interview with Dexter Holland

That's my favourite interview with Dexter. You'll find him here talking about being a star. strugling with success, roots of California punk and anti - image. He's quite convincing while talking about being punk and stying underdog. You may believe it at least till moment you'll read how people bought 'Come Out And Ply' 'couse they like it, not 'couse someone throw money to promote it. Well that's true, but just look how easy it's for Dexter not to notice it wasn't the same with singels from 'Americana'. Anyway enjoy...

interview was published by English version of 'Metal Hamer' in 1999.

OK, so me and Dexter Holland, The Offspring frontman and all-round smiley spike-conk guy, are sitting in a posh hotel bar early Saturday morning, slurping up coffee cos we each need to banish bastard hangovers (his was earned at - the MTV Europe Music Awards aftershow party, drinking with Eminem, mine at my local on three-shots-a-quid night-different worlds, same headache) when this blonde shimmer happens to our left It moves past us oozing undimmed glamour, then saunters to the bar, orders a mineral water and hovers in the distance, slightly obscured by a pillar but absolutely unmistakable Fuck me, is it? Yes it is! It's BLONDIE"

Picture this Debbie Harry, the most luminous presence in pop, has just breathed the same air as us and is sat literally feet away I summon my bottle I've got to. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance "Go for it man," goads Dexter "Go and ask her for her autograph I'm sure she won't mind" Are you fuckin' kidding? She's the prickliest princess in pop. She hates attention

"Nah man. She'd love it. Just go up to her and say you're her biggest fan. Break into a rendition of Heart Of Glass and then she'll have to sign yer breasts just to get rid of you.

So I saunter up and pop the question. She shoots me a look that suggests she's trodden in better than me, the look I wanted, the look I need. The deed done (she scrawls like a dipso doctor), I return to Dexter, who's grinning in admiration.

"That's cool. Y'see" he says nodding towards Ms Harrys silver mane "that's a star. That's what it must feel like to be a star I've never known that."

Coming from a man who's just scooped the MTV Europe award for Best Rock Band, and has sold well over 20 million albums worldwide that's hard to believe.

"But I keep having these moments" he confides leaning into a huddle "Sometimes on stage or when I'm doing an interview, or on the road, or on TV, or doing an of the things a band does sometimes, I think 'What the fuck happened? How the hell did I get here?' Moments like that are simultaneously the most bizarre and beautiful moments of your life. Sometimes you find yourself in a different country 5,000 miles away from where you live and grew up and there's a couple of thousand people this room, who know all the words to these songs, you wrote in your kitchen. Here I am in a hotel and Debbie Harry is sat over there and its all normal. Last night I played in front of a TV audience of millions and I could see Mick Jagger. Mick fucking Jagger in the audience nodding his head. I'm singing these songs thinking 'Bono's watching you right now.' How can you make that makes sense? How would you stay sane?"

"I have my doubts about myself sometimes. Then I realise I'm not a star, I'm just some lucky little punk from Orange County who plays in a band.S'cool. It pays."

This is always people's first problem with The Offspring: their success. If their rags-to-riches rise during the late 90's has carried along its fair share of believers, it's also attracted a barrage of criticism and suspicion. Even I have my doubts as I meet the band's affable lead singer on the morning before a sell-out small-scale London gig thrown for hardcore devotees and a far cry from last night's celeb-drenched shindig. To his credit, as soon as you start talking to Dexter Holland, you realise you're meeting someone very aware of the myriad contradictions inherent in a successful punk band. You also see that the decade of slog that preceded The Offspring's explosion into the over ground, with the 'Come Out And Play' single in 1994, has given them a depth and drive that you'd scarcely credit them with. After forming in Orange County in 1983 (at a Social Distortion gig). The Offspring had a good 11 years of playing dives, dodging brawls and getting nowhere before that single took off; it's given them a humility you don't expect. The theory that The Offspring and their ilk (Green Day, Pennywise, etc.) simply disinterred the spirit of '77 for massive profit can't really hold when a band has such a long, grinding and finally damn lucky ascent. You get the feeling that the paradox of an alternative rock band that sells is only problematic if you need a stick with which to beat this band-and if you need to beat this band down you're clearly not alternative enough to be indifferent about 'em. Nevertheless, a suspicion of all American punk animates my first question; how the hell did Orange County spawn a whole new kind of punk? Palm trees, sunshine, rebellion?

"It is different," he sheepishly grins. "It's not Seattle. No one can really have a scene there cos, besides the bands, there isn't really an artistic community as such, or places to play. A few bands do well with totally different styles, so the emergence of so many bands from there recently is really just a coincidence. You need sometimes to develop as a band, and a lot of bands don't get that chance, cos the spotlight hits them immediately. Being slighty out of it in OC, not looking over Sunset Strip like every other band seemed to back then, meant you didn't lose your perspective and become all fucking Vegas - that way you stayed real. Orange County is a place that's very suburban, very conservative on the surface, and is almost oppressive because of that facade, even though there's so much hidden shit that goeson behind closed doors. It's like The Waltonson the outside and Twin Peaks inside. There's that kind of seedy underbelly to the whole thing. On the surface there's satisfaction, happiness with the American Way; in fact, it's the perfect model of the American Way-those old '50s myths of how progress, technology and affluence were to be used in the pursuit of happiness. Inside those houses, though, there's rooms full of people on sofas, realising that their whole way of life is fucked and empty, and is there not to be venerated and perpetuated, but to be torn down, derided and laughed at. You have any environment like that and punk is gonna immediately make sense."

"Firstly," Dexter says calmly, "I think we needed success to make the kinds of records we wanted to make. It would've been incredibly difficult for us to make the kind of record that 'Americana' [the band's current album] is, in the scene that we were in. We want to stay straightforward, but pull in all sorts of different directions at the same time, so in a musical sense, if punk is true musical freedom and not some straitjacket genre to slot into, then success has enabled us to be more punk than ever before. We find ourselves kind of caught between saying, 'We're punk and we don't give a fuck about what people say about us',and really not caring about any kind of sell-out accusations, because the people making them don't know us, haven't listened to us, and they're advocating a principle that is nothing but fascistic. It's nothing but anti-punk, anti-freedom, anti-liberal and totally elitist. At the same time, we don't want to get any bigger, because there is something in the fact that if you're into rock'n'roll, then you're into the underdog; you've always got to remain the underdog and that's definitely even truer with punk."

"We still sit uneasily with the mainstream. It's got to be rebellious: it's got to be anti-establishment- people can say that we're now the establishment, but that is just so not true. The fact that we are a success, to me it means there's one less bullshit record in the charts; it proves that there are still people out there who care about music that says something real, but it's not like we're leading a charge or movement, and it's not like that's why we're still into the music."

"Sure. When a band becomes so huge - like Guns N' Roses say, or Nirvana - it becomes a contradiction to rock'n'roll almost. To try and wrestle out that contradiction, the success and the intent, that's what Kurt Cobain }wrestled with, and he had an entirely different take on it than G N'R. There's something undeniably oxymoronic about a 'successful' rock'n'roll band. Who wants to hear a bunch of success stories whinging about their success? More importantly, what can be the drive behind a band, what can they have to rage against when they are successes? That's a dichotomy every successful band wrestles with. I think we're still in touch with our fans, still in touch with what pisses them off, but if we got any more successful - sure, there'd be problems."

But in a sea of hands and lighters, how can you feel the same close fidelity with your audience that you once had?

"Our fans have changed, our music has changed. We had a real close idea of who our fans were at one point, but as soon as you start getting into those ridiculous numbers that keep getting repeated back to us you're in a different realm-you can't conceive of a million people. But I feel in the main we're still in touch with them. Our fans are not all extreme music fans, they're kids that like heavier music and they're smart, and they're not fashionable. They want something different that's beyond personality and bullshit."

"We just hope we get people to think for themselves, dig deeper, immerse themselves. What makes me proudest is when kids say that we got them into Social Distortion, Crass or The Descendants; we always try and tell people that if they like us they're gonna fucking love all this stuff that we first got into. That's why Nitro [the punk label Dexter and bassist Greg Kriesel started in '95] is so important for us, as a way to give something back. That's the job of a great band - to spin people off in all these different directions. What's weird is that kids start off on us, then get into harder and harder stuff, and they end up hating us! Dissing us on our Website, and turning out at our friends' record shops to tell them we suck. That's cool. That's totally what we want to achieve."

"We go home. That helps enormously. I went to my old school last week, and met all the teachers who once told me to ignore punk rock and become a chemist. That was cool. So long as you can return to that kind of stability that'll keep you sane. Also, the rest of the band keep you grounded; they'll be the first to tell you when you're being an asshole, because we've all known each other so long, and we basically learned about the whole insane business together. We grew up together."

So no rock star tantrums yet? No battling over the dressing room mirror and bitching behind closed doors?

"We're just not built like that. And you've got to realise that the line between being a musician and being a 'rock star' is just a matter of ego. There's a moment where you stop being a musician and you start being a 'rock star', and we've avoided it at all costs, not because we've ever been in danger of it happening, but because the whole genesis of the band was born out of a hatred of that kind of thing.When we began, big hair rock was at its height: the pompousness and preposterousness of rock stars had never had so litt le to do with everyday life. We haven't forgotten that bullshit; we'll never forget how much we hate it. Whenever anything great happens for us it makes us laugh, cos it just seems like such a contradiction to our expectations and the way we run this band ."

So would you say the major experience of being a 'rock star' in the late '90s is wondering what the hell being a 'rock star' is meant to feel like?

"Yeah, for sure, that's it absolutely. It all goes back to Nirvana, cos they really changed the whole pl aying field on that. They showed that you could be an anti-rock star. Metallica showed that as well. Totally anti-image. That really inspired us. Now, when we get in the charts over here, or have a big-selling record, or win some award, people are like pu nching the air and patting our backs and telling us it must feel great. But it feels wrong for us to affirm that, because that's not really why we're doing it. There is something kinda gratifying when you see a rock band like Rage Against The Machine in t he charts. You feel like getting the banners out, cos there's something finally good there, something you believe in. But people forget so much when they solely start thinking about chart positions. It's really about making a connection with people, and you can do that selling a million copies, or selling a dozen-that's why Nitro's so important to me, cos it keeps us in touch with the side of us that's so easy to forget. When you go to see [Nitro signees] AFI play, and you see 300 kids going mad for a band that's never been close to radio or MTV- that excites me, that's why I first got into music."

And I believe him, so I've gotta rub The Offspring out of my little black book called 'Come The Revolution These'll Be First Against The Wall'. Don't you just hate to be proved wrong?

Truth be told, another nagging quality of The Offspring will win you over, one that's rarely mentioned: the music.'Americana' is one of the finest albums of 1998, not just in the textural riot of sound so surprising from a band often a ccused of four-square tedium, but in the wit and incisiveness of Dexter Holland's lyrics. Here is a rallying cry for America delivered from a sofa; a sardonic, appalled and fascinated refusal from the middle of the trash-cultural cross currents. With Amer ican entertainment becoming a gladiatorial freakshow, and morality sinking into a climate of blame and fear, 'Americana' serves as a timely reminder that keeping your head, remaining vigilant, and being able to take the piss out of what's pushed into your l iving room is the finest protest there is. Further than that, the album's huge success proves that there are massive swathes of supposedly dumb consumers entirely aware of how bad things are getting. They can see through the cathode ray into America's bla ck heart. For Dexter, it's still the most infuriating and fascinating country on earth.

"There's a conservatism and a freakism at the same time going on in America at the moment," he asserts, clearly warming to a topic close to his heart, "and I think, if we're talking about Orange County again, that's precisely what inspired a lot of those bands. The conservative side of it makes kids want to rebel against it; life's so boring there kids need something to do. In the same way, the conservative face of Amer ican culture and American morality inspires people to be more freakish. Because the media is so pervasive, because it reaches into people's homes in a way that just wasn't possible 20 or 30 years ago, a Big Brotherism has crept into things, in that every li ttle secret has to be exposed. I'm sure a lot of the things that shock you and me about America were always happening-there were Rikki Lakes and Jerry Springers waiting to be made behind every picket fence, but now there's no way that stuff can stay hidde n, people are encouraged to expose the ugly side."

Are you then advocating a return to a kind of genuine '50s-style conservatism, keeping things hidden?

"No, cos that kind of oppressive conservatism causes stigmas to be attached to anything that isn't con ventional, and then these things fester into pathologies. I am pretty left-leaning in that I think a liberal view of people's behaviour, an attempt to understand people, will always create an environment in which things can be discussed openly and resolve d. The trouble in America at the moment, is that everything's talked about in thrall to whoever's tuned in, whoever's watching, so everything gets corrupted by other interests. In a way it's almost sad. You want something to believe in that's pure and hon es t, but everything pure and honest is just waiting to get exposed as a hollow sham. I'd say, weirdly, I still believe in traditional values, but everything gets exposed so quickly you'd be hard-pushed to find anyone who can still espouse those values, when faced with all the horror and trash around."

"It's a problem, isn't it? I am kinda fascinated by all that trash, and I'm appalled by a lot of it at the same time. I think the point is to make a commentary on it, point out the absurdity of it as an outsider, foster a critical distance from it. I think what I do lyrically is take things that people are generally feeling, things that are being said everywhere really, but heard nowhere cultu rally. 'Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)' is a good example of that. I have absolutely no idea why people could be so offended by that song."

Ahh, I'd almost forgotten my last lingering doubt. The mega-hit single 'Pretty Fly...' reinvigorated The Offspring aft er 'Ixnay On The Hombre', their 1997 follow-up album to '94's 11-million selling 'Smash', only sold three million copies. And Dexter, alongside fellow Offspringers Greg Kriesel, Noodles (guitar) and Ron Welty (drums) have had to field all kinds of accusat ions about the controversial anti-poseur message in 'Pretty Fly...'. There's always a concern when a white rock band start talking about black music. Worries about saying that hip hop is fundamentally a parade of stereotypes for the entertainment of white moneyed-up middle class cultural tourists...

"We like hip hop though, and it's not about fans, it's about fakers. That song was no way about hip hop specifically, and anyone who says it was is either being disingenuous to prove a point, or really reading an intent and meaning into it that simply isn 't there. It's an attack on all poseurs. The thing is, given political correctness, given the racial minefield in which any song that refers to hip hop is gonna tread, it's kinda laid down by cultural diktat that you can't say those things. I was concerned before the song even came out that just saying 'white guy in the lyrics might be fairly contentious. I tried to make sure that, lyrically, I was saying exactly what I meant, so I couldn't be misinterpreted. I tried to be really sensitive about racial references. We don't just talk about hip hop culture in the song, we talk about low-rider culture, gun culture; we hoped it circumvented anything racial. But everyone was saying it, everyone was noticing it, and in my vainest moments I like to think that anyone who is like the guy in the song is gonna get that song sung at him or her. It's not so much that the song's become part of the cultural lexicon, it's more that we identified something so many people had no ticed, but no one had publicly declared."

And the controversy the song aroused is surely a testament to a culture terrified of itself, scared of stepping on toes?

"Sure. There's so much fear. Nobody wants to take responsibility for their own actions anymore. There's a litigation, therapy culture at work. It makes society become afraid; people are so afraid they're gonna hurt themselves that everyone has to become more restricted. Ultimately, our attitude is that with ultimate freedom comes ultimate responsibility. I know it's weird for a guy in a band to be talking about responsibility, but those old tenets, that kind of common decency is a scarce thing in America today. I mean responsibility in a radical left-wing way I'm preaching freedom of one sort, o thers talk about the freedom to bear arms. It's a problematic thing, but ultimately I really do think it is kind of the job of a rock band to point out that sort of bullshit."

Yet again it'd seem the seeds for The Offspring's current success were sewn precisely by those punk ideals they're now accused of betraying. For Dexter's part, these are ideals that sustain and preserve the band no matter who hears them, or where they go.

"Perseverance is the single most important thing this band has. It gets harder planning the future, because a lot of bands after that one record that does well just have a steady decline. I'm actually happy just to still be here, to still have an audience. Luck has a lotto do with every band's success, but we got our success agains t all the odds. 'Come Out And Play' was on an indie label [Epitaph], it didn't get worked by the industry, people didn't throw money at it until it stuck - it really did get successful because people liked it, and I don't see how anyone could have a problem with that. We've never felt out of control of things, which again stems from how we started. We pressed our own singles, we printed our own T-shirts and we've tried to take that mentality with us everywhere we go. Success has meant that we haven't been able to pres erve our anonymity, but it really hasn't been that bad for us. We can go shopping. The thing with success is that you have to have a kind of combination of reactions to it. On one level you have to simply ignore it. You also try to fiercely con trol it, make sure that you never feel your own integrity getting compromised, or feel like you're getting forced into anything you're not happy with. At a certain point you have to be able to detach yourself from it, and laugh at it. Let it be. Get hammered. Fuck the consequences. You have to be able to keep hold of that free part of yourself, or you just turn into a commodity you're ashamed to keep selling. And that hasn't happened yet. When it does, I'm gone. And that's a promise."

Hopefully it's a promise we'll never have to hold him to. And I never thought I'd end up saying that an hour ago. Hey. Surprise. Intelligence. Passion. Commitment. Punk fucking rock. Whodathunkit?