MARSHALL CRENSHAW Still Likes Girls And 11 Others

MARSHALL CRENSHAW Still Likes Girls And 11 Others

FEATURES

Laura Fissinger

Sorry, Aretha, but maybe there is such a thing as too much respect. Since his pop-heaven debut LP in 1983, Marshall Crenshaw has been bowed to by fans, praised by smitten critics, and treated by both like some sage or rock ’n’ roll demigod. That’s not so terrible—Marshall Crenshaw is one of the best pop-rockers in the known universe, past or present. But the guy himself has gotten sort of blurred by all this worship—everybody knows what Marshall Crenshaw’s music is like, but what’s Marshall like? Inspired by the sonic bliss of his fourth LP, Mary Jean And 9 Others, we went to find out.

I. He’s, like, jazzed by Ed Sanders.

“I moved out of Manhattan last October. I’d gone with lone, my espoused, to see the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. As soon as we left the city, it seemed almost that we became different people (laughs). As soon as we got back and returned the rental car, we got in a big fight. So we moved to Woodstock, which is about an hour and 45 minutes from Manhattan if you drive really fast. I’ve never seen Todd Rundgren up there. I’ve seen Garth Hudson from the Band at the health food store, and I’ve seen Ed Sanders of the Fugs on the street twice. I always get, like, really jazzed when I see him.”

II. He likes Lester Bangs.

"I used to subscribe to CREEM back in the early ’70s, when Lester Bangs was an editor. I was a bigger fan of his than I was of most ’70s rock groups—but we won’t go into that.”

III. He’s kind of like not a chooser.

“I can’t really generalize about how I’ve been presented in the media. I feel at times I’ve been presented as this kind of cartoon character, and I don't like that very much. (Squints harder at the two plastic straws he’s trying to fit inside each other). Actually I’d rather not elaborate—it feels like sour grapes. I’ve sorta clamored all my life for attention, and now that I’m getting it, it’s kinda like beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. Am I a critics’ darling? What does a critics’ darling feel like? (A slight hint of irritation in the soft voice.) I think it’s really nice, you know, to get any kind of acknowledgement—I’m not kidding, I really feel that way. From day one of my career, I’ve never been ignored, and I’m thankful. The only time I had any sort of discomfort was when people sometimes described me as ‘the next big thing.’ I despise that so totally, and anyone who’s ever been described that way has really been stigmatized. When interviewers would ask me questions about it, what I always said was ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ Because I knew I was gonna pay the price at some point.”

IV. He likes his country.

“Growing up in Detroit, the first Iggy & The Stooges LP was a record you had to have. I think Blah Blah Blah was grossly underappreciated. The thing that really cemented my interest in him was his autobiography, I Need More. You haven’t read that book? Get it! Iggy’s really a good American as far as I’m concerned. He’s a good example of the kind of character that makes me (hears himself saying this and starts to laugh) proud to be an American. Iggy Pop is one of the figures from Marshall Crenshaw’s America.”

V. He sorta likes talking about his new record, but he really likes the

record itself.

“As you know, every time I’ve done an album, I’ve worked with a different producer. One of the drawbacks to that is that every time you make a record you have to work out your personal relationship with the producer, try and get to know him. Making records, for me, it’s all boys—and it’s all boys with big egos. So it can be kinda (clears throat) distracting at times. I sidestepped all that crap this time because I’d already known Don Dixon for a couple of years and I’d worked with him on a couple of records—one of Marti Jones’s and the Smithereens’ album. I think I’ll make more records with Dixon. This record went real smoothly and we’re all, like, incredibly gassed and really happy with it.”

VI. He sorta likes making movies, but he really liked Kathleen Turner.

“I’m in the movie about Ritchie Valens’s life, La Bamba, for the last 15 minutes. (Smiles like maybe he’s making fun of himself and maybe not). But it’s a big scene. The guy who produced the movie, Taylor Hackford, is a big rock ’n’ roll fan. He wanted to create connections for the contemporary rock fan to these rockers from the past, so he hired Brian Setzer to play Eddie Cechran and me to play Buddy Holly, and he got Los Lobos to play Ritchie Valens music. At first when he asked me, I didn’t wanna do it. I’d acted in that stage show, Beatlemania, as John Lennon, and I didn’t feel at ease. But I read the La Bamba script, and it was great. I decided to do it because I realized I was saying no because I was afraid to get up in front of the camera. And if you’re afraid to do something, you should probably do it. (Smiles a big one. Could mean anything). In Peggy Sue Got Married, we played the band at the high school reunion. It was a cool way to kill off seven days. The guy who wrote the script likes my records; that’s how we got the job. When we went to L.A. to do it, he showed me the first draft of the movie’s script, and the first line was something like ‘Are we gonna go see Marshall tonight?’ I didn’t know it at the time, but Kathleen Turner is a big rock ’n’ roll fan. She sings in a band and everything. Anyway, we had a lot of time to kill on the set. One night we were outside of our trailer singing Beatles songs. After awhile, some other people came up and started to sing Beatles songs, and after awhile Kathleen came up, and she was singing Beatles songs. She looked kinda self-conscious, but she was trying to loosen up and get into it. She was really very friendly. She was very nice. (Seems a little amazed by the whole anecdote).”

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VII.He doesn’t like to talk about record sales figures, but he tries.

(Marshall shifts in his chair. It’s a small shift, because he’s a small man and he’s not given to great big gestures. By the way, have we told you yet that we like Marshall? Weir, we do. He’s like his music—unassuming on the surface, and indispensible right after that.)

“Well, I dunno. To me that’s kinda like asking me why I’m not black. It’s like, what I do, you know?” (He gets a grip of his irritation and jumps back in). Let’s try to analyze this if we can. (No analysis needed at this end of the table—we know that Marshall doesn’t sell enough records because humanity can be profoundly stupid at times. But if everyone that we know buys Mary Jean And 9 Others then the next time we interview Marshall we won’t have to ask the horrible question about record sales figures). “I knew when I got up this morning to get ready to do all these interviews that one of the things people were going to ask me is ‘Why aren’t you more famous?’ And I don’t think there’s an answer I can comfortably give. (I wanted to know what the uncomfortable answer was, but by this time Crenshaw had charmed the crap out of me and my journalistic skills were compromised.) I think we committed the sin of bad timing with some of our releases. Like I think our second album came out much too soon after our first. (Marshall Crenshaw was the first, Field Day was the second and Downtown the third). I think we rushed through certain aspects of the second album. I don’t wanna give the impression that I’m blase about this—I do care. But I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing. I’ve been at this for awhile, and I’m happy with a lot of the things I’ve accomplished.”

VIII.He likes himself.

“I was shy as a kid sometimes. But I always had a big ego (laughs). Of course it’s still there. In order to do this music thing at all, you have to have a really solid sense of your own self-worth. It takes a lot of guts (laughs).”

IX.It’s, like, some stories you can tell, and others you just can’t.

“My most scary gigs ever? Most hilarious? Hmmm. Well, my brother and I used to play in an oldies band in Detroit called Danny & The Robots (laughs). We used to work this bar in Pontiac, Michigan, that was frequented by some scary types. One night the heat gave out in this place and the woman who ran the club turned on the grill to make some heat. The place filled up with this acrid smoke and everybody was coughing and choking. (Stops to think and starts to blush). Awwww, I can’t tell this other story because it’s dirty and it’s about my brother and it’s not cool. This other time, these bikers wanted to beat us up. There was this booking agent, about four-feet-nine, with one leg three inches shorter than the other—he looked like Rumpelstiltskin. He talked the bikers out of beating us up. (Shakes his head). I once saw a bouncer in a Detroit bar grab this one guy by his face and throw him out. (He looks up, pokerfaced. The straws he’s been fidgeting with are now bent and surrendering). That musta hurt.”

X.He still likes the song.

“In second grade, our family moved up to Jackson, Michigan, and my parents were really broke, and their TV set was busted and they couldn’t afford to get it fixed. So they used to listen to the radio every night— this was 1961. One weekend—for some reason—this station only played one record, over and over for the entire weekend. They played ‘Rama Lama Ding Dong’ by the Edsels. Honestly, for three days, they played nothing but. That’s one of my first memories of a rock ’n’ roll song having an effect on me.”

XI.He still likes girls.

“I usually had a girlfriend in high school.

I was always very monogamous. In fact I met my wife, lone, in high school (laughs). Swear to God. I met her when my band played at a dance. Every girl I’ve ever been involved with has been someone I’ve met after a show, and that’s the truth. No, I didn’t think of that when I first picked up a guitar. I picked up a guitar when I was six years old.”

XXII. Like, hey—keep those cards and letters coming

“My favorite kind of acknowledgement is fan mail. I get a couple thousand letters a year. That’s really, like, meaningful. I dig it. It’s cool that people take the time. I usually answer every one I get.” ®