Crowes Frontman Chris Robinson Soars On New Earth Mud
By David Sprague
Barnes & Noble
October 22, 2002
 

Over the course of a decade fronting the Black Crowes, Chris Robinson did his best to keep the spirit of old-school rock 'n' roll alive at a time when countless pundits were preparing its eulogy. The Crowes -- formed in the mid-'80s by a teenage Robinson and his younger brother Rich -- walked it and talked it, delivering both raw, raunchy blues-based rock and unapologetic debauchery with panache to spare. The band exuded both menace and hippie-ish good vibes, balancing darkness and light with a rare precision -- until the fussing and feuding that was long an undercurrent finally boiled over and split the band. These days, a newly married Chris Robinson is exploring his soul in a more contemplative manner, as evidenced by his surprisingly sweet, spare solo debut, New Earth Mud. The touchstones he's drawn on from day one -- delta blues, Appalachian traditionals, etc. -- are still there, but they're presented here in more natural and (no pun intended) earthy form. Robinson dished the dirt on New Earth Mud for Barnes & Noble.com's David Sprague. Barnes & Noble.com: Was it easy to segue from being part of a band to being a solo artist? Chris Robinson: This whole thing has been very comfortable. I loved the Black Crowes: the work we did, the songs my brother and I wrote. But ever since we were in our teens, the Black Crowes was a lot of pushing and shoving -- physically, emotionally, creatively. As much as I love that whole "all for one, one for all" element of being in a band, this is much easier. I don't have to lead anyone or follow anyone or be disappointed that things aren't working out the way I'd have hoped. I had a very strong presence in the Black Crowes, but it was still ultimately a whole bunch of people taking things a whole bunch of different directions. B&N.com: This sounds like a very happy album, which is something of a change from the Crowes vibe. CR: I think it's positive, but I don't think it's a frivolous record. I know that it represents what I'm feeling right now in my life, which is positive. I think that for a lot of men, no matter how sensitive we are, we have a hard time dealing with love, with the positive side. The imagery on the other side is much more raw, much easier to get at. B&N.com: Having an actual object for your love must make a difference in that part of the songwriting process. CR: Exactly. [laughs] My problem my whole life is that I'm not clever enough to make up things. If I write it, it's happening to me. I laugh about it, but for me there's no other way. Things that move me, whether it's the films I love, the books that I enjoy, the paintings that move me, they all come from that place. And I don't see a lot of things coming from that place anymore. It's strange to live in a time when everything is reduced to a cliché: It's all become like those sports interviews where someone says, "It's all about the team," only this is "It's all about the music." The trouble is, no one's really living by that attitude, just talking bollocks about it. B&N.com: Do you feel you're closer to doing that now than you were with the Crowes? CR: I think I've always been honest. See, I still see rock 'n' roll as a viable place to communicate. It's one of the only forms of creative expression that has both a street credibility in terms of its stance and, at its best, a poetic nature as well. B&N.com: Have people ignored the latter aspect of your output? CR: For years, I'd read that we copied Lynyrd Skynyrd when we didn't sound remotely like that. A lot of the wellspring of what I do is distinctly southern -- from bluegrass to country to blues -- but I've never made southern rock. I'll always remember when I first realized that I'd never totally be able to relax and enjoy this: A writer came down to write a huge story on us, and I was just getting ready for my very first vacation ever, because I knew we were getting fired from the ZZ Top tour [for bristling at the Top's corporate sponsors]. I had just gone and bought six or seven books to read while on vacation, because that's what I do to relax. And this writer comes in, looks at the books, and says, "Did you have someone go out and buy these to impress me?" He didn't know anything about me, and he assumed that. How sad. B&N.com: You were seen as some sort of crown prince of debauchery, though. CR: Yeah, well...yeah. I think a lot of that was played up to the detriment of how good the band was...up until the departure of Marc Ford and Johnny Colt. That lineup was the band at its best. I didn't want to lie to people about what I was doing, but I didn't see us in the same light as Mötley Crüe -- a band wearing silly clothes, making silly records, and killing people in car crashes. I saw it as an extension of Kerouac, or something even further back. It was fueled by a desperation that only music could resolve, so in the end, I thought it was my right and in some bizarre sense, my duty, to wear that on my sleeve. B&N.com: How did you hook up with Paul Stacey, who collaborated very closely with you on your new album? CR: I met Paul through Noel Gallagher. We'd played with Oasis in '94 and they were the biggest band in the world at that point. We went on right before them and Liam bad-mouthed us from stage to the point where I wanted to strangle him. I was totally angry...and totally jealous 'cause they wrote such catchy songs. Later, Noel came down to apologize and say how much he liked us and he introduced me to Paul, who was working with Oasis on Standing on the Shoulders of Giants until he was swept away in favor of some bigger name. We hit it off right away, and when I saw Paul play, I recognized he was one of the most talented musicians I'd ever seen. B&N.com: In playing live, it seems as if the two of you have an instinctive connection. CR: He really draws the best from me. Until this tour, I'd never played guitar in front of people before, so that was a little unnerving. But it was also very liberating to be able to get into a van with just a couple of other people and drive from gig to gig. I can't imagine my brother doing that. [laughs] B&N.com: "Sunday Sound" is, I think, indicative of what this album is all about. What's the story behind that song? CR: The sound reflects my love of The Band and the Grateful Dead, that type of American sound. It's sort of my tribute to Jerry, which I was never allowed to do before. The words sort of come from a scene in [the 1970 Joe Cocker tour chronicle] Mad Dogs and Englishmen -- by far the best rock 'n' roll movie ever made -- where Bobby Keyes was sitting and talking to Leon Russell, and he says that on tour "every night is Saturday night and every day is Sunday." I related to that. My father, who was a rock 'n' roll singer and a folk singer, would always have his guitar out on Sunday and he'd play old Jimmy Driftwood songs, old Appalachian songs, and to me that's the Sunday sound. When all the other kids were rolling around in the yard, I wanted to be out at the hootenanny with my parents, hearing that old music. Socially and culturally, I think my music still comes from that place.