Music

"A Fanatical Fan with Fanatical Opinions": An Interview with Jim DeRogatis

Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot

Noted pop music critic Jim DeRogatis discusses much with PopMatters, including getting into fights with Wayne Coyne, why Lou Reed is frustrating to talk to, and why Lollapalooza is Wal-Mart ...


The Velvet Underground: An Illustrated History of a Walk on the Wild Side

Publisher: MBI Publishing
Author: Jim DeRogatis
Publication Date: 2009-09
Amazon

Remember that scene in Almost Famous where the young journalist William Miller has lunch with the cynical and jaded rock critic Lester Bangs, played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman? My lunch with legendarily outspoken author and resident Chicago Sun-Times' pop music critic Jim DeRogatis feels something like that. OK, so I'm not a bright eyed teenager and DeRogatis (or "DeRo") is much more optimistic and less surly than Bangs. But look at the similarities: DeRogatis grew up idolizing Bangs, and although DeRo and I find ourselves at the tail end of the 2000s instead of the mid-'70s, both time periods are (and were) defining moments. As technology and the blogosphere are changing the way music and journalism is delivered, the Almost Famous duo were staring at the advent of arena rock and a golden age of journalism that was coming to an end. As print media writhes in its death throes, it's a scary time to be a journalist, and even a crafty vet like DeRo doesn't know the answers.

DeRo suggested we meet at Wishbone, a Southern, soul food institution on Chicago's North Side. With its noisy clatter and down home cooking, he considers this his second office. DeRo's a big guy, wider than tall, and his appetites seem less than healthy (he orders a double burger and seems constantly on the verge of a cigarette break). He is the author of numerous books, including Staring at Sound: The True Story of Oklahoma's Fabulous Flaming Lips. Along with Chicago Tribune rock critic and hetero life-mate Greg Kot, DeRo hosts the venerable radio show Sound Opinions, billed as "the world's only rock and roll talk show", causing me to wonder if DeRo might be reluctant to engage, a bit "talked out" as it were on the subject of music and journalism.

As the man who has made notorious enemies of Ryan Adams for a negative live review and who was fired from Rolling Stone magazine for refusing to change a scathing review of Hootie & the Blowfish, I figure DeRo might possess some of the arrogance and venom of his idol, Lester Bangs. However, the man is charming and affable, and an hour and a half later, I realize that I'm going to have one hell of an interview to transcribe. Initially, our sit-down was to talk about DeRo's involvement in the recent release of an illustrated history on one of his favorite bands, The Velvet Underground. My meal has been forgotten, and I feel like I've been talking with a friend about music, obsessions and writing. In the end, the fateful similarity of our Almost Famous lunch remains timeless: there will always be fanatical fans with fanatical opinions to inflict on people, but only the truly driven and talented will rise to the top. Call me a romantic, but I like to think that honest expression and passion will lead the music and journalism industries on to the next plane of their existence, and like DeRo says, if you don't think that the next great band is jamming right now in some garage in the suburbs, then it's time you got out.

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Tell me about The Velvet Underground: A Walk on the Wild Side. How did the project come to you?

The idea originated with Voyager, a publisher in Minneapolis. They've been doing a series of coffee table art books on classic rock bands. They did something on Zeppelin and I had written an essay for that book on Houses of the Holy, and Greg had done something on the first album. Their idea was that they were doing these really cool art books, and one critic would write a central essay of the main historical relevance of the band, and then critics would also write about one album. So after the Zeppelin book they called up and said, "We have access to a lot of Velvet art that either hasn't been seen or has been seen very seldom, so we're going to put it all in a really nice art book, do you want to write the 10,000 word connective tissue essay?" I said sure, it's like if someone calls you up and says "I've got a truckload of these Christmas presents ... do you want them?"

So the book exists for the art, and I think the designer and the editor really should have their name on the cover instead of me. So they asked me for the essay and if I could recruit some writers who might be interested. Glenn Kenney was primarily a film critic, I knew him from my early days as a fanzine writer in New Jersey, and I thought it'd be interesting to have that film aspect from somebody, and Bill Bentley's interview with Sterling Morrison that had hardly been seen by anyone, so it was fun to do that. What I wanted to do was what you would basically get in a CD box set, which is a nice history of the band but without the hagiography of The Velvets as Gods on a mountaintop.

Was it daunting coming up with a fresh angle to approach to the Velvet history?

I think there was a lot of that, especially when I read the liner notes that David Fricke did for the Velvets singles box set. In a lot of books written on the Velvets history, you have people presenting themselves in their own best light. What I wanted to do was synthesize everything I've written about the Velvets and try and put a context to the pictures. I don't know if someone said, "I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars if you do a Velvets biography" that I'd do it. I don't know if I'd want to do that because (A) Sterling Morrison and Nico are dead and (B) Lou Reed is very, very difficult to interview and is not really interested in telling the truth about Lou Reed. John Cale wrote a fine autobiography which is a great book to start with when you're dealing with the Velvets. So, I don't know if a really definitive bio on the Velvets can be written at this point, and certainly what you'd have to do to get any of the players to cooperate would be pretty difficult.

I've interviewed Lou a number of times and he's a very difficult interview. If things had been slightly different he would have been a Borscht belt comedian in the Catskills, so part of it is he's built up this reputation as being a sonofabitch, and so he sits there blowing foul smelling Cuban cigar smoke in your face, and has no compulsion against saying "That's the single stupidest question I've ever been asked ... next." So, life is short, you know? I also think there's a lot that Lou just isn't interested in illuminating in his own life. For example, his pioneering role in breaking down gender boundaries. Lou lived for several years, was clearly in love with and wrote some parts of two or three albums about a man who had become a woman. Yet, that's completely erased from his history. Lou Reed isn't interested in telling truths about Lou Reed.

What would be your dream book project?

I really don't know. You have to spend so much time living with the subject of a biography just in terms of mental space, that I don't know if there's anyone else that I'd really be interested in writing a biography of at this point.

Something on Wire or the Feelies?

Yeah, I don't know if there's overwhelming demand in the world for either of those books. I've certainly written enough about both of those bands. I've been toying with the idea for a long time about writing a more personal book essentially about why people make music, dealing with all the garage bands I've played in since I was 13, none of which were important or went anywhere but that wasn't the point. It's basically why you can play a 25-minute set at CBGB's on a Tuesday night in February to six people, including the soundman, and that's the best half hour of your life. Why people play in garage bands... that's what I want to explore.

Has playing live always been a passion for you?

When I was 17 and interviewed Lester Bangs as a kid in high school he said "I'm a fanatical fan with fanatical opinions to inflict on people" and you know, I've always felt the same way. I've played records on the radio and collected them obsessively and written about them and played in bands. To me, it was part of the same impulse of loving this music. People say critics are frustrated musicians. I've never been a frustrated musician. I've always made music under the terms I want and I know what the indie rock drill is. It's being away for four months and sleeping on the floor every night, which is not something that I want to do. It's fun in small doses, but I don't have any delusions of grandeur.

How do you feel about the brave new world of technology? Are you going to miss the smell of newsprint or holding an actual magazine when those mediums die off?

It seems irrelevant to me how my journalism and criticism is delivered. I have as little to do with the means of distribution as I do with the paperboy who drops the dead tree media of the Chicago Sun Times on my porch. If you want to listen to me on a podcast or listen to me on terrestrial radio or read me in the blog or on paper, if you want to stick a USB port into something and the other goes into your head and you want to download whatever I was trying to communicate, the heart of it still to me is delivering good journalism and criticism, and the fundamentals of that have not changed.

There's a proliferation of opinion on the web, but the quality of criticism you get from something like PopMatters is something different from scanning Rotten Tomatoes. There will be a hundred people posting their thoughts about Shutter Island and maybe one or two of them are worth reading. Even with the Sound Opinions radio show, if we weren't writing and covering this beat as journalists and critics, I don't think we'd be nearly as good talking about it. Obviously when we say "The world's only rock and roll talk show," it's in the same spirit of Creem being the world's only rock and roll magazine or the Rolling Stones being the world's only rock and roll band. There are others, but I don't think anybody else is doing it as well. Why are we any good, if we are? It's because we're writers first and foremost.

It's also the dynamic between you and Greg Kot.

There was a reason it wasn't "Siskel & Jones" or "Ebert & Smith". If there were two people as hyperbolic or revved up as me, or two people as laid back as Kot, it probably wouldn't be as interesting. Or it would be too much.

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Joining Salim Shaheen, the most popular and prolific actor-director-producer in Afghanistan on his 111th no budget feature, Kronlund documents the week-long shoot and the events surrounding it. She crafts an insight into a larger than life persona, yet amidst the comedy and theatricality of Shaheen and his troupe of collaborators, she uncovers the heavier tones of the everyday reality of war and patriarchal oppression. If The Prince of Nothingwood will popularly be remembered for celebrating the creative spirit of its star, it is equally an important communication on Afghanistan, it's culture and its people. Alongside the awareness of the country cultivated by mainstream media news outlets, Kronlund's film offers an insight into a country that can humanise the prejudice and xenophobic tendencies of a western perspective towards Afghanistan.

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Why filmmaking as a means of expression? Was there an inspirational or defining moment?

Not really, no. I have always done documentary. I used to write scripts and TV series but I only make documentaries myself for radio and television. For this story, I figured out after a while that it deserved a bigger ambition and a bigger screen and that's why I don't very much believe in inspiration. To be honest, I made this film because I had to do something. I didn't have a big project where I thought: I want to make this. I went there and I found a little money and at the end the ambition and the inspiration came along the way. But there was not an urgent necessity to make this film. It fits with a lot of things that I'm interested in, like popular culture -- What does art stand for and why do we go to the cinema? What is the purpose? This is a question I'm interested in, but inspiration, not so much.

Has The Prince of Nothingwood provided you with the answers to those questions?

It has, and I hope it helps people to think about this question. It tells you that there is an urgent need to make images, to make films, even during war,and even if you don't have the money. And even if the films are not very good, they will find somebody who will like them. So something is going to happen, and I think that's very touching. I don't like Shaheen's films, I hardly watched them -- I paid somebody to watch them. But I'm very moved by all these people that do like his films, and it makes you think about the value of art and the purpose of why we make cinema. I used to study aesthetics in London, so it was one of the questions I had and while the film is lighter than this, that's what was in mind.

The film uses Shaheen as a doorway, beginning as a story about one man which becomes a story about Afghanistan, its people and culture.

Yeah, but it's not so much about Afghanistan and it's not my purpose is to say things about the country. There's one guy like him in Iran who makes cowboy movies in the Iranian desert and there's also a guy like that in Tunisia. I mean you have this person with an urgent need to film whatever they have under their hand and since it's war, then it tells you something about the war. But it's not so much interested in him.

There was a lot of editing, 148 hours that you haven't seen [laughs]. Making a documentary is really telling a story and I don't have any idea of objectivity -- it is my point of view on Shaheen. Some people say to me that they would like to show his films, that they really want to see his films, and I say: "You don't see how much I have edited. I show you the very nice parts of his films." People think he's a great filmmaker and that's the story I wanted to tell -- but I could have told another story.

To my mind, objectivity is a human construct, a falsity that does not exist.

Except mathematics maybe, and sometimes physics.

The purist opinion of documentary as objective is therein built on a faulty premise. From the subjective choices of the filmmakers that bleed into the film to the subjectivity of the subjects, it's not purely objective. Hence, it calls into question the traditional dividing line of the objectivity of documentary and the subjectivity of narrative fiction.

Totally! It's the editing, and why you chose this guy, how you film it and what you show, or what you don't show. It's not only subjectivity, it's storytelling. Not many people ask me about this, they take it for granted that it's the real Shaheen. But I'm not lying, I'm not saying things that aren't true, but I am telling a story, a fictional story out of what I filmed. I took scenes that happened one day and I put them with another story that happened three months later and that's why we had seven months of editing with three editors. So it was a lot of work.

One of the striking aspects of the film are the light and comedic moments offset by a darker and heavier sensibility, which include moments when, for example, Shaheen talks about arranged marriages.

We made 70rough cuts and there was one version we tested and you couldn't believe you were in Afghanistan. People would say: "Oh this is too funny. You don't see Afghanistan, it's just a bunch of crazy guys." I then said: "Let's put in a little more darkness." You then have to strike a balance and to me, if it's not perfect, I'm happy.

Shooting the film in a dangerous and volatile part of the world, was the approach that once you had enough footage you then looked to shaping the film in the edit?

It's not when you feel you have enough, it's finding a balance between security and artistic concerns. That's it. You have a plan and you have an agenda. There are things you want to do, but it has to be balanced with security concerns. The real story I was going to tell about Shaheen I found in the editing room and in the end, I only kept five days of the shoot. The whole film takes place in Bamyan (Province), nothing in Kabul, although I had weeks and weeks of footage there that I had to take away.

There's a moment when Shaheen asks if you are scared, which sees him verbalise our silent recognition of your boldness and courage to bring this story to the screen.

It's very difficult and it's not like you are walking in the street and there's a bomb. This is not what's difficult. The difficulty is to cope with your fear and to have rules and to follow or to not follow those rules. There are many foreign people that never go out at all in Kabul -- it is forbidden. You have British diplomats who do not even drive their car from the airport to the embassy -- they will take an helicopter that costs £2,000 each way. Then you have foreign people who walk in the street without a scarf -- these girls get kidnapped.

In between these you have Shaheen, who is telling me all the time that I'm too scared, because it's a man's value to be brave and he's a brave guy, there's no question about that. He was in an attack two weeks ago. There was a bomb in a Shia Mosque and he helped to carry out the bodies. So there's no kidding about the fact that he's a brave guy and he has to be because he's been fighting to make his films. But you are in the middle of this and I'm not a brave person at all and I don't think being brave is a very important question. It is, but I'm not brave, I'm very scared and so in the middle of all of this stress it's enough just to manage to not go crazy, or to not drink too much [laughs].

Salim Shaheen and Sonia Kronlund (courtesy of Pyramide Films)

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