DAVE EDMUNDS: GIMME INFORMATION PLEASE!

A dreary late afternoon in Poughkeepsie, New York. This scrutinizing interviewer catches up with Dave Edmunds five days into his American tour. At 5:30 p.m., Edmunds is just about waking up after a night spent out on the town with Stray Cat Brian Setzer, “up to no good” in the wilds of Long Island, searching for the Amityville Horror house until all hours of the morning. Hey, that’s the Rock ’n’ Roll Life.

Another part of the Rock ’n’ Roll Life is The Interview. The Interview, in this case, starts while bouncing along a back road on the way to yet another interview at a local radio station (doing an interview on the way to another interview must seem a bit like receiving an additional sentence while already serving time). Once you get past the thousand varieties of the word “yeah” that Edmunds is wont to use—and you can get past that—there comes the realization that the man is actually fun to talk to. Thoughtful, wryly humorous and playful, with a charmingly modest demeanor, he listens carefully and always looks you straight in the eye (as you can tell if he ever takes off the nearly omnipresent sunglasses). And he isn’t

afraid of intelligent criticism.

Today he’s getting a fair amount of (hopefully) intelligent criticism from this side of the tape recorder, all in reference to his new album, Information, in support of which

this tour is about. Edmunds’s music—well, how do you begin to encapsulate a 15-oddyear-long career in a few pithy words? Edmunds has a deep-rooted love, respect and understanding for rock ’n’ roll, and possesses an inimitable skill in translating that passion into music that has its roots in the past but remains vital, fresh and modern. Edmunds’s work gives rock ’n’ roll integrity, dignity, class and taste—four words you rarely hear associated with this form of music. And there is no one else at Edmunds’s professional level who js doing, or can do, or hgs done, what he does, will do, and did.

While most musicians seek to polish an image of themselves through the songs they sing, Edmunds’s songs polish the image of rock ’n’ roll. His larger goal isn’t the deification of a 40-year-old Welshman; he submerges himself in the music with a selflessness found in the best of any love relationship. He must have an ego but he hides it pretty well.

To last this long in a field not noted, as Edmunds has said, for its job security, you have to keep things interesting, stay fresh, take risks. Edmunds usually performs the neat trick of staying unpredictably predictable: you might know pretty much what he’ll do, but you may never be able to guess how he’ll do it. Which brings us to the new LP, Information, a good example of that theory, since it represents a fairly drastic departure in style—but not content—from Edmunds’s previous work.

Edmunds first new step was to recruit an outside producer. His choice was ELO’s Jeff Lynne; listen to ELO’s “Hold On Tight” and to some of Edmunds’s earlier, layered, Phil Spectonzed visions like “Bom To Be With You” or “Take Me For A Little While” and that decision will make more sense. But people who only know Edmunds through his uncompromisingly rocking days with the late Rockpile, or who only choose to like that side of him, might have a little trouble digesting Information.

“Jeff makes sensational sounding records,” Edmunds says. “I’ve always liked his stuff, and he goes all the way with it, without going too far and ruining the whole thing by overproducing. With Rockpile we used to get a bit sloppy and just bang it down and leave it.”

Lynne produced the title track (a song which Edmunds co-wrote) and the album’s first single, his own “Slipping Away” (which has hit the Top 40 in the American charts; though its failure to dent the U.K. has left Edmunds feeling a little annoyed with the Mother Country). Both songs are lushly otr chestrated, synthesized, computerdrummed beauties, grounded on one hand by Edmunds’s twangy six-string bass, but given flight on the other by his soaring vocals. Those were also the first two songs done fpr the album, recorded in Holland by Edmunds, Lynne and ELO synth player Richard Tandy. The studio tricks Edmunds picked up from Lynne found their way onto the rest of the album. Lots of relentless computer drums and little synthesizer gleeps and fillips. All this from a man who had been known to say, more than once, that sophisticated equipment, computers and “things,” drove him “nuts.”

“See, that was one of the bad habits I got into with Rockpile,” Edmunds says earnestly, “and, um—I don’t want to keep talking about Rockpile, ’cause whenever I do I start knocking it and it’s gotta stop sometime— but that was one of the things we never used to bother with, for some reason. It wasn’t cool to use ’em, which is ridiculous.” He laughs shortly. “Absolutely ridiculous.” (Edmunds had actually started to flex his arranging muscles on last year’s DE7th, on which such un-Rockpile-like instruments as horns were used.)

Edmunds was fascinated by the flexibility in recording provided by the use of a drum machine, and played with it like it was a new toy. He, bassist John David, and a computer drum machine recorded most of the album (computer drums programmed by Edmunds with the help of his engineer and his reallive drummer, Dave Charles), with the exception of two cuts, Edmunds’s own Berryesque “Don’t Call Me Tonight,” and the bluegrass stomper “The Shape I’m In.”

“But mind you,” Edmunds is careful to point out, “on this album it’s not the music that’s changed. I’ve just sort of extended the boundaries of the producing side of it.”

On the way back from the radio interview, during which the interviewer asks questions only slightly more intelligent than did Juice Newton write “Queen Of Hearts” (though, to be fair, the DJ actually plays “Born To Be With You” on the radio—worth a few points in my book, that is), the pitfalls of too much Information are discussed, and the effects of his change in style on his fans.

“What do you mean you have qualifications about it?” Edmunds wants to know.

Right. Let’s roll up the old verbal sleeves and have a go at it. The music hasn’t changed, as Edmunds pointed out. As a matter of fact, one of Edmunds’s weaknesses has always been not having enough strong material to fill an album. Style would carry content. Information’s songs not only are exactly what Edmunds would always have chosen, but on the whole they are the strongest collection of tunes he’s had in some time. Unfortunately, though, for once content carries style.

Edmunds’s work has always been suffused by warmth, by an almost visible glow that has its root in the sheer joy that Edmunds finds in rock ’n’ roll; it is a life force for him. That warmth is not nearly as apparent on Information, however. Perhaps because the studio technology is still new to Edmunds, he hasn’t learned to balance the cbldness of programmed silicon chips with the inherent warmth and pulse of a human being. The drum machines are too insistent, too clinically perfect. The synthesizers often sound...well, too synthetic. On top of that, the American album cover is terrible; those running out to buy Information should run out and buy the much more attractivelooking import.

But—most importantly, Information, no matter what else, proves that Edmunds is still willing to experiment rather than fall back on tried-and-true methods of cranking out acceptable but formulistic rock ’n’ roll, as so many of his contemporaries are cloing.

Edmunds seems relieved by that sentiment. “’Cause one of the questions I’ve been asked a few times is, what about your old fans, do you think you’ve forsaken them and all that.”

To put out DE8th, DE9th, DElOth ad infinitum, ad nauseum, would have been a waste of everybody’s time.

"Maybe, underneath it all, I want to be Elvis Presley."

Edmunds chuckles. “And I can’t go out and get permission for what sort of album I’m going to do.”

Back at the hotel bar, Edmunds, looking natty in his new stage attire—multi-colored summery jacket over black tee, white pants, and desert boots in mustard to match the yellow in his jacket—and freshly combed, short hair, discusses the fairly hectic seven or so months he’s had since last seeing these shores. Besides producing and recording his own album, he’s produced the Stray Cats’ third LP (second in the U.S.), and played a member of the band in Paul McCartney’s upcoming film, Give My Regards To Broad Street (in good company—the other band members being Chris Spedding on guitar, Ringo on drums, and Macca, of course).

When asked if he’d know when to stop, Edmunds takes a sip of his white wine soda (he’s sworn off vodka for the tour) and thinks a bit.

“Yeah...yeah...1 don’t know.” He pauses. “Certainly not at this intensity. The wayi’ve been working on this album is just ridiculous. I think I’ve had about two days off in six months or something like that.”

Between the album, and the movie, and the Stray Cats—

“Mmmm...” Edmunds pauses, then adds, “and a Miller Beer commercial.”

(Oh God.) A what?

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Edmunds laughs and repeats, “A Miller Beer commercial. I did it in England, but it’s for America. I think it’s just starting to get played now. There’s a ‘Slipping Away’ one—you know the Miller theme, they fit it into whatever song; they can fit it into anything.” He laughs. “So it sounds like ‘Slipping Away,’ and then it goes into—” He starts singing the Miller theme until stopped, then laughs again. “And there’s ‘I Knew The Bride’ as well, and ‘Wait,’ the J. Geils’ song. I’m not—” Edmunds stops abruptly, then continues. “I don’t think I’ll ever do it again.”

(The commercials, when heard, aren’t as obviously tacky as you might think; Edmunds’s name isn’t mentioned, and unless you recognize his tenor twang you might not even notice ’em. Thank heavens. But then the TV ones have yet to appear...)

That night’s performance, still early on in the tour, has a few electronic bugs. The band boasts most of the same excellent lineup as last year (Dave Charles on drums, John David on bass, Geraint Watkins on keyboards) with the welcome addition of exRockpile guitarist Billy Bremner, and they’re just settling into the running order, which Edmunds says will have to be changed, and adds with a chuckle that “you need an editing block to change our running order now.”

Editing block? Tapes? Is this Soft Cell or Dave Edmunds? Yes, there are supplemental instrumental and vocal tapes on three songs, the obvious ones being “Slipping Away” and “Information,” the less obvious one being Moon Martin’s “Don’t You Double.” While in the early part of the tour the tapes had a tendency to take control of the situation, much like a large dog taking a small boy for a walk, by the end of the tour the band was able to use the tapes’ potential for undeniably impressive loud noise to their advantage (though hearing six-string bass solos that no one actually played onstage was always a bit disconcerting; Edmunds would be likely to turn his back on the audience at the point).

Still, Edmunds & Co. live have few equals. They don’t at all traffic in flash, avoiding even the most stereotypically rock star-ish cliches like the faceful of “Aren’t I Wonderful” angst as the guitarist peels off yet another “brilliant” solo. Edmunds is like a cat on stage, full of taut energy. He and the band play with obvious enjoyment, just loose enough to be fun yet tight enough to stay in control. Edmunds gets just as big a kick out of a good night as the most enthusiastic fan in the crowd. That’s because he’s still a fan himself.

That was evident one night about a month and a half later, the last night of a short tour in which Edmunds opened for the Stray Cats. That may sound a bit cockeyed to those familiar with Edmunds’s history—and with the fact that the Stray Cats’ popularity has a lot to do with the sound he produced for them—but, hey, let the people hear Edmunds in any way they can, and judging by that night’s show, the whole idea was a pretty good one.

Picture this: somewhere in the green environs of upstate New York, the town’s anonymous but comforting Holiday Inn is hosting one of the hottest impromptu jam sessions to be seen in quite some time. Somehow, on a platform the size of a large closet that serves as a stage, two electric guitars and a bass have been plugged in, mikes and drum kit set up, and Holiday Inn rinky-tink piano at the ready.

Members of the Dave Edmunds bandits stalwart leader, drummer and keyboard player—and all the Stray Cats are running through a quick history lesson in rock ’n’ roll. Everything from Elvis Presley to Buddy Holly to Carl Perkins to the Beatles is performed with a joyous, affectionate exuberance that stems not only from the two bands’ love for the music, but from their respect and fondness for each other, which is most obvious in the interplay between Edmunds and Top Cat Setzer.

No amount of experimentation in any direction in music could take that root feeling away from Edmunds. No amount of synthesizers, backing tapes, American success... If, it is pointed out, he keeps up in this direction, he’ll be likely to end up in Madison Square Garden.

Says Edmunds, laughing heartily, “Great!”

Is that what you want?

“I wouldn’t mind...well, I don’t know.”

You still want to be able to walk into a bar without being recognized.

“Yeah...”

You want everything.

He laughs. “Yeah.”

You can’t have it.

“Yes I can.” He laughs again. “Pink Floyd can do it.”

But they’re a faceless band; they don’t have their names in front of everything.

“I know,” he says, laughing. “I don’t know how they do it!”

A lot of bands are like that. But you’ve got your name out front, you do make a point of doing things like interviews.

“Mmmm, yeah...” He pauses, thinking. “Well, maybe...underneath it all I want to be Elvis Presley.” He pauses, then laughs.

Is there one thing that you’d do over again if you had a chance, one project?

He thinks. “No...I don’t think it’s—I don’t dwell on things. I’m sure there are loads of things, but.. .not much you can do about it, really.”

No, 20/20 hindsight doesn’t really—

“Yeah, right,” he says, laughing. “That’s great. I mean, if you’re going to make a living out of immortalizing something on wax, then you have to put up with the consequences of that.”

How would you like to be remembered?

Pause, then laughter. “I don’t know...How would you—” He laughs again.

It’s your life.

Edmunds laughs again. “What a question. . .How would I like to be remembered? Well I haven’t got any choice, really. Maybe I won’t be remembered at all; or if I am.. .it’s just whatever it is. Oh, I don’t know...as a warm, wonderful, kind human being.” He laughs, then pauses. “I need a drink.” ^