Читать книгу The Jesus Lizard Book - The Jesus Lizard - Страница 20

Okay, so this is a rather multilayered story for me, most of which I don’t want to tell, some of which I can’t tell (and to be honest, you probably don’t want to hear it from me, at least in my roles of longtime friend, wife, mother of the Denison heir, etc.). But there may be a thing or two that those amongst you who are real aficionados of the history of this band might want to hear regarding my role as the one and only . . . band lawyer.

I’ve known Mac McNeilly since 1986, kind of ironic since at the time he was in a band called 86. I met David Sims and David Yow around the same time, when they were in Scratch Acid. It was my first night booking a club in Raleigh, North Carolina, called the Fallout Shelter. I had not booked the Scratch Acid show, but had been told it would be a breeze. I had not been told, nor had David Wm. Sims, that at least two or three local bands had been added to the bill, which pushed the set time back and the money down. For anyone who knows David Sims, you know that this kind of thing can lead to results of epic proportions. I can still remember myself standing at the bottom of the club stairs saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry,” and David towering above me with steam shooting out of his ears and his chest rising and falling in what can only be described as diabolical fury. I don’t remember him saying a single word. I was nineteen years old.

Fast-forward to 1989. I skip out of a Broadway performance of Les Miserables to go to the Pyramid Club to see my friend Mac McNeilly in the band he’s just joined, the Jesus Lizard. I remember few things about that night (it was a long time ago). The Jesus Lizard did something onstage that I didn’t understand but was enthralled with from the first moment. I don’t know what it was, but it meant something. This feeling was probably enhanced by the fact that I was off to the side of the stage and so never got a Yow boot in the face or beer on the head, or bonked with a microphone, or any of those other things he allegedly did later on. Duane would like to say that we met at CBGB, but that was a few months later. That night had charms of its own—I saw Steve Albini in his boxer shorts (that qualified as a juicy celebrity sighting at the time) and I saw the grossest club bathrooms I have ever experienced in my life—and again, another electrifying and yet mystifying Jesus Lizard performance . . . with more fans this time. It would be that way (bigger and bigger) for years to come. Boys liked it and girls liked it . . . that was a little different for the time. It was powerful and part of it was rock solid while another part seemed to be out of control and it was undeniably sexy. And we all knew that was something we weren’t seeing a lot of in those days. You could just get lost in it, no mind-altering chemicals required.

Fast-forward again to 1995. I was done with law school, and working part-time at an entertainment litigation boutique. The time had come. Grunge was getting big. The record labels were in a feeding frenzy for indie label bands. I don’t think we went looking for it; it came looking for us, and it was aggressive. Sitting at the band’s metaphorical table were me and Boche (their booking agent and manager). Sitting across the table was Interscope’s Tom Whalley and Capitol’s Gary Gersh and Dave Ayers. This was my second record deal ever. All of the usual preliminary moves were made . . . the expensive steak dinners, the hanging out on the weekends, the visit to Jimmy Iovine’s house, and Gary Gersh’s house, and the going to shows, the trips here and there, the invitations to sit in on marketing meetings (why were they always so early in the morning, and so loud—well, I guess I just answered my own question there, but that’s what I remember—deafening volume at nine a.m.). Then the negotiating began. I think Gary Gersh had it sewn up before the whole thing started, really—after all, he had signed Nirvana. How could anyone top that at the time? But Tom Whalley had some really strong rock acts at Interscope (Helmet, Rage Against the Machine), and they were succeeding, and they weren’t radio bands. That was very enticing for someone who knew this wasn’t a radio band. The stakes grew higher . . . an “executive key-man clause” was twisted out of Capitol for Gary Gersh; the deal was very front-loaded on cash. The decision was made to go with Capitol. Interscope offered to throw hundreds of thousands of extra dollars on the pile. The band still leaned toward Capitol.

I finally got calls from Capitol and Interscope asking what I personally wanted out of this. Well, I wanted a new job, at a transactional law boutique. Lo and behold, I had interviews set up at two of the hottest rock practices in town within forty-eight hours. Finally, definitively, we went with Capitol. It’s funny how reasonable the deal looks in retrospect, but it was big (though not huge) for the time and had lots of bells and whistles. That’s what I’ve always been about—bells and whistles. The stuff that lets the artist maintain control, or get back master recordings, or do outside projects, etc. Most importantly, this deal was not just a cash-out for the sake of getting rich or an attempt to be big corporate rock stars, but a reaction to a premonition we all had that this indie band thing couldn’t last forever, and it was time to put some money in the bank against a rainy day. Along with the record deal came a very nice-sized publishing deal with Warner/Chappell.

Looking back on it, was the major label gambit a pleasant experience? No. Was it a successful experience? Depends on how you look at it. Not many will argue that the band made their best records for Capitol, though I would say there was a lot of underrated material on them. Of course Goat is the masterwork, but do you know what I find myself humming more than anything? “Skull of a German.” Underrated . . . should have been given a little more effort in the studio and worked as an emphasis track in my humble opinion. (Future lawyers take note—no one ever listens to the lawyer about this kind of thing. Never. Ever.) Apparently, Gary Gersh didn’t hear it that way. Capitol was still a major label, and it was still about radio. It seems like the Jesus Lizard and the whole indie rock 120 Minutes era ran out of steam at the same time. I walked out of the last show I saw them play before it ended. It was time.

The question to be debated endlessly: would it have been any different if the band had stayed at Touch and Go? Yes—it still would have ended, but with a lot less to live on. As it happened, when the time came and everyone went their separate ways, there was money in the bank. There were opportunities for those who wished to take advantage of them. And this band had worked its ass off for a decade. It deserved a retirement plan. Some of that money is still in evidence. David Sims is still living in his share. Duane gets statements about his every fiscal quarter. Mac has been comfortably ensconced in suburbia for decades now. David Yow rolls ever onward, kind of like tumbleweed in the canyons of LA (and yet healthier than ever, and happy).