Originally released on cassette in 1988 via  SST Records, this is the first ever reissue of a Dinosaur Jr. album on its original cassette format. Available in extremely limited quantities, the Bug cassette is limited only 250 hand-numbered copies, on high-quality purple tapes, with eight-panel original artwork. One-hundred-twenty-five copies are available for purchase online, while the remaining 125 will be available at the band’s merch table while on tour.

Dinosaur Jr. on Tour
6/21 Northampton, MA @ Calvin Theatre  (with Thurston Moore, Henry Rollins spoken word)
6/22 Boston, MA @ The Paradise (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/23 New York, NY @ Terminal 5 (with Fucked Up, Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/24 Philadelphia, PA @ Electric Factory (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/25 Washington, DC @ 9:30 Club (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/26 Atlanta, GA @ Variety Playhouse (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/27 Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
7/01 London, England @ Alexandra Palace (with Flaming Lips and Deerhoof)
7/02 Paris, France @ Gaite Lyrique
7/03Ferrara, Italy @ Ferrara Sotto Le Stelle
7/04 Milan, Italy @ Magnolia
7/05 Antwerp, Belgium @ Rivierenhof
7/07 Helsinki, Finland @ Tavastia Club
7/08 Stockholm, Sweden @ Gota Kallare
7/09 Oslo, Norway @ Rockefeller Music Hall

(Sub Pop Records, 2013 Fourth Avenue, Third Floor, Seattle, WA 98121)

Dinosaur Jr. will be doing a brief summer tour, hitting up the East Coast and London, and will be performing their 1988  album Bug in its entirety. They will be supported by Thurston Moore, Fucked Up, and Off!,  as well as Henry Rollins providing a spoken word performance and interviewing Dinosaur Jr. They will be joined by The Flaming Lips and Deerhoof in London.

For more information, visit the Dinosaur Jr. website.

Dinosaur Jr. on Tour
6/21 Northampton, MA @ Calvin Theatre  (with Thurston Moore, Henry Rollins spoken word)
6/22 Boston, MA @ The Paradise (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/23 New York, NY @ Terminal 5 (with Fucked Up, Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/24 Philadelphia, PA @ Electric Factory (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
6/25 Washington, DC @ 9:30 Club (with Off!, Henry Rollins interviewing)
7/01 London, England @ Alexandra Palace (with Flaming Lips and Deerhoof)

J. Mascis on Tour
3/10 Ithaca, NY @ Castaways*
3/11 Toronto, ON @ The Great Hall
3/22 Brattleboro, VT @ Headroom Stages
3/23 Philadelphia, PA @ World Cafe Live*
3/24 New York, NY @ The Mercury Lounge*
3/25 Brooklyn, NY @ Music Hall of Williamsburg*
3/26 Boston, MA @ Brighton Music Hall*
3/30 Cleveland Heights, OH @ Grog Shop*
3/31 Ann Arbor, MI @ Blind Pig*
4/1 Chicago, IL @ Subterranean*
4/2 Minneapolis, MN @ 7th Street Entry*
4/7 Atlanta, GA @ The Earl*
4/8 Athens, GA @ The Melting Point*
4/9 Asheville, NC @ The Grey Eagle*
4/10 Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle*
4/29 Seattle, WA @ Tractor Tavern**
4/30 Portland, OR @ Dante’s **
5/3 Santa Cruz, CA @ Crepe Place**
5/4 San Francisco, CA @ The Independent**
5/5 Long Beach, CA @ Alex’s Bar**
5/6 Echo Park, CA @ Echo**
5/7 San Diego, CA @ The Casbah **

*with Kurt Vile and the Violators
** with Black Heart Procession

At the end of September, Mike Watt joined together with friends Nels Cline, Yuka Honda, and Dougie Bowne to unveil a powerful new project called Floored By Four. Watt composed a bass line for each of the band members and then let the improvisatory chips fall where they may. The result is a record as challengingly diverse as the man himself. We recently had the opportunity to chat with Mike on subjects ranging from Iggy Pop to his own creative process.

Mike, this interview has been a long time coming. We started trying to put it together back in July and you were just getting ready to head back onto the road with The Stooges. How did that go?
It was great. The only bad thing was my knee blew up.

Oh yeah, I saw the pictures of that on your website. How did that happen?
It was the last note of the first song in a town near Marseilles, France, called D’Istres and I just came down at a bad angle. It had been 19 years since the last time I’d had trouble with it. It was at the Cabaret Metro in Chicago [and] I was playing with fIREHOSE. I was born with bad knees — I had surgeries when I was in my 20s. You get older and you forget that riding the bike strengthens them. So I just came down at a bad angle. But it sucks because it takes forever to heal.

So it just sort of went out on you.
Yeah, but I kept playing. (laughter)  I sat on the riser. Iggy didn’t know what was happening at first. He turned around and saw me and started gesturing, “Get up!” like I was taking a breather! I was like, I can’t move.

It has to be kind of daunting playing with Iggy — physically speaking — I mean, it has been about 10 years since I last saw him, but he was crazy on stage. Incredible energy. How has the abuse he’s taken not taken a toll on his body?
Well I was going to say, he’s got bad knees, too. (laughter)  We actually have the same syndrome called Osgood-Schlatter. When you’re young, different parts grow at different speeds. We’re kind of prone to weakness there. Ig has it in the arms…yeah, he’s taken some blows. He’s told me he has about half of the ligaments in each arm.

Yikes…
Doesn’t deter him, though. That’s the trip about it. It’s actually very inspiring — it totally motivates me. “Wow, Ig’s there doing that, I can too.” It is a little easier to sit and feel sorry for yourself, but you see a guy like that — he’s 63 years old. His work ethic is unreal. Reminds me a lot of D. Boon when he plays a gig. He never wants to cut anybody short. He wants to give everything he has. For me, it’s empowering and inspiring. Actually, its very contagious, too. I told his wife that it gets to a point where, literally, if some giant garbage disposal opened up on stage and he jumped in, I think I’d jump after him. I just get so caught up in it. He’s very enthusiastic about music and working the gig. (laughter)

You’re actually the “Young Turk” in that scene–
Finally the youngest guy. (laughter)  But yeah, these songs…I mean, I listened to [The Stooges] when I was growing up, as a teenager. Back then, remember, they weren’t the most popular band. But for us, when the early punk scene came — and especially in SoCal where everything is so spread out and balkanized — they were the one thing we all had in common. So it’s a trip. I do have to focus on them because I get lost. I’ve got to help make these songs live. I can’t just sit back and be diggin’ on them. It’s a trippy thing.

If my research is correct, before you hooked up with Iggy weren’t you jamming for fun with some guys doing Stooges covers?
Kind of for fun and kind of for therapy, too. I was struggling with a long period of illness. I couldn’t play bass for months. It was the first time I’d stopped playing since I was a kid, and I got a little spooked. I was having trouble getting back to form. So I started practicing The Stooges covers. There are not a lot of chord-changes but it is a lot about feel. Then I asked Perk and Peter [Stephen Perkins and Peter Distefano] here on the West Coast, and then J. and Murph [J. Mascis and Murph] on the East Coast to play. J. had just got done with that J. Mascis and the Fog, so he asked me to tour with him and do some Stooges songs so he wouldn’t have to sing every song every night. We came through Ann Arbor and he says, “You know Ronnie [Asheton].” I had gotten to record that Velvet Goldmine thing with Ron. He’d come see me play when I’d come through Detroit. He says, “Hey why don’t you come tour with us. I’ll do the first two-thirds and you come on for the final third and we’ll do all Stooges.” We went out on tour, then Thurston [Moore] got asked to curate an ATP [All Tomorrow’s Parties] at UCLA in SoCal. He said, “Why don’t you get Scotty. Scotty’s livin’ in his truck, he doesn’t even have a drum set.” We rented him a drum set. So me and J. are playing with both the Asheton brothers! I think that’s where Ig heard about it. This is like 2002. He asked them [the Ashetons] to be on the Skull-Ring album. Soon after that we played Coachella, in 2003, I think it was. I’ve been playing with him for almost seven and a half years now. I’ve been helping them now longer than I was a Minuteman!

That really is amazing…
(laughter) Yeah! It is something I could never have planned. It has to do with the sickness and not playing. J. Mascis obviously had something to do with it. There were other people who I would definitely have to credit as well. Things happened the way they did, and now I get to serve in the most interesting classroom in my life.

Well let me ask you this: I know you have spoken in the past about the kind of awe you felt when you first started playing with The Stooges. I’d bet that is still there in some sense when you go out every night and see Iggy right there next to you. But now that you’ve been at this…seven years?
Yeah man, seven and a half years, because Coachella was in March or April 2003.

So how has the experience changed?
Well, I have to tell you, this version of the band — I guess we started in November 2009, but most of it is from the spring and summer of 2010 since Ronnie [Asheton died], so it [includes] James Williamson — it’s different even though four-fifths, eighty percent is the same. It is still way different. In a way, it is kind of like a new band. Although we do a lot of old [material], James is much different than Ronnie. He didn’t play for a long time, but right when he started — when I started practicing with James — that was the signature sound. I mean, of course we’re all individuals — but especially if you’re in The Stooges’ band, you can’t be generic. It is kind of like a new band. So there is a new level of awe. (laughter)

Also, Ig brought on Steve MacKay to play the whole set. Way back, Steve used to come out on “1970” and onward. Now he starts with us. The band is a little different. But not Ig’s enthusiasm — he’s just as intense as always, but he’s working it with a little different material — like all of the Raw Power and some off of Kill City. That stuff is different than the stuff on Fun House and the first album, which were mind-blowing to me, too.

Kill City is almost obscure when compared to those earlier records. Wasn’t that like 1977?
Oh yeah, it was on Bomp! I think that is one of the last ones where James plays guitar. He stopped playing guitar after that. And yeah, I always thought it was a trippy record, but a good one. James Williamson told me that Ig, that he thought it was more demos and it actually helped Iggy get like The Idiot and New Values, Iggy and James worked together on New Values…

And Soldier, if I’m remembering correctly, although I’m not sure how much Williamson played on that album.
I think that is when James Williamson got scissored, or quit, or both. They had a falling out and didn’t talk for a long time. Ig, when he plays with people, he makes serious connections. He’s not just sleep-walking, or connecting the dots. It is so intense. Despite all the years he’s been doing this he’s very earnest about it. And James Williamson, there is an authenticity about him, because back then Raw Power was the next chapter in The Stooges rock bible. (laughter) It is an authentic thing. [Iggy is] looking for this kind of connection. I never served in any of the solo bands, but I know a little about The Stooges thing. It’s very genuine. He has such a respect for music, but it’s not just about playing the notes. In fact, sometimes he’s asked me to play the wrong notes! (laughter) It is so interesting.

Iggy wants the songs to come alive, and luckily they are written that way. They do not sound dated. I remember Fun House — it sounded like it had been recorded next week. (laughter) If I play a Grand Funk album it sounds like 1970. That is not the case with the early Stooges records. In a way, the punks took or appropriated the sound that The Stooges were making. It kept the sound going. It doesn’t sound old-fashioned, and in a weird way I think they were ahead of their time. It is very hard for me to imagine a punk scene even existing without The Stooges.

It is the foundational sound. I mean, there are other bands that contribute to that, but–
Oh sure, you know, like Captain Beefheart in a way–

Definitely, especially for you guys, the Minutemen — I hear a ton of Beefheart in what you were doing.
Big time! Big time! The Stooges and Beefheart. We actually thought they were already doing punk, but there was just no name for it.

Absolutely.
I remember when we first heard of punk — actually, it was just pictures at first, but then we heard it — and I remember thinking, Wow, some people have been [already] doing this, kind of. (laughter) You know, I told James Williamson this, but [on] songs like “I Got a Right,” that guitar sound and Scotty’s drum sound became very much a template for punk, and even hardcore.

When you think, for instance, where our magazine came from — the “Do It Yourself” ethic — and you think about the whole “We Jam Econo” ethos — punk rock was a liberating force. I graduated from high school in 1979.  [During] my freshman and sophomore years we were just obsessed with the new sounds. And yeah, we were the weird kids who weren’t listening to REO Speedwagon and Kansas and all those other bands that dominated the radio…
Yeah man, get this: REO Speedwagon’s lead singer came and saw the Minutemen. In the Valley.

Kevin Cronin? (laughter)
Oh man, you want a weird image? We get done playing and I look out and I see D. Boon, and he’s talking to some cat. D. Boon just got done with the gig and he’s all sweaty, but I notice he’s giving this guy his full attention. And the dude has this really big hair and designer jeans! And it’s the REO Speedwagon guy, and he’s relating to D. Boon. (laughter)  Crazy.

Wow, I’m not even sure what to say to that. (laughter)
Then we played their town. They came from Champaign, Illinois. Those bands — it was huge stuff. When the Minutemen were doing it we used to think all the time about the punk kids who were still in high school. Because, you know, the first punk scene was a lot of glam and glitter people, art people — they weren’t really young people. And then when hardcore came, we thought, Man, these guys have to take more shit than anyone! We had to deal with square johns at work and stupid shit like that, but to be trapped in the classroom with all that peer pressure — God, it had to be terrible!

No doubt. (laughter)
When I was writing “History Lesson – Part II,” I was writing it kind of for the hardcore kids. We were trying to tell them, “We’re like you, but in a way you guys got it worse.” It’s a little heavier. You’ve got to deal with these pricks pushing on you. And we had to tell them, don’t worry if we sound a little different, that’s part of the deal. But we could understand in a way why all the hardcore bands did sound the same. They had to bond together because the “picked on factor” must have been incredible.

It is interesting you bring that up. I mentioned to you before we started recording this that I met you way back in 1984 at the 9:30 Club in Washington, DC.
The original 9:30 Club.

Yeah, exactly! I don’t even know where the hell it is now?
Well, you know the back door to Ford’s Theatre was right down there in that back alley.

That’s right, I remember. I don’t know if you remember that particular show, but it got totally out of hand. Largely, it was because the hardcore kids came out in force that night and they were spitting on each other, they were spitting on you guys — it was complete madness. I remember just saying “fuck it” and leaving early. It was mayhem! In the documentary, We Jam Econo, there’s a scene from that show. You guys are on stage and there’s a wall of kids spitting on you, and you’re playing relentlessly against this maelstrom. There is this look of defiance on your faces. Do you think punk rock–
Well, I gotta admit, man, when the Dead Kennedy’s came and played here I spit on Jello. I was all drunk. I had to look at that loogy on his shoulder the whole gig.

Oh no. (laughter)
Yeah man. Jello is a friend of mine. It wasn’t on purpose. We just got caught up in the moment. (laughter)

Sure man, I get that, but what I’m talking about is 500 people.
Oh yeah, you’re right. Our scene was a little different. And smaller.

In ’84 I was 23 or 24 years old, and I was teaching high school kids. The kids spitting were, like, my students and they were just crazy…I guess I just don’t like getting spit on, personally…
(laughter) I hear you…especially when you’re singing or playing an instrument and you can’t block your mouth.

That’s the mind-blowing thing to me! The commitment of the band at that moment. There was no let-up — just balls-to-the-wall punk rock. Do you think that the definition of punk rock — as you would define it — is still the same today as it was when you started out? Is there something happening today that you connect with, or have we simply moved beyond all that to something completely different?
Well, in those days, of course, we had D. Boon, so obviously it was different.

Oh yeah, of course. I meant–
You asked me what is different, and certainly that has been a huge difference in my life. But in the broader sense, I don’t think I’ve ever grown out of punk. Punk was never a style. It was more a state of mind, and I still try to keep that, and I try to challenge myself like with this third opera thing or the Floored by Four project. I’m always writing songs for people to see what will happen. I think I’m using the same kind of spirit that I learned from D. Boon at the very beginning.

I ask because, of course, you mention the operas, and I remember when I was young when I actually had to hide certain records from my friends because they’d either get pissed or even commit an act of violence because I was violating some code of theirs. (laughter) There was a real regimentation and homogenization. Hardcore had a lot to do with that. I was in DC in the early ’80s, and of course no one wants to talk about it now — they all want to talk about the positive politics that eventually came out of it — but the bottom line was it was violent as hell, it was racist as hell, and–
Yeah, but the Bad Brains came out there, too.

True, HR and crew were rising at that time, too, but you had a serious skinhead scene in the city.
Oh yeah, sure.

And a lot of gay-bashing and general deviant behavior. So I think the freedom that you guys represented bouncing from straight punk to free jazz riffs to funk, in a sense, was gobbled up by those who wanted a nice, flat template for it all.
Right. Humans get caught up in that stuff. (laughter)

Yeah, I guess it is kind of a “human nature” thing.
Yeah, because I’ve seen it happen in other scenes. Things get worked into hierarchies, and cliques, and orthodoxies. Even if the slogan is “anarchy,” it is a huge thing to live up to.

How many times have you seen that — if you’re going to be an anarchist you’d better dress this way, or you’d better listen to this music…
Exactly. (laughter) There is something called “irony.” It is the way we deal with — what did Orson Welles call it? — “inconvenient truths?”

That’s right.
But you know what? You have to own up to that and be aware of that or you’re totally in denial. But on the other hand, another part of human experience is mixed up and random and all thrown together — good and bad. Of course, you have to learn how to focus in on the positive.

But back to what you were saying, a lot of people got really fed up with all that and tried to clean it up. A lot of people dropped out of it. They thought it was corrupt. But it was a really homegrown scene, too. People could keep coming up with their own versions of it. I mean look how they sell the clothes in the mall — what is that place called, Hot Topic? Or who is it that has that opera on Broadway? Green Day? There is always stuff like that. But there are guys still making music in their bedrooms. I look at it that way. Those other things are just bizarre and I’m really not interested in them.

Why don’t we go ahead then and talk about your stuff. My tendency is to over-prepare for these interviews, and truth be told that is just an excuse to spend a few weeks listening to a lot of music I really want to listen to. (laughter)  But you, dude, sheesh! About three weeks ago I was thinking I can’t interview this person. I can’t focus it.
Yeah, and I’ve got about 12 or 13 things in the pipeline…

So obviously you’re a workaholic — I think I can safely draw that conclusion — at least, in the best possible way. Your level of production is unbelievable.
Well, the recording stuff was way out of balance. For about 10 years I was doing way more gigs than recording. So about three years ago I started on a bunch of stuff. That is why it is all coming out now. I decided, “Man, I have to do more recording!”  Gigs are important in the moment, but they go out into the air. And also, with the internet, I can collaborate with people. In the old days you had to actually be in the same room with them. Now I can trade files and stuff. I made this album with this young guy in Canada that I never even met! He just sent me these songs and I said, sure, I’ll play some bass. Triclops just sent me a bunch of songs. And I asked for the chords and the guy said, Well I don’t really know what the chords are. (laughter) But we sat down and figured out the notes. Yeah, but its sophisticated stuff. This guy is rocking this 12-string guitar with this wild drummer.

I’ve just come to this point — I’m 53 this December — that I really feel that everybody has something to teach me. So I want to put the bass in places that it will be challenging to me. I never had ideas about operas. I come from the tradition of short songs. I come from the tradition where all my music went through D. Boon. Things changed. I had to re-do things. That sickness came. Having to deal with losing D. Boon — that first opera came about because I didn’t think I could deal with the subject with just one song. And the same thing happened after the sickness.

Now with the “Hyphenated Man,” I’m learning how to do it live with Tom [Watson] and Raul [Morales of the Missingmen], and man, is it fucking hard! There are 30 little songs. It is a butt-load to remember. So it doesn’t get any easier — but I don’t want to do just copies of the same stuff. A lot of are different kinds of things, but also the politics of bass is trippy. Bass players are kind of like grout, if you know what I mean. We’re there to make other people look good. I have to push people up. I don’t try to be the “fake guitar” or anything like that, although I do a few little solos on this new thing. But they’re hard to remember. (laughter)

So this is an important educational process for you.
That’s what it is all about. You can see that in the Minutemen music where we didn’t stick to one kind of thing. D. Boon was always pushing us. The idea was we can play anything and still sound like Minutemen. I took that and moved it beyond where I was with D. Boon. I had to — he’s gone. But the ethic is the same. I use a lot of the stuff I learned in the early days.

Isn’t that interesting. Even though the work itself is so diverse, the aesthetic that informs it is consistent with what you started out with.
Yeah, but if you listen to the Minutemen it’s not like, “here’s the reggae song,” and “here’s the ska song.”  But we are trying to put all sorts of stuff, whatever gets in our head, and put it into a Minuteman song. I’m kind of taking that and moving it to collaborations with other people. Before, at the beginning, I didn’t even consider myself to be a musician. I got into music to be with my friend. A lot of the people I’m working with now I don’t even know that well. But that is the righteous thing about music: you can get get on a level with someone and you’re tight and you don’t even know them that well, but you can share the rhythms and notes.

It is a language all its own.
Yeah. It’s a great and positive thing.

Well then, let’s segue right into a discussion of Floored by Four. The album was released at the very end of September. What a great collaboration this is. How did it all come about?
I had a Stooges gig in New York City. Yuka Honda chowed with me before the gig and we were talking. I’d just done some stuff with Nels Cline; I’d brought him to Tokyo, in fact, for the first time. I’ve done a lot of stuff with him! That’s a guy where you don’t even have to practice — you show up with the songs and he’s ready to go. Talk about that first-take feeling — he’s the real deal.

So I’m telling her [Yuka] about this and she says, “I don’t know his music.” And I say, well, he knows yours. He knows everybody’s. (laughter) He had just gotten an apartment, so I knew he was going to be in town. And Dougie Bowne had shown me his studio a few months earlier in Manhattan, on Ludlow Street. I had played with Dougie. He was with Chris Whitley, and he’d invited me to record a song in the late ’90s.

So here’s the situation: I had brought Nels, the guitar-player I was recording with, to Tokyo, [and] he had heard the first opera, and he said, “Hey I like this guitarist.” I said, “You like him? You want to know him? You’re playing with him!” So I decided to get everyone together. I decided I’d write everybody a song.

The bass is great because it is a springboard for everybody to be themselves. Most people write on a guitar or piano. The bass is…you know where the starts and stops are, but it leaves a lot of freedom. It is kind of an interesting place to be as far as composing is concerned. You are just setting things up to happen. Then a weird coincidence happened: Matt Ward asked us — me and Nels — to open up for him in Central Park. We could have brought Bob Lee. In fact, I’ve got an album with Nels and Bob Lee coming.

Really?
Yeah, a Black Gang album. The same crew that did the last tours of the first opera. It’s about autumn. We just have to mix it. I asked Nels to play his most psychedelic guitar. He went for it man. He overdubbed electric sitar and electric 12-string. It’s a wild record. Not an opera but its built around the concept of autumn.

I see.
Anyway, we could have brought Bob Lee, but because of the earlier conversations I said, “Why don’t we try and make an album?” Three days before the gig in Central Park we went into Dougie’s studio, where I met Ivan Julian of the Voidoids.

Wow. Bonus.
No doubt. Yeah, [for] D. Boon, and me too — that Black Generation album was huge for us. And he was looking great. We go in the studio and it was sweaty as hell. I showed them the bass lines. Then I said, “What do you guys want to do? What do you want to play?” (laughter) That was it. Just like that. It wasn’t calculated so much. Except I’d told Yuka at that dinner, “I’ll get you together with Nels so you can get to know his music before you play.”  And guess what? November 13th they [were] married! (laughter)

Oh, you know, I did actually see something about that. That is totally crazy.
Now that wasn’t in my plan at all. (laughter)

That’s really great. The thing I really love about this record is that each song is named after one of the players, and they all reflect the personality of that person. The Nels tune that kicks off the record is just unbelievable. He sounds like he could have been playing with Miles [Davis] on Live Evil. It has that early ’70s, Miles electric funk band sound to it. I take it that once you lay down that bedrock bass line, they had the freedom to move all over it?
Yeah, yeah. For each person I thought of what I might give them as a starting point. For me, it was James Jamerson; for Dougie, it was some weird Middle Eastern thing.

Let me ask you about Dougie’s song. The other songs are — well, your song is four minutes — but the others are about 10 minutes long. Dougie’s song is nearly 20 minutes long. (laughter) How did that happen? Or is it just a rhythm thing? The rhythm section has to stick together.
Yeah, that might be true. (laughter)  But also because it’s Dougie! I wanted it to be part of him. I thought he should explore with this thing. The long song thing is really very strange for me. I’m not really from that. I was trying to test myself, too. I wrote these big, long fucking things. It was kind of a dare on myself — if I could keep the focus. I know I can throw almost anything at Nels and he’s up for it; he’s never shirked, he’s never complained, he’s never said “Why don’t you change it?” He goes for it. But I’d never played with Dougie or Yuka Honda. It was an unknown thing. I figured, if they have to deal with me for the first time, then I should challenge myself. I didn’t imagine that Dougie’s tune was going to be that long. (laughter) That’s just the way it worked out.

It fascinates me because on the one hand you’re laying down the rhythm for The Stooges, an elemental blast of rock fury. But then you can hook up with Nels, and Yuka, and Dougie and do something… I mean, it’s improvisatory, but because of those really solid bass lines, the sound is rooted.
You know what? Iggy has really helped me a lot with that. He’s really helped me become a better bass player.

It’s great. You can hear everybody almost talking to one another over this bass line that you’ve laid down for them. At the same time, it isn’t a restrictive thing. Every song sounds so different. You run from electro-jazz to Stax soul! The record isn’t even 40 minutes long and you manage to cover most of American popular music since 1965!
I wanted them to be distinct because the people involved have very distinct personas. They’re not generics at all. They deserved their own dealios. Music is music — and what people will make of it to communicate with each other. When more than one guy is playing — when its an ensemble — what makes it interesting to me is that you get a conversation going. Nels is hyper-sensitive to that. I didn’t know the other two, musically. Nels kind of makes it safe to go crazy. They picked up on his vibe and it was like, whoa! Again, the power of music. I was trying to make a good flannel shirt, you know? With all them threads. An interesting plaid. I didn’t want to see the end of the tunes. I only thought about the springboard part. Here it is. Now what is to be done?

Are there plans to get together with these folks again? Is there a tour in the works?
Well, actually I’m playing with two of them tonight.

Is that the Plastic-Ono Band? I heard about that — that is crazy, dude.
Yeah, it totally is. (laughter) It is a totally trippy thing but I’m excited to be doing it. Such a great thing. Experiences like this — I learn so much. I try to let all of the experiences I have musically get me a little further down the road.

Well, that would more than account for the diversity of the sounds you’re making these days. It is pretty remarkable.
Well, you know, D. Boon, man, I could throw anything at him — I never had to teach him. So, again, it comes kind of from my tradition. That’s the way I did it as a young guy trying to learn music.

I spent a fair amount of time over the past few weeks listening to those old records — the Minutemen records. But one of the most useful for me was that sort of greatest hits thing, Introducing the Minutemen.
Oh yeah, the anthology.

Exactly. I think I’ve given that thing as a gift about 20 times over the years. But the thing I like about it is that it’s chronological, so you can really hear the evolution of the band’s sound. D. Boon is amazing by the end of that record — just burning it up!
In that We Jam Econo documentary, Nels talks about that. In a lot of ways, he’s the same way. He soaks up whatever he can from other folks — but he can play like a motherfucker! (laughter) Its not like he expects everybody to do it his way. He’s picking up what’s going on. I try to do it that way. I’ve tried to do it that way since the very beginning. I’ve learned so much, but I want to keep learning.

Here’s a video of Mascis performing “Not You Again” solo, followed by the tracklisting of the forthcoming record.

Several Shades of Why:

1. Listen to Me
2. Several Shades of Why
3. Not Enough
4. Very Nervous and Love
5. Is It Done
6. Make It Right
7. Where Are You
8. Too Deep
9. Can I
10. What Happened

Described by the band as “an almost live representation of the Lou Barlow + the missingmen live show,” the band’s new digital EP = Sentridoh III (Merge Records) is another step forward for Lou Barlow, and his first release with new backing band the missingmen (guitarist Tom Watson and drummer Raul Morales). With new cuts, rocking reworks of songs from Lou’s Merge debut Emoh and his latest solo record Goodnight Unknown, as well as a hauntingly beautiful cover of Skip James’s “I’m So Glad,” = Sentridoh III is a must-have testament to this remarkable partnership.

Click (control click for pc) to download!

Lou Barlow - Losercore

In this case, the end was a new beginning. Freed from the noxious psychological combat with Mascis, Barlow focused his enormous creative energies on his lo-fi Sebadoh projects, releasing a string of home-recorded albums under that moniker, as well as Sentridoh, and also as a member of college radio darlings, Folk Implosion. Barlow has also released a series of solo records, most recently 2005’s Emoh, an album that made many critics’ Top 10 lists for that year. In 2007, he reunited with Dinosaur Jr. to release the critically-acclaimed Beyond, and this year the band followed up with the brilliant Farm. If that’s not enough, this October another Barlow solo record, Goodnight Unknown, will be added to his impressive discography. We were lucky enough to catch up with Lou via email, as he is currently touring Europe with Dinosaur Jr.

First off, let’s start with some of the more personal stuff. I read on your website that you have a new baby on the way. Congratulations! When is the baby due, and is it a boy or girl? Also you had a bit of a health scare in July — how are you feeling?
My wife is six months pregnant and there’s a boy in there. He’s meant to come out December 4th. My touring with Dinosaur, Jr. lasts until November 20th. Initially, the plan was to travel with my family, as we usually do, but my wife was far too uncomfortable too early in the pregnancy for that to be realistic. Realizing that we were going to be separated for nearly three months — which is unprecedented in our relationship — while she was pregnant and caring for a four-year-old was more than my heart could handle.

Though I didn’t have an anxiety attack, in the traditional sense (mental), my heart went haywire and I ended up in the hospital on my 43rd birthday. That was humbling. I went through a battery of tests, all results negative. Now I just do less of what I was already doing less of: drinking alcohol and caffeine, and worrying. Halfway into the European tour things are okay — Skype makes it easier.

And speaking of the tour, where are you now? How is the Dino Jr. part of the Lou Barlow experience going? How is Farm being received on the other side of the pond?
Farm has done well over here, too. We’re playing to more people. We are currently in Italy — Bologna. I’m trying to force the band into playing two of my songs in the set every night. I also forced my way into an opening slot on the US tour with extra bunks on the bus for my band. But, overall, things are going well. I welcome the challenge, but I’m not sure how much “Lou” Dino can handle.

What has the highlight of the tour been thus far? And the lowlight?
The highlight was a sold-out show in Oslo. We played well. The night before, in Trondheim (Norway), was a disaster. We fell apart — which made the Oslo show that much sweeter.

Michael Azerrad’s book, Our Band Could Be Your Life, made a pretty convincing argument for Dinosaur Jr.’s inclusion in the underground rock canon. It also painted a not-so-pretty picture of the psychological warfare between you and J. [Mascis]. What do you think about that book? How accurate do you think his rendering is?
I talked to Michael a lot. I unloaded every bit of bile I could muster. So it is accurate in the sense that he printed what I said. After I read the results it just depressed me rather than making me feel vindicated or “right.” It seemed very small-minded and petty. So after that I opened myself up more to the idea of connecting with J. again, and saw the reunion as a way to change the story. I personally like bios that dish serious dirt — I hate tasteful mystery. I want facts. So in that spirit I gave Michael all I had.

And now here we are two albums into the reunited band’s second act. You’ve toured pretty extensively — you’re currently on tour, including the North American dates when you get back from Europe. You’re even piggybacking your solo shows — Lou Barlow and the Missingmen — onto the Dino Jr. US dates. Something has obviously changed! What has made the difference this time around and contributed to a less contentious working relationship (if indeed that is the case)? How do you let go of that old baggage, and how has that affected you artistically?
I’m actually far more contentious and involved than I ever was back in the day. I think communication is necessary, so I push for that. But it’s an ongoing experiment: trying to get what I need without putting too much stress on the situation.

My initial involvement ended 20 years ago. I don’t think anything I felt 20 years ago has much credibility. So it’s easy to drop the baggage and get on with it. But, of course, the basic differences in personalities and chemistry still exist, but there’s nothing quite like your first real band. I hope I can play with J. and Murph for a long, long time. The songs I’ve written for Dinosaur on Beyond and Farm are more or less about the reunion. With my Dino songs I wanted to collaborate with J. and Murph and write from the top of my head about the surrounding circumstances.

On to your forthcoming solo record, Goodnight Unknown. I’d like to hear you describe your influences, but let’s segue in that direction with something Rob Theakston wrote on the Allmusic site about your 2005 album, Emoh:

“After nearly 20 years it’s hard to believe Lou Barlow can’t find something to be happy about, but much to the relief of his fans, that is clearly not the case…It’s a mature, accomplished statement for one of indie rock’s most reliably miserable men.”

A great review, I think. Do you think your work is that unrelentingly bleak? You’ve got a lot of wonderful things happening in your life — including those babies — so where does this melancholy that infuses many of your songs come from? And do you personally find hopefulness in your words? I know I do, but I am curious about how you respond to those who find the negative more compelling.
I don’t think my work is bleak at all. A lot of it is about reconciling and adjusting to difficult changes — losing friends, negotiating a long-term relationship. Very few of my songs are bleak from start to finish. For me there are threads of hope through [them all]. There has to be. I can’t tolerate negativity, believe it or not. The songs are ways to talk myself through transitions — mantras that I repeat to reassure myself. But, admittedly, my sensibilities may lean to the dark side. But it seems to be that way with everyone I know, so…

Are there other singer/songwriters exploring similar themes that inspire you, or is this simply your own preferred area of exploration?
I just write. The songs are puzzles — I start with a phrase and a melody and find my way to the end. I’d like to be more influenced by writers and other musicians, thematically, but I’m not. I’m inspired by the energy other people have: the mountain of amazing music that has been made and will be made, the power of language. But I’ve been in my little corner for awhile, sorting things out in a simple, familiar way, creating a body of work that will, hopefully, hang together in the end.

Your early work with Sebadoh, Sentridoh, and Folk Implosion cemented your reputation as one of the godfathers of the lo-fi “movement,” if it can be called that. Just about every article I was able to dig up about you mentions that. But I’d love to know if that moniker has any meaning to you. Many of your records sound anything but lo-fi — certainly Emoh and now Goodnight Unknown have a really interesting pallet of sounds and effects. Songs like “Sharing,” the title-track “Goodnight Unknown,” and “The Right” on the new album are awash in swirling guitars that betray a certain confidence in the studio. Can you talk about your creative process and the way that you worked on the new record? Did it differ significantly from what you were doing in 2005 on Emoh?
I grew up listening to the Young Marble Giants, the Swell Maps, and a plethora of DIY post-punk. I heard these bands before I began recording myself. I’m just a part of that flow: home recorded punk-influenced music — the urge to capture something at an early, minimal stage in an environment that is comfortable.

But like the “miserable” thing, lo-fi is a brand that can be attached to what I do without much thought. I don’t think it’s an accurate description for most of the records I’ve done either. But I do love lo-fi.

For Goodnight Unknown I recorded most of the tracks myself before taking it to a studio to finish. In my opinion the tracks on Emoh that I recorded myself were the most successful so I wanted to follow through on that and make a more textured record, incorporating more lo-fi elements. But I didn’t want to limit the appeal of the record either, so I found help to provide clarity when I wanted it.

That said, many of the songs are quiet and introspective. But you seem to draw from a pool of musicians who are known for their work in bands that are heavy and rockin.’ Dale Crover’s [of the Melvins] sledgehammer drumming on a few of the new songs is really distinctive. And you’ve plucked Tom Watson and Raul Morales from Mike Watt’s band for your US solo dates. How do you choose your band mates when you’re playing the solo stuff?
It’s all fate, really — proximity, necessity. I met Dale when the Folk Implosion opened for the Melvins. I found he and his band mates to be very open-minded and peers in that they discovered punk rock at about the same time I did. He’s a great drummer, very inventive and totally unassuming. Aggressive music is where I cut my teeth. The acoustic element is something I’ve cultivated simultaneously. Dale seemed an obvious choice: our daughters are roughly the same age and we see each other regularly on the pre-school circuit.

Tom and Raul were playing with Mike Watt when they opened for Dino Jr. last spring. Tom was in a punk band called Toxic Shock, who contributed a great song to one of my favorite punk compilations Keats Rides a Harley. Later, he was in Slovenly, a great lost SST band. When I mentioned I wanted to form a band to support my record he offered his services. He lives close by so that sealed it.

Another thing that I noticed is the extensive work that you’ve done with filmmaker Adam Harding for the new material. I think there are already videos for six of the songs. And there is a really cool 30-minute “making of” documentary up and running on YouTube. What is your connection to Adam?
Adam was an Australian Sebadoh fan who had an email correspondence with my wife starting in ’94 or so. Fate led him to LA. Eventually he needed a place to stay, so we helped him out. During his time as our houseguest he was working for various studios and video companies as an editor. I suggested he begin working on videos for my album as a way to earn his keep. That began an organic process by which he conceived video ideas through our conversations and used his studio contacts to procure expensive equipment at no cost.

How active were you in the video-making process?
Very. Adam edited the videos, sometimes, on the dining room table with my daughter running around. He poured himself into the work and I did whatever I could to help, from editing ideas to doing voiceovers for the documentary. It was a special time.

Have you experimented with video to this extent before? What is the connection, in your mind, between music and film?
I was very involved in the making of a few Sebadoh videos (“Skull” and “Ocean”), and shot one myself (“Flame”). I think videos are important if only because I enjoy watching them myself. It’s nice when a band or artist involves themselves and their personalities come out in the work. It’s a very effective way to draw people into the songs. I’ve had some amazing days shooting videos, most recently the Dino Jr. video for “Over It.”

Any future plans to continue that sort of experimentation?
I hope so. I’d like to start filming the early stages of recording so the videos reflect the whole process.

And speaking of the future, what are you thinking about? There is a lot going on your life, at least over the short term: new album, the tour, new baby. But what’s down the line? Is there something you’ve wanted to do but never had the opportunity?
I’m thinking about my next batch of songs. I want to write more — words, journals, etc. Sharpen my language skills. Also maybe take guitar and/or piano lessons. I need more dexterity in my playing and a broader scope in my writing. So if I do some basic skill-building exercises, maybe that can happen.

Of course that’s all a very convoluted way of asking you, what’s next?
I’d like to collaborate more with J. If Dino Jr. makes another record, I’d like my songs not to suck. I’ve barely tapped his skills! He has incredible compositional abilities, he’s a monster of rhythm.