I LOVE WAS THIS BAND, (NOT I HATE WAS) THIS BAND

I LOVE WAS THIS BAND, (NOT I HATE WAS) THIS BAND

FEATURES

J. Kordosh

Thirty months ago, John Neilson did a story on Was (Not Was) for CREEM. (It's the issue with Pat Benatar on the blue cover—I had a ZZ Top story in the same issue. That was a lot of fun.)

Well, time flies. (A garbage truck has wheels and flies, but no time for that now.) Instead, it's time for an update on Was (Not Was). I've got no idea where John Neilson is at this particular moment, but it wouldn't surprise me to hear that he was drunk, in Mexico, partying with ZZ Top. That would be so much like him. This means I'll do the story—not such a bad deal, unless you're a John Neilson fan. If you are, you might ask yourself why you'd admire a drunk like that who takes off for Tijuana to hang out with Billy Gibbons when there's serious work to be done. And—if you're a Was (Not Was) fan—you can lay your fears aside: we'll have plenty of fun with this update.

And, if you're not a Was (Not Was) fan...

This is your lucky paragraph, b'gosh. This is where we learn something of the strangely-named band's history. (Actually, this is just a trick. What I'll really do is distill Neilson's entire story into 4 or 5 sentences. You can use the same trick on term papers, office memos, love letters straight from someone else's heart—whatever! It's a good trick.) Ahem. Was (Not Was) is a duo—Donald Fagenson and David Weiss by name. They're long-time buddies from the Detroit area. In the studio, they're funky prankster experimentalists, having released two albums: Was (Not Was) (Ze Records) and Born To Laugh At Tornadoes (Geffen). The latter featured a horde of unlikely guest vocalists: Ozzy Osbourne, Marshall Crenshaw and Mel Torme being a few of the unlikeliest. Which brings us to the present day, which isn't Christmas. It's 1984 (Dutch Year of the Album Title) and we find ourselves at the Lemon Peel Lounge in suburban Detroit. No doubt you've heard of the place. I'm a little washed-out, but I'm presentably dressed—in contrast to the selfdubbed Was Brothers. Fagenson's wearing shredded blue jeans and Weiss is simply beyond fashion in a looks-to-be-official Detroit Tiger top. We're talking about Tornadoes.

Weiss leans toward the recorder but speaks in a low voice, a likeable conspirator. "In the writing of plays you have to respect the conventions of the past while addressing yourself to the exigencies of the modern audience—and their desires. We went and made something from every decade of America's popular music history." Well, now you know which one writes the lyrics, anyway. Exigencies? (In fact, Weiss has been a newspaper-type jazz critic in L.A. for some time, meeting the exigencies of that genre. Around CREEM, you're lucky if you can meet a deadline.)

Fagenson sprawls over his half of our corner booth and recalls the making of their stranger-than-fiction album. The string of singing talent wasn't premeditated, he maintains. "It was kind of like potato chips," he recalls, unintentionally summing up our opinion of 99.5 percent of the world. "Once we got into it and saw what was happening it became a sort of unconscious contest—who's next?"

Not Pete Townshend, thank God, but a pleasing hodge-podge of mix-'em-andmatch-'em vocal talent. Although the Wasers pretty much melted the hard heat of the industry by recording an Ozzy Osbourne rap song ("Shake Your Head"—Fagenson admits he was actually embarrassed when he played Oz the demo), the inclusion of "Zaz Turned Blue" (Mel Torme on vocals) guaranteed that Tornadoes would defy analysis forevermore. Keep in mind that we're talking about Grammy-award winning Mel Torme: the man, the music, the meltdown. The man whose very name is antonymous with rock.

"He claims he likes to stay up on things," Weiss says with only the barest trace of a smirk. "He likes Steely Dan and sang a Jimmy Webb song once—some eight-minute thing, 'Suite In G-Major' or something." I seem to remember it. A remarkable career, we all can agree. But Weiss continues: "...so, when he saw this thing, he did not jump at the song. What he said was: 'I don't know if this is me.' " Happily> Mel finally realized that it wasn't Annie Lennox and Ray Davies in a tag-team non sequitur, and agreed to croon. "By the time we got to the studio he was asking about the 'historical' Zaz," Weiss says.

"I don't know that he knew he'd be on on a track three songs away from Ozzy Osbourne," he concludes. "But I don't think it would've mattered to him." Of Course not; we Steely Dan fans are a stoic lot. "Actually, he's very proud of having done it." And well he should be—next month, we'll investigate the historical Mel Torme.

Well, how do you fop a cultural coup de grace of this magnitude? Don ponders. "About the last cameo you could possibly get would be Richard Nixon on piano," he offers, as the duo toss around the value of recording a disgraced ex-Prez doodling "Happy Birthday" on the synth. All well and good, but what's his stance on Steely Dan? I mean, you don't wanna go around just recording anybody.

As for Fagenspn/Weiss/Was (Not Was), the question isn't quite so simple. Are they a band or merely a good idea? Their last live appearance was over a year-and-ahalf ago,..good hours if you can get them, but not what you'd call living in the limelight. Don admits he wouldn't mind hearing a bit of applause. "Despite the trappings of the guest artists, there's really a core of about 10 people who play on just about every song (on Tornadoes). It's really an injustice to them that they get kind of underplayed. But we'd like to go out live— it's not that we don't want to do it. It's really a function of paying for 12 musicians and a crew." In retrospect, they say they should've toured after Tornadoes, promising that they will, indeed, hit the road after the next LP.

A tour will help generate the aura of bandhood, certainly. But, as matters stand, Was (Not Was) is—probably more than any act in the biz these days^a studio effort. They're too busy making wacky albums to put anybody down, of course; they seem to be growing on vinyl, too. 'Frinstance: Fagenson's an up-and-coming producer here in the Dutch Year of the Album Title, but six years ago he was the frontman for a local johnny-rotten-comelately group, the Traitors. I modestly suggest that the Traitors were a media scam and Don agrees. "I wasn't sincere," he admits. "I entertained the notion that you could scam your way past people—but you can't. I believe that everyone—from Helen Reddy to, uh, Patti Smith—they do what they do. You take your shot."

Weiss, currently on a vaguely-defined newspaper sabbatical, is more analytical. "The question is: can we stay in business long enough to become accomplished?" He says "accomplished" the way you might say "mature." "Look at what happened to the Beatles—their experience was so enlarged by their massive success, on both an individual level and a cultural level. They were able to perceive more of the world. Your success just enables you to become better and, in the end, that's all you can expect." Well, it makes more sense than being equal to the love you make. Weiss is not only—in Fagenson's opinion—the author of a coherent body of work, he's also a lot of fun as a conversationalist, even if you forgot your dictionary. As we talk about success, I mention David Bowie as one such example. Just to play the chump, I pronounce it "Booie," though. Weiss plays it like we rehearsed the whole thing.

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“It’s like the great man theory in history. David Booie isn’t where he is because he’s David Booie. It’s because the world allowed David Booie to be creative.” Hey, when did we take a vote?

Will the world allow Was (Not Was) to continue to be creative? I’d like to think so. They’re currently working on album three, slated for a latesummer release. Unlike Tornadoes, it isn’t being written on a song-at-a-time basis (“It gave Tornadoes a disjointed feel,” according to Dave); and it’s also sans a vocal cast of thousands. “We have a working title,” says Fagenson. “f Love This Universe, I Hate This Universe." Say what you will, these guys come up with some great album names.

“We had a name for the last album that kept all the z-sounds running,” Weiss adds. “We were gonna call it: Was (Not Was), Has-Beens. But Don said, ‘Look, it’s just too close to the truth in this case.’ But that’s how we want to be perceived by our fans, as washed-up.” I assure them I’ve got no problem there.

“ ‘Fagenson stirred his coffee with his foot,’ ” Weiss continues, imagining how I’ll present this encounter at the Lemon Peel Lounge. (Actually, he used his thumb.) Of course, the real question is why the Was Brothers would allow CREEM to send their D.N. (Designated Neilson) to gather info for an update. I’ll grant that buying me a few beers is practically a riot, but most of humanity seems to muddle along without the pleasure.

Weiss is thoughtful, probably chronically so. “It’s important to us, this particular readership and this particular audience.”

“Huh?” I don’t say. “Why?” I do say. “What do you perceive this audience to be?”

“Well...a little younger,” Weiss offers. A blatant insult to our many retiree subscribers, but I let it pass. “I think it’s harder to speak to a younger audience—and there’s always a hint of didacticism. But that’s the only thing that could make me want to appeal to young kids.. .not to just get them off their seats to boogie.” He gracefully concedes that Born To Laugh At Tornadoes was rife with musical laughs that younger listeners might not pick up on. “There are things in there that are genre studies, where they wouldn’t even get the joke,” he says. “Not having heard Mel Torme even once.”

Maybe I’m more cynical, but I suggest that Was (Not Was) wants to sell a lot of records, too, genre studies and all. “Yessss...” says Dave. But: “I’d like to have a future, too. It’s like thinking of yourself as an NFL lineman. You only have so many years.” It’s true, even if it doesn’t explain Mel Torme and David Booie.

Compadre Don, still sprawling, suggests this summation of Was (Not Was): “The surprise is that we’re doing it at all. That we’re on a major label. We thought, somewhere in the back of pur minds, that we’d make these little records and go out and play small college towns once a year. That we’d somehow eke out enough to survive. We never thought we’d get this far.”

Not many did, I’d guess. In this woebegone era of image, it’s somewhat heartening to know there’s a niche out there for Was (Not Was). Three things I know: I’m glad I got to play the D.N., I look forward to Universe and the live show and I’m delighted that Mr. Fagenson picked up the tab on all my beers at the Peel. Zaz not all, but it’s enough for now.