| Industrial rock legends
Martin Atkins and Chris Connelly hook up to write The Damage Manual
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| Chris Connelly records his Damage Manual vox (pic taken from the One EP's multimedia package). |
Lucky doesn't
begin to cover it. The quartet will be deep in one another's business
for the next few months, as the Damage Manual embark on a worldwide
tour to promote their EP, One, and forthcoming full-length
album (due out in early June). Connelly isn't worried, however --
not about working with Wobble or, for that matter, Atkins (an old
touring buddy) and Walker, despite a history of past tensions and
years of on-the-road infamy. The chemistry of these four musicians
at this juncture in time is too good not to experiment with on the
road.
"I think
that us playing together is the basis of all the chemistry that
there is," Connelly says, enthusiastically. "We've only actually
played together once, the four of us. And actually, it felt great
to me. I think it felt good for everyone else. I think that we'll
be able to do this live really well. And yeah, we're going to
be living out of each other's pockets for a long while. I get
along well with most people, and I tend to have my head elsewhere
anyway."
The going
will be made easier by a hard-won degree of experience and maturity
on the part of all four members, at least two of whom -- Atkins
and Connelly -- have had their fair share of wild road experiences.
Sine 1990, Atkins has headed up the monstrously large industrial
ensemble Pigface (which sprang out of the lineup for the 1989-1990
Ministry tour), dealing with the logistical and financial nightmares
of arranging for unrehearsed performances by hundreds of musicians
spread out across America and Europe. Meanwhile, Connelly has
toured with two of the most rowdy, aggressive and downright nasty
groups in pop music: Ministry and the Revolting Cocks, both legendary
for their road-trip excesses.
But Connelly,
now a bit older than when he started performing alongside Big
Al and company, is convinced that the road of excess has led maybe
not to a palace of wisdom but at least to a place where
the music matters more than the after-show (or pre-show) parties.
"We're all
ancient now," he deadpans. "I think that has a lot to do with
it. As far as touring goes, I first started to tour when I was
a kid -- 21 or 22 -- and touring to me at that time was, yes,
playing the rock show and enjoying all the fruits of the road
afterward. And now, you know, I'm different. I'm way more excited
about the music and way more focused on the kind of thing. And
I can speak for everyone else in that respect."
Atkins agrees,
adding his own interpretation of the group's chemistry.
"
It feels to me like 1976, with the punk-rock revolution in
England. Everyone started their own record labels and fucked
the majors. It was fantastic creative freedom.
"
- Martin Atkins |
|
"One
of the things you should know is, I stopped drinking seven years
ago. And that's part of my journey and part of my struggle. That's
not a struggle for Geordie," he laughs, explaining away some of
the tension that has existed between him and his former Killing
Joke and Murder Inc. band mate. "He likes to drink, and sometimes
it's difficult for me to be around people who are drinking heavily.
But I think that I'm at a different point now. It seems that every
day that goes by, I'm at a different point in my life. And I don't
want to sound like someone from AA -- because I don't go to AA --
but it's different for me this year because I'm seven years sober,
and I'm learning things about myself and how I go about things that
I couldn't have learned five years sober. So I'm on my little journey,
and Geordie's on his, and I'm happy that we are communicating, verbally
and musically.
"And, you
know, Geordie and I have had our moments. Like, 'OK, motherfucker,
let's go!' And I think that's one of the things that makes this
interesting -- because, we don't know where the energy is ultimately
going or coming from. But there's definitely more energy at work
between the four of us than between any four individuals that
I've been around in a long time. And energy isn't always nice;
it's not always productive. But I don't think it would be interesting
if the four of us were all neat and tidy and punctual and had
the utmost respect for everybody and everything. There are frictions
within the four of us, and I think it's healthy, and it's part
of the reason that this is interesting to me and to everybody
else."
The subject
of energy, comfortable and un-, brings up the topic of the Internet
and online music distribution, both of which leave Atkins extraordinarily
enthusiastic but wary.
"I think
that a lot of the industry view the Web as like the 'get out of
jail free' card. You stick something on the Web, and then people
will say, 'Look! I made your record available to the whole world!'
And really, I think you've got to look at the Web as part of the
world. And the Web is a very useful tool to promote gigs. Like,
for instance, we've got some people -- an Australian company --
that's going to film the last day of rehearsals and the first
few gigs in England and broadcast some stuff over the Web. Well,
that's great -- people across America can see what we're up to
-- but the more you sit down and surf, the less likely you are
to get up and go out. So it's a battle at the moment, I think,
between keeping the record stores alive -- because they're important
hubs of information -- and working with the Web.
"I mean,
I would hate to see gigs disappear because, otherwise, how are
people going to get shagged? And if people are not going out a
getting shagged, then they're not going out and buying interesting
outfits. So then a lot of the motivation and the confrontation
of difference becomes watered down and elusive, instead of confrontational
and invasive and stimulating. But having said that, as a record
label, I don't think it's fair to say, 'Oh, my God! I've lost
a hundred sales because of blah blah blah!' I mean, really, it's
stealing -- maybe it will be controlled maybe it won't be. If
it continues, then there just won't be any more bands. There won't
be any more gigs, and the industry will collapse, and it will
all be Internet based and great.
 |
| Martin Atkins at his drum kit, laying down beats for the Damage Manual. |
"The Web offers
an opportunity for all of the artists on Invisible [Records] to
be available to someone in Coral Gables, Florida, or the middle
of Wyoming. I mean, as a small record label, you can imagine how
frustrating it is to find this record store in Wyoming, and you
shipped them 10 copies of the album I did with Ogre [1998's Bedside
Toxicology, performed under the moniker Ritalin] and five copies
of something else, and they don't sell. Meanwhile, the store in
Miami has sold out, and kids are going in there asking, 'Have you
got the new Ritalin album with Martin and Ogre?' And [the salespeople
have to say], 'No. We're out of stock.' Meanwhile, there's a record
store in Wyoming that's got too much stock. So I think that there
are obviously massive, massive benefits to it.
"But I think
that a lot of very small bands view the Web as their "get out
of jail free" card too. Like, 'We don't have to deal with any
labels, we don't have to deal with putting up posters, we just
have to have a Web site.' But the problem with having a Web site
is that there are so many Web sites, you need to do the equivalent
of putting up posters, advertising in the local press. You've
got to do events to attract attention, otherwise you won't be
seen on the Web. If the entire world moves onto the Web, then
everything that's true of the world will be true of the Web --
which is, you've got to jump up and down and set fire to yourself
to even get a moment's worth of attention.
"So I think
it's an interesting few years. It feels to me like 1976, with
the punk-rock revolution in England. Everyone started their own
record labels and fucked the majors. It was fantastic creative
freedom. And I've got to say, it feels a lot like that for me
now. The creative freedom of the studio, the vibe of the Damage
Manual, the freedom of having my own label which -- you know,
there's 160 CDs out on Invisible; it's not like I just started
the label yesterday and I'm hoping to save up and get a fax machine.
The machinery exists, and it feels to me, with everything that's
gone on with the Web as well, that it's 'Anarchy in the U.K.'
all over again."
Connelly,
distilling the argument about as well as any musician, journalist
or record executive, acknowledges both sides of the online music
coin.
"To be honest
with you, if someone wants to hear my music, I'm really thrilled.
I'm really flattered if they take the time to do that. And I think
that, speaking for a lot of bands who, perhaps, don't have the
means to release records -- and I know a lot of people like that,
who are just really happy that people want to hear them -- and
for whom, perhaps, that will lead to something greater, fantastic.
I'm glad that that stuff is up there. However -- brass tacks here
-- this is my living, and I'd be really pissed off if it was being
exploited.
"I'm a bit
scared that music's going to become too -- well, it's already
a commodity, but to go a step forward, where it's almost completely
disposable. I mean, I think people don't really realize that when
you go into the studio to do something, it's always a labor of
love. I never really make money off my records. I scrape by. But
I do it for a specific reason, and I work very, very hard at it.
And I'd hate to see this being treated like a candy wrapper and
just being looked at and thrown away. Like, you see these postcards
that people give away for free. And they're there one minute and
probably in the garbage the next minute.
"I'm not
saying that art has to be treated with reverence, because I think
that you shouldn't put your art on a pedestal. I think that's
a very dangerous thing to do. But I do think it should be treated
with respect. And I think that I speak not just for music but
for painting and literature. It would be very sad to see it all
falling in on itself and having what we consider valuable artists
of our time stopping doing what they're doing or maybe just doing
it and not letting anyone else be a part of that. That would be
really sad."
For now,
however, Connelly and Atkins remain determined to share their
creative output with whoever shows up to see them play. But beyond
the release of the full-length album and the world tour, neither
offer up any hints that the project will continue. In the fall,
Connelly will reconvene Revolting Cocks with Jourgensen and Barker
("They're reconvening in my house at the moment," he informs me
with a chuckle). Atkins will go back to running Invisible and,
if the past is indeed prologue, jump into more projects as soon
as he can.
"I think
that we're taking it one step at a time, but it feels really comfortable,
even though some of the mechanics are difficult," Atkins says
of the Damage Manual's possible future. "Like, what am I gonna
do? Start another band? Who's gonna play guitar? Who's gonna play
bass? Who's gonna sing? Of course, there are lots of options for
everybody, but I think we're interested in exploring this. And
just like you can only investigate the seventh year of being sober
after you've been sober for six years, we can only make the second
album after we make the first one. I'm very interested to see
where this goes."
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