Stephen Malkmus has a way of calming your nerves. We’re sitting in the basement of his longtime label, Matador, where he’s lying on a couch, picking at a blueberry muffin, and interrupting his slow, rambling thoughts about his new solo album—the uncharacteristically spare Traditional Techniques—with bursts of uncontrollable giggles. It’s miserable outside, and dark in the basement, but he’s got sunglasses perched on his forehead. It only takes a few minutes for him to start prefacing sentences with “Dude.”
It can be easy to forget that this is the 53-year-old songwriter whose legendary work in the ’90s as the leader of Pavement set a standard for generations of indie bands to follow. It’s the morning after an unexpectedly chaotic Iowa caucus, and our conversation drifts from politics to media addictions to Taylor Swift, who he refers to as “Tay Sway.” His tone is similarly casual when discussing Traditional Techniques, whose stark, psychedelic texture he attributes largely to producer (and Decemberists member) Chris Funk. But even that connection, he suggests, should be taken lightly. “I don’t want to overplay some deep relationship between us,” he says with a laugh.
By Malkmus’ standards, Traditional Techniques feels intimate. Following last year’s electronic detour Groove Denied, this marks another about-face. Without his longtime backing band, the Jicks, the music is more down to earth, and the songs follow suit. They include character-driven narratives, meditations on fishing and friendship, and honest-to-god love songs. Surrounded by musicians like Matt Sweeney and Qais Essar, a multi-instrumentalist who Malkmus refers to as “the Jim Morrison of the Afghan rabab,” Malkmus compares himself to a ’60s folk-singer, armed only with his songs. “That’s the role I wanted to play,” he says, “just the strummer.”
1. “ACC Kirtan”
Pitchfork: There’s a great jam at the end of this song—but it’s only one of a few moments on the record where the band really sprawls out. Have you lost interest in that more freewheeling style?
Stephen Malkmus: I probably just lost faith in it a little bit and backed down to more compact songs. The fact of the matter is, to summon jams like that on a regular basis takes a lot of investment in the jam. It’s a lot to bring it up to that standard constantly. I’m not saying it’s so hard or anything. It’s not like I had to meditate before and reach a higher jam plane. There’s just a little bit of, OK, I’ve seen the top of the mountain and it’s time to come back down. But I’ve seen groups like Garcia Peoples totally embracing the jam. It’s cool. [Disclosure: Pitchfork contributing editor Andy Cush is a member of Garcia Peoples.]
The lyrics in this one sound like a social critique, introducing the album at a party where nothing is quite right.
Yeah, a wrecked bourgeoise party can feel like that. I’ve messed with that idea before: the decadent mess we find ourselves in, the bounty we’ve created. We’re paying for it. The lyrics are also kind of about Mad Men-era hostess anxiety—there’s shad roe and napkin holders. Then it enters into a part that sounds like driving across the Golden Gate Bridge... and you’re kinda high.
Have you watched Mad Men recently?
No, but didn’t it end with him meditating and some sitars playing? That’s a really potent image. Remember how The Sopranos ended with Journey? And Breaking Bad ended with…
Badfinger.
Yeah, great song, sounds sort of like Guided by Voices. They all have these really cinematic endings to their shows. That’s how we do it now. The ending is so important, even though all the best stuff happened in season two, back when it was on a roll—I guess, to a lot of people, I’m in that position too.
How conscious of a decision is it for you to find new ways to present yourself now?
Pretty conscious. There’s a lot of music out there. I’m not wedded to anything. What else can I do at this point and still be good?
2. “Xian Man”
This has a real driving feel to it and a good brag: “I’m Miles Davis better than any of you.”
That one’s got a strut. You could imagine it in a Tarantino movie—the hot girl putting it on the stereo, she’s got a bikini on and she’s gonna dance. It’s kind of a confident dude song, as it turns out. But I thought it was gonna be more like Gordon Lightfoot. Then, once the band played, and Matt [Sweeney] played this afro-desert riff, I was like, “Oh, I’m in a Velvet Underground song.” I didn’t know I was. That’s the power of listening to others.
It’s also the heaviest track on the record. It reminded me of a quote of yours: “I love Van Halen, but I’ll always be pissed at them.” Coming up in the ’90s indie scene, did you feel similarly conflicted about singer-songwriter music?
Just on a basic level, I like louder music. That’s my bias: the things you put on a record player that start rumbling the house, and a whiskey bottle falls off the table. Those are the good times. Growing up in the ’70s, there was a lot of touchy-feely James Taylor stuff. I might have been a little mad at that, thinking, That’s not rebellion music. But then again, there’s tons of great music in that style. You have to admit it.
3. “The Greatest Own in Legal History”
This song was written from the perspective of a lawyer convincing a kid that he’ll get him out of jail. What do you relate to about that character?
Being privileged enough to be on the other side of the bars. Having enough to afford an education when the other person doesn’t. How unfair that reality is. I could imagine myself as a self-important white savior going to a juvenile hall. He’s hypothetically a good person, taking the time to be there for people that are screwed in our over-sanctioned prison systems. He’s there to help, but he’s also into himself. It’s not so different from being a singer: You’re gonna like me!
4. “Cash Up”
I hear this as a song about adult friendship.
Yeah, it’s a more sincere song. Not that the others aren’t sincere, but I think this has more of a porch vibe—friends sitting around jamming, drinking, sharing some lyrical wisdom. It’s a positive song.
I like the part where you say, “Does anybody like me? I’m just asking for a friend.” It’s phrased as a joke, but does it come from a real place of insecurity?
Yeah, it can feel that way sometimes: Does anybody really like me? I’m just sayin’! But you don’t want to ask it straight out. It’s also a double entendre, sort of fourth-wall-breaking.
5. “Shadowbanned”
With its references to Reddit and emoji, it’s clear that this song takes place in the present day and online. What was your process writing it?
I wanted to make this apocalyptic-bullshit-logarithmic-image-crash. I was trying to write a murder mystery, or a psychedelic whodunit, mixed with Reddit-y internet jargon. As you might imagine, a lot of the song is pulled from the notepad on my phone, things I saved or wrote down: “high churn rate,” “risk aversion,” “peak interaction,” the kind of jargon that makes you sick.
The music is sort of what I imagine when I see PJ Harvey with all those old English guys behind her. They’re almost doing sea shanties, and then she manages to be really cool on top of all this old man energy.
Using the phrase “shadow banned” in the chorus is funny to me. I associate it with Twitter conspiracy theorists, but you make it sound kind of poetic.
I know! Two of the album’s engineers didn’t know what it meant. They thought the song was called “Shadowband.” Either way, the phrase is cyber-evil sounding. It works as something that could happen to you—just being erased.
How do you feel about the fact that some of your fans might not be familiar with the term? Or that, in a few years, nobody might?
It is almost like mentioning a product in a song. Chris [Funk] even said, “You mentioned Duraflame in [‘ACC Kirtan’]. If you change it, that’d be cool with me.” No doubt it is something I should be worried about. But in the end, the words have to sound good, and they have to flow. And shadows are totally evocative.
There’s also a line about left bros parodying TED Talks. Did that come from an actual video you saw?
No, but I could see that because, you know, I’m a left bro, and there’s so many TED Talks that can be easily mocked. I haven’t watched too many. I naturally recoil at the idea of it. One of my daughters’ friends, her dad did one in Portland. I had to like it—he’s a sweet guy.
Would you do one if you were asked?
I’d have to consider it if it was incredible money, because I don’t make that much off music.
6. “What Kind of Person”
This is as direct a love song as I’ve heard from you. Do you feel a desire to be understood more as you get older?
My wife likes vulnerable, direct people. I guess I do too. I like simplified things. I’ve been trying to do that for a long time. For all the talk we’re having about consciously doing things differently though, there’s a lot in the lyrics I don’t know about. It’s more something to be psychoanalyzed by someone else, probably. I think this song is a success, I just wish I sang it more in key. But it also has a tender feeling for that reason. And people who like me already won’t be bothered by it, which is 90 percent of who’s gonna hear it, unfortunately.
7. “Flowin’ Robes”
These lyrics seem to show the darker side of the hippie mentality.
It makes fun of boomers a little bit. It’s about an older culty guy—not Manson, a little bit nicer than that—who’s like, “I can figure you out. I see what’s wrong with you and what plagues you, my child.” Some of the lyrics are cribbed from some Christian folk album that I have. It’s about trying to be a countercultural person but seeing the evil in it, feeling like maybe you were just being selfish, so then you back away from it. On a purely fun level, I’m attracted to the idea of beautiful people in a cult—the ideal Hollywood version of not being part of the world, having free love and organic food and Rolls-Royces. An unrealistic thing.
8. “Brainwashed”
What kind of character are you writing about in this song?
At first I thought people might think it’s about Trump: “He’s brainwashing us!” But it’s more about a person who just really wants to get rid of the baggage of the past, maybe in therapy. That’s how it starts. And then he gets busted in the Northeast. He was running some ridiculous illegal propane operation. Maybe it’s coming from Montreal, maybe without taxes. He was just doing it for the money but he gets addicted to it.
A lot of these songs involve people getting in over their heads.
It’s a good songwriting hook, right? You don’t get away with it in the end. You can tell that story in three verses and have fun with it.
9. “Signal Western”
This song involves something of a seduction using variations on the word “colonize.” Why incorporate such a loaded term in a love song?
I was thinking, What is love vaguely like? How much of it is colonizing someone and how much is decolonizing them? I know “decolonization” is a catchword in academia these days, so I guess it was using a hip word to talk about this stuff.
It’s almost the opposite of what you do in “Shadowbanned.” Here, you are using a word with very serious connotations to talk about something lighter.
That was the idea. But I can’t deny it’s kind of signalling an awareness of that issue [of decolonization]. I know that it’s a little pretentious but I rolled with it! I can’t say it all coheres in a vision for me. It could be cringey to talk about decolonizing stuff, but I hope people let me off the hook. That’s why it’s song nine. I just put it out there… with reservations… like Anthony Bourdain.
10. “Amberjack”
This track is one of the softest on the album. It strikes me as a departure, more like what I’d expect from an artist like Jeff Tweedy. It made me wonder how much you pay attention to new works from other songwriters from your generation?
I know when things are coming out. I hear the songs. But I’m not in a battle, you know, Keeping Up With Thom Yorke. Not gonna happen. Younger groups are gonna be more exciting anyway. But you can also get in a feedback loop of just being into reissues. Your desert island discs are always gonna be better than what’s happening now. I’m into old psychedelic music—that’s the best—but you get tired in that hall of mirrors.
Your singing feels particularly vulnerable in this song. Do you approach your role differently as a vocalist now?
It’s sort of a naked performance. I think I sound good. I’ve got some new tricks. I’ve even started watching singing videos by this guy who helps people on The Voice. It’s free on YouTube, so I watch that before I play now. Hopefully I’ll get even better, which is odd to say at this late stage.
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