Entire contents copyright (C) 1998 Matt Taylor and Mateo Rojas. May not
be
reprinted or retransmitted in any form or on any media without
express
written permission of the authors. Any questions, email Matt Taylor
at
MATaylor@ix.netcom.com
A Conversation with Mr. Brett
by Matt Taylor and Mateo Rojas
9/27/96 at the Epitaph offices in Hollywood, Calif.
In the years following Mr. Brett's departure from Bad Religion after
the
completion of Stranger than Fiction, relations between him and the rest
of
his former colleagues degenerated immensely. Specifically, there was
no
love lost between Brett and Jay; in fact, it was virtually common
knowledge
that the song "Hate You" by Brett's new band, The Daredevils,
was
specifically dedicated to Mr. Bentley. Even Greg G. and Brett had next
to
no communication of any kind. By Greg's own admission, his contact
with
Brett was limited to little more than discussion of which tracks to
include
on the All Ages compilation.
While lack of communication is one
thing, open disparagement is
another. Though neither Greg G. nor Brett seemed particularly interested
in
talking smack about the other's affairs, it was almost an
eventuality.
Epitaph and Brett were put under a press microscope like never before
following the success of The Offspring and the punk revolution of the
mid-'90s, and the subsequent continually unfolding soap opera of Brett
and
Epitaph: Brett leaving Bad Religion, The Offspring selling a
bazillion
copies, Brett's (allegedly) bitter divorce, The Offspring leaving
Epitaph,
Brett's new band, rumors of a financial takeover or sellout of
Epitaph,
etc. Similarly, Brett's leaving Bad Religion put the suddenly
Billboard-popular band under a glaring, never wavering examination
light.
Stranger than Fiction was the band's best-selling record ever, due
largely
to two Brett-authored hit singles: "Infected" and the remake of
"21st
Century (Digital Boy)," both of which penetrated alternative rock
radio and
MTV, territory previously almost unknown to the band. (Brett maintains
that
the infamous Infected video depicting the band driving cars was shoved
down
their throats by the record label and has nothing to do with the
song,
which is about an abusive relationship.) Press constantly wanted to
know
how Greg G. and company could survive the departure of their
"hit"
songwriter.
The advent of the Internet meant
every Bad Religion fan in the
world was exposed to the increasingly frequent negative comments by
Brett
about Bad Religion, and by Bad Religion band members about Brett and
his/Epitaph's business practices. Whether culled from a magazine
report,
taken in or out of context from an interview, or simply clipped from
a
supposedly personal e-mail response from one of the principals to a
fan,
Greg G. and Brett couldn't make even a vague comment about the other
without it winding up as part of the daily Bad Religion Mailing List,
sent
to thousands of subscribers. By all outward appearances, the two were
reaching a near feud.
On September 27, 1996, during the
second U.S. leg of The Grey Race
tour, my friend Mateo and I trekked from our home base in the San
Francisco
Bay Area, California down to the Los Angeles southland to see Greg G.
and
the boys perform two incredible shows. But this was not just a
typical
crusade of BR diehards out to see their favorite band; we had a mission
to
accomplish. A week before, I had laid the groundwork for an interview
with
Mr. Brett. While I claimed to be out to interview him on behalf of the
Bad
Religion Mailing List and the web site, my true reasons were purely
selfish
and personal; I wanted to have a meaningful conversation with a man I
greatly admire and respect, whose music has moved me in ways
intellectually
and emotionally too significant to put into words. Sharing his
comments
with the rest of the fans was a secondary objective. And, though I had
no
interest in dredging up the entire soap opera, I was hoping for some
kind
of sign that he still respected Greg and that there might be a return
to
normalized relations. (And, eventually, a full-fledged return to him
writing Bad Religion-caliber music, whether that would take place with
his
former bandmates or not.)
After six hours of late night I-5
mania we arrived at our crashpad
in Irvine toward mid-day and I rang up Epitaph. When I called the office,
I
was in for the shock of my life. With no advance warning, I was put
through
to Brett, and who was in his office but none other than Greg Graffin!
Apparently it was the first time they'd seen each other in at least a
year.
I talked to both of them as they joked around and told me they were
friends
again. Guess they got it worked out! Brett then invited us for an
in-person
interview, and we raced back up the 101 in 5 p.m. L.A. traffic to get
there
before he left for the Bad Religion show, operating as we were on
essentially zero sleep (fuck Armageddon, that was hell).
Fortunately, we arrived with plenty
of time to spare at the Epitaph
offices, and although Greg had already left for the gig, Brett was ready
to
receive us. The Epitaph offices, not to understate the situation at
all,
are the coolest place on Earth. (For a punk fan, anyway.) Appropriately
(?)
located on sleazy Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood, the gated building (with
Brett's souped-up Camaro invariably out front to greet you) looks rad
from
the outside, but is a Gracelandish experience on the inside. The
receptionist's desk is a giant car engine, which, legend has it, was
built
by the great Daredevil himself. The entire office is lined with
priceless
memorabilia from some of the greatest punk bands of all time, many of
which
just happen to be on the Epitaph label.
When Mateo and I were first
introduced to Brett, he was busy
sifting through (and laughing at) a list of ridiculous Bad Religion
anagrams. That's right, anagrams. Apparently some sicko with a little
too
much time on their hands had rearranged the letters B-A-D
R-E-L-I-G-I-O-N
into a multitude of stimulating phrases, such as....
Brett Gurewitz: Libido Anger.
Matt & Mateo: Libido anger?
BG: Let's intersperse some of these anagrams in the interview. Confuse
people.
M&M: Why not. So if I ask you what "Stranger than Fiction" is
all about,
you can say....
BG: Libido anger.
M&M: Seriously, let's start with that. One of my favorite songs,
ever.
"Stranger than Fiction." Can you tell us about it?
BG: I think the bridge sums up the theme of the song... "life is
the
crummiest book." It's basically about some of my heroes who were
writers of
fiction, who share in common the fact that they went crazy or killed
themselves or something. So, the song is saying life is crazy. But it
also
poses the question: "Were these great minds?" They wrote
fantastic fiction,
and yet reality drove them over the brink. "Cockroach nape"
refers to The
Metamorphosis by Kafka, Wolfe looks back is Thomas Wolfe, not to be
confused with Tom Wolfe. I hate Tom Wolfe. I think Thomas Wolfe is
the
greatest author ever born. He wrote his masterpiece when he was 24.
It's
about eight great geniuses who've cracked.
M&M: Who do you know who's cracked in the music industry?
BG: Clearly Brian Wilson. He's the second greatest genius in music.
M&M: Who's the first?
BG: John Lennon. But he's completely insane.
M&M: In your words, how did Bad Religion start?
BG: At the time, when I was 16, I was in a little cover band. We
never
played any shows...that was like 1978. We were playing stuff like Hang
Onto
Yourself by David Bowie....
M&M: What did your parents say about this?
BG: They used to say, "You should get some lessons." Of course, I
never did.
M&M: Did you start with acoustic or electric?
BG: Electric. Fuck starting with acoustic. So then, anyway, that band
blew
up and we became punk rockers. At the time Jay and I were in 11th grade
in
high school and as far we knew we were the only punk rockers in school.
One
of my friends was named Tom Clement -- who, by the way, a song on the
Suffer album is named after ("I Give You Nothing") -- Tom said to
me, "Dude
there's some 10th graders you should meet, and they're punk rockers
too."
And I was like, "Dude, no way," because it just didn't exist back
then,
especially in Woodland Hills. He introduced us, and he said, "Hey, you
guys
should be in a band. Brett plays guitar, and Jay drums." And I said,
"Greg,
can you sing?" And he said, "Yeah." And I said, "Jay,
can you play bass?"
And he said, "No, but I'll learn." And he bought a Sears bass for
like $10,
and we played. We were in the same high school, but Tom introduced
us.
M&M: Did you start out playing all original songs?
BG: Yeah. The first songs we wrote were on the EP.
M&M: Did you come up with the crossbuster? (I like to call it the
"anti-cross."--ed.)
BG: Yeah. We needed a logo... I used to do art, and I just drew it. We
had
the name Bad Religion, we just needed a logo.
M&M: How did your song writing evolve? What were you trying to do
differently as you went along?
BG: I was trying to stretch, to get better. In the early days I was
trying
I was to emulate Darby Crash with the Germs...he wrote some
intelligent
stuff, and didn't shy away from the vocabulary, which I thought was
cool.
But maybe I went overboard with the 25 cent words. And then, I felt
that
maybe I was hiding behind the big words, and I needed to be a little
more
honest. Against the Grain was the last record I used a lot of big words
on,
and Bad Religion is famous for that. I had about half the song
writing,
usually, except for Recipe. If you notice, from Generator on, I
stopped
using the four syllable words. But I never used a thesaurus, by the way.
I
would never in my life use that to write a song, or a rhyming
dictionary,
or any of that shit. You have to think. On Recipe, I wrote five songs,
and
none of my songs have the big words...except perdition. But there's
not
many words that rhyme with mission, so there was an excuse for it. I
decided, "I don't want to hide, I want to strip it down and get
real." I
had used the big words as a crutch, it became a style. And, then I
started
thinking to myself, "Fuck, all the great songs I love...even the
great
authors I love, like Hemmingway...they're not pretentiously written."
Great
art needs to connect, and I think Bad Religion always connects despite
the
big words, because there's something about the melodies and the way
it
washes over you, and there's another level where you can really try to
get
into it and understand it. But then again, if you can actually sing
something to somebody that's just going to touch their soul, then
that's
even more effective. And to do that, if a word goes by and you're
like,
"What's that?," well... I had written three records like that,
and from
Generator on I tried to write prose. In Stranger than Fiction it
really
came alive, and I'm happy with my songwriting on that record.
M&M: Almost every Bad Religion fan out there disagrees with me about
this,
but I think Stranger than Fiction -- especially your writing on that
album...
BG: It's the best songwriting of my life. Anyone who doesn't realize
that
is wrong. I know. I've written some great songs, I think
"Anasthesia" is a
great song, with great prose and allegory and a girl named Anasthesia,
the
girl is a metaphor for the drug and so forth, but with Stranger than
Fiction... I attained it. And that's why I felt comfortable leaving at
that
time, because I was at the peak. It was a dignified time to stop. But
you
can hear the lyrics going there in some songs like "Generator,"
where it
becomes prose. It still has meaning, it's still relevant, but I'm not
writing about the green screen or the U.S. Government's got a bomb...
it's
been done by me, and a lot of other people. I don't know if there's a
song
on Stranger than Fiction I don't like. (I can name one:
"Television." The
rest are the greatest songs of your life, and how "Television"
made it onto
the album and "News from the Front" didn't is a complete
mystery.--ed) I
like them all, a lot. I really do.
M&M: Let's talk about a few of your songs that have really intrigued
me.
What about "Skyscraper?"
BG: It's the Tower of Babel, but from a different angle. In the bible,
the
moral of the story is the people were fucked. They were doing wrong
things.
They shouldn't be so prideful that they think they can build that tower
and
get there. The way I was looking at it was, God was fucked. People
were
trying to rise above their existence, they're trying to transcend
themselves, to join together for once. Mankind is joining together as
one
to attain something, and God says, "How dare you," and fucks them
up by
changing all their languages so that they'd be condemned to have war
for
the rest of eternity. If it could have been true, it would have been
the
most fucked thing you could possibly do! It's like acting like a
spoiled
teenager. It's okay to read a bible, but you can't automatically
interpret
it a certain way. God acts like a spoiled brat a lot of times in the
bible.
It says some cool shit in the bible too, but that story really shows God
as
a man, and not as God.
M&M: "Better Off Dead" is another incredible song. I hear
something deep,
and I want to know what I am hearing. Sometimes I know what's going on
in
your songs, and sometimes I can tell there's a deeper current that's
less
concrete and more personal.
BG: That's how it should be. Comparing my old songwriting style to my
new
songwriting style, is like comparing journalism to prose. When you
read
fiction, you definitely get something from it. You might get more from
it
than reading journalism. And journalism is more of a discipline... it
can
be an art also, it is an art, but I'm not sure if it's art. And
sometimes
the message you can get from art is more powerful. It can affect you
for
the rest of your life. It can make you think, if you get it. If you get
it
by yourself, if you have that moment with that piece of art and you get
it,
you never forget that, whether it's a painting or any other form of
art.
For me music is more compelling than any other form of art. "I'm
sorry
about the world" is just about the feeling you have...it's
almost
literal...no it's not literal...I don't want to demean it by saying
it's
facetious, but it kind of is in a way. It's saying that we can't
control
the events in our lives. It's saying there are certain events we can
control, but there are certain ones we cannot. An individual's will
can
only do so much to affect an individual's destiny, so one has to in a
sense
let go. Like the feeling of anger against injustices, in a way you have
to
let go. I have to understand what has nothing to do with me. Sometimes
I'll
take the weight of the world on my shoulders, but I have to get the
weight
of the world off my shoulders or I'll die, because it has nothing to
do
with me. I'm sorry about the song, I'm sorry about the world, the next
time
I create the universe I'll make sure you participate. "I didn't create
the
fucking universe," that's what it's saying. I didn't do this. I'm a
cog.
I'm a leaf in the torrential river of time. And I'm okay being that.
I'm
not going to try to control things I can't control, and please don't
expect
me to do that. The song is cathartic, and it makes you feel better.
Sometimes songs can do that, and that's what it did for me. I really
like
that song.
M&M: How about "Hooray For Me?"
BG: There were some similar themes on that record. Each verse in that
one
has a different meaning, but it all adds up to one thing. Let me tell
you
about the first verse...it's a true story about my dad. My dad's dad
died
when he was 13, and his brother was one and his sister was two. That
made
him the man in the family. Yet he prevailed and overcame the odds and
he
got what he wanted out of life. He has four loving kids. And then it
talks
about the underground heroes of the tarmac, shooting smack...those were
the
people, while my dad was 13, who later became my heroes...Jack
Kerouac,
Allen Ginnsburg, Burroughs...those people were happening in the late
40s
and early 50s when my dad was 13. So that was the parallel, and they
influenced me to write. Those people, they invented a language,
modern
literature, way out there, revolutionary, unthinkable. Most people
don't
get it, but the song is really about having the courage to get what
you
want out of life, and not to take the traditional route because
you're
afraid you might fail. Not saying, "I'm going to go to elementary
school,
go to high school, go to college, get a diploma, and get a job as an
accountant because that's safe." When I was 13 years old I saw an
Elton
John concert, it fucking changed my life. All I've ever cared about
my
whole life, well, the thing I've loved most, is music. The song's
about
encouraging people. If you love that woman, walk up and fucking tell
her,
because otherwise you'll never know. If you love music, do music,
otherwise
you'll lead a grey existence your whole life. You might only have one
life.
I'm not here to say that's true, but there's no guarantee anything
will
happen when you die, so don't waste it, it's the most precious thing
there
is. That's what the song is saying. "I was dreaming through the
'howzlife,'
yawning, car black in the night, when she told me 'mad and meaningless
as
ever...' and a song came over the radio like a cemetery rhyme, for a
million crying corpses in their tragedy of respectable existence..."
That's
mankind afraid to have the life they secretly want, that they keep
from
themselves. Maybe you want to be a rockstar, go buy a fucking guitar.
Maybe
you want to be a superhero, go buy a fucking cape. Do it, what the
fuck,
don't give a shit what people think, because we don't have a second
chance
and you're going to die. You could die tomorrow, you could die in an
hour.
"Sleeping with the stony faces on the riverbank...." The river is
the
greatest metaphor for time. Flat stones on the riverbank are the drones
of
humanity. Every word means something on that record, they're my
favorite
lyrics I've ever written.
M&M: When you wrote that song, did you hope you'd influence
someone?
BG: I was just trying to write the greatest words I could. You can't
think
about other people when you write music. You shouldn't anyway when you
do
art. To do art, you do it to become more than you are. You do it to
create
something more than you are. I didn't realize that when I was
16...but
maybe I did because I started Epitaph. Maybe I almost knew. But no, I
hope
people like it, I don't like being criticized any more than anyone
else
does, but it wasn't about that. Some of the songs I wrote, I don't
even
know how I wrote them. It has to be inspired, it has to come from
somewhere.
M&M: When you wrote songs what kind of environment were you in?
BG: Well, most of Suffer and No Control, I wrote between recording
sessions
at Westbeach, where I worked 70 - 90 hours a week. 16 hour days, 7 days
a
week.
M&M: Is that where the money to publish the early records came
from?
BG: Yeah, I borrowed money from Westbeach to pay for Epitaph, and I
didn't
take a salary for the first couple years or a royalty.
M&M: What was the breaking point for Epitaph?
BG: There was never a breaking point...it was very gradual. A milestone
was
Against the Grain, when we shipped 100,000 copies of a record for the
first
time. At the time there were two people working for Epitaph. Jay was one
of
them...he actually worked for the company for a very short time. In
the
early days, once in a while he'd help me lift boxes and shit. By the
time
Against the Grain came out we had NOFX on the label, Pennywise on the
label...it was too much for just me, we hired more people. It's not like
I
go into a sensory deprivation tank or anything. It can be at my house, in
a
hotel room, on the bus... You write the best stuff after you've had
some
kind of trauma, a fight with a friend, or something bad happens. It
doesn't
have anything to do with what happens, it's just you need to do
something
artistic to feel better. At least, I've found this to be true.
M&M: Can you articulate a moment of great inspiration?
BG: Yeah, maybe. I had a germ of an idea of a song, and I took the
Camaro
to the desert, holed up in a bungalow, and holed up there until I
finished
writing "Infected." I wrote it on an acoustic guitar, in a
bungalow in the
desert, with no phones.
M&M: Why did you go there?
BG: I just had to get the fuck out of town.
M&M: Is "Infected" the work you're most proud of?
BG: No, not necessarily. But it's one of them. I can't name one
specifically. I would say the songs on Stranger than Fiction.
Although
Stranger than Fiction as a whole isn't our greatest record, but it
could
have been. But it was my favorite writing. (For the record, I liked some
of
Greg's work every bit as much as Brett's on STF, specifically
"The
Handshake," "Leave Mine to Me", and "Inner
Logic."--ed)
BG: Some of my favorite songs are...I like "Skyscraper," although
that's
supposed to be a slow song. You can hear on the piano, it's slow.
M&M: Did you write it on the piano?
BG: Yes, I write almost all my songs on the piano.
M&M: Do you record those sessions?
BG: No, I just write it and play it and pick it up. I'm very crude on
the
piano...I'll play you one on the piano later. But if you hear in
"Skyscraper," [taps out the rhythm with his hands, more slowly
than in the
album version, while slowly singing the lyrics], it's supposed to be
slower.
M&M: Speaking of "Skyscraper," I don't know why this is, but
I think the
final track on each of the last three or four albums was something
really
special. You've got "Skyscraper"; "Walk Away" on
Against the Grain, which
is never played live but was really amazing; "Only
Entertainment," which
was one of Greg's all-time bests from Generator; and as a journalist
I
really appreciated it...
BG: I think "Digital Boy" was the last on Stranger than
Fiction....
M&M: Yeah, but that doesn't really count...if you look on the Japanese
(or
Australian) version of Stranger than Fiction you get "News From the
Front,"
one of my favorite songs ever and I don't understand why it was never
released in the U.S. in any form whatsoever.
BG: It got voted off the record. It's about AIDS. I can't remember
the
words, I don't have the Japanese version. I probably haven't heard
that
song in like four years...
M&M: One of the lines is, "Why do the troops despise the news from
the
front?" and when you hear that, you don't think about AIDS.
BG: It's about people. In other words, a few soldiers go off to the
Persian
Gulf and get a sniff of nerve gas, everyone's up in arms about it. But
in
our own country, we have a disease that's killing more people than that
war
or in the war in Central America, and people close their minds to it.
M&M: Do you speak often with metaphors in your writing?
BG: All the time. Although not so much in Suffer, a little. There are
metaphors in the song "Suffer"..."an unturned stone, an
undiscovered door
leading to the gift of hope"...it's that feeling that I'm going to
find a
sign, it's around the corner, and everything will make sense, and no,
it
can't all be this random meaningless existence. And sometimes, you have
a
feeling you're so close, you can almost touch it, like it's an inch or
a
second away, that you can feel it.
M&M: Is Bad Religion saying in that song that this undiscovered door
really
is around the corner and is worth pursuing, or that it's a false
hope?
BG: I don't know what the fuck I was saying back then. That was a long
time
again.
M&M: That song was co-written by you and Greg...
BG: I wrote those lines, which were basically taken from a Thomas
Wolfe
novel. It's a theme throughout Thomas Wolfe's writing. "The masses
of
humanity have always had to suffer," the suffering is not people
starving,
or dying, or the government coming down on you, it's the human condition
of
"why the fuck is this like this?"
M&M: What are your future plans with The Daredevils?
BG: I'm just writing. The plans are to write a good record. I'm not good
at
planning far into the future, I try to plan my week. I know I'm going
to
write good songs, and when it comes to me I'll write it down. I don't
go,
"I'm going to write for three hours a night...."
M&M: Have you ever had to pull over or something and write
because
something hit you?
BG: Oh totally, all the time.... I'll race home and write it down.
M&M: Do you write by hand or on the computer?
BG: Well I write on guitar... usually the melody comes with the words,
or
sometimes just the melody. I'll usually have the chorus, and the name
of
the song, then write the song, then fill in the verses. For me music
is
evocative, and it makes me feel something, so I'll have the music, and
it
will make me feel something, and then I'll try to express it in words.
And
it augments the song, because the words are bolstering the music. I'll
come
up with a line, and if it's clever I'll write it down and maybe save it
and
use it if something needs it later...but I'll never write a poem and
then
put a song to it.
M&M: "Man with a Mission." Is it about you?
BG: On the surface, it's a song condemning evangelists, the Billy
Grahams,
or the evangelical people who come to your home. On the other hand,
there
are kids are out there who are condemning me and it's saying, "Fuck
you,
who said I was supposed to be perfect? I'm not a preacher, everyone's
a
hypocrite, why are you holding me up on such a high pedestal?" People
are
saying I ruined punk rock; I don't have the power to do that! Even
back
then during Recipe for Hate, we were catching a lot of shit. They
complained about the ticket prices, or said we're not really
punk...hey,
I'm on your side! That's the undercurrent. There's also another
undercurrent, an undercurrent of destiny. It's just a feeling.
M&M: One of the interpretations was: Epitaph.
BG: It had nothing to do with that. Sometimes what you mean is the
opposite
of what you're saying. Clearly I am not...I can't fly you away. I
can't
condemn you to perdition. "Rescue me when I get too deep" is not
talking
about drowning in water, it's "I'm sorry if I am too pretentious in
my
lyrics."
M&M: What about, "Work for me, it'll serve you well?"
BG: Yeah, that had to do with Epitaph. That was a hint that the song
was
really about me, but it wasn't to say, that I'm really a man with a
mission, that I'm really this guy. It was to say, "Don't make me this
guy.
Don't make me be this guy, that's not who I am."
M&M: When you played shows, did all the younger punk rock kids give you
shit?
BG: Yeah, of course. They might be a vocal minority, but they're very
vocal. We're in the age of the internet, and people can say things to
you
over the wire that they won't say to your face. They come right out
and
call you a piece of shit, and you get a thousand letters a month... I
mean,
Brett@epitaph.com, it's obvious. I try to respond to all of them. If
they
give me a phone number, I'll call them up and ask, "Why are you
calling me
a piece of shit?" Because I'm not. I don't feel that I've done
anything
wrong. I don't have the power to ruin punk rock. I put out that
Offspring
record, that was just a punk rock record. I didn't think the songs
were
good songs.
M&M: There's a whole litany of smack talked about you and Bad Religion
on
the Bad Religion Mailing List, everything from "it hasn't sounded the
same
since No Control" to...
BG: Well that's valid, that doesn't bother me. What bothers me is
"You
ruined punk rock." I didn't ruin punk rock, I helped punk rock. Punk
rock
in 1987 was virtually dead. It was not a dignified death, either. I
love
punk rock. If I put out a punk rock record, and 8 million people decide
to
like it, you think I have the power to do that? I didn't realize that
could
happen. That was outside the realm of my reality, that my little
company
could sell 8 million records.
M&M: What do you think Epitaph's role is now?
BG: Epitaph's role is to redefine the role of the record company with
the
artist. Musicians -- particularly rock and roll musicians throughout
this
century -- have been exploited and shit upon by business men. Yet,
they're
the ones who provide value in the partnership, not the businessmen.
I've
always known that. I vowed to make a record company that would change
that,
that would play the role of service provider to the artist, and enable
the
artist to be the principal director in the relationship, because
they're
creating the intellectual property and they're creating the value and
they
deserve respect and dignity. The record company should just make a
fair
margin for doing a service for them. That's what Epitaph does, and
that's
our reason for being. You talk to any of our artists, and you'll know
we
treat them that way. Of course that philosophy trickles down to how
we
treat employees. We sign on record deals, and they continue to come
back.
M&M: So you don't sign extended deals?
BG: We wouldn't sign someone for seven years, fuck that!
M&M: Where do you see Epitaph five or ten years from now?
BG: I definitely want it to be a punk rock label...I don't know, I
can't
see that far ahead. I don't know what's going to happen in five or
ten
years!
M&M: Is this a ride that's in control?
BG: You can't plan something like this. Success comes from directions
that
are unexpected. If you try to make money, you won't make money. If you
just
try to be a good person and do the best at something, something good
happens somewhere else. I didn't want to have a big record company, I
just
wanted to eke out a living with a modicum of dignity without having to
work
for the man. That's all I ever wanted. And be able to play music and
be
myself. I don't give a shit about money....I like power, but fuck it
I
don't need it. I can get my power out of the 451 (the engine in
Brett's
souped up Camaro).
M&M: Does that fast driving passion of yours have something to do with
the
name of the Daredevils.
BG: Yeah. I had a drag race on Sunset Boulevard, and I can't lose in
that
car. It's got 750 horsepower, it's a rocket. It's a dragster. It goes
from
0 to 60 in three seconds.
M&M: Good lord! That's faster than motorcycles!
BG: Yeah, it beats Ninjas. It pops wheelies. So I won the drag race, and
a
cop saw it and pulled me over, but didn't give me a ticket. He liked
the
car so much, and he fucked with me a lot, but he just said, "Keep it
under
100."
M&M: Who do you listen to these days?
BG: Johnny Bernette, Beach Boys, Descendents, Blur.... I like a lot of
old
rock. Elvis.
M&M: The Daredevils single has some provocative artwork. There's
an
illustration of a guy with a knife in his back, is that you?
BG: Yeah. It's really interesting, I have more knives in my back than in
my
kitchen. But I don't really want to discuss knives. But the worst part
was,
I wasn't looking when they were put in.
M&M: Considering what happened with the Offspring's departure to Sony,
do
you still have concerns about major labels poaching your talent?
BG: Yeah. I think there's enough bands for everyone, they should just
leave
me alone. On the other hand, bands should have freedom to decide what
they
want to do, which is why I don't sign long deals. So it's going to
keep
happening. But, what I expect is that someday, a band that is
successful
will leave a major label and come to me. And when that happens, it's
all
over. The game's all over for the major labels. Because their record
on
Epitaph would be bigger than the last one they did on the major
label.
It'll happen.
M&M: What do you think the radio's influence on an album's success
is?
BG: MTV is more important. Radio has an effect. The only problem I
have
with MTV is that it really ruins rock and roll in a way because people
see
them too many times and get sick of them. MTV burns artists out. On
the
other hand, I believe the records I put out are better than 90% of
what's
on radio and MTV. So for me to say I don't want to improve radio and
MTV...
well, of course I want to hear my artists on the radio and MTV. Of
course,
some of my artists would prefer not to be on the radio. I never would
make
a group do anything. All I'm hear for is advice. They all have 100%
creative control, and beyond creative control. They even have control
over
their marketing destiny. Anyway, if you just get a little radio, it's
almost no effect. If you get tons of radio, it can have a significant
effect. But if you get played on MTV, it's a magnitude more
significant
than any amount of radio play. Radio is at best a tertiary focus
here.
Retail is number one. My job is to help a group make the record they
want
to make and put it in the store. There are a lot of things we do here
to
let people know about records besides radio and MTV. But personally I
would
like to see only punk rock on MTV; I don't care for Salt N Peppa!
M&M: How many ska bands do you want to have on Epitaph?
BG: I'm actually starting up a ska label. It will be here, part of
Epitaph,
but a separate ska label.
M&M: Where did the name Mr. Brett come from?
BG: There's a story, but I don't feel like sharing it.
M&M: It seems that all the punkers think you have to be underground
and
broke and not sell any records and not be known to be a "good"
punk band
these days.
BG: They buy their Cokes at 7-11. And then they call me corporate. You
buy
Cokes at 7-11. You're fucking calling me corporate? I'm not
corporate.
You've seen this place, it's a small business. It may not be as small
as
the liquor store on the corner, but, if you've ever been to a record
company...Comparing me to those people, I'm not corporate.
M&M: What in your mind constitutes selling out?
BG: Changing your music for money.
M&M: Do you think Bad Religion has sold out?
BG: No. I don't thing they've done that. That whole sellout thing is...
I
don't know... If you like Bad Religion's records, you like them. And,
it's
too fucking crazy to be complaining about Bad Religion or Rancid or
any
band being a sellout, when we're dropping bombs on Iraq and there's
people
starving in the streets. How can you fucking expend energy on this
topic
when there's unparalleled human misery going on right now? And these
guys
are on your side anyway! Whether you think these bands have sold out
or
not, they're extreme liberals! We've got Bob Dole running for
president,
and Newt Gingrich, and irrefutable proof that our own government
brought
crack into our own inner cities, and you're going to actually spend
time
talking about whether Bad Religion sold out or not? Are you a punk? If
you
really are, what the fuck do you give a shit about that for? Just go
do
something! If you really think you're political, get your priorities
straight! It's like... Some people, all they give a shit about is
animal
testing. Or animal abuse. And they're lobbying to get rid of that,
when
there's child abuse going on. We've got bumper stickers that say, "Be
kind
to animals." Is this some kind of psychic trauma delusion? Women are
being
battered, and kids are being ass fucked by their priest and their
father,
and this is what you care about? You care about seals in the North Pole?
I
think seals are cute also, but I don't think worms are cute and worms
are
getting stepped on. I just can't fathom people caring that much about
it,
if these people are who they say they are. I was a punk rocker in 1982,
and
I didn't give a shit who the Sex Pistols were on, or that the Clash was
on
Epic or whoever. That wasn't what I was railing against. My life, my
world
was crazy. They were my voice. They were cool. I mean, think about it.
Our
government is killing human beings with crack. You realize our
government
is financing an entire war in Central America by keeping an entire class
of
people down by feeding them crack, which is going to kill more of them
than
will die in a fucking Contra war. And we're getting shit because a
ticket
costs $12 instead of $10, or $10 instead of $6. I was talking to
Wayne
Kramer, a good friend of mine who played guitar in the MC-5. The MC-5 was
a
band in the '60s that was a revolutionary, radical band. And he told
me
tickets back then were 5 or 6 bucks, and that was back in the '60s, when
a
Big Mac was 39 cents. Big Macs now are like a buck seventy-five right?
Back
then a movie was a dollar. Now it's 7 dollars, right? But rock and
roll
musicians, who have been shit upon for the last 50 years, still have
to
charge 5 or 6 dollars? Even their own fans are making them into
second
class citizens. Why the fuck is that? Not all cultures shit on their
artists.
M&M: Not all Bad Religion fans feel that way.
BG: I know, it's a vocal minority. The problem is, with the power of
the
computer, you can just go out there and flame any list you want. If
you're
in a room, and one guy just starts screaming his opinion, over
everyone
else the whole time, that's not gonna fly, right? Everyone will say,
"Shut
up, give someone else a chance." But you can get a macro and send out
your
opinion 1,000 fucking times around the world, and you've created
something
that doesn't necessarily exist. If you're going to have a democratic
discussion of 30 people, no one should have a megaphone. That's kind
of
what's happened.
M&M: Have you seen the Bad Religion web pages?
BG: Yeah, I look at them occasionally... I advocate them strongly,
because
it's the last bastion of freedom of speech. And the theme of our web
site
is basically freedom of press.
M&M: How do you determine what gets on the site? Do you ever think,
"this
goes to far" and not put it up?
BG: I'm probably not going to put up instructions on how to make a
car
bomb, but I might put up how to make a zip gun (a home-made gun).
(Laughs)
I'm not going to put up pornography that's degrading. I have my own
moral
code I guess. But I think freedom of speech is very important, and
there
are a lot of atrocities the U.S. government has committed that people
don't
know about. As a matter of fact, the things you read in the press
aren't
necessarily real. Shit gets written that's absolutely lies. People
see
something in the newspaper and think it's true. All the time, shit
gets
printed that's completely false. And in fact, if you read a newspaper
in
Paris or Hamburg (on the same story), they'll say the exact opposite.
M&M: So how should one approach the media, whether it's major press or
an
underground publication?
BG: Look at it with skepticism. Everything, trust me.
M&M: How do you personally sort through it?
BG: I just believe everything is bullshit.
M&M: So when you see a report like, "the U.S. government has
been
intentionally distributing crack into the streets" or some other
atrocity,
how do you decide whether or not to believe that?
BG: Well, first of all, they've been denying that for a number years.
Second of all, you can't even buy a fucking Cuban cigar in this
country.
How are you going to get 100 million pounds of cocaine in since 1980?
Give
me a fucking break, it just makes sense. Certain things ring true. You
have
to read between the lines. You can't know, just like you can't know
whether
there's a god or not... It's like, it's very difficult to know
anything,
it's disturbing. The thing is to be skeptical. That's part of the
message
Bad Religion songs have given over the years. Have a skeptical mind.
M&M: Do you want to talk about your personal views about God and
religion?
BG: Sure. (Laughs) I don't know. I don't know if there is one or isn't
one.
As a kid I was sure there wasn't one. So that represents a lot of
spiritual
growth for me to say I don't know. But how can you say for sure either
way?
Even if he comes down and talks to me, I might just think I'm
schizophrenic, I still might not believe it. Plenty of people hear
voices
and see things. I've taken a number of hits of acid. I know reality has
a
tenuous grip. I know you're one molecule in your bloodstream away
from
seeing things that exactly aren't there, and yet they seem completely
real
to you. I have a friend who I knew and trusted and liked who said he saw
a
flying saucer. I don't believe him. I believe he saw it, I don't know
what
the fuck it was, I'm sorry. At least I know that I don't know. I
don't
really have a religion. But I won't say that there is no god. From what
I
can discern, the universe is nothing but a string of meaningless
existential events. But I acknowledge that I'm not the authority on
the
topic. If there was a design, I realize I'm not clever enough to see
it.
I'm hoping against hope that there is a design because the opposite
is
absurd. Who wants to live in an absurd universe? I don't. But even if it
is
absurd, I'd rather hang around than die. I hope that it's not, but
I'll
probably never get to find out. I think the closest thing to religion
is
spirituality. Music can be a spiritual experience. If music is
spirituality, than writing a song is like a prayer. Or a sacrifice.
(laughs) People will misunderstand that, and think I'm religious now.
That's another metaphor.
M&M: Do you see a point any time in the future when you could rejoin
Bad
Religion?
BG: No. But then again... Well, if I try and picture it I can't.
What happened after the interview
ended was one of the most
beautiful experiences of my life. With only Mateo and I as his
audience,
Brett sang and played on piano two of my favorite songs, "Stranger
than
Fiction" and "Skyscraper." I always thought both, especially
the latter,
were under-recognized. And true to his word, when he played
"Skyscraper" at
its slower, originally-intended tempo, I gained a new appreciation for
the
song. Mateo and I sat enthralled, wishing Brett had allowed us to keep
the
tape recorder running. I only have the faded recorder in my mind to
remind
me of this intimate performance. Maybe someday, Brett will share this
beautiful side of his artistry with more of his fans.
After the 3-hour-plus interview and
ad hoc performance, lacking
time even for photos, Brett rushed us to the Bad Religion show, where
we
briefly hung out backstage, then ran out to the pit to slam with
everyone
else to Bad Religion. (Brett stood discreetly back behind the crowd with
a
co-worker from Epitaph. Though I didn't ask, it seemed a near
certainty
this was the first time he'd seen the band live since he'd left.) I've
seen
well over a dozen Bad Religion shows now, but all since Brett left.
I've
never seen Bad Religion play with Mr. Brett as part of the line-up, but
as
I freshly remembered the beauty of Brett's private musical
performance
earlier that evening I began to grasp an inkling of what I had missed.
Like
a lock without a key, or a city with no door, Bad Religion minus Mr.
Brett
shall always be a band incomplete.
EPILOGUE
Throughout the interview, I was
struck by how relaxed and at ease
with himself, his employees, and his company he was. Brett was at home
with
Epitaph, and he was doing something he loved.
But, in retrospect, the one thing
that was absolutely clear to me
was that despite his comment about having peaked with Stranger than
Fiction, about it having been the dignified time to leave, Brett
hadn't
lost his love of writing and playing music. An element of this was
revealed
when Bad Religion's post-Grey Race live album Tested was released.
Sadly,
Brett and Greg G.'s relationship deterioriated once again, with Brett
being
offended and hurt that so few of his songs had been selected for the
album.
Greg G. righteously responded that the decision was not Brett's to
make,
and that those just happened to be the songs the band enjoyed playing
live.
Was Brett's reaction a sign of how much he truly missed being part of
Bad
Religion? By leaving the band, Brett had given up his voice in its
deicision making process, but conversely I strongly believe that Tested
as
an album was hurt by its lack of Brett material.
The return to bickering between the
two former friends was just a
prelude, the worst was yet to come. According to reports, in mid to
late
1997, Brett revealed to his staff at Epitaph that he was battling a
two
year addiction to crack and/or heroin. (During the Sept. '96
interview
while the tape recorder was off, I actually asked Brett directly about
the
drug issue, and he vehemently asserted that he'd been clean for many
years.
Interestingly enough, if the "two year addiction" is true, it
would have
predated said denial.) The details are fairly unclear, but it is
generally
known he wound up in rehab, where he is as of this writing in spring
1998.
Bad Religion has arguably flourished
without Brett. Though I doubt
the band will ever recapture the popularity of Stranger than Fiction,
or
will ever be as balanced (the prose of Brett's work, the reportorial
qualities of Greg's work melded so well) without Brett, the creative
flame
burns as brightly as ever in Greg Graffin, and the band shows no signs
of
obsolescence. Meanwhile, Brett has had virtually no outlet for the
music
artistry that once filled his life. Though he was and hopefully, with
a
proper recovery from drug addiction, will one day again be an
impressive,
commanding business leader and a damn fine judge of kickass punk
talent,
it's apparent that making and playing music is his first and foremost
passion, not promoting and distributing records. Maybe, without Bad
Religion, it's really Mr. Brett who is incomplete. Whatever the case,
I
wish Brett Gurewitz a speedy recovery and a return to his art.
Entire contents copyright (C) 1998 Matt Taylor and Mateo Rojas. May not
be
reprinted or retransmitted in any form or on any media without
express
written permission of the authors. Any questions, email Matt Taylor
at
MATaylor@ix.netcom.com
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