A matter of perspective
By Blaine Schultz, Jon Anne Willow and Kenya Evans + Photos by Kat Jacobs and Erin Landry
In planning this story, we originally set out to pair young musicians with seasoned veterans and see what kind of school would be in session as a result. But what happened instead was vastly more interesting: organic dialogue stemming from a common love. What follows are three interviews with six musicians penned by three writers. The questions for each were different, as were the settings and interview styles. But the messages overlap, intertwine and paint a bigger picture of what it takes to live one’s passion. From creative process to overcoming jadedness to living with your choices, these six musicians laid it all out. Very special thanks to the Wisconsin Conservatory of Music for opening their doors for the photo shoots for this story. You’ll find more incredible images in our gallery at vitalsourcemag.com.
—Jon Anne Willow
Peder Hedman and Jason Mohr
By Blaine Schultz + Photo by Erin Landry
It is a too-warm September evening in Jason Mohr’s backyard, but nobody’s complaining. Bug spray and citronella candles help, but this year’s crop of mosquitoes arrived late and hungry. In a far-ranging conversation that spans Mohr’s thoughts on how a songwriter may be unconsciously predicting his own future to Hedman’s take on what it means to keep a band together when domestic realities come to the fore, it was never really obvious that two decades separate this pair of Milwaukee musicians. A common point of reference for both guitar mavens is the Maestro Echoplex, a vintage analog tape echo unit. Hedman brought to the interview a Stylophone, a gizmo he picked up at Value Village. The crude, handheld synthesizer may be best known as the instrument that plays the solo on David Bowie’s “Space Oddity.”
The Peder Hedman Quartet is in the final stages of self-releasing Don’t Fall Down; Mohr’s group, Juniper Tar, is nearly ready as well with the provisionally-titled Free Bird. Both bands begin with interesting songs and then subtly warp them to their own needs. And make no mistake, the musicians who collaborate with Hedman and Mohr are as talented and beyond ordinary as you will find.
“Take a look at this, the first press I ever got,” Hedman says, setting an age-yellowed copy of the Crazy Shepard on the table. The 1982 article profiles the Null Heirs, accompanied by a grainy black and white photo. Since then, bassist Mike Frederickson went on to form The Moseleys and play bass with Robbie Fulks; keyboardist John Duncan played with Gear Daddy Martin Zellar (and Tiny Tim); Kent Mueller ran the late KM Art. Hedman played in Liquid Pink, then Tweaker, which landed him down south for years. It’s a sharp contrast to Mohr’s less than a decade of band experience, highlighted by an EP with his previous group, Telectro.
Mohr is on the same page: “I think I write to impress my band mates first.”
“I’m starting to wonder about music in general and the demons surrounding rock music. There’s always this culture that goes along with … it’s so close to mortality. An emotionally invested musician is treading a fine line between being part of society and being a shaman,” Hedman says.
“Do you think that’s changed with younger musicians?’ Mohr asks.
“I wouldn’t know what they are doing. But you put so much energy into this idea of being a professional musician that you sacrifice other life skills that you could have when push comes to shove,” he says.
But it’s a fine line. Mohr and Hedman are both college-educated, rational and level-headed – neither is a rock & roll animal, yet they realize that playing in a band is sort of a calling, bordering on obsession. “You want to make something that sets you apart from someone who comes to see your show,” Mohr says, “I’m a little bit further out.”
Hedman agrees, “It’s like … I’m willing to abandon the things that make you comfortable to entertain you for an evening. Even really talented singer-songwriters, it’s almost the bleakness that attracts you sometimes. I know all my favorites are kinda grim. I don’t think it’s automatic and intentionally fostering that cache of ‘oh, I’m this misunderstood person,’ but I think it’s implicit in this whole outsider idea, ‘I’m not you.’”
“I’m saying this from a first-person account,” Mohr recalls, “and that is the reason I escaped to play rock and roll. Finally I had something different than somebody else. Instead of being the kid in high school who always tried to be a chameleon, to blend in with groups of people. I could finally set myself apart.”
Hedman, who could have been the Marlboro Man in another era, agrees. “To be independent – that’s probably my main drive. To be perfectly honest, to be noticed. I used to love being able to move people from their spot. Like watching a room of blank, staring hipsters – it usually starts with one or two people and then the mood would change and even the most stoic naysayers would be at least nodding their heads.”
Peter Mulvey and Lisa Gatewood
By Jon Anne Willow + Photo by Kat Jacobs
Sitting across from Peter Mulvey in a sunny Tosa cafe, Lisa Gatewood is all smiles. A budding singer-songwriter with her first full-length CD (I’ve Read Salinger) out this month, Lisa is just beginning to build her local fan base and figure out the logistics of playing shows more than five miles from her house. Peter is a venerated road warrior of 15 years and 11 records, an artist known internationally for his honey-coated gravel voice, acoustic guitar virtuosity and grab-you-by-the-guts lyrics. In fact, he tours so much that many of his local fans don’t even know he is born, raised and continues to live in Milwaukee.
So it’s not surprising that Lisa was a little nervous in advance of their meeting; Peter is undeniably living the dream. She’s smiling now because, having never met him, she didn’t know Peter was so nice. They chat easily about his upcoming Wisconsin tour, for which he will travel entirely by bicycle with only a small trailer for his guitar and underwear. Finally, the conversation turns to how each of their careers has evolved and how times have changed.
“I started playing out (locally) in 1990 with Big Sky,” begins Peter. “We played all the time – maybe 15 times a month – at L.A. Freeway, Brett’s, Hooligan’s, The Celebrity Club. We opened for Pamela Means and Willy Porter a lot.”
“Weren’t you afraid of being overexposed?” asks Lisa.
“Well, when you start playing and nobody knows who you are, you can’t really be overexposed,” Peter replies. But Lisa disagrees. This may be one area where things are different today than when Peter was coming up.
“Overexposure is a huge issue now,” Lisa counters. “I can only play in town two weeks a month. I’m not worried about overexposing myself on the internet or with promotion, but if I play two weeks in a row, hardly anybody will come to that second show.”
It’s also tougher for solo acts now, they agree, because bookers want bands, which are perceived to draw better because each member will bring a few friends. And there is no shortage of bands to choose from.
“I think it’s more accessible to be in a band now, and it’s easier to get gigs through the internet,” Lisa asserts. “Plus you don’t need a label to make a record, so even if it’s really crappy, some girl from your high school will think you’re cool and want to get on you.”
Peter laughs. “Also, it’s so easy to go to Guitar Center and buy a cheap instrument. You don’t have to save up anymore, you can just do it.”
“I think a lot of kids still have the idea that they can get discovered and have all this financial success,” adds Lisa, “but that’s not realistic.” Both agree that anyone who wants something outside a normal career path has to work much harder, and more consistently, than at any job.
Peter, however, is optimistic. “I think actually it’s sort of come full circle. Prior to widespread recording, the value of a musician was in ‘how good is your song?’ Then in the ‘30’s the focus shifted to whether you had a recording and stayed that way until recently. Now, everyone has a record, a label, a website. It’s paved the way for artists like Regina Spektor, Imogen Heap or Joanna Newsom, whose music is really interesting but who probably never would have gotten a label deal in the old system.”
The conversation turns to women in music. Lisa is encouraged that women don’t necessarily have to sell themselves as sexy first anymore.
Peter agrees. “What’s happened is that women have sort of reclaimed the right to sell their own bodies however they see fit. Madonna started it by taking control of her image. She was still selling her body, but she was doing it her own way and reaping the benefits. The real estate is the same, but the landlord is different. The distinction, I think, is subtle but important.”
As the conversation winds to a close, Peter is asked for any advice he would offer Lisa as an artist who wants to make it her full-time avocation, but he declines.
“You don’t need any advice, you’re doing it. Make records, play gigs. That’s what you’re doing. If you’re any good at it, someday someone will see you and say ‘I could book her a little further out.’ And it goes from there.”
Lisa Gatewood’s CD release party for I’ve Read Salinger is October 19 at Linneman’s. Peter will release a retrospective, Notes from Elsewhere, in November.
Element Everest and Bryan Mir
By Kenya Evans + Photo by Kat Jacobs
In a coffee house on Downer, Bryan Mir and Element Everest chat like old friends. It’s hard to stop the inside jokes, remember-when’s and silent cues they give each other with their eyes. It’s because they are old friends who’ve had good times making great music together.
A seasoned musician, 34-year-old Mir has performed in over 10 bands since he was 17, playing music from swing to the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix. Currently, he plays bass with local soul band Growing Nation and has launched a career in video, producing for Harley Davidson, Kalis and Angie Stone.
Everest, 28, started early in music as well. After high school, she set sail for Los Angeles in a girl group to sign with Def Jam Records. But the journey to the City of Angels left her disenchanted with the music industry and in the end she drifted back home to Milwaukee, feeling creatively drained and distrustful.
Everest and Mir were introduced in 2000, through friends in the music business who suspected the elder could inspire the younger to reengage. “If you make music,” explains Everest, “if you have to give it up because you’re jaded, it doesn’t mean that you don’t want to do it. It’s just that you’re jaded. You feel like you can’t trust people. I met Bryan and was like, ‘okay, I can’t think of anything to write.’”
Their friends were right. One became the other’s mutual mentor for expanding the outer limits of their creativity. Within six months they made over 40 songs. Everest tells how meeting Mir re-ignited her fire for music; their musical chemistry and his genuine spirit allowed her to open up and trust again. Since then, she’s been part of Milwaukee’s successful hip hop group, Black Elephant, and is releasing her first solo album, Life is a Heist, on October 30.
A family man now, Mir’s focus is more monetary than when he was younger. “Back then, you were a little freer. Not to say that it’s better or worse either way, but there’s something about when you start; there’s a certain fire that you’re pushed by, the passion that you love to do.” But reality invariably bites.
Everest expands on Mir’s thought. “The music industry will grow you up quick. Some are (always going to be) more hungry than you are, so you have to wake up and be a professional.”
Waking from the dream as naïve youngsters wanting to ‘make it big’ in L.A., they have realized ‘you have to make a living.’ Neither left the business for a straight 9-to-5, but committed to pursuing their goals, steadfast.
“Being able to sustain and do the work that you love to do without having to work at McDonalds,” Mir laughs.
But at the end of the day, ‘ain’t nothing going on but the rent,’ and balancing an artful living with a steady income is a challenge. “That’s the biggest difference for me from 17 to now. There’s so many different ways to make money using music, and you do not have to be an artist,” Everest says.
The secret to longevity begins to unfold as they speak modestly about their way of life. It boils down to what you are willing to do to keep the momentum going. “You’re discouraged almost every day about something,” Mir says, “but it’s the passion that pushes you forward.”
Mir travels often for music performances and video production. In addition to making music, Everest works as a national voiceover artist, model and local radio personality.
The internet – Myspace, YouTube and email – opens up a world of opportunity and connects artists with its endless resources for self-promotion. As freelance artists, Everest and Mir are ready to supply the demand whenever opportunity knocks. “People say Milwaukee doesn’t have enough opportunities… but that’s not the case anymore. Someone once told me half of the battle is just showing up,” Element reflects.
From singing for Bazooka Joe bubble gum at five years old to playing “Axel F” (the Beverly Hills Cop theme song) on toy keyboards, they leave no random topic untouched as twilight slowly creeps into night, and the interview comes to an end. Bryan is finishing recording with Growing Nation for their new album, Souled Out, and working with the late Notorious B.I.G.’s former bodyguard on a documentary. Element anticipates the debut of her solo album, Life is a Heist, on October 30. The two exchange hugs at the door and head their separate ways. Until next time. VS
