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• LA Confidential item - Rolling Stone - Sep 2, 93
  Filler.
• The Jesus and Mazzy Chain - Rolling Stone - Oct 6, 94
  JAMC and Hope piece.
• Incense and Insolence - Rolling Stone - Oct 20, 94
  Good article & interview. Post Conan appearance.
• So Tonight That I Might See article - Guitar Player - Nov 1994
  David talks a little about his guitars.
• Lucky Star - Details - Dec 94
  Good So 2Nite-era article & interview.
  

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By Matt Hendrickson

If it had been up to William and Jim Reid, the brothers who front the Jesus and Mary Chain, they wouldn't have chosen "Sometimes Always" to be the first single off their new album, Stoned and Dethroned.

"It was a surprise to us that people thought it should be a single, because the demo was so bleak," says William. "Even after we recorded it, it still didn't seem like a single."

"I've given up guessing what could be a single or what couldn't be," says Jim with a sigh. "Whatever song we think will be a big hit, it never is. What we do now is just make the record and listen to other people's opinions."

"Sometimes Always" features the hypnotic voice of Mazzy Star lead singer Hope Sandoval. She's rumored to be the girlfriend of William Reid, to which he curtly replies, "We're just good friends." The song is a gripping tug of war between Sandoval (the jilted girlfriend) and Jim Reid (the repentant boyfriend).

The Reid brothers had been waiting for more than three years to record with Sandoval. "We always really liked her voice," William says. "But we didn't have the song that could work until 'Sometimes Always.'"

"They sent me the song, and I thought it was really good," Sandoval says. "[Mazzy Star] were in London, touring, and I went to their studio and met them for the first time. The recording took two days, and it was really difficult. They produce their own records, so they were really picky, which is totally understandable. The fun part was having wine and talking and laughing."

Originally when we conceived the record, we were going to have many more guests on it," says Jim. "But for various reasons, it didn't work out, so we just asked people we really liked." Former Pogue Shane MacGowan also appears, handling the vocals on the harrowing lament "God Help Me."

Stoned and Dethroned is the Jesus and Mary Chain's sixth release (counting 1988's B-sides compilation, Barbed Wire Kisses). It was originally planned as an all-acoustic album, but the band scrapped the idea after a few months of recording. "Everyone thinks the band is all guitar and feedback," Jim says. "It's quite easy to plug a guitar into a fuzz pedal and make some interesting sounds. We were trying really hard not to use electric guitars, and it got to the point where we said, 'This is silly. Let's just make a record.'"

The band is hitting the road with Mazzy Star this October and is looking forward to a tour more suited to its tastes than its difficult stint on 1992's Lollapalooza tour. "Lollapalooza was a big, big mistake," William says with no hesitation . "Aside from the fact that we hated playing in the daylight, it was supposed to be a meeting place for people who were different. But we felt different from all the people who were supposed to be different. It was like everyone was trying to be a professional freak or weirdo."

"We are freaks and weirdos," Jim stated matter-of-factly. "But we don't make such a big deal about it."

By Alec Foege

"It was totally unpleasant for me," says Hope Sandoval, Mazzy star’s laconic lead singer. The dire seriousness with which she makes this confession about her band’s recent appearance on Late Night with Conan O’Brien is at once touching and unintentionally comical. "If you’re nervous in front of 500 people—"

Sandoval chooses her every word with utmost care, as if she were baring her soul, and yet negates each response with a scowl and a sidelong gaze, her dark hair wisping into her eyes. This time even the cool, beret-wearing David Roback, Sandoval’s songwriting partner and the guitarist in the group, appears ruffled and tries to catch his band mate’s eye. "They were nice to us," he says, filling the void with an easy smile. "It wasn’t unpleasant in that way."

After another elliptical lull, Sandoval rejoins the conversation. "They were really nice to us," she says. "I just get nervous and tight. . . . And it’s so bright. . . . .We’re not used to all the bright light."

One hour and two bottles of red wine into a friendly but halting conversation that at moments bears a disconcerting resemblance to the more abstruse exchanges in Waiting for Godot, Sandoval and Roback have made a few salient points: (1): Regardless of the success that has recently befallen the group, Mazzy Star do not relish fan idolatry; (2) Mazzy Star prefer to let the music on So Tonight That I Might See, their second album, speak for itself; (3) Mazzy Star do not enjoy doing interviews; and (4) performing live, particularly performing live on television, has a lot in common with a visit to the dentist’s office.

"For me recording is better," says Sandoval. "Live, I just get really nervous. Once you’re onstage, you’re expected to perform. I don’t do that. I always feel awkward about just standing there and not speaking to the audience. It’s difficult for me."

Despite a public reticence that verges on the bizarre, Mazzy Star have eked out a bona fide hit with "Fade Into You" nearly a year after So Tonight That I Might See was first released. Exposure on MTV’s Buzz Bin and VH-1, as well as Sandoval’s cameo on the Jesus and Mary Chain single "Sometimes Always," recently eased Mazzy Star’s lush, majestic music into the limelight. They were even willing to brave an October appearance in front of an arena-size crowd at Neil Young’s annual Bridge School benefit in San Francisco.

"Things are basically the same," Sandoval says of Mazzy Star’s newfound fame. "We’re just sticking to our ways. Writing the way we’ve always done it. There’s really no need to change."

Rain Parade, an early Roback band, first hit the scene in 1982 as part of a loose aggregate of psychedelic ‘60s-influenced guitar bands in Los Angeles – including the Dream Syndicate, the Bangles, Green on Red and the Three O’Clock –that became known after the fact as the Paisley Underground. The moniker acknowledged the scene’s two main influences – the Velvet Underground and Woodstock-era acid rock. Dark, moody and drenched in guitar feedback, Rain Parade’s music was not merely out of sync with the early-’80s trend toward synthesizer-based New Wave. "They were the trippiest, most hypnotic of all the paisley bands," recalls Steve Wynn, leader of the now-defunct Dream Syndicate. "All the other bands in the scene felt some obligation to rock now and then. But the early Rain Parade played at three speeds: slow, slower and slowest."

Roback left Rain Parade following their first album and formed a quartet called Clay Alison with Kendra Smith, the original; bassist from the Dream Syndicate. That group, which included Mazzy Star drummer Keith Mitchell, mutated into a new band, Opal, whose sound was defined by Roback’s spare, distorted guitar work and Smith’s lyrical voice.

"When I was playing in Opal, we were friends, Hope and I," Roback recalls. "But I don’t think we were really part of the music scene in the way that people may have perceived it at that point. Actually, we were both sort of alienated – that’s what we had in common."

The waifish Sandoval had admired Kendra Smith as a teen-age Dream Syndicate fan growing up in Los Angeles. Not surprisingly, Going Home, a folk duo she formed in 1986 with her friend Sylvia Gomez, soon caught Roback’s attention; he even offered to produce their first album. Although the resulting recording was never released (4AD will finally issue the disc next spring), Roback invited Sandoval to join Opal when Smith left the band midtour. While the new band’s musical precepts remained the same, Sandoval’s kittenish vocals inspired them to collaborate under a new name – Mazzy Star.

Mazzy Star’s debut, She Hangs Brightly (1990), garnered critical acclaim and cultish attention by dosing drug-frazzled indie rock with acoustic guitars and a pedal steel. But within a year of the album’s release, the band’s label, British indie Rough Trade, closed down its stateside operation, leaving the group without an American label. Capitol snapped up the group and in 1992 re-released She Hangs Brightly. The band has mined the same sluggishly resplendent vein ever since.

In concert, Sandoval’s wan countenance and commanding alto are undeniably the center of attention; Roback lurks in the shadows with a virtually anonymous backing band. Although Sandoval and Roback share songwriting duties, the word chemistry overstates their relationship. For one, Sandoval lives in Los Angeles; Roback is based in Berkeley, Calif. She’s moody, and he’s withdrawn. Fortunately their edgy songs often get along fine without them. "For ‘Into Dust,’ David’s guitar part was just so moving," Sandoval says. "We didn’t even stop and write. He just played the guitar part, I sang, we recorded it, and that was it. What you hear on the record is basically the first time we did it."

These days, Mazzy Star sell out every show. But you wouldn’t know it from the crowd reaction at the band’s packed club dates; rock acolytes don’t come much quieter. "They’re understanding that that’s what it takes to get us to stay out there longer than 30 minutes," says Sandoval. "It’s just like anything else: If you were talking to a group of people, and everybody was there to listen to you, it would be rude if five people were having a drink and a loud laugh. Obviously we’re not the Red Hot Chili Peppers." The particularly subdued "Into Dust" is known within the band as the "Shush Song," a reference to the devoted fans who shush the uninitiated whenever it is performed.

William Reid of the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Scottish band that will begin a five-week U.S. tour with Mazzy Star on Oct.10, feels that it’s unfair to expect more than music from musicians. "Some bands – and Mazzy Star and the Jesus and Mary Chain are among them – feel uncomfortable doing all the other stuff: the business and the bull sessions and doing the deals," he says. Reid also defends his California friends; notorious reputation for stalling interviews, admitting, "It’s not the perfect arena to be in if you happen to be a shy person."

Whether Sandoval and Roback’s aloofness is a gambit or a genuine case of the introverted blues (it’s probably a bit of both), there’s no doubt it’s contiguous to the band’s ethereal, swirling music. All that is difficult and apprehensive about the pair in person becomes that which is most splendid in their music. On "Mary of Silence," Sandoval’s echoey voice blends with a repetitive, funeral organ part as Roback’s combustive guitar plashes in the distance. "So Tonight That I Might See," the album’s title track, has all the primal drama of the Doors’ "The End" without its mawkishly serious stance. If music is "cinema of the mind," as Roback likes to say, then Mazzy Star are a beautiful art-house flick dubbed in English, its reels shown out of order.

"I know Dave pretty well, and I don’t think it’s an act in any way," says Steve Wynn. "Sometimes when people demand to do things the way they want to do it, it’s taken as arrogance or snobbishness. It’s really just a matter of wanting to do something the way you hear it in your head ." To ensure absolute control, Roback produces all of Mazzy Star’s recordings.

While little else on the charts indicates a groundswell of dirge-like, introspective music, enduring interest in the dour, faceless Pink Floyd suggests that supermarket-aisle recognition is no longer a prerequisite for rock super-stardom. "There’s something nice about being unknown and anonymous," says Roback. "People who are unpopular or aren’t successful are making great music all the time. But it’s also interesting to be able to do our concerts and to realize some of our ideas. So I don’t see success as a negative thing."

Mazzy Star's music may be dreamy, but it doesn't slumber. The L.A. group's work--often compared to the Velvet Underground and the early Doors--has the feel of being half awake, with Hope Sandoval's serene vocals and David Roback's gritty bottleneck lines swirling in a meditative groove state between dream/logic and full consciousness.

"We always go by feel," says Roback, formerly with early-'80s psychedelic-revivalists Rain Parade and the elegant space combo Opal. "There's an improvisational element to what we do. We don't play dots on a page. My approach to the guitar is in response to the song's feeling. Every song has a certain atmosphere, and our performances have to be part of that."

There are dark atmospherics aplenty on the band's latest Capitol record, So Tonight That I Might See. From the melancholy drift of "Fade Into You" to the fractured blues of "Wasted," Roback evokes moods by stripping his guitar work down to raw, unsettling essentials. "I never thought that a guitar part had to be complex to be satisfying," he remarks, "not that complex guitar parts can't be satisfying at times." He also rejects any absolute truths about guitar playing. "Anybody can do whatever they want, if it works," he stresses. "That's the bottom line. You're all right as long as you're playing to the song."

Roback does most of his writing and playing with a Martin 000-28, getting out his electric jones on a Telecaster. "The Telecaster can create a lot of sounds besides the one it's most famous for," he says. "It's really a very versatile guitar." He depends on Fender amps, using an old Deluxe Reverb and a Vibroverb . "I like the warm, fat sound of tube amps, but size doesn't really matter," he opines. "Guitars can sound really good through small amps."

Mazzy Star has made quite a splash in alternative circles, but if their moody music doesn't top the pop charts, that's fine by Roback. "We've found our own way by doing what we wanted," he shrugs. "We're not interested in being the world's most popular band. We want to do what we like, and I really don't know how that might fit into the context of the contemporary music scene. I've never really paid much attention to that."

The chubby girl with purple hair is poised, piece of paper in hand. Hope Sandoval, the singer for Mazzy Star, nods faintly. Pleased, the girl turns eagerly to David Roback, Mazzy Star's guitarist. "And are you in the Jesus and Mary Chain?" There's an embarrassed silence. Ordinarily, the fact that Hope has been dating the Mary Chain's William Reid would be of interest only to those select fans for whom indie music is as glamorous as the cast of Melrose Place. Unfortunately, one of them is here now, looking only slightly crestfallen.

"Will you sign this anyway?" she asks. Hope signs dutifully. That's the first time I've ever been asked for an autograph," she murmurs. "It's like she's controlling you - for ten seconds, she's got you doing what she wants you to do." Mazzy Star don't want to do what people want them to do. It's not that they're so very contrary; they just can't cope. This summer, their languid, country-inflected single "Fade Into You" wafted onto MTV, frail and strangely touching. Next to the usual vein-bulging tales of trauma, David's lonesome slide guitar and Hope's soft, nearly affectless voice sounded pleasingly alien. Now their second album, So Tonight That I Might See, has gone gold. David and Hope find this alarming. "We never thought people would like our music," says David. At all? "Well, we thought maybe a few people would like it." And he means a few. Like five. Preferably very quiet people who lived very far away. And who, if they came to see Mazzy Star play live, wouldn't do anything embarrassing like stare at them.

When Mazzy Star released their first album, 1990's She Hangs Brightly, its shivery collage of slow, sparse blues and sepulchral lyrics retraced a neo-Velvet Underground vein that had been mined before - by Opal (David's previous band), by the Cowboy Junkies, by the entire roster of 4AD. But Mazzy Star's ghostly atmospherics and Hope's sullen-child persona made them moodier pinups than the rest. They found an audience of fans who shrank from alternative music's new macho flourishes.

So Tonight That I Might See is more of the same, only more so: sadder, more distant. "I could feel myself growing colder," whispers Hope on "Into Dust". "I could feel my eyes turning into dust." The record has taken off, maybe because its self-effacing creators don't stamp their own stories all over its lovely, numbing songs. In an age obsessed with messy revelations of inner pain, Mazzy Star's eerie, faintly psychedelic lullabies offer a soothing retreat for those weary of catharsis. Most bands thrive on attention. And if they have to shut themselves away in a studio for a few weeks a year - well, that's the price of fame. For David and Hope - who like to spend their breaks from Mazzy Star making even more music together - releasing records, at the risk of attracting attention, is the price for months undisturbed in the rehearsal room. Ever since Brian Wilson took to his bed in 1973 and didn't leave until 1975, rock recluses have tended to be either Syd Barrett-style drug casualties or anonymous agitpropists like the Residents. J Mascis, Dinosaur Jr's leader, broke the mold: He just didn't like to talk. After J, it was possible to be spectacularly uncommunicative without even being eccentric. Mazzy Star follow in his footsteps. Hope passes every question on to David, and David unfurls a full arsenal of minutes-long silences and vague generalities. Occasionally, for variety, he'll speed things up.

ME: Did you ever...
DAVID: No.

Despite their misgivings, Mazzy Star agree to meet me in a Mexican restaurant in Berkeley, David's neighborhood. They lope in just late enough to be trendy, in matching dark glasses. Hope's family is Mexican-American, but she's too self-conscious about her Spanish ("It's real slangy") to speak to the waiter in anything but English. Hope has always been shy. When she was in the fourth grade, her timidity was so severe that she was put into a special education program. Being with the rowdiest kids in the system didn't help, and she eventually refused to go to school at all. The city had to send a home tutor. David and Hope order Bohemia beers, glance at each other, smile fleetingly. Hope props her chin on her hand and gazes at the other diners. There's a pause. Then David touches her arm affectionately. "What are you thinking about?" he asks. Hope looks at him. "I'll tell you," she says finally, "but I still think it's an invasion of my privacy." She takes a deep breath. "I was just thinking that a lot of people drink beer with their food."

Hope was born twenty-eight years ago in East L.A., the daughter of a butcher. Her parents both had kids from previous marriages, so Hope has five half-sisters, three half-brothers, and one full brother. He's now a punk florist who makes barbed-wire bouquets. Hope met David when she was fourteen, trekking off to see bands with her friend Sylvia Gomez. David grew up in Hollywood with "a few" siblings. His parents "weren't musicians". In the early '80s, he formed the trippy Rain Parade with his brother Steven. Along with the Dream Syndicate, the Three O'Clock, and even briefly the Bangles, they contributed to an L.A. '60s revival that was dubbed the Paisley Underground. Hope and Sylvia hung around the clubs, meeting the musicians and getting smuggled in under bouncer's noses. One time they got in by passing themselves off as go-go dancers for Green on Red. But sometimes they'd get busted for being underage.

Hope still remembers how horrible it felt to stand in the parking lot while the band played inside. Sylvia went to college, and Hope and David started dating. When Opal split, Mazzy Star became Hope and David's project. And somewhere along the line, their romance ended. Which makes me wonder if they feel nostalgic, and whether the dark intimacy of So Tonight That I Might See is about that. I wonder if David is still in love with Hope. I wonder what it's like spending their time together when Hope's got William and David's got his memories. I can guess they're not dying to talk about it. So I ask the simplest question I can think of.

How long did you actually go out?
Hope laughs nervously, glancing at David. David is silent, frowning like he's trying to remember something. Time passes. Finally he thinks of an answer. "A lot of the things we do are very interesting, and I think we're very fortunate to be able to do them," he says. Then he leaves for the bathroom.

Once he's gone, a nervous-looking guy with long hair approaches the table. He's clutching the CD of So Tonight That I Might See.
LONG-HAIRED GUY: Excuse me, but may I swoop down on you with a humble request?
HOPE: Um . . . it depends on what the request is.
LONG-HAIRED GUY: Just some kind words for a frustrated sculptor.

Hope writes him a few kind words ("Hope Sandoval"), shaking her head. "I don't know what's happening here," she says. The sculptor thanks her and bows stiffly.
"Your music has touched me," he says.
"That was nice," Hope says wistfully. "Though sometimes I get really nervous and I don't know how to handle it." She looks genuinely spooked, like she's recalling scenes of Beatlemania-type hysteria. Don't you want to communicate with these people? "Yeah," says David, who has just returned, "but sometimes you write a song for one person, and then everybody else hears it later."
And is that person usually Hope?
David shifts warily in his seat. "I think," he says slowly, "there's a sense of each other's presence often in our work, whether it's directly about one another or not . There's a sense . . . of . . . a presence."
We're all quiet again. Hope and David stare into space, in different directions. There's a tangible feeling of loss - the things that go unsaid still hang between them. And now I think I can see what touched the sculptor.

Contribute to Everything Mazzy. Do you have any Mazzy Star articles, reviews, press material or other print items cluttering up your place? Send them to me, either in real or electronic form. I'll post them here, for the world to see.

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