Pulse December 24, 1997
Locally speaking, 1997 is already being remembered by many people as the
year that rock 'n' roll up and disappeared. In particular,
the loss of REV 105 is still being felt, the clubs are struggling, and
the glow of older days has been reduced to the hope that somebody will
step up to the plate in '98 and again deliver us the blast of soul power
we're so sorely lacking.
Up steps Run Westy Run; thankfully one of a few choice local rock bands
still keeping the faith and helping us to do the same. They've been keeping
it going one way or the other for over 11 years (the only other Minneapolis
bands going comparatively as long are the Cows, Soul Asylum and the Jayhawks).
Since the release of 1994's Cockroach Park EP, the band is still hypnotizing
a highly appreciative legion of loyal, enthusiastic fans who remain enthralled
by the madness of the band's powerful theatrics and rocking live shows.
But how can Minneapolis rock truly be itself when one of its brightest
and craziest bands hasn't released a disc since 1994 (and paid for it themselves)?
The group hopes to change all of that soon, and they've been working
harder than ever. They've recently recorded a slew of songs in their
practice space and are shopping tapes around the country.
" We've been recording in our rehearsal space, and we've got a lot
of stuff that we could choose from," says lead singer Kirk Johnson.
"We could putt together a great record, we just have to find someone who'll
put it out 'cause there's a lot of stuff there ... For '98, what Run Westy
Run's focus has to be is to record. It's been way too long and with
what we've got now we could set it up where it would be more meditated
through and then we could just go and do it."
"We know we can make a killer record for cheap," says drummer Bobby
J - "You know, fuck this $125,000 shit. If somebody wants to send
us 125-grand for a first record, fine, we'll take it..."
Despite the lengthy amount of time without a disc, Run Westy Run (Kirk
and his brother, guitarist Kraig Johnson, guitarist Terry Fisher, bassist
Tom Merkl and Bobby on drums) continues to persevere even though it's often
been speculated that they were fated for a break-up sooner or later.
If you ask the Westies why they keep on keepin' on, they'd probably
respond, "Why not?" As Kraig says, "It's always there and it's fun.
It's rock and roll. It's always a pleasure to be doing it ... It's
worth it to keep going because it's really great playing with [these] guys."
"I guess we've run the whole full circle of emotions and attitudes
towards it all," says Fisher. "From starting out feeling like we
had the world in front of us and ready for the taking, to falling flat
on our face in '93 or so, to now [where we're] just taking it day by day
and enjoying it. It's going on eleven years now, which is unbelievable.
It's a long time. A lot of bands have come and gone since then and
we're still hanging in there."
"We never even thought of breaking up," adds Kraig. "It's never
even entered our minds."
In the last few years the band members have also become involved in
other projects, which takes the pressure off of Run Westy Run's shoulders.
Bobby J. is in the reformed Sheepherders with Dale Nelson, Paul Ostby,
Ryan Timm and Michelle Boldt. Kirk's latest bag is the keyboard and
low end-driven funk-rock of SoSo (also featuring Westy bassist Tom Merkl
along non-Westies drummer/main keyboardist Dave Pederson and guitarist
Carsten Pence), who started up last April. December 16th's SoSo show was
an awe-inspiring blend of low-key early 70's soul, Stones/Stooges/Doors-influenced
songs, and a '90s electronic edge (Merkl does the programming) with the
undeniable cool sounds of a vintage keyboard.
Kraig's increased workload is the most well-documented. He was
the catalyst for the newest incarnation of mostly-local supergroup Golden
Smog. Late last year he stepped into the Jayhawks with ex-Geraldine
Fibbers' violinist Jessy Greene. Kraig added a fourth project to
his packed calendar when he and Jessy recently formed the O'Jeez with Soul
Asylum's Dave Pimer (on drums, no less).
To tangle the artistic web even further, Greene has recently played
a little with the Westies and her talents suit the band's continually-evolving
sound perfectly.
Greene has also played with the band during their last few shows, which
leads one to naturally wonder, if this next record really does happen,
will Greene be playing on it? "If she is available, that'd be cool,"
says Kirk. "She's been playing on a lot of the stuff, so hopefully
she'd be able to come in and play some of the songs."
It's a Thursday night in September in the kitchen of Kirk and Kraig's
Uptown home before a Jayhawks gig at First Avenue, where Kraig comments
on just how hectic things are. "It's funny. I was playing with
Jessy Wednesday, the Jayhawks tonight, and Run Westy Run on Monday, so
I kind of got mixed up for a split second when I was doing sound check
with the Jayhawks earlier today. Gary [Louris] was looking at me real funny.
But I do sound check and practice and then it comes back to me just like
that. It just takes a few extra seconds sometimes."
"I thought we were gonna lose Kraig to Jayhawks forever," says Bobby
J., "But that was never even an issue. I'd talk to Kraig and he'd
say 'I'm in this band!' [Run Westy Run]. Probably if it wasn't for
Kraig doing all of these other side things, people wouldn't know we existed
outside of this town ... So-So will probably also generate more interest
in the Westies."
In the late '80S it looked as if Run Westy Run would enjoy a national
buzz equal to that of The Replacements, Husker Du and Soul Asylum, when
labels across the country were signing bands Simply on the basis of their
Minneapolis address. The Westies seemed to forever live on the cusp of
a break-through, which began when they hooked up with Greg Ginn's SST Records
(home to such indie stalwarts as Husker Du, Black Flag, The Minutemen,
Dinosaur jr. and the Meat Puppets). The label released the band's
debut Hardly Not Even, and its self-titled follow-up, both in 1988.
"SST, those were great times says Kirk. "There were never any bad
feelings with SST. Greg Ginn's a great guy and we met a lot of cool
people."
With SST on the verge of bankruptcy, the Westies stepped over to Twin/Tone
to record Green Cat Island, produced by R.E.M.'s Peter Buck, who also co-produced
Hardly Not Even with Grant Hart. Buck was officially sold on the
band after going out to the 400 Bar with Hart and seeing the Westies play
"Mop It Up." Like the band's previous albums, Green Cat Island is brimming
with a myriad of sonic styles, most prominently the dirty guitar sound
and funked-up monsterjams (read: "Could Ya Would Ya") that the band is
known for, along with lilting, softer numbers like "Kiss the Night" and
"Cardinal Drive."
In 1991 the Westies were primed to sign with A & M, but the deal
fell through after the A & M employee who arranged it left the company.
Kirk explains; "What happened there was, we were supposed to do a full
length album, but it just didn't materialize. No contract was even
signed."
"It was strange from the get-go, I don't think it was meant to be,"
says Fisher. "We had an album all recorded and we were in the process
of laying out artwork for it and it had a release date and everything.
It was supposed . to come out at the same time as Soundgarden's [Superunknown]
record. They called [former Westies' manager] Gwen Mullen with the
news and she told us. Atlantic was gettin' close to offering us afterwards
and one guy from there said, 'O.K. I'll sign you guys' and then he bowed
out because he was having personal problems in his life and [had to focus
on that instead of the record business]."
"'My attitude about the music business," says Kirk, "is that it's business."
"Our version of a board meeting is at the hood of a car," says Merkl.
The Westies make a clear delineation between past, present and future.
After having dealt with these unsavory music industry realities and a few
difficult personnel changes, the band is excited about the future and treating
it more casually and comfortably than they have in the past.
A healthy step was made by the group in 1994 when Bobby J. rejoined
the band to finish out the other half of Cockroach Park (Bobby played on
the first two albums before taking a hiatus). The disc was banged
out in just a few days at Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls, Minnesota,
and the seven-song tour de force starts with Pachyderm engineer Brent Sigmeth
rapping on a door and saying, "Dude. It's dude. Is dude there?"
Dude certainly is. Cockroach Park seems to be the consensus sentimental
favorite of fans around town.
From the moment "Tell Everybody" kicks in, with Kirk's maniacally out
of control wailing and yelling over a mix of bootstomping muddy guitar
grooves, to the moment the sucker ends with the shout-out title track,
it's a stunning collection that only gets better with age. "Hitch
'em Tall" contains my favorite bit of Kirk Johnson philosophy: "The whole
world sucks till you learn to love it." On the swaggering "Dungarees,"
he throws in a little hometown pride..."Also found a worn-out matchbook,
number area code 612," and he and Kraig overlay spoken word-styled street
poetry on top of the relaxed and happy "Cool Beans." "The Ladder" and "Take
Me" are the songs that best capture the spooky, spiritual vibe of their
sound ("Way up here it's easy to brood/ Winter nights got me Howlin' Wolf/
The wind blows cruel across my face/ Sometimes I wish you in my place ...
So give me more of the mystery/ And gimme something that shines within/
You are the one who sends me up ... ).
Poetic stuff for a man of few and carefully chosen words in person.
So the question begs to be asked; "Kirk, you are a very soft-spoken person,
but you're one bad-ass motherfucker on stage. What's up with that?"
"You're on stage, you know," he responds. "It's a totally different
atmosphere. You know, it's not like I'm, sitting talking to those
people. I'm in front of 'em, up there... for somebody who's like
a shy person, in a way it seems kind of weird to get up in front of people
but it's like a totally different exchange. We're communicating,
but it's a different communication. It's performing because you can
exaggerate things. That's the fun thing about performing is that
you can just go off.
"I used to be totally terrified, but now I'm learning how to relax
more and more, and it allows me to do more things. When you're relaxed,
you're more open. There's bands that really I like to perform and
others that wanna play their songs. Like the performing thing is
not everyone's bag, y'know .. I just like to go back and forth and mix
it up, I like doing both."
"Think Kirk was beamed up?" asks Bobby J. "I think him and Prince are
both not of this planet ... [they're] saints of sorts, or angels of sorts."
.
On stage, Run Westy Run brings home everything that makes rock 'n'
roll its irresistible self: rhythm, rhyme, loudness, danger, eroticism,
darkness and festivity.
During the band's recent Halloween show at the 400 Bar, Kraig went
into the following monologue: "This one guy that looks like a professional
wrestler out there ... the dark face of death. Somebody else might
have that same face ... you know the cobweb kind of thing was a good idea
for about five seconds, O.K.? Let's go with it..." this kind of say-whatever-comes-to-mind
verbal digression is the essence of the Westies' overall reckless modus
operandi. Seconds later, Greene slips into a slow, melancholy fiddle
melody as Kirk (in vampirish make-up) wails in a mournful, theatrical cabaret
style, "We were dancing and singing and laughing ... the niiiight away!"
That Jessy's little tune," says Kirk, "and [before we went on stage]she
just goes, 'Sing whatever you wanna sing on it,' so I just kind of improvised.
We just kinda winged it."
A night of Run Westy Run is a party night. You could say the freaks
come out. The voodoo comes down. The beer flows. Minneapolis
clubgoers can still count on it after all these years.
"It's strange you know that we haven't cashed in our chips," says Fisher,
"but at the same time there's no reason to hang it up. There's no
need to. We still get together and inspiration's still there to write
songs and whatnot. It takes a lot of pressure off. It feels
like the pressure to push and succeed is way off. I mean, yes it'd
be great to make a living at it, but now we just have fun with it and loosen
up [regardless of what else is happening]."
In 1998 we'll find out if anybody else discovers what a bunch of rabid
fans already know. That Minneapolis is still a place where a true
goldmine of a rock band exists. It seems ridiculous now to expect
Run Westy Run to finally jump off the cusp, but at least we might actually
get some new shit from these guys to play on our stereos next spring and
summer. "I think there's a huge possibility that it'll be done in
'98," says Kraig. We shall see...
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