JOE WONG
Hi Joe and thanks for taking the time out to speak with us at Musicology. Firstly congratulations on the new record Nite Creatures. Every album tells a tale and what is this new LP saying to the world?
The album chronicles my experience of loss—the heartbreak of losing someone piece by piece and the relief that comes when an overburdened earthly form is shed.
An album can be a lifetime worth of experiences concentrated and refined into a body of work that encompasses many years and phases in life. Other times it is a snap shot, a brief period in time crystallized into a record covering a specific epoch. Was it a case of either / or for Nite Creatures?
Musically, the album is draws equally from my experiences as a band member and as a composer. Thematically, I think it charts a course from existential dread—a largely anticipatory phenomenon—to actual loss and the ensuing release.
There are a great many musicians featuring throughout the record and in various ways. Can you share with us some of the highlights with the different individuals you worked with and some of their special contributions?
Mary Timony and I first became friends when we traversed the country in a station wagon, touring as a duo in 2005. Subsequently, she’s become one of my closest friends and somewhat of a big sister figure. She was the ideal person to produce this album because our aesthetics are aligned, she’s been prolific as a songwriter, and she’s an inspiring figure that generates positive energy. Also, she’s one of the great rock guitarists; and the album benefited from her talents in that arena. Steven Drozd first reached out to me because he was a fan of my podcast, The Trap Set, and shortly after, we featured him on the show. I’d been an admirer of his musical sensibility for decades. We met backstage at The Shrine Auditorium to record a deeply intimate conversation about his life, and I think we made just about a strong a connection as can be forged by two strangers in 90 minutes. Later, I was visiting my family in Milwaukee, and Steven happened to have a day off tour. We spent the day tracking stereo drums and the guitar solo on “In The Morning”; it was a thrill to watch him quickly metabolize the song and filter it through his signature, swaggering swing. Mary Lattimore and I were introduced a few years ago by our mutual friend, Stella Mozgawa of Warpaint, et al. I was writing Nite Creatures during the same period when I was scoring Russian Doll. I hired Mary to play on the score, and we finished early one day. I played her the title track, and she started playing along. Her brilliant part gave the song a cosmic lift. After that, I wrote the song “Minor”, largely as a duet with her in mind.
What were some of the challenges in putting this LP together and conversely what were some of the greatest surprises you experienced through the writing / recording process for Nite Creatures?
The biggest challenge was getting started. I’d wanted to make my own album through decades of playing in bands and composing; but, probably as a covert defence mechanism, I’d held myself to unachievably high standards. I’d thrown away many songs over the years, and in retrospect this was rooted in self-hatred. Before I started this album, I asked myself why I was able to write hundreds of hours of music in service of other people’s projects every year, but couldn’t seem to make my own statement. I ended up self-imposing a similar structure and deadline on the album, and—so that I’d be accountable to someone other than myself--I brought in Mary to produce. It worked! Once we got started, things moved really quickly. My head is a distracting place, I just had to figure out how to escape it!
The record features both a full set and also that of an instrumental set. Working in both capacities, can you detail the dualism between artist and composer and where the lines of each intersect and diverge?
I’ve found that the technical skillsets are virtually the same, but the intent is very different. As a composer, podcast host, and drummer, my energy is largely devoted to supporting and augmenting other people’s artistic visions. The most crucial component of these jobs is to get inside the minds of others and develop a strong understanding of their artistic aim. It’s a lot of responsibility, like babysitting for someone else’s child; but ultimately I’m not the arbiter. As a solo artist, I am responsible for making all of the creative decisions, which is a different and—as a neurotic individual—more intense kind of pressure. I also need to go deeper into my own mind, which I’ve already alluded is a dangerous place.
In cases where the atmospheric vibe is central to the sonic expression and words only serve as blunt instruments, how crucial is the selection of instruments and the way in which they are played to achieving the nonverbal sentiment that you are trying to convey?
I’m not sure. I normally hear the orchestrations in my mind before I even start recording. I don’t usually consciously think about instrument selection…or the lyric for that matter, unless I get stuck. Perhaps my mind is the blunt instrument and my gut is the scalpel.
Having performed with so many amazing artists over the years, has there been any words of wisdom spoken to you that really resonated with you and in-turn altered the way you approach your craft?
Sheila E. told me that she always follows the jittery fear butterflies in her stomach to the most creatively fertile ground. Since then, I’ve tried to use fear as a compass.
As a man with many varied talents, interests and careers. Given the clarity that hindsight affords, can you pinpoint a few select moments, decisions, outcomes that have occurred during your career that have proved to be pivotal?
I can still remember playing drums in a room with another person for the first time. I was eleven, and the visceral joy was intense, like nothing I’d ever felt. I instantly knew that I wanted to dedicate my life to music. Years later, I lost touch with that feeling. The primary reason I started the podcast was to ask other musicians if they’d lost touch with it, too, and—if so—how they recovered. Each conversation was like a rung in the ladder, leading me out of the darkness and back to that initial feeling.
Lastly, on a philosophical level, what does music give you that nothing else does?
In my life, music has been the best mode of self-discovery and the most powerful vehicle into the world at large. I’m lucky to have lived a life that’s relatively broad in scope; I’ve travelled all over the world and gained friends from many different walks of life. I’ve been entrusted to help other people usher their vision into existence, and I’ve been able to make statements of my own. Music was the driving force behind all of this.
