Tommy Stinson
Unknown, 2004
Magnet Magazine
By Matt Hickey
Only
37, Tommy Stinson has spent nearly 25 years in the music business, seeing and doing more
than most rockers who’ve been around much longer. Growing up as Paul
Westerberg’s bass-playing teen sidekick in the Replacements, Stinson has helmed two
short-lived post-Mats bands—Bash & Pop and Perfect (whose excellent, unreleased
1998 album Seven Days A Week, now titled Once, Twice, Three Times A Maybe, will finally
hit stores this year)—and is now toiling, however improbably, in the reconstituted
Guns N’ Roses. Though stylistically varied—slight traces of hip hop and folk
blend with plenty of garage-rock swagger—Stinson’s first solo outing is rather
cohesive. On the new Village Gorilla Head (Sanctuary), spare strings and a drum machine
infuse striking opener “Without A View” with melancholy; later, the Stonesy grit
of “Motivation,” the acoustic, Faces-esque jaunt of “Hey You” and the
treacle-free ballad “Lonely Day” are more traditional but no less exciting.
Closer “Someday,” with its sorrowful riff and hopeful refrain (“Something
of use will come”), ends the record on a nifty happy/sad note of which Westerberg
would be proud. After a number of false starts, Village Gorilla Head is the sound of an
older, wiser Stinson reaching musical maturity without aping his past.
MAGNET talked to Stinson upon his return from a vacation in the Bahamas with his mother.
So you’re in Minneapolis right now?
Yeah, I just stopped back here on my way to and from the Bahamas. I went with my mom for
her early birthday/retirement present.
How was that?
It wasn’t rough, dude. [Laughs]
You’re what, 36, 37 years old?
Right, 37.
You’re young, but you’ve been in the business for so long, close to 25
years. Do you ever sit back and reflect on how long you’ve been doing this?
You know, I have. Not so much at any one point, but as time rolls on, I look at it and
think, “I’m only 37, but I’ve been doing this shit for 25 years.” On
one hand it’s cool, since I’m proud of it all and I still dig it. I love making
music, but it’s just a weird thought that most of my life I’ve been fucking
doing this. It makes me feel not so bad about being 37—that I’ve been doing this
and been successful enough at it to make a living.
Have you ever thought about doing anything else as your career has gone on?
Not really. Right around the time I turned 30, I thought about doing something else in
addition to music, just because I’d been kind of spinning my wheels for a little bit.
I actually did get a telemarketing job for a while, which was good. I had started to feel
like I wasn’t making a true kind of music. I was relying so heavily on it to make my
living that it started to get bastardized a little bit. Having a day job for a while got
me back to going, “Wow, I can make money doing other shit and do what I like to do
for the reasons I like doing it.” Suddenly, I started writing songs that I liked.
So you went through a period where you were writing songs you were unhappy with?
I went through a period more where I was writing for commerce rather than art. As soon as
you do that, you’re fucked. No one’s ever done it well as far as I know, and the
ones that have done it well are crap. I’ve been doing this for so long, I’ve
always respected the critical element of what I’ve done and tried to maintain some
credibility. I’ve sort of grown up that way, listening to music that was more
credible and being involved in music that was more credible. Not to fucking pat my own
back—because I’m the last to do that—but I just try to maintain that
respect. I want to stay on that path of credibility. Not that I look at myself as some
fucking hoity-toity artist, but I’d rather be on a path of artistic credibility than
in a fleeting money pit.
When you had the telemarketing job, what were you selling?
Toner. I was selling fucking ink cartridges and stuff. I was strapped for cash for a
while, and I just decided, “Fuck it, I want to make some money, this is getting kind
of stupid.” So I learned to sell toner over the phone to people who didn’t want
any. The best thing about it was that I learned a whole lot about myself as far as wanting
to get back to writing music that came from inside rather than music that went into
someone’s back pocket. I also learned how to sell myself a little bit. With the
Replacements, we never got to the point where we were confident and able to exude any
strength—you know, where from a listener’s standpoint or a crowd standpoint,
they’d go, “Wow, these guys are really on top of their game.” We instead
fell apart in our game, which I guess is part of the fun of it all and the good part of
it. It was good to get confidence in what I was doing and also be able to say, “I
don’t fucking care about all of this extraneous, peripheral nonsense.” I like
what I do and if I can get two people to buy it or if my daughter likes it, I’m
stoked.
So were you good at selling toner?
I was. [Laughs] I got good at it really quick and, hence, made money so that I could go
back to writing songs. Honest to god, the day I got good at selling toner, my entire life
did a 180. It really was a pivotal moment, and I’ve been doing great since.
How far back do the songs on the new record go?
A couple of them have been works in progress for a good 10 years. “Someday,” in
particular, started out as a couple of lines a long time ago, and I just worked with it
for a while. I liked where it was going, but I never knew exactly where to let it go.
It’s literally taken me 10 years to finish the stupid song. Over the last four or
five years, I’ve been working stuff up slowly, coming up with what I felt was right.
It took me a little while to get back into writing after the last Perfect record (that was
shelved in 1998) that is finally getting released. After that whole thing got screwed up,
I kind of wanted to be in a band, and the Guns N’ Roses thing obviously came along at
the right time. After that, I didn’t really write anything for like a year. I just
regrouped, listened to music and kind of kicked it. The five years that followed that
period is where a lot of these songs came from.
What does your mom think of the record?
I don’t know if I’ve given her a completed copy. I played her stuff a long time
ago and she really liked it. The best part is that my daughter Ruby said she really likes
it. That’s awesome.
How old is she?
Fourteen. She’s a good kid. When your daughter confirms that you’ve done
something good, you just go, “OK, cool. I can move on now. I’m good.”
One of the things I really like about the record is that it sounds different than
what you’ve done before, yet is still similar stylistically. There’s a lot going
on, but it doesn’t sound scattered. Was that something you focused on?
The amazing thing that happened—and I think it really happened in the mixing
process—is that all of these different songs ended up sounding somewhat cohesive.
When I was making the record, I wanted each song to be its own thing because that’s
how I like listening to records. I like artists and bands that can captivate me with more
than one thing. My biggest pet peeve about the way record companies work with new artists
these days is that they just want 10 of the same fucking song. I like making records the
other way. I wanted each song to be its own thing and sound different. All of the drum
sounds, all of the guitar sounds, I change them up pretty good from song to song, and
somehow in the mix, all the parts sound good together.
Some of the lyrics are fairly pointed and caustic, perhaps aimed at someone
specific. Do you write about specific people or do you adopt a persona and write from that
perspective?
I rarely write about any one person. In fact, I think the only song I’ve ever written
about anyone in particular is “Light Of Day,” which is about a really good
girlfriend of mine. We go out and have our nights out every once in a while, and we laugh
our asses off. She’s married to one of my dear friends, and we have a great bond.
Other than that, every one of these songs is a composite. I take bits of information from
different character flaws or what have you and try to make something interesting out of
it. It kind of includes everyone’s peccadilloes at once, so to speak.
Where does the title of the record come from?
It comes from [the title track]. I was trying to think of what to call the record. I had
all of these ideas, and none of them were really sticking. My manager said, “Why
don’t you call it Village Gorilla Head?” And we started laughing our asses off.
I thought, “You know, I kind of like that.” When I was creating the song, I had
these three parts, one of which is a bridge that’s no longer there. One part was
reminding me of a Gorillas song. One of the parts was reminding me of the Village People,
kind of going down that road. And the bridge was kind of Motörhead-like. It has this
distorted bass and was all fucked up. I didn’t have any lyrics for it yet, so I just
called it “Village Gorilla Head.” If that makes any sense at all, I’ll sell
you a pound of it.
That
song sounds like it’s aimed at a group of people—maybe New York or L.A. hipsters
or something. I just couldn’t figure out how the title fit into all of that.
[Laughs] It’s pretty vague. But it does tie in in exactly that sort of way. When I go
out at night, I’m a bit of a voyeur. I kind of sit at the end of the bar and pick out
people and imagine what’s going on. Or I meet people and they tell me what’s
going on, and I take that and turn it into my rock ’n’ roll soup.
You mentioned that Perfect’s Seven Days A Week is going to come out at some
point.
Yeah, but it’s not called that anymore. It’s called Once, Twice, Three Times A
Maybe. It’s coming out on Ryko. As soon as we can come up with some artwork
that’s suitable, we’ll put it out. We remixed it, took one song off it, and
it’s coming out (this year).
What’s the short explanation for why the record didn’t come out in
’98?
We made the record for a pretty good hunk of money for Restless. When it came down to
marketing and promoting it, they realized how much they were in already and got cold feet
about having to put anything more into it. Their marketing and radio people were absolute
morons. They had a good publicist and a couple of good people working there, but overall
the people that were going to be getting it out were totally inept. I knew we were going
to get screwed on it, so that’s when I started getting disheartened by the whole
thing. I was doing a session with a friend of mine who told me that Guns N’ Roses
needed a bass player, and I thought it would be cool to join a band for a while and not
worry about this shit anymore.
How much can you talk about what’s going on with Guns N’ Roses?
Because I’ve been working on my record, I’m kind of out of the loop at the
moment. I can tell you that when Chinese Democracy comes out—and it will come out
because it’s almost done now—we’ll be touring behind it, and I’ll be
fucking first in line to get back on board. It’s a good gig. I love Axl, and we have
a really good thing going. Whether or not people buy it is the fucking $60 million
question, but all I know is that we’re all proud of it and had a good time doing
it—and also some troubling times doing it—but it was fun as shit. People always
feel compelled to say to me, “Dude, are you stoked to get a paycheck?” If it
were about that, I’d be an asshole. It’s never been about just getting a
paycheck. I put a lot of work and heart and soul into it just like everyone else and got a
great deal out of it. Axl has been more than supportive of me making [Village Gorilla
Head]. To any naysayer out there, I say, “Fuck off.” I’m totally into it,
and I’m definitely happy to be involved with Guns N’ Roses.
I think naysayers are just befuddled that you’re in Guns N’ Roses. I think
they’re baffled at the combination and how it came about.
That’s cool. I’ve come across a lot of people who give me, “Dude, what are
you thinking?” Then I have to explain it. At this point, I’m kind of sick of
explaining it and just feel like going, “Fuck off.” [Laughs] These are my
people, I have a fucking great time with them.
When you were in the Replacements, what did you think of Guns N’ Roses?
I wasn’t really a fan. It wasn’t my circle. By the time the Mats ended, you have
to realize that I’d gone through my phases of listening to punk rock and all of that,
and I’d already done a Big Star phase. At the end, I was more into figuring out what
I was about and kind of listening to more pop music, like the Waterboys—things that
were sort of deeper. Guns N’ Roses wasn’t that genre; it was the other end of
the dial. No bones about it—Axl and I have talked about it, and he was no more of a
Replacements fan than I was a Guns N’ Roses fan. I couldn’t help but know about
them, of course, but to say it wasn’t my thing is what I can truthfully say about it.
Axl said he had gone to a couple of Mats shows in different places and didn’t really
have much of an opinion about it, I don’t think. It didn’t really hit him either
way.
You guys toured, what, last year or the year before, and it was aborted midway,
right?
That was two years ago now.
What was that experience like? What were the shows like?
It started off a little rocky because it was our first run, but this one especially
because it was such a big production. There’s a lot of chaos involved with a show
like that, no matter who the fuck you are. It started out rough but spirited. As it went
along, we started gelling as a band and it became fun. It wasn’t fucking easy. When
you get to that level, there are schedules and entourages and technicians all working to
make it happen. That was the hard part but also the satisfying part—to put your
fucking all into a two-and-a-half hour show while being the people that no one fucking
knows about. Fans showed up knowing Axl was going to be there but had no idea who the rest
of these people were. To see their reactions to us having a good time, playing the new
stuff and old stuff, it was really cool.
The new stuff went over well?
Yeah, it did. A lot of it didn’t go over that well because the crowd had never heard
it before. It didn’t go off badly, but they were just listening to it and figuring it
out.
Is Buckethead still in the band?
Uh, no.
What’s that guy’s deal? He wears that bucket all the time?
You know, he wears a bucket on his head. That’s all I can say about that. And
there’s not a lot under it.
What’s your relationship like with Westerberg these days? Do you talk at all?
We’ve been playing phone tag for about a year. I keep meaning to hook up with him
when I come to Minneapolis, but every time I come back, I run out of time and all that. A
couple of years ago, I was kind of pissed at him for some of the shit he was saying about
Axl and why the Replacements reunion couldn’t happen, but all that stuff became water
under the bridge as time went on. We’ve been trying to sew it up a little bit, but we
just haven’t yet. I haven’t seen the guy in six or seven years. We’ve
talked a couple of times, and I think it’s time we get back in touch.
What’s your impression of his recent stuff?
I’ve heard some of it. I like some of it, some of it I think he needs to get out of
the basement a little bit, get back in the world. He’s narrowing his musical palette.
I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose. The thing that I took from him that I
always recall from listening to his demos is that he’s really inventive. He could
twist up a basic song of some sort, and I always liked that. He’s basically making
demos in his basement and playing everything, but he doesn’t seem as inventive as he
used to be.
One of the criticisms is that he could probably use a good editor, and maybe a
band situation might provide that.
Everyone can use that. I certainly use mine. I’ve got a gaggle of 25 really good
friends that edit my ass. I have to agree just on the principle that everyone needs an
editor, someone they can rely on to pull them out of the gray areas.
Who’s easier to work with, Paul or Axl?
Axl, by a long shot. I’ll tell you why, and I can explain this really well, actually.
Paul liked to do it his way. He would hear things a certain way in his head but
couldn’t tell you how it was going to happen. It would get kind of frustrating. He
would have a vision and would fucking beat it to death trying to get there. With Axl, he
doesn’t really have his own vision. He likes to take everyone’s two cents and
throw it into the soup, get everyone involved and kind of mold it that way. Axl could
really take production credit on this record because he took the best of each of us on
each song and crammed it together and made it a musical piece. I can’t tell you how
much I learned about collaborating with people while making the record, where Paul just
kind of does it his way.
It’s interesting that you say that about Axl and his vision, because I would
think most people would perceive the exact opposite—that he’s got this strong
vision and he’s the dictator and this is how it’s got to be.
Paul would be way more of a dictator than Axl. Axl is more of a collaborator,
maybe even to a fault sometimes. He wants everyone involved. Part of that may have come
from the old band, where everyone wanted him to sing their songs but didn’t want to
play the other guys’ songs. It would be like, “I’m not going to sing on
your song unless you play on his song,” and then it becomes infighting and that kind
of shit. That doesn’t really keep a band together. On the new record, everyone’s
got a bit in there, their part of a song. It lends itself to us feeling a part of the
whole record.
Reviews of Village Gorilla Head will no doubt mention Westerberg, and you do have
a vocal resemblance to him. What are your thoughts on the fact that you’re probably
always going to be lumped in with him in some form?
I’ve got no problem with that. It’s fucking where I grew up. I’ve
got no problem with the legacy of the Replacements. I certainly don’t feel like
reliving it. I totally respect what we left and what people are remembering. It’s a
cool thing. There aren’t a lot of people who’ve gotten to do that with one band,
and here I’m getting to do it with two. How fucking good is life for me, right?
I know in the past you haven’t talked much about (your brother/Replacements
guitarist) Bob in the press, but it’s been nine years now since he passed. How much
has time helped you deal with that loss?
Loads. It’s also gotten me back to being influenced by him again. All of the bad
stuff has gone away, and I can just remember some of his crazy ideas and where he came
from in terms of his guitar playing. Some of the stuff he did, I just go, “Holy shit,
where did that come from?” Plus, there’s the innocence in which he brought it
out. He was the most left-thinking musician I’ve ever worked with. He put the left in
there and made it absolutely right.
The last thing I wanted to ask you was about (Pleased To Meet Me producer) Jim
Dickinson’s quote where he called you “the walking embodiment of rock
’n’ roll.” Do you see yourself that way, or is that just b.s.?
Wasn’t the rest of that also the dick, the balls, the asshole, the whole thing?
[Laughs] I can’t subscribe to that. That’s a little heavy. That’s a little
more than I care to live up to. |