October Issue Home | Editors | Features | Columns | Photos | Regional | New Groove Road Trip | Tour Journal | Venue | Levels | Ghosts | Homegrown | Inaudible | CDs | Charts

The Music Never Stops For Barry Smolin

by Dean Budnick

---

As part of our special radio month at jambands.com (check out our new Jam Between The Dials section), we decided to speak with one of the best known groove radio hosts, Barry Smolin. For the past five years he has hosted "The Music Never Stops," on Friday evenings between eight and eleven on KPFK in Los Angeles. KPFK broadcasts with 112,000 watts giving it the strongest FM signal west of the Mississippi River, covering a broad area that includes such high population density centers as Los Angeles, San Bernardino, Santa Barbara, and parts of San Diego. So Smolin is one of the loudest voices promoting the jam band scene and introducing its sounds to new listeners.

DB: How did you come to host your show? I know there are many people out there who would love your gig, myself included.

Well, Doctor, it all began when I was boy. No kidding. I was nine years old in the summer of 1970 when I fell in love simultaneously with rock and roll and radio. Listening to "Boss Radio" on 93 KHJ in Los Angeles, I determined that I wanted to work as a disc jockey and be like The Real Don Steele, Robert W. Morgan, Humble Harve, Charlie Tuna and the other "boss jocks" who were my heroes. I actually did a fake radio show in my bedroom, every Saturday morning from 6-10 AM, from age of 9 until I was about 13. I was DJ and audience, broadcasting to and from Nowheresville yet thoroughly enjoying the mental playground amid the ersatz studio I had assembled in a corner of my room. The program included news, commercials, and a bizarre mix of music culled from my own feeble record collection (which slowly improved over the years) and that of my parents, as well as stuff I taped off the Dr. Demento show. So I would construct sets that would be something like Rolling Stones -> Frank Sinatra-> Beach Boys-> Cat Stevens-> Holy Modal Rounders-> Gilber O'Sullivan-> The Beatles-> Napoleon XIV-> Ella Fitzgerald-> Janis Joplin-> Vicki Carr. It was probably the most eclectic radio show that nobody ever heard.

When I was around 13 I discovered girls and that new hobby promptly replaced radio, primarily because I found that I was embarrassed to admit what I was doing when those hot 13 year old chicks would call on a Saturday morning, so I gave the "show" up. In retrospect, I can't decide if it was an incredibly creative project or merely a sad and pathetic fantasy, like Rupert Pupkin in the movie The King of Comedy. Anyway, I lost interest in being a DJ and got more into playing music myself in a series of bands, which was a much more efficient and traditional way to impress girls.

As a teenager, I began listening to KPFK and maintained a relationship with that station as a supporter and occasional volunteer. In 1986 a guy named Bob Young started doing a show called Thursday Lunch on KPFK during which he played a mix of Grateful Dead concert tapes, recorded humor (Firesign Theatre, etc.), original spoken word forays, and other psychedelia, a format he accurately described as "eyelid movies." As a Deadhead and congenital mutant, I was immediately attracted to Bob's soulful, enthralling show. To this day I consider it one of the most brilliant radio programs ever produced. When a position opened up for the editor of the Folio (KPFK's program guide), I encouraged my wife Jill to apply for that job--she's a talented graphic designer and editor--as a way to get more involved with the station, and, more important, as a way for me to meet Bob Young! Well, Jill got the job as Folio editor in 1989, and would, conveniently, do her work at the station primarily on Friday nights, when Bob's show was on. While Jill would work on the Folio with program director Lucia Chappelle (coincidentally Bob Young's significant other), I would stroll on over to master control and talk to Bob and his sidekick Tom Norton.

Six years later, in 1995, sweeping changes in management were made at KPFK, and Lucia Chappelle left the station followed not long after by the departure of Bob Young. The new management team wanted to keep the Grateful Dead show going, however, and gave the hostship to Tom Norton. After a few weeks, it became clear that Tom would benefit from a sidekick to bounce off of, and so, with an encouraging shove from Jill, on March 17, 1995 I came on board as co-host of the show, which had been renamed The Music Never Stops. Another friend of Tom Norton's, Alan Sherwood, joined us to make a threesome. The program sailed along fairly smoothly until August 9, 1995, when Jerry Garcia shed his physical body. Suddenly, the entire scene was in crisis. Our spiritual leader gone, what was to become of all the magic? The program had always gotten much of its energy and appeal from our ability to broadcast Grateful Dead shows within a couple of weeks of their performance. Now, there were going to be no more Grateful Dead shows.

Of course the first few post-Jerry months were energized by the heightened media interest in the Dead and a kind of maudlin fascination on the part of the listening public and, of course, by a very real consolation we offered during that initial grieving process among the Deadhead community. My friend David Gans devoted many wonderful weeks of his Grateful Dead Hour to Jerry memorial-related music and talk. Actually I wrote an elegy for Jerry called "Drums and Space" which I recited on our show and which was then broadcast on Grateful Dead Hour #367 and also appears in David Gans' book Not Fade Away.

But around November of 1995, the momentum began to wane. Alan Sherwood moved his law practice to Oakland and so had to leave the show. Then, in December of 1995, the surviving members of our favorite band announced that they would no longer play together as the Grateful Dead. At that point, Tom Norton decided to devote all of his energy to his music PR business and departed the show just before Christmas of 1995.

That left me as the sole host of a program that wasn't quite sure what it wanted to be. At first I went into a panic. David Gans, whom I knew from my many years as part of an online community called The Well, was incredibly supportive and immediately sent me a few pristine recordings to get me started on the right foot, Dead-wise. But clearly, the only music we'd be getting from the Grateful Dead would be archive material, and I had no interest in hosting a show that was primarily a museum, timeless though the music of the Grateful Dead may be. Rather, I wanted to be true to the spirit of the Dead, who worked contemporaneously in the past, present, and future. They honored the past through a cultivation of their blues/folk/country style and through cover tunes, stayed incredibly rooted in the Now through their own excellent songwriting, their interest in all the latest sound gadgetry that became available over the years and through the spontaneous improvisation that was created in the always-present moment, but they also reached into the Future fearlessly and reported back, exploring modalities, both musical and psychic, that were absolutely beyond beyond. So my problem was: how could I construct a show in that vein without the ongoing presentation of newly created Grateful Dead music? During 1996 I experimented with stretching the show outside the bounds of strictly the Dead by introducing new bands, local and national, who I felt were operating in the same aesthetic campground. At the time Phish and Widespread Panic were fairly well known but little else. Then of course I stumbled upon Lee Crumpton's Home Grown Music Network, and a whole expansive subculture erupted before my ears.

DB: What drew you to this particular music?

I came to a love of jam music via two related routes. First, my father listened to a lot of jazz, and so at an early age I heard many hours of Oscar Peterson, Bud Powell, Ella Fitzgerald, and others, doing what they do. The other influence on my taste for improvisation came, of course, from the Grateful Dead. But I really must say, I did not turn onto the Dead when I first heard them in the early '70s. It sounded like mush to me. I had a couple of acquaintances in High School who were Deadheads, and gradually, the more I listened to tapes of shows, the more I became interested in what the Dead were doing. But I had to keep my newfound appreciation hidden. My immediate circle of musician friends were most decidedly anti-Dead. I remained, for several years, a "closet Deadhead," in public listening mostly to Bob Dylan and The Beatles, then later Patti Smith, Television, Brian Eno, Kraftwerk, and, eventually, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Crass, Elvis Costello, and Talking Heads. Deadheads were dorks as far as my compadres were concerned. And to a certain extent I agree. I mean, let's admit it: we Deadheads are kind of a dorky bunch. It's sort of like being into Star Trek in a way. And those folks who are into Star Trek AND the Grateful Dead, well, there's nobody dorkier, now is there? You know, those guys who would come to Dead shows wearing Spock ears and communicator pins? The freaking gods of dorkhood! During college, though, as I drifted away from the peer pressures of ultra-hipness, I got in touch with my "inner dork," and came out of the closet as a fully mindblown hippie dude and an openly devout worshipper at the altar of Jerry.

The best of the contemporary jambands continue to tap into the pious Dionysian energy of the Dead, and that's what continues to hold my interest in the genre.

DB: What is your perception of southern California's response to this scene?

It has taken several years to cultivate an enthusiastic interest in jam music here in Southern California. For whatever reason, we haven't seen the vibrancy that has occurred in the Northeast Corridor. Part of that might be due to the great distances between cities. In the Northeast, bands can tour from city to city quite easily and develop a dynamic audience in a variety of places. In Southern California, if you're a Los Angeles band, for example, you're pretty much playing over and over again in Los Angeles, exhausting your audience, and touring to develop audiences outside the region is a MUCH bigger and expensive deal than it is back East. So, the growth of the scene can be static. Consequently, we haven't fielded any nationally known jam bands, though I would say that San Diego's excellent Wise Monkey Orchestra is on the verge of very big things. Another local band, Freshly Baked, is outstanding and is starting to make a reputation for itself, but that's because they are one of the few jambands from L.A. that tour extensively up and down the coast and across the Southwest. Up until very recently, the local psychedelic community has clung primarily to Grateful Dead cover bands, many of whom are quite good and popular, though it is a format I have very little interest in personally.

On the other hand, over the past two years East Coast jambands have become increasingly successful when they hit L.A., a market many of them avoided for a long time because it was seen as 'dead' in more ways than one. That has changed, however, and through my proselytizing on the radio and a growing awareness of the Home Grown Music Network, the audiences for visiting bands have become quite respectable. I might add that the listenership to my show has tripled since I started featuring the music of the newer bands, so that too is an indication of a growing interest as well. Here are some examples: moe. sold out the House of Blues in L.A. recently two weeks before their showdate. Last time the Disco Biscuits came to town 400 people showed up to a venue that holds 250, much to the happy bogglement of the owner. String Cheese Incident sold out TWO nights at the House of Blues, and bands such as Strangefolk and Day By The River have had well-attended outings here. The Ominous Seapods sell more records in Los Angeles than anywhere else in the country. So, although I'm not convinced the jam scene is a self-sustaining fully engrained entity here just yet, I can see the roots starting to take hold. I think the big evolution will come when L.A. itself produces a world-class jam band. There's room, and people are waiting.

DB: How would you compare what is going on now in terms of music and fan support with what has taken place in the past?

In terms of the music itself, the scene has diversified in several encouraging ways. Early on, most jam-bands sounded like offspring of the Grateful Dead; in fact, many of them began as Dead cover bands before exploring the possibilities of original songs. Now, however, there are several intriguing influences that have begun to pervade the scene. Some of the jam-bands have become, to all intents and purposes, jazz bands. I'm thinking of bands like ulu, Miracle Orchestra, Fat Mama, Jive Talkin' Robots, even The Slip to a certain extent. Of course, the jazz influence is an obvious one to arise, as jazz is the very essence of the improvisational aesthetic. Other bands have ventured into the realm of New Orleans swamp-funk, folks like Galactic and Deep Banana Blackout come to mind here. Bluegrass music also, has attracted a number of bands, with String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon, Smokin' Grass, also The Recipe, Donna The Buffalo and others adapting an Appalachian approach to the jam concept. Seventies guitar rock is a major influence on bands like moe. and Ominous Seapods, as is classic Southern Rock in the Allman Brothers/Lynyrd Skynyrd vein which you hear in the music of Day By The River and many other fine bands from the Southeast. I think this diversification is leading the scene in a positive direction, though it has also made our "scene" incredibly difficult to describe or encapsulate!

Now, in terms of critical respect for the genre, well, I'm sad to say that it's the same as it ever was. The "psychedelic jam" has always been an underappreciated art form. Although there has been a tremendous increase in the numbers of people developing an avid interest in the jam scene, and although the number of jambands has subsequently proliferated, the music itself remains underground, flying below the radar as always. Just as the Grateful Dead were consistently either ignored by the critical community or dismissed as irrelevant or mocked as pathetic and self-indulgent, as inconsequential muzak for people on drugs, so too are the post-Dead jam bands relegated to the cellar of critical esteem. Jam bands who come through Los Angeles, for example, are NEVER reviewed unless they're a signed national act like The Dave Mathews Band (who are just barely a jam band anyway) or occasionally Phish, and are NEVER brought up whenever a discussion arises in the public media about the state of popular music, especially rock and roll, today, unless it's as an object of derision or a silly joke. I too am sort of a joke among the radio community because of the nature of the music I play; I'm not taken seriously. I am in fact seen as quintessentially "unhip," the village dork.

It's a shame to say, but I've a feeling this will always be the case. This music will probably remain underground. Part of the reason is that jam music requires an attention span that the majority of the American audience does not have and is not likely to develop. Another reason is that the extended format of jam music does not lend itself well to the time constraints of commercial media. Also, the anti-corporate ethos of the scene does not create an atmosphere that's conducive to success, at least not in the traditional capitalist sense of the word, which is probably a good thing, in my opinion. There's a spirit of cooperation and support among the bands because they sense that none (or very few) of them are likely to get recording contracts, hence no reason to compete. Therefore, I think this will always be "our little subculture," and although it would be nice if the bands could be a bit better financially remunerated for their tireless efforts, there's a sort of purity that ennobles the eternal outsider, which I think a large percentage of jam enthusiasts are attracted to, perhaps because they feel like eternal outsiders themselves, blessed with what the Dead used to call "misfit power."

DB: What newer bands have you heard that you are very enthusiastic about?

That's a tough question to answer because of everyone who will be insulted when I leave them out! On the other hand, I don't want simply to list all the bands on the Home Grown roster just so as not to hurt anyone's feelings.

S'anyway, here goes:

The first post-Dead jamband that I fell in love with was moe. Friends of mine on The Well began singing their praises in early 1996. So, my interest piqued, I acquired a few tapes and was blown away. The guitar work of Al Schnier and Chuck Garvey was at once spacy and rocking, Rob Derhak's funky bass and burly-Buddha voice were intimate, earthy, engaging, and of course Vinny Amico (and the 5 drummers who preceded him!) was solid, never lost in the nethersphere of the more "out-there" jams, ultimately grounded in the Now. The convergence of their various energies, which often reach peaks that my buddy Harvey Canter has dubbed "moe.gasms," makes for a thrilling space in which to boogie and float. In addition, moe. has a repertoire of fantastic songs that are the result of thoughtful artistry and craftsmanship. I care passionately about songwriting, a skill that is sometimes erroneously bypassed in the jam world. In my opinion, if the songs aren't good, well, I don't care how pyrotechnic the jamming is, the shit doesn't congeal. I could wax ecstatic for hours about how wondrous I find moe. to be, but let's move on.

When moe. first visited Southern California, I was sitting backstage talking to Rob Derhak about the jam scene, and I asked him whom he would recommend I check out. Rob proceeded to ask me a question that changed the way I thought about rock and roll in many ways. He said, "Have you heard the Ominous Seapods?" It was weird, but as soon as he said the name, my brain snapped. I was immediately interested, just from the name! I acquired some Seapods material, through the generosity of the legendary Big Daddy Seapod, and what I heard was a revelation to me. Here, in the music of the Ominous Seapods, was, yes, the thrilling ecstasy of kick-ass rock and roll, but more than that, there was a primordial darkness, the presence of a skanky ooze that was at once frightening, profound, archetypal, erotic, incendiary, purgatorial, a totally sick mutation of what I had come to expect when listening to jam-rock. They were going places no one else was going in the scene. The musicianship, of course, was stellar. I think of Max Verna the way I think of Jimi Hendrix, easily in the same breath I can mention their names; he is a wonder, in my opinion the most gifted guitar player in jam-rock, perhaps in the world, a man in touch with the heavenly depths indeed. Although I was saddened by Max's departure last year, I am happy to report that the Ominous Seapods are better than ever. At the heart of their sound is Dana Monteith's funkmeister machinery and superlative songwriting, complemented brilliantly by Tom Pirozzi's swinging melodic bass, Brian Mangini's wizard-stew organ textures, Ted Marotta's crystalline drumming accompaniment, and new addition Todd Pasternak's sizzling and poetic lead guitar. They are special. I wish they'd move to Los Angeles!

I'm also very impressed with the technodelic direction The Disco Biscuits have been going. They just keep getting better and better. I've definitely got my ears on them in a very intense way. They're onto something, and I think more and more people are realizing it. The latest incarnation of Percy Hill is a superb development. I'm in love with their album "Color in Bloom." My pal Richard Gehr has said of this release,"The best album of the Seventies was made in 1998," which I think is a perfect observation. Percy Hill has not journeyed to L.A. yet, but I look forward to the day they do. The Slip is also a band I think has infinite possibilities ahead. And Strangefolk is gifted, like moe. and the Seapods, with excellent songwriting skills, such an important aspect of music making; they are among the best bands working the scene right now. I'm also quite fond of the music of Donna the Buffalo, as well as the awesome Big Wu. And watch out for Wise Monkey Orchestra, who are about to put Southern California on the jamband map!

But actually, to go out on a limb here, if I can be perfectly honest, my favorite band in the world is not a jam band. The most interesting thing happening in pop music anywhere right now, as far as I'm concerned, is L.A.'s own The Negro Problem. Their "trips in miniature" are the product of a homespun genius named Mark Stewart, who, I predict, will be looked back upon as one of the great pop-music innovators of our time, on a par with Lennon and McCartney, no exaggeration. I strongly encourage folks interested in psychedelia to step outside the jam genre if they can, and check out the mind-bending, though concise, trippy escapades of The Negro Problem. I don't have adequate adjectives to do their brilliance justice.

DB: Trips in Minature? Please explain further.

Trips in Miniature would be epic psychic journeys that last maybe 3-4 minutes. It's a Negro Problem specialty. Like all great psychedelia the music of The Negro Problem cracks open a vista on eternity yet does so with incredible economy and visionary wit.

DB: Speaking of the varied music you enjoy, how do you select what you will play on your show in a given week? How do you strike that balance between current/old, live/studio, well-known/new?

I listen very carefully to what makes my heart sing and follow that impulse. I try to air Dead shows that correspond by month to the current date, though as to what era, well, that depends upon the quality of the tapes that have been coming in. I try to limit my own personal obsession with the '72-'74 era Dead or else those tapes would dominate. I try to stay attentive to the values and advantages of variety.

As to the jamband material, top priority goes to tapes of shows that have just recently occurred in L.A. After that I simply go with what moves me. Like all DJs I have my obvious favorites (and play them a lot), but I'm also aware of bands my audience wants desperately want to hear and will also broadcast their shows (even though I might not find them particularly interesting). I play mostly concert tapes on my show because that's what jambands do best. I very rarely hear a studio album by a jamband that blows me away, even bands I adore. I would say Jet Smooth Ride by the Ominous Seapods is my favorite jamband studio album. The opening menu of my show, about the first 30 minutes, is usually dedicated to album cuts from recent CD releases, so the studio work does get some exposure.

DB: Here's a question that I receive all the time so I'd love to hear your take on it- how would you define the phrase "jam band?"

A "jam band" is a purveyor of exploratory rock and roll. Is it possible to identify enough common traits to comprise a genre? I don't know. Jam bands certainly share an improvisational aesthetic, a willingness to let the music expand and inflate. There seems to be among jam bands an underlying belief in the ability of music to provide a transportational experience, be it visceral or spiritual, a dedication to making every show different, a recognition of the audience's role in sparking the magic happenstance, a natural tendency to engage the kind vibe, an openness to the synergy of hybrid forms, an affinity for all things freakish and mutant, an attraction to mystery and surprise. A jam band lives in exile from mainstream America.

DB: What is your perception of the various geographic nuances of the jam band scene?

With so many people from all over the country following these bands around and mixing with their brethren from other parts of the country, there's more similarity than difference among the various regions of the nation. With eastern cities lying so close to each other, it's possible for bands back there to hit more cities more often and infiltrate more different local scenes than is possible for players in the west, where the distances are great and the prospects daunting. And all that playing back east has created a vibrancy and energy that is much to be admired. Bands who hit L.A. after a Midwest run rave about the high interest among folks in the middle of the continent for this kind of music.

DB: Any other new bands that you think people should hear?

Hipbone is superb. I dig what they're doing a lot. And here's a cool tip: Jemimah Puddleduck, which is Mark Karan's band with John Molo when they're not busy with their other gigs, is a thrilling band to hear. I also love the psychedelic surf-noir of a fascinating young band called Double Naught Spy Car. But, hell, keep 'em all and give me The Negro Problem!

DB: What do other people at your station think of this music? This scene?

Mostly they make fun of the show, in a friendly/joking way of course. I get teased quite a bit for my involvement in both the music and the scene. And the thing is I totally understand that perspective. It is kind of comedic when looked at from the outside. KPFK broadcasts an incredibly wide diversity of music; no two shows have the same playlists; each of us is obscure in our own way.

DB: What role do you think the internet has played in spreading the word about this scene? To what extent do you think that the potential remains unrealized?

The internet has been integral to the spread of this music. From the early bulletin-board conversations to the list-serves to Usenet to band websites to tape trading and now soundfile downloading sites the jam scene has flourished in virtual form quite famously, allowing instantaneous communication among a group of people who love to communicate with each other. Bands from all over the country can establish reputations just about anywhere now with the right coterie of tape-traders making bootlegs available to local heads everywhere. The internet is interesting in that it permits bands to construct a whole culture around themselves with unprecedented swiftness, including iconography, gossip, private slang, and inside jokes, bonding elements that anyone with a modem and a search engine can find and become part of.

The internet will change tape trading forever. We are very close to having a viable technology that will allow us to send sound files to each other fairly easily and burn CDs directly from those transferred files. All the postal hassles that currently plague the tape-trading scene will vanish. Some of this is already happening, I know, though I would contend that the technology has yet to be perfected and then necessarily simplified to make more massive use a reality for the general public.