rancid bam

RANCID

BAM (bay area music), issue #489

The hype around Rancid began early last year when rumors circulated that the Oakland-based punkiest-of-punk quartets were leaving their indie label Epitaph (which had released the band's two previous albums, Rancid, and Let's Go!) for a multi-million dollar deal with Epic records. Overnight, the band-comprised of frontman Tim Armstrong, guitarist Lars Fredricksen, bassist Matt Freeman, and drummer Brett Reed-were thrust into the national media spotlight and tagged "sell-outs" by punk-oriented press and their dedicated fanbase. Even this publication [BAM, which stands for Bay Area Music, referring to the San Francisco Bay Area] had drawn it's own conclusions-not just regarding the jump from indie to major-but also questioning the validity and sincerity of mohawks and punk ethos in the '90s. But at the very last minute, Rancid decided to abandon the major label offerings and remain on Epitaph. Eventually, the media cooled on the controversy, thus leaving the band's record …And Out Come the Wolves to stand on it's own merit. Although it borrows some of the looks and sounds of punk bands from the past decade, …And Out Come the Wolves is, in fact, loaded with well-written power-punk tunes with infectious hooks and melodies, solid musicianship, and lyrics reflecting personal experiences with sincerity and insight. Punk or not, …And Out Come the Wolves is a goon rock 'n' Roll record.
Now, almost a year after it's release and near-platinum sales, Rancid have withstood the initial pressures of overnight media attention and have continued to remain true to their roots. In appearances, anyway. So when the opportunity to speak with founder Tim Armstrong arose, I wanted to find out exactly how does a punk rock street kid with a 7-inch mohawk, whose body is riddled with ink, maintain his identity (and credibility) nowthat he has his own suit at a swanky West Hollywood hotel?
I picked up Armstrong in the lobby of such a hotel recently. And having just arrived from a headlining European tour, Tim was looking like he was suffering from severe jetlag. Sensing his urgent need for caffiene, I immediately took him to a comfortavle Mediterranean café on Melrose where the Turkish coffees are flowing. While waiting for the jolt of caffeine to kick in, I figure I'd get the "punk-rock sellout" bullshit out of the way.
"Punk rock ideals have changed so much over the past 10 years or so when Johnny Rotten was punk." Tim sluggishly remarks. "And I don't know if I'm aligned with what's punk right now or not. I don't give a fuck. I don't even think about it."
'Nuff said. However, it was those early punk-rock values (or lack thereof) that allowed Tim to fos-ter a love and appreciation for music at a very young age. That was at a time, in fact, when punk rock was a place for socially challenged misfits who couldn't--and wouldn't--fit in with their athleti-cally and physically inclined peers.
For Tim, it was the first few Ramones records that were his salvation. "The first time I heard the Ramones' Rocket to Russia," he says, as he finally begins to come to life, "it was like hearing music for the very first time. I couldn't stop listening to that record over and over again.
"And that was during a time in my life when I was kinda fucked up," he continues. "Even though I wouldn't have ever admitted it at the time, I was a pretty scared little kid. But that record, and other punk rock records--the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the Specials, Elvis Costello--made me feel really com-fortable. It was a safe place where I could go. And it's kinda funny, who would've ever thought that punk-rock records would actually make somebody feel not alone?"
From there, Armstrong discovered the thriving punk music scene in the Bay Area. "I used to go see two different kinds of bands during the early '80s," he remembers. "I would either go see the Exploited play at the On Broadway, or I'd go check out ska bands, like the Uptones. I really loved that band. They were these Berkeley High kids who played ska but were really punk about it."
I tell Tim that, in LA anyway, punks and mods didn't really mix. Each had their own scene and the two never coexisted.
"Yeah," Tim agrees, "there was a mod scene in Berkeley, but they were like those scooter boys, and they never really accepted me. But, to me, ska bands like the Specials were totally punk. Their sound wasn't like the traditional 60's-type ska, it was more punk rock. In fact, if you put the early Specials stuff on a compilation album right next to some '77 Oi bands, they would totally go together."
It was Tim's love of both punk and ska that inspired him and his childhood friend Matt to form their first bands. By the mid-'80s, the duo paired up in Basic Radio, a melding of ska, punk, and Clash covers, who after a handful of live shows, eventually fell apart around '86. "That was when the whole Bay Area scene really started happening," Tim says, refer-ring to the opening of the Gilman Street Warehouse. "Gilman Street opened on December 31st, 1986, and two months later, Operation Ivy formed. We played that club, like in that Mr. T Experience song 'Gilman Street,' every week. I really felt like I belonged there. All these bands were friends--Sweet Baby Jesus, Isoc-racy, Crimpshrine. It was the best feeling."
However, Operation Ivy soon disassembled due to overwhelming pressure garnered much too quick-ly (a little foreshadowing, perhaps?). It was also around this time that Tim succumbed to alcohol dependency. "I was in the fucking gutter." Tim says, "I had to go to detox five times! Matt would drop me off there and pick me up in four days, after I'd gotten all the alcohol out of my system. Then I ended up in the Salvation Army [shelter].
"When I was living at that shelter," he contin-ues, "I realized I could easily wind up like these oth-er guys who were there. I saw myself in them...
What am I saying?!" he says shaking his head. "I was one of them! I was sharing a fuckin' bed with these guys! It was then that I realised that as much as I loved to drink, it wasn't worth going out that way. That's when I hit the fuckin' bottom. And right after that, I formed Rancid."
Thus far, Armstrong and his band have exceed-ed beyond their wildest expectations. But they will have to strg'ggle with the backlash that inevitably occurs when the boundaries of their hometown have been far surpassed, leaving their peers behind. I ask Tim how he feels about some of the negative press Rancid has garnered recently from some of the local Bay Area press such as Maximumrocknroll.
Tim replies: "People always ask me if I'm mad at Maximumrocknroll and [founder] Tim Yohannan 'cause they've dissed us. I say, 'No, dude!' Because although they've given us some bad reviews, they've also given us so many great reviews for both Operation Ivy and Rancid. It's like 90 percent good and just a few are bad.
"But above all that", he adds, "Tim and MRR have helped us out so much, it's unbelievable! When we did a tour in '88, we could afford to put ads in MRR 'cause it was inexpensive. Those ads actually got people to come out to our shows. So although I don't talk to Tim much anymore, I still have a lot of respect for him, and I'll always admire his work."
"But," Armsrong continues, now with growing ire in his voice, "you know who really bothers me? Dr. Frank from the Mr. T Experience. I've always liked Dr. Frank and his bantd, In fact, I've bought all their records; I even carried his amp for him at a show once. But recently I read in a magazine where the interviewer is asking him about this whole 'new wave of punk.' and he totally starts dissin' Rancid. And I'm, like, 'What the fuck is he talking about?!' I mean, c'mon, that first Mr. T Experience record, Making Things With Lights, on Lookout! Records was totally financed by money from the Operation Ivy releases!
"It's like this," Tim explains, "If that guy from Smashing Pumpkins, what's his name...?"
Billy Corgan, I remind him.
"Yeah. If he says things about us, which he has, I don't care, because I don't know Billy Corgan. Or even if Johnny Rotten says something bad about us. I just think it's cool that Johnny Rotten even mentions my band's name. That's a fucking honor in itselŁ But Dr. Frank was a guy who I once looked up to; he was a friend of mine. And now he's calling us poseurs because when we played on Saturday Night Live, Lars changed outfits between songs. Dr. Frank was like, 'Oh, it's all an act. Lars puts on another punk rock costume for the second song.' Now, I don't know if Dr. Frank has ever played on live television, but it's like 400 fuckin' degrees under those lights and you sweat like a pig. And what's Lars supposed to do? Sit around for a half hour drenched so he won't be called a poseur? Or iust change his fuckin' clothes? How dare he attack Lars. I mean, Dr. Frank is a graduate from Cal Berkeley, and if this punk thing doesn't work out for him, he can go get a cushy job with a huge fuckin' paycheck and do really well. But Lars dropped out of high school and has tattoos on his face. He's wanted to play rock 'n' roll since he was 5 years old playing air guitar to KISS records on a ten-nis racket. It's all he's got!
"I just can't believe it's come down to this," he surmises shaking his head. "Guys that we've come up with, now wanna take us out because we're doing good. But I guess he's just jealous. Dr. Frank is a really smart guy, it's just weird that jealousy can even effect someone like him. I guess I just expected more from him. I thought I was cool with him, but now...well, let's just say I got rid of all my Mr. T records."
Although Tim claims to not be bothered by neg-ative remarks and press from strangers, I ask Tim about a lyric from "Disorder and Disarray": "Just for once can I be ignored?" How does he cope with the constant attention-positive and negative?
"I wrote that lyric over a year ago", he says. "I've gotten used to it by now. But I really miss being that kid hangin' out on Telegraph; that anonymous kid just hangin' on my BMX bicycle. I can't ever do that again, well, maybe in a few years," he says with a laugh.
Losing his anonymity seems like only a part of the challenges of overnight fame. What about the drastic change in lifestyle-from punk-rock street kid to successful punk-rock street kid? How does he keep a sense of who he is and who he was?
"My life is a fucking whirlwind", Armstrong says, "and I've been through a lot. I had a little success when I was younger with Operation Ivy and I learned from that experience. Now I'm older and I don't take what I've got for granted. I don't think I ever will. I just wanna live like I always have. I don't want to get delusional.
"I'm really into keeping my life commitment free", he explains. "I don't own anything, I don't want a house, I don't want a wife…I don't want to answer to anyone or anything. That's how I fucking deal with it. I don't really even have a place to live. I've got all my stuff locked in one room in a punk rock house that I pay $100 a month to the guy at the liquor store on the corner. And I still ride the bus everywhere. My whole life, I've rode the bus. I know all the bus lines around the city.
"But," he adds, "these living conditions, it's not an intentional thing. I'm not trying to live like I'm poor or anything. It's just that I'm living the same way I've always lived. I don't want to change my lifestyle, because then I might become delusional."
But keeping your feet on the ground and living like a street punk seems rather conflicting. Tim, however, maintains his stance that keeping his life simple, free of commitments, and always busy are his methods of survival. He is also quick to point out that he has been working consistently for the past three years, therefore, he doesn't really have a need for things like a house. Rancid has recorded three albums in three years; they've toured incessantly for the past nine months; and now Tim is branching out into the medium of film. In addition to directing and editing the band's videos, he's trying his hand at directing short films-all of this to keep him focused with feet firmly planted on the concrete.
"One thing I love to do that keeps me grounded", he says, "is to just hang out with normal people. And I do this as much as I possibly can; weather I'm in Australia, Tokyo, Italy, or Iowa."
What "normal" people? I ask him, somewhat confused. Do you know them?
"No, not really", he answers, "I'll meet them at a show or somewhere and I'll just hang out with them. It usually turns out to be an adventure. For instance, in Montreal, I met these skater kids at some club. I ended up spending the night on the floor of their punk rock squat house. I can sleep so good in a place like that-where there's parties going on, and music playing, people yelling. It's a good feeling. To me, that's home."

hey- this is where it used to end, but now i have the end of the article up. here it is.

"Although sometimes it does get a little strange", he adds, "When we were playing in Toronto, I met this girl at some punk club that i went to after our show. She wanted me to come over to her house and watch a movie. I asked her what movies she had, and she mentioned 'Taxi Driver'. So, I'm like 'Yeah, let's go watch 'Taxi Driver". So, we get into her car and its taking her like half an hour just to get out of the parking lot. She's just swerving all over the place, then she drives right into a snow bank. I thought she was drunk or something. But when we got to her house, she starts saying, 'Oh, it's really kicking in!' And i say, 'What's kicking in?' And she looks at me with this crawy fuckin' look in her eyes and says, 'The PCP that i smoked.' She turns and looks at me with this blank stare like she's looking right through me like a total psychopath. And that was the last thing i wanted to do, watch a movie about a guy who kills a bunch of people with a girl who's whacked out on PCP. But i like these little adventures. I find it inspiring."
Still somewhat amazed that someone would just wander off with some anonymous street punks, i ask him if the rest of the band participates. "no", he laughs, "the rest of the band's not really like that."
To Tim, personal contentment is the finest reward and reflection of success. "You gotta find things that keep you happy," he says. "Because if youre not enjoying yourself, then you lose. All the money, the fame, and the records dont mean shit if youre not happy. I read this interview yesterday with Billie Joe (Armstrong, of Greenday), And he sounded miserable. He was saying that he doesnt like rock'n'roll anymore, and he doesn't like being in a band. I've seen a lot of my friends who were these punk kids with bands who had always totally controlled their careers--booked their own show, managed themselves--and when they sign to a major label, they loose a certain amound of control. It all gets too big for them.
"Maybe Greenday shouldnt have signed to a major label," Tim adds. "I dont think that Billie likes playing stadiums and all that shit. And i dont blame him. But im just glad hes got someone like his wife around him. Shes a real person, not like a showbusiness wife or anything. Shell keep him grounded. Shes really good for him."
At the subject of major labels, I finally ask the dreaded question: Will Rancid stay on Epitaph or move on to a bigger label?
"We're staying on Epitaph," Tim insists. "I've been through all that shit before. Im not gonna go through all that drama again. I just wanna make fuckin' records.
"If i dont have a safe place to make records," he says emphatically, "then i've got problems and i'm not happy. It goes back to what i was just saying, if I'm not happy, then i loose! Yeah, sure I'd have fun all this money [if] i signed with some major label like DreamWorks for millions of dollars. But I wouldnt be happy because i couldnt make records in a place where i dont feel safe. A lot of the major labels are really controlling and scary. But i know how Epitaph works. Its a successful label. People may say its not punk or whatever, but its still an independent label, and i know how it works, and i feel comfortable making records there. We haven't signed anything, but the next record will be on Epitaph."
So, there you have it. Rancid will stay with Epitaph and will soon start recording their fourth album. But for the present, Tim and the band will be following their idols the Ramones on the main stage at this year's Lollapalooza. As has been reported, the band only agreed to join the lineup just so they could have the opportunity to play on the same stage as the Ramones. "It's and emotional experience," Tim tells me regarding the tour. "Every night I get to see the Ramones! They're the greatest rock'n'roll band ever!"
But, I ask him, what about Metallica. How does it feel to be playing with your fellow Bay Area hometown boys?
"I kinda missed the metal scene," he shrugs. "Gilman Street was really happening when Metallica came up. I've never even seen them play until recently when they performed at Lemmy's 50th birthday party at the Whisky a couple of months ago. I was pretty amazed, they've got chops--but then they were playing all Motorhead songs."
As Tim is praising Metallica's technical ability, his eyes wander and he looses the intensity in his voice that hes thus far maintained while talking about things for which he feels passion. C'mon Tim. What's the real story? It wasn't until i was driving him back to his hotel that he finally 'fessed up.
"I used to work at Fat Slice Pizza," Tim recounts. "In fact, I worked at all the pizza parlors up on Telegraph. It was around 1986 or so. Anyway, James Hetfield and Kirk Hammett came in to buy pizza and beer, and they made me take off the music i was playing while they were in the store. Then, a coupple of days later, I saw them at this Faith No More concert...I dont know why i was even there. I never liked Faith No More--they're whack. Anyway," he continues, "James Hetfield sees me and starts yelling, 'Hey pizza boy! How's it goin'?' And im gettin kinda bummed, OK? 'Cause he's dissin' me. But he keeps yelling, 'Hey pizza boy! Hey pizza boy!' But now," Tim says with a grin, "Pizza Boy is sharing the main stage of Lollapalooza with the mighty Metallica! So, we're calling it 'The Revenge of Pizza Boy' tour. I think the crew wants to get laminates made."

So thats Tim. Its kinda hard to blame him for selling out cause they called him "pizza boy"....
it just kinda pisses me off that now, hes got a fat-ass mansion in L.A., when he used to be just fine bumming around Berkeley. i guess its all history now...

got comments? questions? send them to ME!

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