Paul Westerberg – Beyond misanthropy
ND: On Suicaine Gratifaction, there’s a sense that you’re certain of what you’re doing — more so than on Eventually or 14 Songs. There’s nothing tentative about the approach.
PW: If only… The truth is… (pauses) I’ll give you this much: Yes, I was certain in my uncertainty. I didn’t have clue, and yet I knew my gut would lead me to where I was supposed to go. Last time out, or with the last two records, I had a better idea of what I wanted to do. I didn’t know what I wanted to do this time, and yet, any time anything false reared its head, it was immediately discarded.
ND: How good are you at quickly judging your own work? Do you have to let it sit awhile, and then come back to it?
PW: I think I do. I think that’s why I continue to look for production help. I’m never sure whether my stuff is good or not. I think I’ve gotten better at immediately knowing what’s crap, but I’m still not sure of how good the good stuff is. I judge that by whether or not something excites me, or stirs me, right away. And it’s funny, when you listen to a record, the things that stir you upon first listen aren’t always the things that are deep. “Suzanne”, by Leonard Cohen, for instance — I never liked that, really. It took me several listens to understand the beauty of that song. I’m aware of that, so even when I think something isn’t great, I’ll hang with it for a while. One little hint I’ve come to understand is, if I’m terrified to say something, I’m pretty sure that’s the thing to say. (laughs) But I try not to use that on every song.
ND: You’ve always been modest about your guitar playing and your keyboard work, and yet you rarely solicit outside help on either instrument. Can you explain why?
PW: Well, I enjoy it. [To use someone else] would be like borrowing someone else’s eyes, or someone else’s hair, for a date. It’s part of what I am. I think my lack of skill on both instruments makes me play things that no one in their right mind would ever play. The piano solo on “Born For Me”, for instance — you couldn’t have paid a guy to play that clumsily, but every note is exactly what we needed. I think I have a sense of economy. That’s what my lack of chops gives me.
ND: What percentage of your composing takes place on keyboards, these days?
PW: On this record, it’s about half and half. I still write a lot more songs on guitar, things that never see the light of day. The better songs, more and more, are coming from the keyboard, I think. The more memorable melodies. There’s a sense of cocksure bravado that comes with playing the guitar, where you can say something a little dumb and get away with it. At the piano, I don’t feel comfortable unless I really have something to say. I feel more vulnerable at the piano. It’s like, I couldn’t pick it up and hit someone with it.
ND: In the early ’90s, a lot of “grunge-pop” bands were influenced by the Replacements — groups like Gin Blossoms and the Goo Goo Dolls. Today, it seems your writing has a greater influence on alternative country bands like Whiskeytown and the V-Roys. Do you ever listen to those groups?
PW: No, not at all. See, that’s the rub. People will say, “Ah, you gotta hear these guys, Paul. They remind me so much of [you].” And that’s really the last thing I want to hear. I don’t want to hear something I can do. It’s like, play me something that I don’t have a handle on. That’s more interesting, to me.
ND: How is your time filled between albums, particularly since you have a family now? Do you write every day?
PW: No. I went for the longest time without writing. I collect scraps. I have about twelve little notebooks, with one sentence in each of them. I spend a lot of time with [my son] now. He’s seven months old. And I work out of my home, so it’s difficult to just go downstairs, shut myself away from everything, and come up later. It’s strange. I’ll need to travel, probably, in order for the next phase to make itself clear. Whether or not that takes the form of a tour, that’s what will probably give me fodder for the next creative burst. I can’t just sit at home and make a record. I have to go away first, in order to become inspired to make it.
ND: After you finished the tour for Eventually, you left Reprise and signed to Capitol. Was that a case of Capitol agreeing to let you approach your career the way you wanted to?
PW: Yes, I think so, in a way. I was encouraged by [former label president] Gary Gersh, who signed me. I met with him in his office, and…it was like the used car salesman who tells you you’re driving a piece of junk in order to make you buy a new one. He got halfway through his spiel, and I said, “What do you think about this?” And I played him “Self-Defense.” He said, “That’s exactly what I want.” We were on the same wavelength. I already had the dark, “real deal” record he was looking for. He wasn’t looking for a big, guitar-slinger record, and I wasn’t making one. And then, of course, the day the record was mastered, he was gone. But that doesn’t really matter. Record companies are all kind of the same.