SOUL ASYLUM PLEADER THAN YOU'LL EVER BE

SOUL ASYLUM PLEADER THAN YOU'LL EVER BE

FEATURES

Ira Robbins

by

It might be said that Soul Asylum is just a wonderful rock �n� roll band from Minneapolis, a rough and ready quartet embodying explosive energy, sloppy charm, and a reserve of musical and lyrical sophistication that instantly distinguishes them from the vast majority. You could simplemindedly compare them to the Replacements and Husker Du—also young Minneapolitans who began just this side of hardcore—and contemplate the mystical correlation between plaid clothing and musical excellence. Or you could get all analytical and try explaining why these four guys, none yet 25, are providing the ideal audio antidote to the superficialty of hairdo lame-os, the tedium of rote dance machines, and the pernicious fradulence of grungy pseudopatriots. Maybe it�s just that Soul Asylum has the distinct (perhaps unfair) advantage of intelligence and sincerity, coupled with a no-nonsense attitude about career achievement without selling out.

To put things in a semi-sociological context, the gene pool which spawned many of this sad decade�s great American bands developed around 15 years ago with countless nearing-teen tykes stewing their pubescent musical juices in the primordial mid-�70s glamrock oozepot of the Faces, Mott The Hoople, Slade, Aerosmith and Sweet. Kids who came of playing age in that brief era when glitterglam�s last trivial vestiges slunk away in shame as the younger, faster, louder,

and—most important of all—temporarily uncompromised punk bands came slamming into view were miraculously loaded up with a unique potion: the latter�s merciless bullshit machete and the former�s perverse commercial sensibilities. They grew up in fertile spiritual soil, armed with respect for brilliantly crafted songs, an unshakeable distrust of the old-fashioned stardom game and the do-it-yourself knowledge that self-reliance is the first and last rule of the road.

Soul Asylum approach music as a serious craft, tempering their lunatic onstage abandon with obvious care and attention. If these guys were factory workers, they�d be the kind to get the job done right, shrugging off the quick and dirty shortcuts. Onstage, Dave Pirner�s scraggly blond mane whips around as he sings. Dan Murphy focuses intently on the guitar in his hands, regularly joining in the vocal chores. Drummer Grant Young and bassist Karl Mueller play with an easy precision, belying both the complexity and ferocity of their contributions. The band�s unique sound owes as much to Young�s intricate, imaginative power-percussion as to Pirner and Murphy�s tandem vocals. But the whole machine proceeds from Pirner�s songs, eloquent country-tinged rock ballads about getting along, employment, idolatry, and romance�s rugged road.

The band began in 1981 as Loud Fast Rules, but abandoned that name before Twin/Tone, local label home to many Minneapolis coolsters, issued their first vinyl, a raw and not altogether listenable 1984

mini-album called Say What You Will. The original lineup included drummer Pat Morley—Young joined the following year and was well-ensconced on the drum throne in time to record Made To Be Broken, the triumphant full-length album produced (like its predecessor with far better results) by Husker Du�s Bob Mould. From the title track�s southwestern twang to the.all-out emotional emancipation of �Whoa!� to Murphy�s dynamic �Can�t Go Back� to the chilling country melancholy of �Never Really Been,� it�s an amazingly potent record of sadness and hope, loneliness and humor, with tunes that rage like hardcore and yodel like a freight train.

To keep fans from missing anything, the band thoughtfully numbered the sides of that second release 3 and 4, and kept that tradition on While You Were Out, the longplayer which contains sides 5 and 6 of the Soul Asylum saga. Produced by Chris Osgood and released near the end of �86, it�s not as consistent, but does feature such winners as �No Man�s Land� and �Closer To The Stars.� Between the two records, Twin/Tone put out Time�s Incinerator (named for a Murphy lyric), an essential cassette-only collection of outtakes and half-bakeds, which boasts Karl Mueller singing James Brown�s �Hot Pants,� the excellent �Draggin� Me Down� (inexplicably left off Say What You Will) and other noteworthy items.

Soul Asylum�s new album is the first under a deal that effectively makes A&M their label. Murphy *is unfazed by the band�s graduation to the big time record biz. �I look at A&M in the �70s—how many Stranglers albums did they put out? A&M seems to be into what the band�s doing. It�ll be fine.�

In contrast to the no-futzing in-and-out velocity of prior recordings, this is a meticulous six-week project (not counting a week of pre-production back home) at three of New York�s finest high-tech studios, under the supervision of the newly-formed production team of Ed Stasium (Ramones, Julian Cope, Vernon Reid�s Living Colour) and Lenny Kaye (exPatti Smith Group guitarist, now known as Suzanne Vega�s producer). Reviewing the group�s recording history, Young notes that ��the first EP was done in six days; Made To Be Broken was done in four. While You Were Out took 14 days, because too many people were telling what they wanted turned up.� As the sessions commenced, Murphy admits the record hasn�t got a name yet. �We always think of that stuff last. Our titles haven�t been that good, but our albums do have titles.�

The group turned up in New York a week before starting the record, and played a handful of local warm-up gigs, including an uncommon acoustic set at a New York club called Siberia, where Murphy and Pirner knocked out casual versions of Soul Asylum tunes and others, such as Dylan�s �Forever Young,� the Faces� �Ooh La La,� the Stones� �No Expectations,� and Bad Company�s �Feel Like Making Love.� The show�s high point was a lengthy, ludicrous medley that excerpted classics by the Ramones, Doobie Brothers, Steve Miller, Kiss, R.E.M., the Starland Vocal Band (whose reprehensible �Afternoon Delight� is apparently well remembered by someone), Don McLean, and more. All that Top 40 radio time spent driving to gigs has not, it seems, gone to waste.

�We�ve never really been able to put on record what we can put on stage,� admits Young, explaining the band�s hopes for the new record. �We�ve got a lot to learn in the studio,� Pirner adds. �You�ve got to go out and find somebody that�s worked in the studio for years and say, hey, show me the ropes.� Kaye and Stasium seem more than happy to play professor. �They�re ready to make a major label LP,� Kaye says confidently.

Once in the studio, the new songs— many of which were field-tested at the fullstrength shows—take final shape and sound top-notch, as good as any in the band�s repertoire. Big-timd audio fidelity appears to be a very positive step. Young�s muscular drumming plows through difficult time changes without faltering; high-fidelity guitars crunch and howl with caged feedback. Committed to getting things right, not just done, the four pass the time between takes playing miniature pool and staying limber by running through pop standards. �Femme Fatale,� �All The Young Dudes,� �Fox On The Run,� ��Walk Like An Egyptian,� and Thin Lizzy�s �Jailbreak� are just part of the seemingly infinite Soul Asylum jukebox.

It takes a little over a week to get basic tracks—no vocals, just two guitars, bass and drums—for 12 originals in the can to everyone�s satisfaction. Hearing the barebones version of �Heavy Rotation,� a Pirner song with a half-dozen drum patterns and a few jazzy chords, makes the band�s advanced abilities transparently obvious. �It�s like a mini-symphony,� Stasium remarks, and he�s not far wrong. �Endless Farewell,� a slow, moody ballad which Young says is the slowest song he�s ever played, has a gospelly, anthemic feel; �Down On Up To Me� turns from a mid-speed Cheap Trickish opening into a Stonesy rocker, with a big Murphy guitar solo.

The lyrics of �Sometime Comes Early,� a strong rocker with a memorably melodic chorus, and �Ode,� countryish verses contrasting riff-laden refrains, illustrate Pirner�s verbal finesse. �Sometime� discusses the need to do your best in life without rueing your shortcomings. �Ode� describes a hard-luck loser who hits the lottery and finds that it doesn�t really change anything.

�I work at songwriting pretty hard,� Pirner says. �I�m not just trying to fill in gaps. Before actually writing songs, I�ll come up with a narrative or a story and then realize how to put music to it.

�Whatever anybody gets out of it,� he continues in a soft voice, �is OK with me—I only have my own standards to keep up with here. What changes the way I write is what changes around me and what changes within me. There�s always been a part of me that wants to make something interesting enough that you can listen to it a few times and get a little more out of it on the sixth listening than you did on the third.� Suddenly, he�s through discussing the topic. �I feel silly talking about writing. It�s supposed to be self-explanatory.�

Murphy, who has one song on the new album, notes that he and his bandmate have �totally different methods of writing.

I try to present a song to the end with all the parts and* the vocal line worked out. Dave will come in with a guitar part and we�ll work another guitar part in and piece it together in sections. Then, three weeks, a month later, we�ll hear the vocal part for it.�

But what about the crucial question? The interview�s ending, and the subject of plaidness just can�t be avoided any longer. The band has been joking all evening about great records that should�ve been—�Plaidfinger,� Back In Plaid, Plaid On Plaid, The Plaid Album, �Plaid All Over,� �Paint It, Plaid� (�no solids anymore,� sings Karl, by way of illustration).

�I�m going to stop wearing plaid,� declares Pirner, �beause people are going to start saying something about it. The Bay City Rollers were about the plaidest thing you�ve ever seen, and we�re not like that. We don�t wear plaid for photos and then take it off.�

Rising to defend midwestern culture from the onslaught of New York haughtiness, Grant tries to pin it on Canada. �Have you ever been there? It�s plaid on plaid! Quad plaid!�

Leave it to Danny Murphy to offer the sensible explanation. �Plaid keeps all the cold shit out and the warm shit in. It�s like a t�ermos mug—how do it do it?� A contented smile of recollection crosses his face as he continues. �You get up and there�s a shirt on your floor and you say, �That looks comfortable.� �

As soon as the album wrapped up in March, it was off to Europe for a foreign tour. An entirely different self-produced EP on Twin/Tone, Clam Dip And Other Delights, was released in February, consisting of three originals (check out �Just Plain Evil� and tell me that isn�t really Aerosmith) and three covers. The best of those is �Chains,� a brilliant song by a defunct �70s Minneapolis band called the Wad, but listen carefully to the version of �Jukebox Hero� and see which Chicago writer-musician gets an unexpected name check. Assuming it ultimately gets a title, the LP will follow in early May. And the rest, as they say, will be history.