A conversation with Mike Watt from 1997
The Minutemen/fIREHOSE bassmaster on Canada-U.S. trade releations, the tenuous line between patriotism and fascism, his two-point plan for saving America, and his recurring dreams about D. Boon
Welcome to stübermania, where I dig into my box of dust-covered interview cassettes from the 1990s, 2000s, and 2010s to present bygone conversations with your favourite alterna/indie semi-stars (and the occasional classic-rock icon). This is a newsletter in three parts: The Openers (links to recent writings, playlist updates, and/or other musical musings), The Headliner (your featured interview of the week), and Encores (random yet related links).
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THE OPENERS
Est-ce-que vous aimez le rock de prog? At Pitchfork, I reviewed the latest album from Montreal trio Population II. RIYL: Tame Impala back when they were just trying to be Dungen; a Quebecois King Gizzard; Pink Floyd: Live at CBGB.
This week at Commotion, I produced the segment on Bon Iver’s outsized influence on contemporary pop music with commentary from Emilie Hanskamp and Matthew Ismael Ruiz, and a roundtable discussion on Wayne Gretzky’s sad transformation from Canada’s hockey hero to (shit) stain on our nation with insights from Tara Slone, Paul Myers, and Karl Subban.
Last Friday, the Tindersticks played Toronto for the first time since 2009—and, over the course of two hours, performed zero songs from before that time, so any hope that they were going to do a 30th-anniversary run-through of their 1995 self-titled classic went unfulfilled. But that’s no complaint, as the current five-piece line-up sounds as precise and crystal-clear as a CD you would use to test out a posh stereo system, and the band’s latter-day catalogue is teeming with doom-soul stunners like “Always a Stranger,” the highlight from last year’s Soft Tissue:
Notes on this week’s arrivals on the stübermania 2025 jukebox:
Pulp, “Spike Island”: Disco 2025 does not disappoint. And as good as this song is, the video is even better.
Stereolab, “Aerial Troubles”: And while we’re talking about bands that took up permanent residence in my Discman circa 1995—on their first release in 15 years, the groop effortlessly retrofit their space-age bachelor-pad music for the AirBnB era.
Black Country, New Road, “Happy Birthday”: In my review of 2023’s Live at Bush Hall, I observed that the former post-punk armada had turned into the prog Belle and Sebastian, and the new Forever Howlong largely sticks to that dainty lane, but this spirited mid-album standout sees them stepping out as England’s foremost purveyors of music-hall glam.
Softie, “Kiss Kiss Kiss”: An Oakland group who answer the question, “what if you left your copies of Isn’t Anything and Daydream Nation out in the sun too long and melted them down into one swoon-worthy seven-inch?”
Lifeguard, “It Will Get Worse”: Judging by the first single from the upcoming Ripped and Torn (out June 6), it sounds as though Kai Slater (of stübermania faves The Sharp Pins) is smuggling some of the Pins’ power-pop pep into his primary power trio’s ‘80s-SST discord.
And speaking of ‘80s SST…
THE HEADLINER:
A conversation with Mike Watt
The date: October 27, 1997
Publication: Chart
Location: The second floor of Paupers Pub on Bloor Street West
Album being promoted: Contemplating the Engine Room, the follow-up to Watt’s 1995 solo debut for Columbia, Ball-Hog or Tugboat, whose all-star support cast, elaborate long-box packaging, and songs about urinating in bottles whilst driving in the van to avoid restroom breaks make it one of the great “did a major label actually pay for this?” oddities of the ‘90s alt-rock gold rush.
The context: When you sit down with Mike Watt for the first time, it’s like reuniting with an old pal you’ve never met before. Because when you listen to the Minutemen or fIREHOSE, you become instantly conversant in the San Pedro slang, nicknames, local lore, and life philosophies that comprise the cornerstones of Wattspiel. Watt talks a lot like he plays bass: he darts around a lot, challenges you to keep pace with him, and packs a ton of information into short spurts. So even though we had gathered to speak about Contemplating the Engine Room—a concept album inspired by his father’s experiences in the navy and Watt’s own world travels as a touring musician—our conversation touched on, well, everything: the tenuous line between patriotism and fascism, his two-point plan to improve America, playing with Porno for Pyros, riding bicycles, the early L.A. punk scene, what people get wrong about J. Mascis, rock operas, his recurring dream about his late Minutemen compatriot D. Boon, not to mention some ice-breaking small talk about Canada-U.S. trade relations that’s worth revisitng now:
So how’s the tour going?
This is gig 18. Forty-five gigs, 48 days.
I noticed on your website that you don't really have much time off.
When you're not playing, you’re paying. It’s like vaudeville!
So is that your nice new van parked outside?
No, mine’s the white one in the back with the bullet hole. It's Canadian. You know, all Econolines are made up here. I have Canada travelling with me all the time. In fact, you know what the motor’s called—the 351 Windsor!
We give you the parts, you give us the vehicles…
NAFTA. It actually started before NAFTA. We’re brothers, neighbors. It's all about people—you can't get into that nationalism crap.
So you’re not into the whole militia scene…
You know, being a guy who plays towns, that shit gets in the way. I have to be like a sailor. Nationalism, man… look at World War I: they got the working men of each country to go and kill each other. They always have—they divide ’em. The same reason they went after Jewish people—Stalin called them “too cosmopolitan.” People don't understand, [the working class is] the thing that connects their towns, but it's so easy to hate when you stay in your little valley. [Progress] comes from dealing with other folks. But you’ve got to develop them skills. If I was king of America, or whatever they call it—boss, czar, it would have to be bigger than president because he's just a garbage collector—the two requirements I would have to graduate high school would be to learn drums and visit a foreign country—it would help America out so much.
How does drumming factor into that?
Just to get some rhythm going. I think if you can play drums, you can play anything. See in America, they sell a lot of stuff with the “we’re No. 1 thing,” but you go to another country, you learn that people get things done their way, and there's other ways than your way. It's funny about Canadians—they always want to visit the States, and most Americans don't even know where Canada is. No, really—we are so full of ourselves. It's dangerous. We’ve got our hells and our burdens, and that's why I say: Why can't we be students for life and constantly be learning?
Frank Zappa once said something along the lines of “everyone should just drop out of high school and go to the library.”
That’s what Kurt did! Kurt used to tell me he used to hang out a lot in libraries, and people thought he was retarded and it was like, “no, he's just on his own little program.”
The education system isn’t really set up for everyone to succeed.
They teach you to take tests. I mean, you can learn a little discipline that way. But they don't teach you critical thinking, which is what we really, really need. Go to the library, get your own sources—a lot of different sources.
Would you say things are better now compared to say, 1984, when the punk and mersh worlds were more separated?
I think it’s better now—the indie scene is kind of stronger. If you read Option magazine and see all them labels—it’s much stronger now than the old days. We had the Knack and The Cars and The Motels in those days, and before that, it was The Archies and Banana Splits—you had dudes wearing outfits! Little Richard, you know—I'm fully into him: a dishwasher who wants to wear a dress and sing “Tutti Frutti” But who sold 10 times as many records with the same song? Pat Boone! So I think that co-op shit has always been happening. I don’t want to be like Fonzie—”eh, the old days,” you know what I mean? But those are the days I'm from. A lot of it is circumstance, and as George Clinton said once: “It's not where you're from, it's where you're at.” And circumstance aside, how do you conduct your mind in these times? What do the kids have to give? Or are you just going to be cynical and shut them out, or say “it was our golden era and you guys are losers—you weren’t born at the right time.” That's a snobbery/elitist thing.
Is it gratifying to know that, for the rock stars of today, you were a bigger influence on them than The Knack or whatever you were up against 10-15 years ago?
A dude starting college right now was born in 1980. His parents were probably into new wave! But look how nature works: If you want to grow a good crop, you use a lot of manure, you know? It's funny: You kind of talk like J Mascis. Anybody ever tell you that? It’s the inflection in your voice—you, George Hurley and J. He's a great guy. The best guitarist, a very sweet man. People call him a slacker and shit—that’s just people dismissing him when they say that. I don't think it's right. J is going through a lot… he's been going to see this spiritual lady who hugs people. He's always surprising me. He told me he was abducted once by aliens and woke up with a mark on his leg. I mean, just because he doesn't have really good speaking skills… they used to say that about Greg Ginn too. They’re more inside guys. They’re not thinking slow. J Mascis’ mind is always going, man.
That’s what the music’s for—it’s their primary mode of expression.
It’s funny, D. Boon worked part time at a school for special education with autistic kids, and he could get to them with the acoustic guitar. So just because somebody doesn’t buy into the peer -group way of call-and-response doesn't mean they ain't got it going on. And I think these guys who write J. off, they should be a little more sensitive. He’s got it going on.
So was touring with Porno for Pyros kind of like a vacation for you?
Yeah, but it was still like a different kind of working. I was like a deckhand. A sidemouse. I learned a lot. You cannot learn everything being a boss. I like to trade roles—sideman, leader, sideman, leader—because you get to see how dependent we are on one another. One can't exist without the other. It's hard to dream by committee, but the idea of getting a little springboard from some other guys’ world is healthy, because you can get trapped in your little trenches. Perry will say, “you’re a flower garden, and there's neat rows and a cat comes running across and you're a bird.” “Oh yeah, I get it!” This is how he explains to me how to play a part. Because he doesn’t have a machine strapped to him. He talks in stories and metaphors. It’s so fresh—you don’t have to worry about G-minors and flat fifths…
On this new record, it sounds like you gave [guitarist] Nels Cline free rein.
I did. And [drummer Stephen] Hodges. I would just set things in their mind. All the songs take place over a 24-hour period, so I’d tell them the time of the day, what “colour” the song was, and give them the spiels about my life and my daddy’s life. Because there's a lot of different parallels going on in the thing. It's not only about my dad in the Navy. In music and writing, you don't have to be so linear, it’s not like giving a speech. With music, you can intoxicate people because then they can weave themselves into it, which is liberating.
I feel like on this record, you’re more tugboat than ball-hog.
Well, I had a real big story to tell on this record. I wrote it a bit differently, too. Usually, I have the bass in my lap, and I wrote this one all on the bike. Yeah, I got a bike. I stopped riding when I was 16, I got a car. But then last year, this guy was moving to Atlanta, and he sold me a 10-speed for $5. At 5:30-6 in the morning, I'm riding around, and because the fuckers are trying to run you over, you have to have your ears open. So I got into the rhythms of my town. It was good therapy for me. The other big influence on this record is this book by Richard McKenna, The Sand Pebbles. It’s about this guy Holman, in the engine room. McKenna was actually a sailor for 22 years, and he wanted to be a writer. This was the only book he wrote, but it's a great book. It’s about this guy, Holman, who wants to belong, but he can't stand phoniness, he just cannot tolerate it, so he kind of falls in love with the machines. It’s like a kid with a skateboard—if he falls down, then there’s no bullshit, you got to get back up, you can't talk your way out of it. And with Holman it’s the same thing—if you fuck up, you get killed, so you’ve got to learn the rhythms of the machines.
So on the first record, obviously you had all these guest vocalists. Was that because you were hesitant to take the mic yourself?
No, that was a little experiment with bass. It was about going in the opposite direction from playing with a trio all them years. I wanted to just go at it. But the cats were so enthusiastic. There's no greater gift. You write a song and dudes want to play on it! I can't think of a higher thing. You're inspiring them—it's like giving yourself a little worth in a way.
Does that validate all the hard work you were putting in 10-15 years ago?
Well, I think it gave me a grounding that I can use today. A little self-reliance. But I still think you're only as good as your last song. You gotta get out there—it’s just good therapy to keep proving it to yourself. I can't really just lean on them days. I mined my past a little for this story here, but it wasn't a happiness kind of thing—it's more like, “oh, this is where I'm at, and maybe here’s a Valentine to George and D.Boon”—especially D. Boon—”that says, ‘thank you so much.’”
The Minutemen were an overtly political band, but this album is more autobiographical…
Yeah, but I think there's a lot of politics in there. Like, you have to build your self-reliance. You cannot just go with hysteria and mob rule and cliches and stereotypes. That’s what the Minutemen were about: Think for yourself. Who's got the power? Who's got the money? How much is your labour worth? And as I say with this new one: Who's running the ship? Who's in charge? Why are we sailing this way? Where is the fucking equator? The record's a lot about lines that seem so definite—night and day, life and death—but they're really blurry when you get close. Politics is about power, and how the power is divvied up. Who's got it? Who doesn't have it? It's not just whims.
I was listening to “Shit From an Old Notebook” the other day…
The last song I played with a pick!
…and what you were saying there…
Well, that was D. Boon. What was funny about D. Boon is, I’d need something behind the riffs, and sometimes D. Boon would just write stuff on notepads that were never meant to be songs. Like, he wrote that down just driving home from work and made a song out of it. He noticed how the signs would change… like, in this poor neighbourhood, you got malt liquor signs right in the yards. But in a more affluent neighbourhood, they'd have the cool cigarette ads with everybody playing sports and smoking cigarettes. In a very white neighborhood, it would be Miller Lite and a sports guy would have the beer. It’s funny, how the marketing went, and he was having his say about that. I just loved his passion and feeling, man, I really did. Very inspiring to me.
And what he was saying about advertising is just as relevant today, when we’re too far off from having ads projected onto the sky…
Oh, yeah. I've heard about fruit juices being marketed to certain age groups—it's getting like that.
The university I go to just a few blocks away from here has these beautiful 100-year-old buildings but with a Starbucks inside.
I think that assault will never end. And in fact, I think it's a good idea maybe to use some of their own advertising against them. But then they’ll say “copyright infringement,” right? That’s where the new war is. Why should we be organized like Nuremberg rallies? Why can't we have a say in the symbols being used on us? People won’t admit it, they say Hitler took over; no, Hitler was a rock star. I mean, I'm not that much into Pink Floyd, but that one thing he hit on [in The Wall] with that guy, it's so fucking true. He knew how to organize the psychology of selling shit.
And American patriotism isn’t so far removed from that…
Not at all, dude. When that Persian Gulf thing happened, that’s why [fIREHOSE] recorded Flyin’ the Flannel. You want to fly the flag? I’m going to fly my fucking shirt. My father died the month we recorded that. That was a weird album for me to record. It was like, “we're going to take on the guy that we helped arm, who was doing our dirty work against Iran.” But it didn't help [Bush] win an election. He had the war a year or two early. I really didn't like Bush, because every time there was a serious debate, he'd bring in this question of “who's more American?” I’m so tired of that shit.
So you grew up on naval bases…
Oh, yeah. I didn't know people for more than a year. We were so out of touch. We used to think civvies were all millionaires. But you did move so much, in a way, it got me ready for touring.
Were destined to follow in your dad’s footsteps and enlist?
No. He did it, he came from a little farm town, 17 years old, and had to get the fuck out. My situation was nothing like that. I could join a punk band, but he never understood it. He didn’t understand my music at all. He'd always be asking me, “what is this punk stuff?” I’d tell him: “we play gigs, make records, go around…” “Yeah, yeah, yeah—but what is it really about?” He just couldn't fathom it.
Yet you were touring the world just like he did…
Well, this is what happened: towards the end—he had cancer and was dying—I’d send him postcards from the road. And that's exactly what he told me: “you know what, you're kind of like a sailor.” That was kind of a trip. I didn't really know my father—he was gone so much. I knew D. Boon’s pop way more than my father. My dad would always say to me, “What are you doing? Contemplating your navel?” So I kind of got back at him [with the new album’s title, Contemplating the Engine Room]. On those ships, they have yearbooks, just like high school, and some dude just snapped a shot of him [that appears on the album cover]—that was in 1968, he's 28 years old, in Vietnam. He was young when I was born—18. A much different life. But in some ways, they were kind of the same—town-to-town; the van is the boat. The way we’d move around those Navy houses, it kind of was like touring: You had to learn how to make friends quick, and then leave ‘em—either they were moving or you were. I think the Navy is afraid of mutiny or something! You're getting orders every year to move. It's crazy. That’s why my mother, when we came to Pedro, she was like, “fuck this—we’re not moving again.” I was 10 years old and we’d already had 11 addresses.
A lot of people like to mythologize the L.A. punk scene—did it feel like a magical place for you when you were starting out?
When I went there in the ‘70s, there were a lot of strange people. They were a lot older: glitter people, glam people, artists. By the time we got to Orange County in the early ’80s, it was teenagers all playing the same song. Before that, it was way diverse, very bizarre. The first punk band that could sell out The Whiskey didn't even have guitars: The Screamers. They never even made a record. They thought that was old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll.
When I talked to Steve from Redd Kross, he was saying Black Flag were good, but then they spawned a whole wave of hardcore bands he wasn’t interested in…
But for them kids, it was more social. It was kind of like hippies—they were going to be anti-establishment by all putting on the same clothes. And I think that's always going to happen: We're going to be different the same way! But before that, it was a very loose scene and you didn't know what the fuck you were going to see when you went to a gig. And it opened my mind.
Did you study any rock operas for this record, like Quadrophenia or The Wall?
Not The Wall. I liked Quadrophenia…
It's also got the sea vibe going on.
Yeah, but I think it’s supposed to be about Brighton rockers and mods. My thing isn’t about that so much. Mine is more like “the boat is the van.” I don’t know if Pete [Townshend] was ever in the van. They had a manager from the get-go that was telling them what to wear. But I like The Who up to Sell Out, or Live at Leeds… and some of Quadrophenia.
So you covered Madonna with Ciccone Youth. Any plans to do any Spice Girls tunes?
No, because I think Madonna is much more in control than those girls. Madonna is very much a role model. Nobody bosses her around. I just liked the way she was in charge of her own thing and liked to manipulate the culture to make some pretty good jokes. We were dicks in the ’80s. We did a lot of raping of the land—a lot of strip malls put up, a lot of phoniness. And I thought she was making good fun of that—the Material Girl.
Are you still in touch with the SST guys?
Oh, yeah. Bob [Mould] is making a new band, he's gonna be recording soon. Grant Hart, I saw last week in Minneapolis. Greg Norton is a cook, he has a little restaurant. He's taking a break from music.
So can we expect a Broadway adaptation of Contemplating the Engine Room?
You know, I was thinking about making a play out of it… I don't know. I like the way that music is kind of free, because you don't have stage setups. But this album is a whole bunch of stories—it’s my father’s story, it’s the Minutemen’s story, it’s the whole SST story, but it's also the cycle of a day, and the cycle of a lifetime. One life is made of many days. The sun rises and the sun sets. But dawn and dusk are really blurry… I don’t think D. Boon knew he was killed for a couple days. I had a weird dream, like, two days after he died, where we’re in a bank lobby, like 10 feet away, and he's studying this painting that has five Abraham Lincoln heads at the top, and they’re all psychedelic colours like Peter Max, and he's studying this painting. And I'm thinking, “Jesus Christ, I got to tell him he's been killed, he can't be here anymore.” Because I don't think he really realized—he had such strength for living. It’s just hard, man, because I used to always be able to ask him what he thought. “What do you think of this D. Boon?” That was my most common question: “What do you think of this?” And I can't ask him that anymore. Well, I can ask; I just don't get that many answers. I have this other weird recurring dream, especially since riding bikes, where some motherfucker hits me, he sends me flying, and D. Boon is out in a wheatfield and he catches me!
Have you looked up any dream analysis books to see what it all means?
Probably “homoerotic.” [laughs]
ENCORES
Since the ‘90s, Watt has played with a wide array of artists, including The Stooges, Flipper, The Secondmen, and, for three songs at least, Kelly Clarkson:
I got to interview Watt again in December 2010 for my Danko Jones book. Just minutes before our call, I learned that Captain Beefheart had just passed away, and when I relayed the info to Watt at the start of our Skype call, he just sank his head in solemn silence and took a few minutes to process the news. I instantly felt bad about laying that news on him out of blue and thought for a moment that I had derailed the interview before it even started. But, pro that he is, Watt rebounded for our Danko convo, which included some discussion about this video, in which he stars alongside Elijah Wood, Selma Blair, and fellow bass god Lemmy:
Watt also made an appearance last year in Fred Armisen’s “Old Punks” bit for John Mulaney’s Everybody’s in L.A.:
And speaking of Mike Watt/sketch-comedy crossovers… check out Bill Hader’s 2021 interview on Damian Abraham’s Turned Out a Punk podcast, where he reveals that his performance on SNL’s “The Californians” was partially inspired by the Minutemen’s San Pedro accents:
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