By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
By Drew Ailes
By Courtney Harrell
By Kyra Scrimgeour
Is Sonic Youth the Grateful Dead of indie rock?
At first the question seems laughable. Whereas much of the Dead's appeal can be traced to the accessibility of the assortment of American music that inspired it, Sonic Youth has consistently challenged its audiences by drawing upon influences that exist on the furthest fringes of pop culture. But like the survivors of the Dead, the Youth aren't so young anymore: bassist/vocalist Kim Gordon is 45, guitarist/vocalist Lee Ranaldo is 42, guitarist/vocalist Thurston Moore turns 40 in July, and drummer Steve Shelley is a relatively precocious 35. In addition, the New York-based quartet shares with Jerry Garcia's kids an almost metaphysical devotion to craft and a desire to expand the parameters of pop compositions. It's a kinship that Moore, who's also Gordon's husband, can understand. "There's a whole kind of responsive demographic there--a real sort of spiritual involvement, which is something that we've always been into ourselves," he says.
Further support for this theory can be found on A Thousand Leaves, Sonic Youth's latest album for Geffen Records. The disc features the sort of variety fans have come to expect from the band, including extraterrestrial pop songs (the Moore-sung "Sunday," which has been released as a single); introspective slices of psychedelia (Ranaldo's "Karen Koltrane"); feminist rants (Gordon's "The Ineffable Me"); and ethereal items such as "Heather Angel." But the recording as a whole sports a loose, improvisatory feel, with songs frequently stretching beyond the seven-minute sound barrier. The tracks aren't jam-happy in the Phish sense of the term, but neither do they embrace brevity for brevity's sake.
Moore chalks up the roominess of the tunes to a more relaxed recording method. The band used the money it made headlining the 1995 Lollapalooza tour to construct its own studio. "That was sort of our main ambition--to build a space that we could sort of workshop with," he notes. "So we did that and decided to spend all of our time in there." Just as important, the players felt no pressure to hurriedly complete a new recording. On the contrary, they made a conscious decision to take a break from what Moore calls "the regular cycle of things: writing music, recording it and touring." As a result, he says, "we didn't have any kind of anxiety about ourselves."
Because of the relaxed atmosphere, Moore believes, the latest numbers evolved in an exceedingly natural way. "We always thought that we wanted to have these moments that are part of the songwriting process, with the playing together and improvising being the strong part of the song," he explains. "So by spending a lot of time on our own clock, we were able to cultivate that a bit more, like we used to when we were penniless apartment-dwellers in New York."
Nevertheless, A Thousand Leaves isn't a throwback to the feedback-drenched anti-songs that turned up on Sonic Youth's self-titled 1982 debut EP. In fact, the guitar gymnastics sometimes exude a Sixties feel. Moore sees some common ground between his outfit's progression and that of earlier rockers; he points out that "a lot of bands started out with ambitions to enter the commercial mainstream, but they became more experimental, such as the Beatles, or the whole West Coast thing. I mean, they would be more successful in their AM way, and then they would start freaking out more."
The Youth's latest lyrics occasionally call up ghosts from the Sixties, too. This isn't entirely new territory for the foursome: Moore describes "Death Valley 69," a collection of B-movie Manson-family nightmares first heard on 1985's Bad Moon Rising, as "all about reconsidering the Sixties, but not in a way that was sort of nostalgic." However, the group has seldom dealt with the period as explicitly as it does on the new CD's "Hits of Sunshine (for Allen Ginsburg)," an homage to the late poet. Moore says that Ginsburg, who befriended the band in his later years, "was somebody who really was a timeline for the whole subculture and who really sort of helped shape it with his philosophies. The fact that he professed all this kind of otherworldy mystical humanitarian philosophy but infused it with a complete American aesthetic was really interesting to me. He was probably one of the most important figures in the late twentieth century."
Writing tributes to dead icons is sure to raise the hackles of the latest cadre of indie types, many of whom already look upon Sonic Youth with suspicion. For instance, the fanzine Motorbooty lampooned Moore by placing him in the number-one position in its "Bank of Cool and Credibility Index"; the same piece rated the trendiness of other combos on the basis of how many Sonic Youth members were seen at their shows. Moore says he was amused by this parody, which needled him for his role as an indie kingmaker. But he enjoys using his name to help new bands get noticed, and he has no intention of lowering his profile. He previously put his muscle behind the Boredoms, an eccentric Japanese ensemble, and he's currently boosting Pelt, which is opening for Sonic Youth during much of its 1998 tour. The downtown New York music scene remains "completely fascinating," he declares. "When we were younger, that's what we were coming out of. And now the underground is the coolest thing--it's informed by free jazz, Glenn Branca, modern classical, weird folk music like the Incredible String Band, Sandy Denny, Sun Ra, the Art Ensemble..."