a chance to do much yet, but he’ll fuck up — it’s coming. On a serious note, I liked Clinton in that I liked his people skills. On the global level, I liked that he cared about people or seemed to. He knew everyone’s name, and he seemed to be concerned with the bigger picture. I don’t see George W. being the same way. I see plot loss and failed arrogance that will slowly become unveiled as the four years go on. As the ignorance gets called out more, the arrogance will rise up.
ET: It is alarming that he hasn’t even been out of the country that many times.
HR: He’s only been to England — please! I was in England when I was 15. I mean, come on!
"Have you ever stood and watched a man’s body burn for 20 minutes? It was a new one on me! It was like, “OK, I’m definitely not in Cleveland.”
ET: On the CD, you really seemed taken with Israel. Is that the most impressive place you’ve been?
HR: As far as the most impressive place, that’s probably someplace in Africa that I’ve been. Israel is a mind-blowing place. As far as the biggest mind-blow I’ve ever had, it’s India, for sure. I walked out of there and went, “What the fuck was that?” But Israel was fascinating — a beautiful country, amazing people — I had an amazing time. I can’t wait to go back.
ET: What was it about India that stuck with you?
HR: So much stuff… it’s 180 degrees from what you know. It’s just… what a trip! The first time I’m there, I’m standing in a room with 12 dead bodies as they’re lined up to get burnt. I was like, “Hello!” That’s just an everyday thing. It’s how they’re kickin’ it. I’d never seen that before — it wasn’t gross, it was just different. Have you ever stood and watched a man’s body burn for 20 minutes? It was a new one on me! It was like, “OK, I’m definitely not in Cleveland.” I saw many things there that I’d not seen before, and it wasn’t just because of the poverty — I’ve been to quite a few Third World environments. This was just a different kind of poor. Hard to explain, but it’s someplace one should go in one’s life, because it’ll definitely make you see your own country differently.
ET: How is the new band album coming, and what can fans expect from it?
HR: So far, there’s 30 songs in the can and we’re about 10 days away from completion. They can expect a record that will run over them like four jeeps.
ET: You did 83 shows this past year with the new band in support of Get Some Go Again, but I imagine that’s less than some of the tours with the old band. Was that a purposeful slowing down?
HR: Oh no, that’s how the tour ended up, actually. It’s just because we didn’t do as much in America as we usually do. We all wanted to keep going, but I had to do a bunch of movie stuff that I’d signed on for and a TV show. I had stuff I had to do, so it was time to give it a break. But for me, 100 shows is usually my minimum. The year before, I did like 130 shows or something like that. This year should be in the 150 range.
ET: You’ve done a fair amount of acting — ever been offered a lead role?
HR: Yeah, in smaller films. When I did this indie film Past Tense, they turned around and offered me the lead in their next movie, but I was busy. I would have been interested, though.
ET: It seems as though you could produce your own film projects if you wanted to. Is that something you’d be interested in?
HR: No. I would never want to produce or direct. It’s a fucking nightmare. I see these guys running around like maniacs… I’ve got no interest there.
ET: Are you writing a book right now?
HR: I just put out one (Smile, You’re Traveling), and I’m editing two, actually. As far as writing, I’ve been mainly working on song lyrics, because we’re in the middle of a record. So that’s kind of been taxing my brain, but I’m about to gather some steam and start another book project
ET: You’re 40 now. In what ways have your priorities changed?
HR: I think over the years, the art — the work — has become more and more important. The ego not so important. The reputation not so important. What people think not so important. But the work itself, 100 percent important. I’ve never been all that vain, but I’ve definitely been self-conscious. I find that the older I get, the less time I have for that.
ET: How many Rollins Band tours do you think you have left in you?
HR: I think I’ve got a couple more laps around the track — a few more years.
ET: It seems that you could keep on doing spoken word, as opposed to the band, until you’re an old man. Is that something you could see yourself doing?
HR: Absolutely. I think I could potentially get better and better at the talking shows. You know, if I did it right I could end up like a Henry Miller or a Mark Twain — not on the level of talent, but in just being able to look at things with a wry, observing eye, seeing a lot of culture come and go. I think at 60, I may be way more insightful than at 40. I would definitely have an opinion that a 20-year-old should pause for an hour for.
Henry Rollins will perform spoken word shows at the El Rey Theatre April 11 and 12.
February 19, 2022
Unified Theory, featuring former members of Blind Melon and Pearl Jam, prove that rock — and their careers — are still alive on their self-titled debut
by Eric Layton
It was a shock, hearing that Blind Melon singer Shannon Hoon had died. His band’s self-titled debut album was the soundtrack of my life in late-1993 and beyond, a continuous presence on my car's tape deck. “No Rain,” Blind Melon’s biggest hit, while fine, wasn’t my favorite cut on the record. Rather, dreamy, melodic gems like “Soak the Sin” and dirty rockers like “Dear Ol’ Dad” had greater appeal. Listening to Hoon work his singular pipes with his talented mates was like hearing to Jane’s Addiction’s Perry Farrell — or perhaps Hoon’s cousin Axl Rose — fronting Lynyrd Skynyrd.
But Blind Melon, strangely cosmic and earthbound at the same time, provided far more than cool driving music. Like the best groups, they got under your skin and infiltrated your spirit. Though their second outing, 1995’s Soup, failed commercially and critically, and was followed by the 28-year-old Hoon’s untimely death by cocaine overdose that year, it was still an excellent effort — a soaring, often heartbreaking chronicle of a singer and a band hurtling helplessly toward an uncertain fate.
What does this have to do with Unified Theory? Well, along with boasting founding Pearl Jam drummer Dave Krusen (who recorded all the drums on Ten but was later replaced by Dave Abbruzzese) and singer/six-stringer Chris Shinn (formerly of L.A. band Celia Green), the band includes two ex-members of Blind Melon, guitarist Christopher Thorn and bassist Brad Smith. Thorn and Smith, the prime movers in Unified Theory, have done the impossible with their quartet’s eponymous debut: They’ve both continued and evolved the transcendent and layered rock sound of Blind Melon. In other words, this Theory has proven that rock is far from dead.
It helps Unified Theory’s case that the mighty-throated Shinn, at first listen, sounds like a dead ringer for Hoon (though further spins of the CD reveal him in possession of a vocal style different and more fluid than the late frontman). But certainly, this foursome isn’t just Blind Melon with a new guy at the mic — they’re a superb combo that, while encompassing the finer qualities of that prior band, rock-and-glide into lush new sonic territories on songs like “Instead of Running,” “The Sun Will Come,” and their latest single “Wither,” whose lyrics deal with watching someone suffer through drug addiction.
The Mississippi-born Smith, an easy-going guy as well as a great conversationalist, chatted via phone about Unified Theory (who play the Troubadour Feb. 28), Blind Melon and what it’s like working with a new voice.
Entertainment Today: What qualities were you and Christopher Thorn looking for in a singer?
Brad Smith: Somebody that was good [laughs]! You know, I don’t think we were looking for a particular sound per se. One guy that we wanted was a guy Blind Melon wanted to work with when Blind Melon was looking for a singer, and he had a baritone voice. Chris Shinn is a tenor, and Christopher (Thorn) and I have always leaned toward tenor voices, just because that’s what I identify with rock ’n’ roll — the Robert Plant range.
ET: What has the experience of working with Chris Shinn been like?
BS: We’ve had a great working relationship right from the beginning. We’re really lucky to have him, because he brings in a perspective that [Christopher and I] have never seen. When we were listening to like, fuckin’ Guns N’ Roses and bands like that in high school, he was listening to new wave stuff and the Cure. So he brings in that perspective. And he blows me away every night onstage. He really does. It took us a couple of months to get going and get our tour legs, if you will. And he started going for some stuff live that I never heard him do, and I think he even surprised himself — I mean the guy just rips. I wish we could go back and recut all the vocals, to tell you the truth. I feel like he’s improved probably 50 percent, just from touring.
ET: Was it intimidating for you to go in the studio and record with a new band after everything that happened with Blind Melon?
BS: No. After Shannon died, I produced and made local records in Seattle, and played as a session player on other people’s records. [The studio is] where I’m most comfortable in the world — I’m more intimidated pumping gas in my car, you know? Sure, there’s stress — sometimes writing songs can be painful, just because you’re not getting what you want. But there’s no intimidation really.
ET: The songs on the album flow together really well — they’re quite consistent. Was that a goal you were aiming for?
BS: I think it just kind of worked out that way, and maybe it was our mindframe, living in Seattle around the rain and gray skies all the time. I think that the record, [in my opinion], came out a little mellower than the band really is. We’re way more intense live, and we’re way more intense as people as well. But you’re right, the record has a certain kind of consistency, and I think it’s just a reflection of people getting to know each other and trying to be sensitive to the things that we’ve all individually been through.
ET: It seems like you guys could pull off a concept album — I mean, the band is named after an Einstein concept.
BS: Yeah, totally. We’ve kinda thought about that, and we have a lot of ideas for the next record. But I just don’t want to get too serious about the music and message. I don’t think we’re that serious a band, or maybe we are. We’ll just have to wait and see — I do know that we have 15 great songs ready for the next record. Our writing is going really, really well right now.
ET: How did it work out that it was only you and Christopher Thorn that ended up in Unified Theory, and no other members of Blind Melon?
BS: Rogers (Stevens, ex-BM guitarist) moved to New York City, and Christopher and I were living in Seattle. I think the fact that Christopher and I are both studioheads — gearheads — we stayed really close to the creative side of music, even after Shannon died. I think that’s what kept Christopher and I together. Glen (Graham, ex-BM drummer) moved to North Carolina, and I haven’t heard from him in four years. He’s one of those dudes — a recluse. And Rogers got into painting and this singer Rennie Lopez, and started a band with him.
I think it was better that we all split up, to tell you the truth. I mean, I really miss playing with Rogers, especially — he was my best friend growing up in Mississippi. But there was something weird about when all four of us got together the last time — there were a lot of skeletons hanging around, and a strange darkness about the whole situation after Shannon died. And I don’t know, I’m much happier as a person in this band.
ET: Someone once wrote that the reason Guns N’ Roses were so good was that they had five completely different personalities working together. Was that the case with Blind Melon?
BS: Oh, absolutely. When you got those four other whack-jobs in the same room together, it was almost like a social experiment — it was weird.
ET: That can make for great music, though.
BS: Yeah, and it did for us — I felt that Soup was probably one of the most eclectic and arty projects I’ve ever been involved it. That record is all over the place in terms of musicality and styles.
ET: Yeah, like “Skinned” — you don’t hear many songs featuring a kazoo anymore.
BS: No — Shannon was hell-bent on bringing back the kazoo, I guess.
ET: Would you say that the members of Unified Theory are a bit more on the same page?
BS: Personality-wise, I’m not sure. For some reason, I feel like this band — especially me, Christopher and Chris Shinn — we’re just really focused on writing music. I think there was a lot more distraction in Blind Melon. I feel a little more focused now, and it might be because I’m not smoking as much weed. I kinda went through that phase. I feel like I’m getting a lot done. I think the closest band you’re going to find to Blind Melon, in terms of openness and musical style, might even be Unified Theory, to tell you the truth. Christopher and I both came from that band and I think that [we’re] influenced by that music. We’re still influenced by it, just because it became so big and we had so many people listening when we played onstage every night. And that sticks with you — all that experience sticks with you and flows over to the next project.