Like so many others, I had two introductions to Third Eye Blind. The first, as a wide-eyed 10-year-old drawn to the frantic verses of “Semi-Charmed Life” — a song so ingrained in American pop culture that you didn’t even need me to reference it. The second, as a frustrated college freshman taking solace in the considerably less frantic though equally bouncy verses on Out of the Vein cut “Faster” — a song which never impacted radio but instead impacted something far more important: digital natives such as myself. Throughout my writing career, I’ve made no attempts at hiding my staunch affinity for this band. Their trajectory, specifically their spectacularly successful transition from certified radio monsters in the 90s to cult stars of the space between pop and sung literature in the 00s, is fascinating from all vantage points — though deeming it a transition seems unfair. Mentioning radio in reference to the 90s surely seems like an archaic sentiment akin to my parents explaining the existence of 8-track, but radio’s shifting landscape is — in many ways — a huge part of the story of this band.
Sometime in 2008 or so, I interviewed a DJ from a local pop station who was abandoning his post to start a rock-only station in direct competition with his former home. My line of questioning was likely offensive to him, as I insisted that the traditional format he held so dear to him was simply no longer important to anyone under the age of 30. He didn’t necessarily disagree, but used Third Eye Blind as a reference point for how both sides could peacefully coexist for a few more years. Speaking on the fact that a song like “Semi-Charmed Life” or “Jumper” still received as much or more airplay than something ten years younger, this traditionalist managed to briefly school someone (me) vehemently insisting on the future at all costs. “A great song has legs,” he said. “We provide one of many pairs of shoes for the feet.” He kind of laughed at his own sentiment, but it made a fair amount of sense.
Of course, nearly another decade has passed since that conversation — and I would make the argument that, as shaky as some of it seems to those on the inside, music is in an even better place. How perfect, then, that it is only now that I manage to interview Stephan Jenkins — the most underrated frontman of the most underrated band in rock & roll. How fitting, too, that Third Eye Blind’s new album is called Dopamine — subconsciously alluding to the six-year process leading to its eventual chemical rush; an artistic relief born from a creative spark.
Trace: It’s hard to ignore the recent windfall of 90s-centered nostalgia tours, surely a profitable response to the 90s vogue nostalgia status. Thankfully, Third Eye Blind has avoided this association and successfully risen above the muck of others more or less cashing in on that nostalgia indefinitely. I would assume this has been a decidedly conscious effort, yes? What are your thoughts on the nostalgia epidemic? You strike me as more of a futurist, or just someone who tries to remain as “in the moment” as possible through his art.
Stephan: I think your assessment is accurate about me. I’m not nostalgic by nature. And I’m constantly trying to get above the muck. And thanks by the way! Music for me is about opening up the present. It’s about expanding your sense of what it means to be alive and in the now. I think we’re fortunate that our audience is mostly millenials and Gen Z’s who just don’t have a date stamp on our music. They play our music because it means something now and they go to our shows because it gives them this feeling of aliveness and that’s palpably different than looking back. That fits much more with my sensibility.
We played Cleveland at the beginning of our summer tour and I drove by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and I thought “Take an art form that is about rebellion from the past, immediacy, and forming new identities, and put it in a museum!” I don’t totally get it. I’ve just always been dying to get freaked on what happens next.
I would say that a huge part of Third Eye Blind’s continued appeal, especially cross-generationally speaking, is the band’s loose relationship with hip-hop — dating all the way back to the verses of “Semi-Charmed Life,” and popping up sporadically across every album since. Do you consciously revisit these elements again on Dopamine? Do you look to hip-hop often, particularly now, as the main exporter of the rock & roll lineage?
Oh yes I do! Hip-hop deconstructed the blues’ song cycle that all rock and R&B was stuck in and expanded its lyric capacity exponentially, which suits wordy types like me. It’s weapons free. That wrong thing that you feel guilty for even thinking, it’s my inclination to say it. That’s rebellion, that’s punk rock, that’s hip-hop. I was influenced by the Daisy Age hip-hop groups like Tribe. But also Rakim and the Geto Boys (so underrated!). I think Killer Mike is a harbinger of potential revolution and I for one am never bored around Kanye.
Being a drummer by training, it’s always been about the vocal connecting like drums. Hip Hop rhythms are ingrained in me. For me, music is about making that dangerous place possible, where the things that can’t be spoken about get fucking shouted.
There’s a line on the title track from Dopamine that says “The problem with me is I actually mean it.” I think that’s kind of the center of the whole album.
Alabama often proves itself to be a belligerent whale - swallowing people like me whole and burping out bitter, embattled, and largely invisible artists who moan on and on their entire lives about how awful Alabama or the Deep, Deep South at large truly is. And though they aren’t wrong, you eventually start to question the point of it all. If I’m just staying here to have something to write about - or write against - shouldn’t I set my aim for happiness a bit higher?
2,336 miles.
Though I haven’t had much time to reflect on the physical distance between Where I Grew Up and Where I Am Now, that vast expanse of space comes clearer into view when you put it in numbers.
Nothing seemed real until we packed up our entire apartment. The sadness of my family was levied with the notion that they expected something like this eventually - just not quite yet. After all, movement is human, and forward motion is the most human action we can muster aside from art.
I’m often reminded of what should have been an inconsequential conversation with someone nearly ten years ago. At a fresh 19 years of age, I had the innocuous task of buying cigarettes for a friend of mine and - on occasion - his friends, their friends, their friends’ friends, ad infinitum. This particular friend of a friend offered to drive and buy me a drink in exchange for the trouble, so I agreed.
On the way, he blasted The Vines briefly before turning it down.
“New York,” he said. “What do you think, man?”
I didn’t understand his question.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure it’s awesome.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’m gonna move there or maybe even LA this summer. I don’t know yet.” He smiled as the Vines song faded out into some Strokes.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s awesome.”
There was a long pause, long enough for us to stop and make our way through the entire cigarette transaction and for him to light up his first one. Through the smoky young posturing, he spoke. “But you never know, man.” He smiled as the Hives song faded into some old Green Day - seemingly ancient now. “A place like that might eat us alive.”
Something about that annoyed me and I didn’t want to see my friend’s friends’ friends for the rest of my life. I stuck around, pretending to smoke a cigarillo and sheepishly sipping the same Michelob Ultra for three hours.
What he didn’t realize, and what I already felt but didn’t yet really know, was that we were already being eaten alive. We didn’t have to move to feel those teeth.
As my significant other and I made our way to Washington, I could feel those few remaining layers of inherited fear shedding themselves across each state line. 2,336 miles later, I can now say I escaped the mouth of that whale - though I still hear his teeth chattering in the distance. He actually looks kind of cute from far away.
“I’m coming in when I feel like, so turn this motherfucker up only if it FEELS right.”
Why didn’t I write about this sooner? I had to wait. As a newish west coaster, I got all fucked up on the times and got too drunk before The Grammys even aired. Hours later, the show rolled along and I had somehow managed to avoid Twitter just enough to not have a stomach full of spoilers ready to vomit all over my enjoyment of the night. Things went according to plan. Kanye met expectations with his U2-nodding performance of “Only One.” Paul McCartney looked really cool during his performance of “Four Five Seconds” with Kanye and Rihanna. Kanye even changed up the lyrics - asking Paul to “pay his bail.” Aside from the horrendous muscle country bits and AC/DC’s who-gives-a-shit intro, I was actually kind of feeling most of these performances. As a lifelong viewer of The Grammys (and all awards shows), I was almost transported back to being that ten-year-old who was perpetually floored by the mere existence of seemingly endless amounts of awesomeness, talent, and innovation. I even almost got kind of into that Adam Levine / Gwen Stefani performance.
Then, another drink in, I thought - wait; what the fuck is this? Why did I hear about Childish Gambino’s Grammy loss on Twitter and not right here on the fucking show itself? Why did I let the allure of two Kanye performances in one night trap me into thinking The Grammys might suddenly sprint the last bit of the culture race and catch up? As these thoughts reached a fever pitch, Prince took the stage to announce the Album of the Year recipient. Beyoncé, I thought. “Beyoncé, ” my significant other mumbled. “Duh.” Though certainly not my favorite album of the year, as I use actual calendars and give that nod to Run the Jewels (not Grammy-eligible until next year), Beyoncé’s album felt important because it really was. People seemed to talk about that album for 12 months straight. Beyoncé went out on a Radiohead-sized limb and dropped the album, out of nowhere, on iTunes one night and the Internet temporarily imploded before being born again as a Yoncé think piece generator. Even if you weren’t a fan, the moment was thrilling.
You don’t need this article to tell you what happened next. In fact, you could have turned off the TV or closed out your browser window and guessed it. Beck’s Morning Phase , a very good album but certainly not the best of the year or even the best of Beck’s catalog, won the award and Kanye kinda-sorta-but-not-really repeated his Taylor Swift VMAs moment in a seemingly jokeish action that bordered on self-referential, comedic performance art. Everyone laughed. I laughed too. But immediately after, I thought - wow, so Kanye has changed? He’s really this mellowed out self-effacing Mr. Dad participant in The Big Fucking Machine now? It seemed surreal. It seemed unlikely. I started to feel depressed.
My faith shouldn’t have wavered, however; as Kanye clarified his intentions in a post-Grammys interview on E!, fittingly. I’ve pasted that below (transcript via Grantland), not because you haven’t seen it but because I just really want you to read it again:
“The Grammys, if they want real artists to keep coming back, they need to stop playing with us. We ain’t finna play with them no more. “Flawless” Beyoncé video. Beck needs to respect artistry and he should have given his award to Beyoncé. And at this point, we tired of it! Because what happens is, when you keep on diminishing art and not respecting the craft and smacking people in the face after they deliver monumental feats of music. You’re disrespectful to inspiration. And we as musicians have to inspire people who go to work every day, and they listen to that Beyoncé album and they feel like it takes them to another place. Then they do this whole promotional event, and they’ll run the music over somebody’s speech, the artist, because they want a commercial advertising. Like no, we not playing with them no more. And by the way, I got my wife, I got my daughter, and my clothing line, so I’m not finna do nothing to put my daughter at risk. But I am here to fight for creativity, that’s the reason why I didn’t say anything tonight, but y’all know what it meant when ’Ye walked on that stage.”
Though misconstrued by many as some sort of attack on Beck, Kanye’s remarks were clearly aimed at The Grammys as an institution and the music industry at large (a sentiment backed up by both Beck and Kanye within hours of each other, then even more thoroughly expressed by Kanye on Ryan Seacrest’s show just this morning).
Part of what made me wait to write about this was how purely passionate all of that makes me. I couldn’t type up enough fire emojis to describe it. And I just wanted to live with that passion for a little while. I wanted to hang upside down from the chandelier I don’t have in my apartment but really want. I wanted to drive backwards on the freeway with a sign on the back of my oversized hoodie that says FUCK YOUR TRADITIONS, which is not actually a Tyler the Creator reference but that’s fine if you think so.
“You know what it meant when Ye went up onstage.”
Yes. I did. I’m sorry for doubting you, Ye.
Last month, Kanye outlined that same almost militant necessity of keeping one’s creativity safe from the clutches of naysayers. In his acceptance speech for the Visionary Award at the BET Honors, Kanye described it as such:
“You can’t be the kid in the back of the classroom with black nail polish. You have to smack the shit out of people with your creativity.”
I was that kid. In his own way, Kanye was that kid too. The kind of people I’m drawn to? They were those kids - kids shaping our existence around the notion of never being accepted - that your creative thoughts and artistic tendencies are flaws, not strengths. It only took me a few years to realize the world was fucking wrong about that. I was lucky in that I had supportive parents, who cheered me on (and continue to cheer me on) even when they don’t totally get what I’m trying to do. Kanye seems to have been just as lucky. Sadly, many people aren’t. Many people have their creative impulses beaten and bullied out of them until they become silent, boring adults.
The world is a bully, but an artist risks the punch.
Kanye always risks the punch. On our behalf, he often goes against almost every other voice in mainstream culture to speak his heart, which is not always in line with his - or anyone’s - mind. As already noted by many better-timed articles, Kanye’s Grammys 2015 moment was another in a long - and sure to continue - series of Kanye risking the punch on behalf of the kid in the back of the class with chipped nail polish.
“I’m not a traditionalist or a purist when it comes to music. I have a handful of records that I love to revisit, but - for the most part - I seem to bounce around based on the appetite of my ears and brain. Every venture has felt very organic. The only agenda I have is to create the best music I can for as long as I can.”
“Nearly two years after its initial release, ‘Closer’ (from the impeccable 2013 album Heartthrob) stands as both a testament to the power of flawlessly executed Pop (and all its beautiful simplicities), and as irrefutable proof (from famous friends and loyal fans alike) of the inevitability of Life, Love, and All Things in Between – i.e. the broad but welcoming canon of Pop.”
Click HERE to read “Closer, Still: The Pop Wisdom of Tegan & Sara,” my new piece for Nailed Magazine, in its entirety.
“Too often in entertainment (and particularly in Hollywood), conversations around making content are so rooted in what’s going to sell and it definitely weighs you down. We have so many people who come and meet with us with ideas that were ‘too feel-good’ for a network, which still confuses me to a large degree. Why don’t people want to feel good?”
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Click HERE to read my NailedMagazine.com interview with Georgia Koch, channel manager/series producer at SoulPancake
You might know Bonnie McKee from her 2013 summer hit “American Girl,” but you most certainly know her from her work as a songwriter for the past decade’s most ubiquitous Pop icons - including Katy Perry, Britney Spears, Ellie Goulding, and many more.
I recently had a brief but insightful conversation with Bonnie via e-mail, as transcribed below.
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A couple months ago, you wrote “Pop music is heartbreaking cuz I’ll write a lovely visual poetic piece and then have to tear it apart and dumb it down. Writing for the masses is a bitch sometimes." To delve a bit further into that, do you ever consciously write in a subtly subversive or genre-expanding concepts into your songs in an attempt to add some intellectual levity to Pop’s often broader sensibilities?
Bonnie: Absolutely. I always try to fill my lyrics with cookies and little cultural references that give it a bit more depth. Sometimes I get ahead of myself, though, and over-write. In pop music, every line can’t be a clever little turn of phrase - you just have to pepper them in and let the rest of the song be easy to understand and sing along to. Otherwise, you lose the masses. It’s a very "kill your darling” kind of process trying to decide which beautifully crafted line you have to sacrifice to the pop gods, but - in the end - it’s worth it when a 4 year old can find joy in and sing along to your song. The goal is to reach and entertain as many people as possible, and that means keeping it simple.
Having been a large part of Pop’s biggest moments of the last few years, what are your favorite Pop moments of previous eras? Any favorite songwriters, albums, videos?
Well, Madonna and Michael Jackson are the queen and king of pop, obviously, and have influenced just about every pop act that followed. My personal favorite videos are 80’s and 90’s era…Madonna’s “Express Yourself,” Billy Idol’s “Rock the Cradle of Love,” Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” Guns N Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle,” and [“I’m A Slave 4 U”] by Britney Spears.
Given your penchant for successful collaborative work, do you ever desire to work alone - similar to some of the writing behind the Trouble album?
I sometimes like to be left alone when writing lyrics, as I tend to enjoy sitting in silence for hours at a time contemplating, and feel pressured if there’s someone else around staring at me. But, overall, I really enjoy another brain in the room! I love having somebody throw something out that I would never think of.
Speaking of that album, it turns 10 later this year (September). Looking back, are you where you thought you would be 10 years after Trouble’s release? Also, what are your thoughts on this album in general, given the benefit of hindsight?
Life is very strange. I did not expect to have written all of these hit songs for the biggest stars in the industry! When I look back at Trouble, I wish someone had suggested I collaborate. Those songs were some of the first I’d ever written, between the ages of 14-16, and I needed help. I had a natural instinct, but needed refining. I honestly can’t listen to Trouble now; it drives me insane. Such a sad, dark time in my life, and such over indulgent teenage angst. But I am proud to have accomplished something on my own at such a young age - it was like my trial run!
Weezer’s iconic 1994 release, known by most as The Blue Album, recently turned 20. In celebration of this anniversary and the recent announcement that The Rentals would be releasing a new album this year via Polyvinyl, I have decided to unearth a never-before-released interview with Weezer co-founder/former bassist (and Rentals frontman) Matt Sharp.
The clip is a little under 30 minutes long, and doesn’t include the entire interview. However, these are the only 30 minutes which remain (found late last year on a dusty flash drive). The interview was conducted via phone in May of 2008. Due to reasons beyond my (or Mr. Sharp’s) control at the time, the interview was shelved. However, it seems even more prescient in 2014. During our conversation, Matt discussed the Blue album era, the importance of MTV, Maya Rudolph, and the post-Internet musical landscape.
“There comes a point in the comments section of seemingly every post on any given site, regardless of topic, wherein someone eschews traditional language outright, opting instead for a GIF of, say, Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean Luc Pecard initiating a slow clap. Or two giraffes thrashing their necks back and forth with the caption PARTY HARD. A picture is worth a thousand words, sure; but a MOVING picture is worth a thousand MOVING words.
The GIF medium, as ubiquitous though it may be, is often downplayed by some as simply a sort of proverbial sandbox full of versatilely relevant pop culture references for dedicated Internet “trolls” to wallow in with squeamish glee. Trolls be damned, that sentiment is an exaggerated reaction to a thoroughly engaging and era-appropriate medium—the reliably unpredictable GIF.”
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Click HERE to read my interview with Sarah Zucker and Brian Griffith (of LA-based design team The Current Sea) over at NailedMagazine.com
“Deep within every human being there still lives the anxiety over the possibility of being alone in the world, overlooked among the millions and millions in this enormous household. Death induces the sensual person to say: Let us eat and drink, because tomorrow we shall die – but this is sensuality’s cowardly lust for life, that contemptible order of things where one lives in order to eat and drink instead of eating and drinking in order to live. But the life of freedom requires a beginning, and here a beginning is a resolution, and the resolution has its work and its pain-thus the beginning has its difficulty.”
Click HERE to read “Truth as Screenplay” by Trace William Cowen via Nailed Magazine. *
*“Truth as Screenplay” is a curated piece consisting of altered Kierkegaard quotes and altered interview questions from previously published Donald Glover interviews. Donald Glover did not participate in the production of this text.
