Spottiswoode and His Enemies

(July 2007)

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four years since a chance encounter with the Spottiswoode and His Enemies 2003 release. Some publicist had randomly mailed me their then-latest CD, a sprawling 17 tracks busting with dark rhythms, violent echoing effects, soaring horns, sweet harmonies, confessional singing and a gift for poetic lyrical expression.

I immediately fell in love with this band’s crazy dynamics, every player a god of his or her instrument, and Spottiswoode's masterful language. Who could resist lines like "She likes English accents and chocolate desserts/She takes pills for her diet and cheap cigarettes/And she is who she is but much more and much less/A tiara on speed who knows how to dress." Musically I was reminded of Nick Cave and The Tiger Lillies. There was a definite flair for the dramatic — not the bright lights and glamour of corporate theatre, but the soiled stockings and old lipstick stains of seedy cabaret.

I was hooked, but what I couldn't know then, and would learn later, was that Spottiswoode and His Enemies have a lot more to offer than the dark cabaret of that self-titled release. The follow-up releases would explore a wild range, from punk to gospel. Answering “well, what’s the best Spottiswoode CD?” would be like answering the same question about Bowie or Bjork. It just depends; but it’s all great.

Spottiswoode and His Enemies headline Johnny D's (Davis Square, Somerville, MA) on Saturday night, July 21st 2007, and I got a chance to chat with front man Jonathan Spottiswoode about English accents, the Beatles and something he calls “the performing monkey syndrome.”

LBSH.com: We have a local Boston guy who’s been affecting a British accent for years, presumably because he thinks it makes him more interesting. Are you really an English dude, or is that just something you came up with years ago to seem more interesting to Americans?
Spottiswoode: I really am English. If I was gonna pretend to be something else, I’d have picked Brazilian.
LBSH.com: Your body of work arcs from one “feel” to another, meaning that a person who first encounters Spottiswoode based on one CD may be surprised at how another CD sounds. Take me through your musical evolution, and what feeds that reshaping of sound.
Spottiswoode: There may not be as much of an arc as you think. I have been writing punk tunes and wannabe Cole Porter ballads on the same day for a very long time. I may be getting a little mellower with the years but I shouldn’t even say that. I’m the youngest of four boys. And I still haven’t decided who I am or who I want to be. A formative record for me was the Beatles’ White Album which goes all over the place in terms of genre. It’s a celebration of songwriting, music and of basic expression. Alas, I’m not the Beatles. And also the times have changed. It makes more sense to carve up songs I write into groupings that fit more obviously together. Though even then our records are more eclectic than most.
LBSH.com: Because of your ability to be so flexible with genre, do you think you lose your audience along the way, or take them along for the ride?
Spottiswoode: I am all too aware that folks in the business can’t really handle us. And also that many potential fans might hit us on the wrong night or hear the wrong record for their tastes and then dismiss us. One of our biggest fans apparently hated us the first time she saw us. Her friends had to drag her back kicking and screaming to a second show a few months later. After that we became her favorite band.
LBSH.com: What makes a song great?
Spottiswoode: I haven’t an effing clue. It’s a bit like what Justice White said about pornography: you know it when you see it. Or hear it in this case.
LBSH.com: Then cite some examples.
Spottiswoode: Obviously, the Beatles and Bob Dylan wrote a ton of great songs. However, even though they’ve been covered a lot, only a few times have the covers measured up to the original performances. So for the last forty or fifty years we’ve been in an era of auteurs, eg singer-songwriters. You may have to go back further to the tin pan alley writers to really know about great songs that didn’t need the writer/performer/producer to make them great — Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Johnny Mercer etc.
LBSH.com: You've got me thinking about would I rather see an amazing performance of an average song or a shoddy performance of a great song. It seems pretty obvious when phrased that way.
Spottiswoode: I could write a novel about this. Well, there are average songs that can become great because of an amazing performance or recording. And there are plenty of great songs that have been ruined by the wrong singer (like me!) and arrangement, and thus never make the canon.
LBSH.com: I have a delicate question about performing. To me, a non-performer, it seems that if I WERE a performer, the dream process would be to write songs, play my songs for people, and be extremely happy when those people love what I’m doing, request their favorites and sing along. So what's with growing weary of being asked to play favorite requests? I don't need to have read your blog to find that this happens to you…
Spottiswoode: Ah, the performing monkey syndrome. Lexi, it’s all about feeling alive. We all go through life in a numb state most of the time. Some of us more happily than others. Artists do what they do for various reasons. But mostly just to feel alive, to feel that they are expressing themselves in the moment, transcending their troubles. Of course, attention from fans can make you feel alive too. Everyone likes attention. It is incredibly rewarding to hear strangers ask you to play a song you’ve written, especially when you’re starting out. It’s a dream come true. I understand if folks in the audience feel that the artist is ungrateful if he or she doesn’t grant a request. Okay, here’s the other side of the coin…you’ve played a particular song in many places. You’ve had magical moments with that song, unforgettable even. The song is like a lover. If you play it too often, especially when you don’t feel like it, it can dilute the memory and the affection you have for it. The other thing is this: every set of music is an emotional journey for an artist, especially an artist playing their own songs. Each song you play means something significant to you (even the so-called “novelty songs”). And they mean something different to you on any particular night. This is the part about feeling alive.
LBSH.com: So it can be like a restaurant patron asking the chef, proud of the dish he’s turned out, to please pass the salt.
Spottiswoode: Perhaps you have played a few soulful songs and a few songs about past relationships. Perhaps that combined with the weather and the lighting etc. has taken you to a raw and melancholy place. At which point someone requests a funny song or an angry song. On a particular night, that song may be the perfect prescription for you to snap out of where you are and take the show to the next place. But on another night, it just feels wrong and dishonest and abrupt. Not to the audience, I understand. But to the artist as an individual with his or her own tired bag of emotions and memories. Each song in a set is an antidote to the song that came before. The wrong combination and you can poison yourself.
LBSH.com: That's quite deep.
Spottiswoode: Call me a low budget drama queen.