The Jesus Lizard: A Racket of a Resurrection (Extended Version)
It was a privilege to be able to write a lengthy feature for FLOOD on The Jesus Lizard, one of my top three favorite bands of all time, and for vocalist David Yow and guitarist Duane Denison to speak extensively with me about their reunion(s), wild moments from yesteryear and their new album, Rack. Due to space constraints, FLOOD published an abridged version of the feature that ran roughly 2,000 words. Because The Bad Penny isn’t bound by such limitations, we’re bringing you the “extended and unreleased” version, which runs almost 900 words longer. Enjoy.
No chronicle of noise rock in the 1980s and alt rock in the 1990s is complete without a hearty chapter devoted to the Jesus Lizard. Rising from the ashes of vocalist David Yow and bassist David Wm. Sims’ immortal Austin project Scratch Acid, the Lizard grew their legs by transplanting to Chicago and making their (skid)mark on the city’s independent music scene via its best-ever record label, Touch and Go. Thanks to the added genius of guitarist Duane Denison and drummer Mac McNeilly, the quartet were only band to issue a split 7-inch with Nirvana, only to draw the wrath of critical collaborator and recently departed studio legend Steve Albini by signing to Capitol Records. Their bizarre placement on the mid-afternoon bill of Lollapalooza 1995 was only surpassed by an even more surreal opening slot for major label mates Rage Against the Machine the following year. Yow confessed to SPIN Magazine that he was familiar with Jeff Beck but not the radio chart-topper Beck, then wondered aloud in a conversation with Iggy Pop in Rolling Stone why the magazine had paired them together for an interview.
As un-photogenic and raw as any band ever was or will be, the Jesus Lizard were a true singularity: Castigated by Albini as “sell-outs,” they never stood a chance in the music industry obsessed with trying to find the next “grunge” music scene. Their songs was immaculately ugly, with Denison’s guitar acumen always offset by the nudity-obsessed Yow’s nasty bellowing, screeching, belching, farting and hollering. During the years when Pearl Jam and Soundgarden seemed to never vacate the Top 10 charts, the Jesus Lizard were always there for the taking by indie-curious music fans hooked on the raw sound of Nirvana’s decidedly anti-commercial recordings with Albini. Picking the B-side scabs of In Utero, the Nirvana masterwork that recently reached 30 years old, exposed the rugged Jesus Lizard to the cold air of mainstream rock before the fun machine took a shit and died at the turn of the century.
Indeed, the Jesus Lizard never made it out of the 1990s, with their last recordings making the band even more of an oddity. Over time, their four Touch and Go studio release became must-have cassettes while theirs last recordings—1998’s Blue on Capitol and self-titled EP on indie label JetSet—were perceived as head-scratching experiments that needn’t be sought. The legend of the anomalous band, from which McNeilly departed in 1996 but eventually returned for what became increasingly desirous reunion tours. All the while, Yow would surfaced like a popped zit in Hal Hartley movies and At every turn, the Jesus Lizard appeared as mystified by it all as were the malodorous fans who wrote and edited ‘zines, and haunted early chatrooms online.
Yes, Lizard fans were a gross, raw bunch of congregants, stitched together only by a shared interest in music that was made for true Losers. Kurt Cobain was worshipped, Courtney Love was mocked, and the breakout success of Dave Grohl and Foo Fighters disenchanted Pixies fans while dispatching the last of the great MTV videos. What had been a movement became solidified as a memory at the Touch and Go Records 25th Anniversary Festival block party in September 2006. Scratch Acid and Albini’s Big Black gave unforgettable performances that no one saw coming—only to be outdone this year by the shocking announcements of Albini’s sudden death in the spring and the Lizard’s first studio album in more than a quarter-century, Rack (Ipecac).
Indeed, FLOOD’s hourlong video conversation with Yow and Denison shortly after Albini’s passing was so dense that we didn’t even have time to discuss their tumultuous relationship with the engineer of their increasingly relevant noise-rock recordings Head (1990), Goat (1991), Liar (1992) and Down (1994). We didn’t even get around to talking much about Yow’s truly insidious Photoshop creations that appeared in billboard advertising campaigns for Frozen and Garfield: The Movie—no, we’re not kidding—or his dalliances performing live with underground legends Flipper and indie-rockers Qui. As always, FLOOD only delivers you with the crème de la crème; in that spirit, here are the top lines from our unforgettable talk with the Yow and Denison, 64 and 65 years old, respectively.
It’s such an honor to be to be able to speak with you guys. This is the fifth time combined that we’ve spoken, and I did not think we’d make it past four.
Duane Denison: I know. Imagine what it’s like for us.
David Yow: It’s nice to be able to talk to an American. We just finished an interview with a swell guy from France, just a wonderful fellow, but my hearing is shit, so even with headphones, I couldn’t understand a fucking word of what he said.
Duane, it’s good to see your “Silver Fox” mane still going strong.
Duane: Yeah, I still got some hair there.
Cutting to the chase, how are your shows going so far? Your three-encore, 26-song show at Crystal Ballroom in Portland six years ago was one of the most epic concerts I’ve ever attended.
David: We played Nashville (at Third Man Records’ Blue Room in Nashville) the other night. I wish it had gotten more out of hand. It was a small club, and the stage was really high. Then we played the No Values festival, which was poorly organized but fun; and the Garden Amp in Garden Groves [California], which was a blast. I hadn’t wanted to go to Orange County, especially because the venue hosts Eric Clapton and Bon Jovi tribute bands. And then we did it, and it was fucking magical. I will play that place anytime.
You feel pretty much the same way, Duane?
Duane: Yeah. We had friends come in for the shows, which made them a great time. I’m more looking forward to the shows we have coming in the fall, because by then we’ll have singles out from the new album.
Did you initiate the creation of new material?
Duane: Probably. I kind of pushed it along over a few years. Then, once it got going, it kind of took on its own sort of momentum and kind of almost finished itself.
With you guys doing a handful of shows every few years, did you get to the point where you needed new songs to keep your interest level high enough—or did you make it more for the sake of the fans?
Duane: I’m always wanting to play new stuff. There’s some songs we’ve played too many times, I feel like. We started demoing material and, the next thing you know, we had a nice little collection of songs. Then we went and knocked it out for real.
David, how did you feel about the proposal to make new songs?
David: Uh, that’s a good question. I don’t really know how to answer it. I don’t remember exactly how it came about. … I think we were in a hotel room doing whatever reenactment shows we were doing, and someone said, “Um, let’s make a record.”
Duane: In the old days, we used to, we would give songs some road time before recording them. None of these new songs got to have any road time, except we did place [Rack’s first single] “Hide & Seek” at those warm-up shows.
Was the album initially going to be two EPs, did I hear that right?
Duane: I’m not sure what we’re allowed to speak to on that.
David: [Joking]We’re doing a movie called What the Fuck’s Wrong With You?, and I’m playing Billy Corgan.
Going with that tangent, have you gotten around to finally collaborating with your hero David Lynch?
David: I’ve been to his house when he wasn’t there.
A real Lost Highway moment, eh?
David: Yeah, exactly. I think he’s done making films. I’ve been in the Herman Miller chair in the room where he does his weather reports. The chair is worn to shit, and there’s an ashtray with a pile of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke anymore, though.
Getting back on track, when I saw you in Portland, David, I heard you mutter under your breath at one point, “We’re the fucking best band ever.” Is that what compels you to keep going with reunion shows and now a new album?
David: I don’t remember saying that, but I like the sound of it. That’s a lot better than, you know, John [Lennon’] going, “We’re more popular than Jesus.”
Duane: You’ve done that several times. You just did it at the Garden Amphitheater.
Duane, I remember you telling me after you finished the second Tomahawk record [2003’s Mit Gas with Mike Patton] that there was “no chance in hell” for a Jesus Lizard reunion. Were you working on Tomahawk material before Rack came about?
Duane: No, a Jesus Lizard reunion was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind at that point. When we got back together for the first time, in 2009, we still sounded good—maybe even better than we did before, because people weren’t as fucked up. The possibility of new material probably first came up back then. Something I liked hearing people say back then was, “Wow, I knew you guys would be good, but I didn’t think you’d be that good. Which is an underhanded compliment, but the feedback [about Rack] has been really good. I’d be remiss to say it’s a “green” record, but it’s right up there.
It is. It hearkens back to Head, even [the 1989 EP] Pure. Were you going for the dingy sound of your earliest material? Your last couple of records on Capitol were so bright and clean production-wise.
Duane: I don’t think we were consciously aiming at anything. I think we just started working on the songs and, and we would listen to the demos. We would go in and play them live in a really nice, big rehearsal studio. And then [producer] Paul Allen brought a mobile unit, and we recorded it as we went. I think the record has the rawness and direct simplicity and spaciousness of our Touch and Go albums, but with the focus, clarity and higher-end of the first Capitol album [1996’s Shot] that GGGarth did. It’s a little more full, there’s a little more low end, et cetera. We didn’t, as a band, necessarily have any production ideas of how we should sound other than what we sound like when we’re playing.
David: Before we started recording, Paul asked me to make a list of 15 songs—whether they were by the Jesus Lizard or Scratch Acid—and he used that as a base for recording the vocals. When you’re a singer and you’re not necessarily good at singing, it’s rough to hear yourself sometimes. But I think my voice sounds really cool on this record. I don’t really know exactly what it is, whether it’s an [equalization] thing or a fact or whatever. But, to me, I don’t cringe when I hear it—and I have done a lot of cringing hearing myself in the past.
You hit a higher octave than in the past, especially on “Falling Down”—which seems unusual as a band gets older.
Duane: Yeah, David’s singing high pretty consistently on this album.
Were you concerned with the new songs taxing on your voice playing them live? I would not recommend seeing Guns N’ Roses nowadays for that very reason.
David: He’s singing for AC/DC now? What in the actual fuck?
All right, Duane, going back to the second Tomahawk record, the word you used to describe it was “expansive.” Was that a priority with Rack as well?
Duane: There’s a good balance. Some of the stuff is fairly busy, like “Hide & Seek,” but the second single, “Alexis Feels Sick,” is fairly sparse. “Armistice Day,” the second song, is sort of slow and long—but then from the song after that, “Grind,” till the end, is just banging from start to finish. I can’t listen to something that’s constantly hammering me and overwhelming me with beats and riffs and screaming and howling. I need some sparseness in there. Your imagination starts filling in things, and next thing you know, your mind is wandering off, and you’re thinking about I Love Lucy or something. You know?
David: I do and I don’t. Where’s she been?
There’s a riff on “Alexis Feels Sick” that sounds just like “Then Comes Dudley” [from Goat].
Duane: Yeah, and a little “Fly on the Wall” too.
Mac and Sims are outstanding on “Grind,” and David has the gnarliest bass solo on “Lord Godiva.” Did you have an easy time putting all the songs together?
Duane: It’s a democratic process. In the old days, when you’d sequence an album, you’d have Side One and Side Two. Now people put their own playlists together and don’t necessarily listen to an album in one shot. We have a video for each song on the album, including live footage. I don’t want to give away too much.
David, we’ve been waiting 27 years for your commentary on Y2K and Ross Perot’s candidacy. It’s great you’ve finally had the chance to address those pressing topics. Did you pull material from journals and books?
David: I did “automatic writing,” where I gave myself eight or 10 minutes to write without stopping.
Ah, like a stream of consciousness exercise?
David: Yeah. A larger percentage of the lyrics than I wished were based on the political climate in the U.S. from the last seven or eight years. I think they’re some of the best lyrics I’ve ever written, because what’s going on is so stupidly disgusting and equally hilarious. “I’ve given golden showers/ To folks who’ve been dead for hours.” I’m really proud of that.
Are you guys, are you surprised by how coarse the culture’s gotten?
Duane: Yes!
David: The level of discourse keeps dropping.
Duane: It may be because the education system keeps getting defunded. And then you’ve got the Internet, where everyone’s a “writer.” Everyone’s in a big hurry to say something. So they don’t bother checking their spelling or punctuation or grammar or anything else.
I’m glad to hear someone else noticed.
David: When I read about how military training manuals are being written at a fourth grade level because the [kids] can’t understand anything else, it’s just saddening to me. We went through a period where anything intellectual was mocked or made fun of. If you’re intelligent, you’re probably a homosexual.
This would be an amazing time to be a linguist. Language is evolving—or devolving—so fast. Unsafe clothing and things you would’ve been arrested for 50 years ago are all over the place.
I wonder if you started the band now, if you’d have turned out much different. Too many of the stories written about you guys revolved around the indie label versus major label debate. Isn’t it strange that whole war is a non-issue now?
Duane: It’s shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place. Criticizing people for, say, signing a contract with a larger company … that is the most elitist, gatekeeper mentality. It’s coming from a position of privilege, isn’t it?
David: It’s people trying to move up in the world. “I don’t agree with that. That violates my (imaginary) code of ethics.”
Duane: It was a bunch of privileges, entitled idiots. Now, here we are 30 years later, and record stores don’t even exist anymore. Nobody cares, younger people today. I have a teenage daughter, and they don’t care what label the music they listen to is on. They don’t care. To think these gatekeepers
were making such a deal of it back in our day just shows how ridiculous and out of touch
they were. And maybe some of them still are.
David: I’m waiting for eight-tracks to come back.
Well, I got about 30 more questions and I got about three minutes. I don’t think I ever heard the story of how the two of you first met.
Duane: It would have been in Austin, Texas, probably between 1985 and 1987, somewhere in there.
David: Probably while you were in Cargo Cult.
Duane: Yes. And we had mutual friends. Randy Biscuit Turner was the singer in Big Boys, who were kind of a big deal in Austin. We met through him. I remember seeing this band 86 from Atlanta, and Mac blew my mind on drums.
He’s a better drummer than Keith Moon.
David: Keith Moon sounds like a drum set falling down the stairs.
Last question: Are you guys going to keep playing until you’re literally performing “Wheelchair Epidemic” in wheelchairs?
Duane: That’s a good final question. I hope not.
David, have you played a gig sober yet?
A long, long time ago, I did what like three or six or seven shows sober. I am, these days, I try not to have any bourbon until after the show, I limit it to beer. So I’ll try to be a good boy. I may be one. I may not, you know, it’s a toss of the hat. Or the coin.
Duane: Do you think Rack is our best album?
David: That’s like that movie … Schindler’s List. No, wait …
Sophie’s Choice?
David: Yes, Sophie’s Choice. Next question.
The Bad Penny (beta) 
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