Jack Scoresby. Maybe the name doesn’t invoke in everyone the same respect and gratitude that it does in me – but that’s only because not everyone knows him. Yet.

I remember Jack emailed me a long time ago and told me he wanted to buy a print. And then emailed me back about a week later and said he couldn’t buy a print anymore because he spent all his money on his birthday party. I looked at the pictures from said party, complete with blow-up castle, lap dances and more alcohol than ever was before – I couldn’t be upset about money so well spent. Since then, Jack and I have developed a great friendship and he has become a major inspiration to me.

Jack’s photos are dark and sexy and strong and vulnerable and violent and soft. Much of his work deals with extremes and polarizations; it’s these contrasts that make his work so captivating, and it’s what makes Jack as an artist so interesting. His 365 Days project—a self-portrait taken every day for a year—was 365 lessons in pushing the limits of creativity, resourcefulness, and intensity. His latest photos coming out of Japan show a new growth in terms of process and perspective. I recently got the opportunity to ask Jack some questions about his photography, life in Japan, and his future artistic endeavors. Ladies and Gentlemen, the very sexy, very talented, very manly, very honest, very fucking wonderful, Jack Scoresby.

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I know photography is just one of your many talents; you also write and act and probably are capable of other things I am as of yet unaware of. Did you always have a creative drive? Or did your creativity click later in life? What sparked it?

It definitely clicked. I was in the 8th grade and had this huge crush on a girl named Kiley Rard. She was just perfect; brains, beauty, kindness, and a great sense of humor. Totally out of my league at the time, because I was still that kid that everyone made fun of. She was very nice to me though. I had always been a voracious reader, even as a child reading two novels a week usually, so I had ideas for things to write. She liked writing as well so to have something else to talk to her about I started writing poems and short stories and asking her to read them. She loved them, or at least said she did, and things sort of snowballed from there. She moved away at the end of that year, but I took Drama for four years in high school after that and continued writing for all of it. I briefly majored in film learning the technical side of things like lighting, sound, directing, finances, camera work, etc. I stayed involved in the theatre for a long time after high school as well. Eventually I got interested in photography because of how much I enjoyed the lighting class at college and because an ex-girlfriend of mine modeled for some private photos for me at my birthday party, which I thought turned out pretty decent. I thought I might be good at that too. But bringing this answer back to the original question, I think everything I do that’s artistic can be traced back to Kiley for giving me the initial motivation and resulting confidence in my creativity and imagination. I always had the imagination, but she focused it and gave me pride in showing it off.

In many of your 365 photos, you seemed to find yourself defending the content of your photos – specifically concerning how you portray women. What did you think of this reaction, and did it change your way of thinking about your photography in anyway?

A majority of the women I photograph are close friends of mine, so that’s probably why I defend the content when it concerns them. I don’t use sexuality as a prominent theme very often I don’t think, besides my pinup work. I used nudity even less. It offends me when people see something in my photos I didn’t put there, then they attack me for it. I realize that any photo will be only about 20% of the whole idea someone forms when they view it, but that’s also the reason it bothers me. I have never photographed any woman in a way they were uncomfortable with and I have never presented women as anything but beautiful and/or powerful figures in my art. So when someone says it’s porn or it’s degrading, it’s insulting. It’s like they’re calling me a liar. I present something with my work, and the viewer does the rest of the imagination. That’s with any art. I don’t feel I should be vilified when they imagine something into it that I didn’t put there then get offended by it.

Initially it did change the way I viewed my photography, but as I explored and developed more it began to bother me less, especially as I learned more about the photographer/audience relationship. Often I find that when I’m in disagreement with someone over the content of my work, be it sexuality or violence or anything else, that person does far less to understand it than I do to understand their work or why they feel the way they do. Ultimately it’s made me imagine things differently, but controversy is a reaction like any other, and as an artist a reaction is what I strive for be it positive or negative. I think the positive feedback I receive is usually much better constructed and from much more accomplished and artistic people than the negative, even from artists who don’t explore sexuality and violence at all. I’m of the opinion now that I’m generally more mature and more open to art and the world than the people who tell me my work is irresponsible or offensive. It’s almost become it’s own unique compliment now to be insulted by people who I don’t have anything in common with anyway. It’s like I’m doing something right.

One of my favourite things about your photography is the contradictions in how you portray yourself – and to an extent your subjects. One day you can be a crazy killer, the next a vulnerable man, the next a goofy playboy king of hot women. What compels you to portray so many different characters and emotions in your work?

Escapism. I like to wear different hats, and I like to remake myself sometimes. It’s a persona/personality thing, where the personality is how you are, and the persona is what you want people to see you as. Sometimes I like to be me, but a lot of times I like to be something else for a little bit. It’s very interesting to look at a photo of yourself being something you’re not, or doing something you never did. It’s like looking into another world because there you are in living color doing it, but it wasn’t real. I’m not violent or a playboy by any means, but sometimes I like to see what it’d be like if I was. The theatre background probably doesn’t hurt either, and I do tend to view a lot of my photos as pieces of a story. Many photos I take I think are actually the moment right before, or the moment after the real moment the photo is about. I like people to imagine for themselves what came before, or what happens next, and make a story that way. To do that the people in my photos (be them myself or others) are playing characters and roles to communicate that. It’s all a play on emotion and trying to get people to feel certain ones. Ultimately it all comes from me, and I’m a little bit of everything in my photos, but the photos are all extremes and exaggerations built on truth, but in the end it’s just theatre.

I know you are an excellent writer, but maybe not everyone does. Are you going to try to pursue this further, or at least maybe show the world a little more of your stories?

I am actually currently working on a novel. Hopefully a trilogy. I’m not going to say too much about it besides it’s a science fiction/fantasy story. As far as writing goes that’s where my main focus will be for a while. I’ll continue to write short stories but probably won’t do anything public with them until I’ve accumulated enough. I have no idea what amount “enough” will be, but at that point I might find a place online to put them and make them public.

Since you were deployed to Japan (being in the Navy and all), how has your creative view changed, if at all?

So far it’s definitely expanded my creative view. I mean how could it not? I get to see things I’ve never seen before, and familiar things have a new tint in the lense when I look at them again. I want to get a little more real with my photos, but still keep all that theatre I was talking about earlier. Maybe move from doing plays to doing films if that makes sense. I want to stop using stages in the form of studios and backdrops and I want to shoot on location. I want to start making the stories the photos tell more real in that respect.

One thing I’ve been interested in doing here, and will be starting soon is documenting the homeless in Japan. The class difference is really interesting in a very sad way, and to see the haves and have-nots in such close proximity in such an advanced and flourishing place such as Shibuya for example is something I really think everyone should see.

Have you found new inspirations in Japan that you would never have thought of back in America?

I accidentally answered part of this already with the homeless idea, but there’s a lot of other things on my mind as well. I want to go more into the modern culture here that’s unique to Japan first and foremost, but on a more general scale I want to do more urban work and a lot more with available and natural light. Being from Oklahoma, a lot of how dense and populated it is here is very new and beautiful to me. I want to capture that as I see it while I’m here. I have a love for the cities here and how busy things are on a constant basis. And again, the culture here is fascinating. I want to remember it and I want it to be remembered, so I’m looking to incorporate it in my work while I’m here.

Since I met you online, I think it’s appropriate to have an Internet question. Tell me how the Internet has affected you and the development of your art?

It’s had a huge affect. I mentioned I’m a theatre geek, and as such I enjoy attention, so the Internet has given me a large audience to show my work to. Not only that, but it’s given me an audience of people who I can pay attention to, and appreciate, and learn about. It’s helped me grow in so many ways, both imaginatively, and in just how many people know me for my work. I’ve made some great friends online who are both artists and passionate about the same things I am, and I think that’s a really amazing thing to be able to share with those people. The Internet has given me feedback and a spider web of connections to friends and inspirations that have made me a hundred times more creative than I ever was. The audience it’s provided me also gives me the motivation to continue doing photography and to continue to love doing it, because what artist wants to perform for an empty house?

So many people use pseudonym’s online, or pen names associated with their work. Jack Scoresby is not your real name. Why create the distinction between Jack and Jacob?

A lot of people ask me sometimes if Jack and Jacob are two separate people. I’ve even had people ask me if certain photos are of Jack and others of Jacob. I’ve always kind of thought that was ridiculous. Jack Scoresby is a pen name of mine of course, and I’ve considered it a character as well. I think the best explanation comes from an earlier answer where I mentioned the personality and persona. Jack Scoresby is my persona. Jack is me as I like to be seen, but Jack is still me in every way. Every photo I take of myself is of Jack Scoresby, and it’s also of me. There’s not really a distinction between the two. As to why I’d create another name to go by, Jack Scoresby comes from two different names. Jack London, my favorite author, and Lee Scoresby, a character from my favorite story. I think it suits me and my feelings at times, and its origin is a homage to artists and art that I enjoy. I thought it would be a fine name to go by when making art of my own. I think if there is a distinction to be made, then it only goes as far as persona/personality. Jack is just the hat I wear when I’m creating things.

And now I’m going to steal a question from Justin Holt from when he interviewed me, because it was a good one. A hypothetical: Someone comes across your photo stream - what do you want them to get from your photography?

Honestly I’m not looking for the audience to get anything. I’m selfish and I want something from them. I want a reaction. I want them to feel something, to have a mental or emotional response to my work that makes them form a new thought they never had before, or revisit a memory that’s powerful to them. I guess that’s what I’d want them to get; a new thought they never had before.

Who are some of your all time favourite photographers? Show us a photograph you’d wish you’d taken.

Besides you? I’ve never made it a secret you’re my favorite photographer. I might as well discredit this whole interview right here and now. I’m kidding. Anyway, a lot of my favorite photographers are from flickr. I’d say I’d have to mention Stephen Poff, Chad Coombs, J.R. Blackwell, Sable O’Driscoll, Mark Velasquez, Chad Michael Ward, Billy Bofh (A.K.A. MonkeyTwizzle), Chase Lisbon, Pilar Castro, Lars Venner, Rune T, Lauren Peralta and many others I’m sure. As for a photo I wish I’d taken, I feel I’ve never done enough when I’ve been around J.R. Blackwell, and she’s done some amazing work in the 365 days project she’s just completed. I think this shot is way up there on the “Shots I wish I’d taken” list.

What do you see for yourself as an artist in the future? More photography? Writing? Acting?

I’ll always be pursuing photography. I don’t think that will ever stop; though I also don’t think I’ll ever want to do it professionally. I want to write more and I am, and maybe someday I might be able to make a living at it. I’ll always be open to acting as well as I do enjoy being involved in the theatre and in film, despite a long absence from it. We’ll see how that pans out.

Realistically I know that being successful—enough money to make a comfortable living successful that is—isn’t likely in any of these fields, so I’ve decided to go to school and become a high-school drama teacher if all else fails, or even if it doesn’t fail. It’s something I think I would really enjoy and be good at, or else I wouldn’t bother trying to do it.

Basically no matter what I’m going to be involved in the arts somehow. I really don’t think it’s in me not to be. I’m not too sure on the specifics, but as long as I’m around I’ll be making something I’m going to want other people to see.

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Interviewee Jack Scoresby’s ever-evolving work can be found at flickr.

Interviewer Katie West is a Canadian photographer, writer, and all around creative soul.  Her first book, low self-esteem, was published in 2008.

Often, our only perception of an artist is the work he creates. As such, chances are you wouldn’t recognize Norm Breyfogle on the street— it’s fitting, in a way, considering the character with which he is most often associated.

Norm drew Batman for DC Comics for six years, from 1987 until 1993. This was a renaissance period for the character, and Breyfogle’s vision of Batman wasn’t quite like any before him— Breyfogle’s Batman was sleek, expressive and sinister, and he was the first artist that seemed truly conscious of the transformation that took place when Bruce Wayne put on that suit: under Norm’s hand, Batman didn’t use the idea of terror so much as he became it. His work was rejuvenating to the character, updating the myth for a more sophisticated age and giving it a cinematic flair; moreover, he rediscovered the raw essence of Batman on the page, what made the character more than just a man in a suit. He made the character into something truly elemental. Something cool.

During this time Norm also co-created the provocative character of Anarky with writer Alan Grant. The character was complex: a teenage vigilante with violently populist leanings. Anarky clashed with Batman for a time before going on to star in a well-received spin-off series of his own, followed by a short-lived solo series in the late nineties. Ever since, the character seems to have been expunged from the DC Universe, much to the confusion of its creators and dismay of fans.

Norm has put his stamp on numerous other characters over his career— Captain America. The Flash. The Spectre. Superman. Prime. And his original creation, Metaphysique. He’s done work on Of Bitter Souls for Speakeasy Comics and the recent The Danger’s Dozen for A First Salvo. He’s also working on a novel.

At its best, the work an artist creates is sometimes absorbed subconsciously into the fabric of culture, even though the artist himself often remains in the shadows. In many ways comic books are the best example of that phenomenon— they are the most communal of our art forms; a pop-culture mythology shaped by many hands. It may be difficult to keep up with the constantly fluctuating universe of comic book characters and their storylines over time, but the opposite is true of the touchstones of the genre: the more time that passes, the easier it is to identify the moments when we were stirred. Breyfogle’s Batman is essential, and his work today continues to inspire. We are pleased he could spare us the time of answering a few questions.

Please visit www.normbreyfogle.com for news, galleries, and a virtual store where you can order trade paperbacks, sketchbooks and original artwork.

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You started drawing at an early age, when money wasn’t in the equation. One of the most prevalent fears of creative people is that turning your passion into a profession will suck the life right out of it. When you first made the jump into comics, did the professional aspects of the position (such as working under deadlines and adhering to the structure of someone else’s a narrative) alter the experience of creating art? Did it become just a job, or did you manage to keep it fresh and fun?

It’s always been a job, yet fun at the same time. The first two years were the hardest, when I was drawing Whisper under deadline for First Comcs, but once I got into the routine and internalised a lot of the reference it got more managable. I always knew even as a child and as an amateur that it was going to be a lot of work, but it was work of which I felt proud.

I’d counted on comics, and they came through for me. I did instead hope it was going to be a lifetime vocation, though. (lol) And I guess it may still be so for me, although things have changed. I certainly can’t count on Marvel or DC to hire me anymore, and don’t ask me why; it’s a puzzlement.

Tell us about your first days at DC. Do you remember seeing the first issue of Detective Comics that bore your name? Was it a thrill, seeing your stamp on such an iconic character?

Was that first issue the one with the Crime Doctor at center stage (I’m not sure)? I cringe when I see it now, but yeah, it was a huge thrill at the time. A life-long dream come true.

On your website there’s a gallery of your amateur work. Your boyhood drawings of Batman are skillful, but traditional— he’s clearly a man in a suit. Later in that gallery, there’s an ink drawing of Batman you did at age eighteen that shows how you were approaching the character differently: here, Batman’s taking on some of those abstract qualities found later in your work on the Batman titles, like the use of stylized shadow and the use of his cape to create atmosphere. As your work progressed throughout the comics, the cape became almost wraithlike, and your vision of Batman occasionally bordered on demonic. Is this early drawing where you started to experiment with what eventually became your very distinct and stylized take on the character? Was it a conscious decision to take the design of Batman in this direction, or was it sort of an organic change?

I don’t know if that particular drawing I did at eighteen is the actual beginning of anything, but I do remember it being kind of a revelation to me at the time. (Of course, that’s one of the reasons I’ve still kept it at the top of my amateur porfolio. I have many notebooks of stuff I did at various ages showing a progression in my ability. In any particular selection, of course, I choose the stand-outs.)

Many of your most striking covers from this period are actually the simplest; my personal favorite is the cover of Detective Comics #590. From looking at the cover, we don’t know who the villain is, and we don’t know what the story is about— but the framing, choice of perspective, atmosphere and color make this one a classic for me. This cover seems like an oddity for the medium; it’s rather quiet and reserved. How did you approach the matter of designing covers? Were you required to include certain elements depending on the story, or did you pretty much do whatever you wanted? Do any favorites come to mind?

For the Tec 590 cover I guess I was influenced by the gothic look of London. Big Ben provides its own mood.

I undoubtedly drew many cover sketches for that issue’s cover, but I threw away all my Batman and Detective prelims when I was forced to sell my house, move and downsize after suddenly being rejected by Marvel and DC Comics in 2001, after about fifteen years of steady work for DC in the comics business.

When designing covers I attempt to summarize the contents of the story in some way without spoiling it. Some of my faves include that Tec 590 cover you mentioned, Tec 587, Tec 591, and Tec 592 I’m also especially proud of the cover painting for the hardcover graphic novel Batman: Birth of the Demon.

In comic book titles, the landscape is constantly changing: artists, writers, story arcs, and sometimes even continuity. Occasionally entire universes of characters— decades of history— are rebooted. Is it challenging to remain faithful to canon working in that fluctuating universe, or does it instead give you a certain freedom to re-imagine things at your whim, as in your ever-changing Batmobile designs? Any characters besides Batman you were excited to put your own spin on? Any visual changes you made to the characters or environments that you were especially pleased with?

I’ve always made an effort to become thoroughly aware of the details of the characters I draw. Some titles and stories are more difficult to manage in this sense. For instance, team books are harder because there’s so much more to keep in mind for each and every page.

I would assume that I put my personal stamp on every character I draw, as does every artist. I liked drawing Robin dark and menacing rather than as a smiling elf, I liked designing various batmobiles before editorial reined in on the Batman canon details after the first films were released. I designed the look of many Batman characters largely because Alan Grant wasn’t using the old stand-bys but was creating new ones. The Flash was top fun for me in the titles in which I drew that character; I’d like to draw him a whole lot more.

Btw, Batman and DC stuff has only been about one-fourth to one-third of my output throughout my comics career. I’ve designed many characters for other companies, such as Prime and all his nemeses (Malibu Comics), the stuff in Of Bitter Souls, some things in Black Tide (for Angel Gate Press), and The Danger’s Dozen, to cite just a few examples. And, of course, there was the mini-series Metaphysique, which I created, wrote, designed, pencilled, inked, and for which I painted all the covers.

You worked on the launch of a new Batman title, Shadow of the Bat, which presented stories with a more psychological focus. Was this handed down to you, or something you and/or Alan Grant had asked to do? Did you approach the art in the new title any differently than you did the other Batman titles, or was it simply business as usual?

At a Batman summit conference Alan and I were offered a new Batman title by Denny O’Neil (I don’t think anyone had a title for it yet, at that point). Alan didn’t want to accept the offer, but I was willing to draw whatever DC wanted me to draw so I said yes, and Alan finally agreed to write it. I found out later that Alan balked at the offer because he knew that a very special anniversary issue of Batman was coming up (issue 500, I think, or was it 400?) and he knew it’d be big seller. Well, it was indeed a big success and we didn’t get those royalties because we were instead working on SOTB by then which, although it was also a success, wasn’t nearly as high-selling as was that one single anniversary issue of Batman.

The only thing I recall doing differently for SOTB was being able to play around with full bleed pages (where the artwork could go all the way to the edge of the page). Other than that, it was pretty much the same for me.

That was also the time that Batman comics started using elements of the movies in their designs, so that was a little different, too.

Concerning Batman in film, you’ve mentioned you weren’t too crazy about Tim Burton’s take on Batman due to some unrealistic set choices, callous violence on Batman’s part, and locales that felt somewhat otherworldly. Joel Schumacher’s Batman descended into misguided spectacle. How do you feel about Christopher Nolan’s take on the franchise with Batman Begins, and now The Dark Knight?

Yes, there were many bad decisions made in the first film which apparently became instant canon for the later films, but Nolan’s version is correcting much of that. I find it amazing that it took Hollywood nineteen years to realize how stupid it is for Batman to be unable to turn his freaking head! At this rate of improvement, maybe there’ll be a perfect Batman film by the time I retire. (lol)

Batman Begins wasn’t perfect. The idea that Bruce Wayne didn’t get his head straight until he was already an adult destroys one of the most important elements of the character, i.e., that he knew what he wanted to do with his life shortly after his parents were killed and he then spent well over a decade training his body and his mind to be preternaturally skillful. In the Nolan version, Batman is clearly no top scientist; he has to rely on Lucius Fox to explain relatively simple things like the Scarecrow’s nerve toxin! Nolan depicts Wayne as an unfocussed, angry young man all the way to adulthood, until Ras Al Ghul gets a hold of him. That’s not really Batman as he should be, imo.

My personally favorite Batman put to film so far can be seen in the short fan film titled Batman: Dead End.

Lots of superheroes go through changes over the years, but Batman seems to be a particularly susceptible target— he started off as brooding and violent; he lightened up after the Comics Code Authority was established in the 50s; the 60s saw him become campy; and the 70s brought some of the darkness back to the character. Still, sales dwindled until Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns in the mid 80s, after which you arrived on the scene. Which Batman were you most in touch with growing up? Why do you think Batman survived so many permutations, and came back so strong?

To me, Batman’s costume always guaranteed a certain aura of dark coolness, at least in the comics. As a child, I was reading Batman comics in the campy ‘60s and yet I still saw the same dark coolness factor. Of course, I was a young kid, and pop culture - and comics - was brighter and less sophisticated back then.

The reason Batman remains Batman even after all the changes is because his fundamental motivation is so simple and traumatic, and, having no superpowers, his fans can identify with him more easily than with some other characters. Also, Batman straddles a number of different genres with lithe grace, including detective, superhero, sci-fi, pulp, horror, and many others. Perhaps inevitably, such a very wide range of application is going to appeal to a wide range of many differing types of people.

I know it sounds shallow and kind of stupid, but I also think that a huge part of Batman’s fame has always been his costume. This is one reason he’s so difficult to depict well on film. For instance, in drawings and animation his cape can become almost alive and expand to dynamic proportions which - if seen in live action - could easily appear silly. And his cowl in the comics often seems alive, showing his facial expressions right through it, while in the films it’s become a solid helmet.

Superhero movies are certainly nothing new, but it seems like we’re getting a concentrated dose of them in recent years. Recent films like Sin City, Spiderman, Iron Man, and the new Batman films have made tons of money, stayed true to the source material, and received positive reviews on top of it— a surprising trifecta. Do you think we’re in the golden age of superhero movies? Why do you think the public is so hungry for these stories?

We’re obviously in the midst of the first really big and successful era for such movies, but I believe the future will hold even more glorious times.

People are going for this stuff strongly now because the storytelling, sfx, acting, directing, and everything else is finally being applied to this genre at a cutting-edge level of professionalism. Also, as the real world continues to darken, so do many folks enjoy high levels of exciting escapism.

Ultimately, I think the coming of age of CGI sfx is the main element that has pushed superheroes onto center stage in film. Never before could such activities be shown as realistically on screen as they can be now.

You’ve made comments in the past that you thought the character of Anarky was possibly too provocative for a post 9/11 climate. But years have passed, and with the success of the film version of V for Vendetta, and in light of some of the more complex themes in The Dark Knight, it would seem there is a mainstream audience for stories that challenge our perceptions of what it means to be a hero (and villain). I realize the character’s fate is not up to you, but do you still think Anarky is too heady and subversive, or was he simply too hot to handle for a mainstream publisher?

I think maybe so, but the truth must be very complex. I would hope that most folks would’ve noticed by now that there’s been a heck of a lot of propaganda control since 9-11. The “free press” has become a bullhorn for the special interests of the ruling elite, at most others’ expense. Thinking in a sophisticated manner is one thing, but when such thinking starts to challenge the political status quo, that’s when the censorship really hits the fan.

Who knows? Anarky may be the main reason Alan Grant and I are now persona non grata at DC (and even at Marvel).

You left DC to work for Malibu on the title Prime in exchange for the publishing of your creation, Metaphysique. It was an ambitious project, and the run was abbreviated due to market woes, but obviously the lure of being able to build your own universe was powerful. Have you always wanted to create your own characters? What did you take from the Metaphysique experience?

As a child I read voraciously but I never wanted to be a writer, probably because I got side-tracked very early by my interest in visual art. By the time I made the deal with Malibu I’d only written a small number of short prose and comics stories, (some of those stories were published by Eclipse Comics in the original version of Metaphysique), but after seeing what the Image guys were writing, I knew I could provide a story with a bit more depth because my long-time interest in reading fiction, philosophy, and psychology motivated me with a lot to say.

The main thing I gained from Metaphysique was confidence in my ability to write an epic story if I so desired.

During a time when work was scarce in comics, you started writing a novel to blow off some creative steam; you’ve since expressed some interest in turning that novel, once finished, into a comic book. Your panel layout and sense of pace in comics is so dynamic— how has it been stepping from that into a world without pictures?

I was a big reader from childhood on, and my highest scores on my college level entrance exams were in English, so I suppose writing came to me more easily than it might have otherwise. But still, the first efforts with my novel were like kicking a bird out of its nest in order to make it fly. Not only was I demoralized because of my rejection by the mainstream comics companies, but writing a novel is a much bigger effort than I realised at the time. The first three chapters were exceedingly difficult for me, even though I knew basically where I wanted to be by the beginning of chapter four or so. And it was only after chapter three that I decided to plot out the rest of the book.

Now I enjoy writing so very much that I wish I could concentrate only on that. But I can’t; I’ll still have to pay my bills through my illustrations for at least a while to come. Soon, though, I’ll be able to finish my novel. I have no idea if I’ll be able to sell it, though.

Prose writing provides the communicative tools for expressing profoundly complex depth to a degree that movies and even comics just can’t match.

On your website there’s the option to order commissions, though you are not accepting any at this time. Any idea when commissions will again be available? How do commissions work— do you work with only certain characters, or could you do, say, Popeye vs. Galactus (not that you should)?

I should be accepting new commissions by the end of September 2008, and I’ll draw anything a client requests, within reason (no pornography or major dissing of any established characters). I’d be happy to draw Popeye vs. Galactus, though (I once drew a quickie for someone featuring Superman vs. Atom Ant).

The scope of your most recent collaboration– The Danger’s Dozen– is huge. How did you approach the challenge of handling such a big cast of characters? Was there something in particular that drew you to the project?

The Danger’s Dozen is the most difficult project I’ve ever drawn, for basically three reasons. 1) There are a heck of a lot of characters and settings, 2) the stories are incredibly complex, and 3) the reference I’ve been provided is somewhat spotty due to the fact that earlier printed issues and discs were destroyed or lost some time ago. A First Salvo has been very good about providing me with as much reference as possible, but I wish I could read the early issues wherein a lot of their multiverse was first established.

Concerning the convention experience– do you enjoy meeting fans? Do you ever get the impression from these meetings that your work on Batman is as influential to fans and budding artists as the work of guys like Neal Adams and Jim Aparo was to you?

I always enjoy meeting fans. Just about everyone has always been very sweet and gracious.

Sometimes I do indeed hear that my art has had as big an impact on some folks as Adams’ and Aparo’s and others’ art had on me, and it’s very gratifying. It makes me feel that I belong, that I have a place - however small - in history.

What are you working on now?

This summer, after some health problems I experienced in the spring, I’ve been concentrating for over a month on regaining my health, and I’m now ready to start working again. First on my schedule are two separate eight-page stories, one for IDW’s title Munden’s Bar, and one for A First Salvo. Then I’ve got numerous commissions to finish, and after that, in September, I’ll be starting work on a new project that I can’t talk about quite yet.

Thanks so much for your time.

My pleasure.

I say “show” because of the visual quality of the songs. There’s so much energy and fun here the effect is almost psychedelic, like being drunk on a rainbow. A set of wickedly theatrical piano-driven chamber pop songs, Step Right Up is in every jubilant note a manifesto of escape and an ode to individuality, while never making the mistake of romanticizing it beyond good sense. It’s tough not to fit in; something this stylized pianist (with a vocal delivery as much influenced by cabaret as pop music) hailing from a rural Saskatchewan farm town– population 250– must know a little something about. He’s a little Billy Joel, a little Elton John, and a little Liza Minnelli thrown into a pop blender.

These are feel-good songs to some extent, but that’s not giving them enough credit– they’re more complicated than that. From the poignant and clever tale of the outcast-in-her-own-skin protagonist of “Flat Lines” to the hallelujah chorus of the coming-out anthem “Tykie’s Comin’ Out” and many points between, the overall mood of the production is both rapturous and conciliatory: no matter how excited you may feel about the personal epiphanies that seem to burst about you like fireflies in the dark, there are difficult truths everywhere. Mania dives into depression. Joy wilts into melancholy. To truly connect with someone means covering a great distance—whether it’s physical or emotional— and sometimes there’s nothing fun about individuality; it can feel like combat. In Straker’s songs there are images of splintering closet doors, furious butterflies and powerful storms. He seems plenty aware that you have to make difficult choices and sacrifices; you have to buck a lot of trends; you have to fight the flow. It’s easy to feel that conflicted as a person and not be able to pull it off in a song, but Straker manages it with elegance.

He grinningly sidesteps banality and crafts lyrics that are neither bored nor boring. On the contrary, most every song is a quirky narrative containing fully-formed characters and often summoning striking images. Pretty much every line in “Flat Lines” is a gem, but equally good is “Special K,” a wicked minor-key waltz whose details shimmer with time begone sadness; in this song, the world has moved on around the characters and they seem to be caught in its trivial details, while in their minds they are still dancing martially to the tune of a life long gone. The song’s story takes place in the aisles of a grocery store, and there are so many interesting things happening– listen to how the lyrics and music intertwine, taking and giving cues like long-practiced dancers– that the overall effect is like coming in late to a play that’s in its third act: the characters are established and living, remembering and reacting to whatever love and betrayal has come before, and all is suggested in images: a drag queen caught out in the rain. Recalling the salty taste of a past lover’s skin while seeing him in present time looking not-so-attractive as remembered. It’s bitter magic.

But like trying to keep up with a manic-depressive friend, it can be taxing to traverse the mood swings across the album– and there are many. A concise example of that can be found in the story that weaves the album together. It’s about the process of meeting someone over the internet, and it’s diced up into a trio of piano-vocal songs and spread over the album; in “Bookmark” we listen to the narrator wearily read over what could be someone’s eHarmony profile while at the same time nursing a recent heartbreak. We go onward to a giddy-yet-tentative back-and-forth as the pair meet online in “Emoticons,” and arrive finally at their face-to-face dinner in a restaurant on “Dressed to Kill.” The way this story (and the album) concludes is bittersweet and comical, but unfortunately, it’s also somewhat of a downer. It’s as if the narrator has set himself up for disappointment by submitting to the whims of mania, being blown around like dandelion fluff in a stiff wind. It’s not that you can’t have all these moods together under one roof; it’s that ending the album on that note makes the listener feel like there may be no one at the controls of the roller coaster mentioned back in the sunshiney first track, “Hypnotized.” Are we individuals controlling our destinies, or victims of our own machinations? Maybe this is a complaint that’s too weighty for a pop album, but when you commit to going along on such a lively journey as this one, you kind of want to end on an upswing and not in a hollow. The songs overall are so likable that you want to finish the trip cheering— not wondering.

Nonetheless, this is a great listen– with energy, images and nimble keys, Jeffery Straker puts on a hell of a show; step right up, indeed.

www.jeffstraker.com

Oh, you resist. The word love appears in three song titles. Love? What is that? People still sing of that? Yes, sometimes they do. It’s like being drawn out of a cave, leaving the sedentary comforts of a hibernation that has gone on a few seasons too long, blinking into the sun, and starting to remember old lives, old selves. At least, that’s true for those of us who have forgotten.

Bartholomew, a multi-instrumentalist and soulful singer of stratospheric range, is a one-man show of impressive vision, having performed, produced, and engineered all twenty songs on the album. The production value is stunning. In fact, that the songs sound as rich as they do is pretty amazing— every layer of sound possesses the complexity and attention to detail you’d expect to find from a full band. The songs contain genuine climaxes, frequently soaring to Muse-like levels of catharsis, though without the baggage of all the spacey histrionics and dread.

The music is incredibly sweet, straightforward and disarming. On a song like “River Song,” for example, through simple generalizations and the gradual swell of its arrangement— euphoria starts to set in around the three-minute mark as the harmonies indeed ripple over each other like sun dapple on a body of water— you realize the spell is irresistible. If you are not closing your eyes and drifting away as the lyrics suggest, you imagine for a moment that you could. The arrangement is both rich and traditional with subtle shades of invention that keep it from sounding rehashed.

The melodies throughout are both simple and deceptively strong: take the vocal lines that lie over the comforting, wash-cycle tempo of the guitars on the arena-ready “One Man,” or the subtlely Smiths-tinged “Think Twice,” with a delirious falsetto outro that very nearly goes too far, leaving the listener gasping for breath. There are indeed many tweaks in style as Bartholomew draws (both musically and vocally) from different influences– those rooted in pop, rock, soul and country. There’s even a bit of music hall on the Queen-flavored “Do you Know How Much I Love You” and some almost-totally-out-of-place funk-lite rock in “Charlatan.”

This is also a flaw: the price of these little diversions over such a long run time is that the listener can feel lost, searching for a center. The Nightside disc contains the bolder material, while the Dayside disc is loaded with the majority of the album’s pure ballads. I suppose this is a thematic choice, but from a listener’s perspective this choice will likely lead to one disc or the other falling into purgatory. It’s a harsh truth that even the finest double albums suffer this phenomenon over time; digital media formats and iPODS have helped matters, forgoing the physical limitations of CDs, but a little diversity in the allocation of songs can also do wonders.

This of course goes hand-in-hand with the second flaw: the length itself. And So It Begins is perhaps the wrong name for the album. On one hand the title alludes to the fact that the release serves as an introduction to an impressive talent; but in another sense it’s a colossal understatement. As it progresses you get the sense that the album is all-encompassing; an almost encyclopedic profusion of material with a running time of almost an hour and twenty-three minutes, spanning two discs, and sampling so many moods that the finished product feels more like a compendium than an introduction. What is the scope of “it” if this is only the beginning? It’s simply a lot to take in, and regardless of how strong the material might be, “kill your darlings” is not a phrase that should circulate exclusively among writers of fiction.

But these are quibbles. If an overabundance of good songs is the biggest problem to be had, the future is bright. It may not be an earth-shattering reconfiguring of the plates beneath the pop music landscape, but it isn’t trying to be. It is an oasis of enormous talent and emotion, and to experience it through a good pair of headphones is to be immersed. If Bartholomew is not trying to take us to uncharted areas of the map, he reminds us of a course that has forever been true.

Joshua Bartholomew’s website:
www.joshuabartholomew.com

The tales, rarely more than 10 pages in length individually, are challenging enough to traditional modes of storytelling that one must relearn the art of interpretation in order to fully appreciate them. Whether this is due to a protagonist’s drug-fueled mindset, or due to the simple idea that a story need not have a drug-fueled protagonist to be strange and unwieldy, Shipp’s stories refuse to be bound by accepted storytelling conventions.

One of the more jarring escapes from convention is the tendency for the stories of S&W to rarely establish themselves in a physical setting; asking instead that the reader make sense of context by judge of character interaction and observation. This idea isn’t new; minimalist authors have been doing it for years. However, by combining this mode with the other aspects of the bizarro genre (from BizarroCentral.com: “…often contains a certain cartoon logic that, when applied to the real world, creates an unstable universe where the bizarre becomes the norm and absurdities are made flesh”), Shipp offers an entertainingly unbalanced platform from which to leap and let his world do with you what it wants.

The story, “Baby Edward,” one of my favorites, for example, begins: There’s more than one way to kill a dream [pg. 30], and continues from there hovering between the realspace of a nondescript backyard and the headspace of our narrator. The magic of this “blurry storytelling,” whether in the aforementioned “Baby Edward,” the hypnopompic hallucinatory mind of the narrator of “Nightmare Man,” or any of the other stories, is that a character’s headspace is the realspace. Though the stories challenge the reader to discern reality from unreality, the reader is slowly taught that the purposeful blur is meant to show how unnecessary such distinctions really are.

Be warned; this collection will polarize audiences, splitting readers according to their willingness to trust in an untethered voice. Sheep and Wolves does not believe in beach reading or in hammocks and hot chocolate. It does not believe in love at first sight or in happy marriages. To be happy, Sheep and Wolves says, is to embrace the absurd. “Lies are cheaper than therapy” [pg. 69].

Welcome to the bizarro fiction movement; hail Jeremy C. Shipp.

But it’s in the ground now; and in its place is Death Magnetic, thundering about like a suddenly reanimated patchwork monster.

And I do mean patchwork. I think there is a distinction to be made between a song that is complex and one that is simply cluttered. There is plenty of lean-and-mean riffing to be had— much more than on any album since …And Justice for All— but there is no cohesive center to it; no soul. Riffs are stitched together arbitrarily and songs do not progress so much as they simply continue, relentlessly. It’s impossible to find it boring because it’s the sonic equivalent of running from a tornado.

Take the first single, “The Day That Never Comes.” It’s a relatively straightforward rock song, and it’s decently memorable. That is, of course, until the senseless racket of the final minutes. I would never have supposed that all four members of the band could lose their sanity at the exact same moment, but I can only guess that’s what has happened from the fact that no one raised an objection while recording the mess at the end of this song. What else could explain it? I suppose they are trying to recreate the epic structure and emotional impact of “One,” perhaps the band’s signature song, but it just doesn’t work here. The approach worked on “One” not only because the progression of the song is logical—you can feel the closing riff building before it actually arrives—but also because that final riff is focused. The pseudo-furious noodling that closes out “The Day That Never Comes” is almost comical. It’s heavy metal parody.

To be fair, this is the low point of the album; the majority of the songs have true potential. There is speed, energy and passion, but rarely the focus. Kirk Hammett especially seems to be in a state of relapse after having nothing much to do last album, suddenly sounding like Jeff Hanneman: every square inch of available space has been crammed with manic solos. There are, of course, some moments when it all seems to come together— “The Judas Kiss” occasionally shreds, and “All Nightmare Long” is the best track on the album, a lethal injection of thrash— but there are too many flashes of tired, stoner-rock leads and bizarre transitions for this to be called a return to form, or even a re-imagining. Still, overall, this is a real improvement over Metallica’s last three albums; if there’s time left for one more change of oil, this old machine might run like new.

Commonwealth follows the Mapother family black sheep, “Blue Gene” Eugene, as he slowly morphs from passive flea marketer and Wal-Mart enthusiast to aggressive philanthropist with communist leanings. Blue Gene, willing dissident in regards to his family’s unfathomable fortune, adopts a working class lifestyle far removed from his wealthy family. This tension is only heightened by his brother, John Hurstbourne Mapother’s, campaign for a congressional seat. As the novel progresses, pandering for votes becomes not-to-far removed from pandering for familial affection, which forces the Mapother family into devastating conflict.

Though Blue Gene is mostly a caricature of the “red neck” conservative right, much of the conflict deals with the narrator’s unexpected struggle with these “red state” ideals as seeded by the novel’s love interest, the elfin-faced Jackie Stepchild, female lead of the anit-establishment punk band Uncle Sam’s Finger. Jackie represents a caricature of her own, the Left extremist, anti-capitalist aggravator, and the juxtaposition of the two characters adds to the Rhetorical Critic’s argument that Goebel himself may be attempting to find his place between Left and Right just as Blue Gene questions his own stance between these extremes. Much of the political points and counterpoints within the novel are so well articulated that it becomes hard to distance the author from the material. And I argue that this is exactly the point of the novel.

Beyond the politics of Commonwealth is a story very much grounded in the coming of age tradition. Blue Gene, always a proto-male, in love with monster trucks and professional wrestling, falls for Jackie in a way that might best be described as a simple crush. Though the relationship elevates as the novel progresses, Blue Gene has difficultly in admitting to his attraction, instead playing the “man’s man” role after their first extended conversation by commenting that “he hadn’t even gotten a good look at [her] breasts” [pg. 174].

Goebel’s previous novels are decidedly absent of politics, making Commonwealth quite the departure. And more so perhaps, an evolution. Where The Anomalies deals with a ragtag group of outcasts learning to accept their place in society, and Torture the Artist explores the importance of creation on a conceptual level, Commonwealth combines the two models to examine how seemingly radical views may be implemented in order to create a society properly disposed toward community rather than toward the individual.

If it sounds like a proclamation it should, and it comes beautifully by way of Emma-Lee, Canadian singer-songwriter on “Where You Want To Be.” Since last time we heard from her she has managed to get exactly where she wants to be. Her debut album, Never Just A Dream, which was given 4/4 stars from the Toronto Star—and also fared quite nicely with Oxyfication—is a brilliant beginning-to-end coming-of-age listening experience that defies genre classification. For the better part of the two years leading up to the recording of Never Just A Dream, however, it seemed as if the reality of it coming to fruition might be in danger. Emma-Lee faced two potentially career-ending-before-it-had-a-chance-to-begin medical hurdles that resulted in two separate surgeries on her vocal chords. At 25-years old, more resilient and determined than ever, recording wrapped on the album in mid-2008 and was released in August. On the album Emma-Lee played the songstress-of-all-trades: writing, singing, co-producing, photographing, promoting, and chief financing the project. The wearing of many different hats is nothing new for Emma-Lee. She runs her own photography business, Stripped Media, and she’s a founding member of the Toronto-based creative-collective, GoodSoundsGood. In a brief moment of downtime Emma-Lee stopped by Oxyfication to answer all things pertaining to Never Just A Dream, from what it felt like to finally finish the album, to what it’s like being the object of affection of the Viagra-popping generation.

***

So it’s been over two and a half years since you first spoke with Oxyfication. In our first interview you stated your goal was to record your first full-length album and now on the eve of its August 8^th 2008 official release, Never Just A Dream becomes a full-fledge reality. For starters, has it finally set in yet that you’ve done it, and if so when was that moment? Was it hearing the finished product in the studio, when the disk arrived on your doorstep, or if so/not, what were those moments like?

I think the moment for me was when the vocals were officially done. Before mixing, mastering and packaging, I knew all those things would be done one way or another but because of the surgery, and my nervousness about whether or not I could sing the way I used to, it was a true victory when I had completed that part of the project.

Early response to Never Just A Dream has been extremely positive, including a nomination in the “Best Jazz” category of Toronto’s Independent Music Awards as well as a nod in the Toronto Star’s weekly “Anti-Hit” list of the best-undiscovered musicians. What do these honors feel like? Are they strictly a validation thing for all of the hard work? Are they something you worked towards/hoped for? Or is all of it just an added bonus to accomplishing something that you’ve proud of?

It’s always nice to get a positive reaction from people. You pour your heart into something and at the end of the day I’m very proud of the record, so I guess people enjoying what I’ve done is a bit of a bonus. I’m always grateful for the added exposure though.

What has been your favorite or most fulfilling moment in all of this so far?

For me it’s watching the songs come alive by way of my amazing band. I’m blessed with a lot of talent around me who believe in the project, which is very encouraging. The world is so fast now and everyone is so busy. If someone is willing to lend me their time because they believe in the music, that’s probably the most fulfilling thing about what I do.

Back in 2006 you spoke of making an album that “flows like a story.” The obvious theme of Never Just A Dream would seem to be rooted in heartache, yet there is a strong sense of redemption in songs such as “Flow”, “Isn’t It Obvious”, and “Mr. Buttonlip” that it seems if there’s any real sense of cohesiveness in terms of an overall story it’s of a woman—or person for that matter—who is coming into their own, who feels comfortable in their own skin, as scarred as it may be. Considering some of these songs are years older than others did you still have a cognizant theme in mind when you were putting the album together, are they more a collection of songs that happen to skate in familiar waters, or were they perhaps just the songs that fit best with what you wanted to say?

I would say they are a collection of songs. The three you mentioned are all about one person and play out on the album in order of which they were written: the sadness of the break-up, the trouble that comes from trying to remain friends, and the inevitable angry or “fuck you” song. The rest of the songs on the album are more or less things that took place in the last few years of my life and just sort of “fit”. For a debut album I wanted something that people could put on start to finish, but it is by no means a concept record.

The lyrical content seems to be familiar territory on the album’s first run through, but the lyrics reveal many intricacies on subsequent listens. Possession and the pitfalls of couplehood seem to be a recurring theme– and then comes a song like “Where You Want To Be”, which is on a different plane. With such an economy of words the song floats through some tricky states of mind— there are shades of comfort, tenacity, and disappointment here. Do you approach a song like this by trying to abbreviate a distinct narrative you’ve got in mind, or are you working purely in abstracts that, when paired with the music, evoke a pure mood?

“Where You Want to Be” is sort of an observation on people who are complacent with where they are in life and never chase anything further. I’ve had a few friends who seemed to settle quite early on and never dreamed of anything that wasn’t directly in their reach and I never really understood it. It angers me a bit when people who I know are full of potential or talent, but just sort of give in to being comfortable, even if that means sacrificing a dream.

The song “Flow” has undergone a facelift since its first appearance on The Sneak Peek E.P. Though the melody and spirit of the song remain the same it’s a completely different song. Why did you decide to change the song? Was it strictly a matter of having more at your disposal now than when you initially recorded it? Did the song mature, did the way you sing it perhaps mature, or was this the way you heard it sound in your mind all along?

Definitely the first version of “Flow” was never in my mind “complete”. I think a song can be done a million different ways. That’s what makes music so exciting. A big part of the change in the way it sounds was removing the electric guitar and replacing it with piano for the intro. Tyler Yarema, who plays all of the piano and organ on the album, came into the studio and I told him to just experiment with playing the intro verse a few different ways. When he played this ultra-minimalist take I just knew it was right. He barely knew the song and his intuition was just so bang-on. I think he did maybe three takes of the song and that was the one we (Mitch Girio, my co-producer) and I chose. Vocally, I had definitely improved and matured since the first recording. I’ve laid off the over-done runs that often happen in that genre as I found they often can be distracting from the real message in the music and lyrics. It took me awhile to tune into that. I know now that I don’t have to show off my vocal acrobatics to get my point across.

In terms of the structure of how the songs of Never Just A Dream were laid out the album opens (with “Bruise Easy”) and closes (with “Until We Meet Again”) with a fade in/fade out feel to it giving it a sort of cinematic feel. Was the sequence of the songs something you paid a lot of attention to, or planned out?

Once those songs were written—which coincidentally they were the most recent additions to the album—it made sense for me to open with something really bare. People in the industry will tell you to put your best songs first on an album but I didn’t really care about that. It was more important for me that the first song be intriguing rather than bash people over the head with a hook. It’s short, almost like an intro; it sets a mood. The last song, with its title (“Until We Meet Again”) seemed like a no-brainer to place at the end, and I think it is an equally intriguing way to finish the CD. For my first real “album” I didn’t want to compromise anything. No one is telling me what to do right now so why should I do what is expected by the mainstream? I think the best thing that you can do as an independent artist is to take major advantage of the freedom. At the end of the day it’s my name tacked on to the project so if I don’t feel good about it, it’s going to be hard to promote.

The boys that inspired these songs, have you heard from any of them on how they’ve been immortalized? Is there a line of men already forming to be in the next round of songs? And specifically, with the song “An Older Man”, have you already, or do you expect a harem of Viagra-packing gentlemen to show up at your performances?

[Laughs] A few older men have come a-courtin’, that much is true. As far as the rest, the one who Mr. Buttonlip is about left me a really funny message on my answering machine after receiving the album. It was something along the lines of “Hey…just wanted to tell you that I love your album, particularly Mr. Buttonlip, but I have a feeling it’s about me. If it’s not about me and I’m just being a vain asshole I’m sorry, but let me know because I think I will like it a lot more if it’s about someone else.” I kind of forgot when I gave it to him that there might be some offensive words on there.

The strings added another dimension to the songs giving them a grander yet seemingly more intimate sound. Were strings something that you wanted to work with all along and what was that like, hearing songs you built on the guitar get transformed with classical instruments?

That was one of the most exciting moments in the project. I asked Mike Olsen to do the strings early on as I’d heard a lot of his work, which was amazing. I have a belief that you need to let people just DO what they’re truly good at. So I basically gave the songs to Mike and said, “Write whatever you want”. I know that I do my best work as an artist, whether it be in music or photography, when people just let me do my thing. Rules and restrictions can be suffocating, so I wanted to let the people involved in the CD shine in what they had worked their lives becoming an expert at. The results are just as I expected, and I still get goose bumps when I hear their parts.

In the past two years you were forced to face two separate problems with your vocal chords resulting in two different surgeries. Were there times when the “What if?” and “Why me?” questions started to creep into your head? Or did these roadblocks only strengthen your resolve to get Never Just A Dream completed? What was the hardest part of going through all of this? Have you had to change your approach at all? How has your voice held up since the surgeries?

I’m not a religious person but when a series of unfortunate events occur in your life sometimes you turn to spiritual means to sort them out. Certainly a lot of “what if” and “why me” questions crossed my mind. But I’m not the type of person to just succumb to struggle. I know that there was no fucking way I would have come this far and worked that hard just to roll over. My voice feels the same, if not better than before the surgeries, and I try to appreciate it a lot more.

In the heat of the creative process is it hard—or on Never Just A Dream was it hard—to objectively step back and enjoy what you hear, and moreover enjoy what’s going on? Does it get too familiar at times? Were there/Are there times when you have to step back for a while to allow things an opportunity to remain fresh? When/If ever did you start to hear the “magic” on the album?

I would say I heard the magic right away. After those first sessions recording the bed tracks I was sold. There was a period of time spent not doing any work on the record because of the surgery I had. During that time I played the shit out of what had been done and got to a point where I felt I had listened too much. Then the vocals, strings, and finishing touches were put on and it was exciting again. After a couple weeks listening to it for hours on end during the mixing and mastering stages I was sick of it. I do that with almost every record I love though. I listen to it for every detail until I could recite it to you lick for lick. Once I sent it off to the plant to get manufactured I took a few weeks off and didn’t listen to it once. I think it’s important to spend time away from something so you can appreciate it again later. I listened to it again today actually and still felt really happy about it, so I guess that’s all I can ask for.

In our first interview we talked about the hardships that being an independent artist—in its truest sense—face. Considering that you shouldered the brunt of the load on Never Just A Dream (singer/songwriter/nylon guitar/co-producer/art direction/promoter/chief photographer/glockenspiel/financier/and most importantly, claps & stomps) how difficult has it been it to pull everything together and still maintain the focus, drive, and creative spirit? Do you have a greater sense of accomplishment because you laid so much of yourself on the line? And do you feel like everything up to this point has been how you envisioned it would be?

I think given my resources for completing a project like this I have no complaints and I feel comfortable where I am right now. Many of the singer-songwriters I admire took a long time to really accomplish great things and I’ve always felt like a late bloomer in that sense. I didn’t really start writing songs until four years ago, so I can only hope to learn more every year and become a better writer. At times it’s difficult to maintain a creative spirit when you are mountains in debt, but truthfully my best writing comes from harder times, not when I’m lying on a beach getting a massage in Barcelona. As annoying as they are in the present tense, as long as I tune into those feelings as they’re happening, hopefully [I can] write a song, and they can be good for the spirit.

The sounds of Never Just A Dream meander through many different genres—from jazz, to blues, to pop, to a big-band era show tunes feel—rather seamlessly, and though theory says that good music should conquer all, it seems the music industry from top to bottom is hell bent on compartmentalizing sounds/bands/singers into specific categories, even if they don’t fit, for marketing purposes. The flipside of that—and a freedom perhaps granted to you as an independent singer—seems to be that because the album is so diverse in its sound that it could appeal to a broader base of people. Have you run into any hardships on this level, either trying to describe the album, market the album, or promote the album, or has it been a fairly easy go because of its diversity?

I’ve pretty much come to an acceptance that I am terrible at streamlining—or channeling—my inspiration into any one sound. I listen to way too many different types of music to make a record that is any one particular genre. I mean never-say-never; there might be a top-to-bottom jazz album in me yet, but not anytime soon. I love to explore far too much. I think it’s a lot more acceptable in Indie music to be all over the map. Or it’s simply more common because, again, no one is telling you what to do. As much as I hope that people will listen to this album from start to finish it’s an iPod generation, and people pick favourites and play those. Does it really matter how cohesive something is anymore? I don’t know.

In terms of singles, do you—or with Never Just A Dream specifically did you—consciously think that you’re going to need a single—or singles—to help pull people into the album? Do you write with that in mind? Does something like that maybe develop after the fact? Or is the whole need for a single overblown?

In my world a single isn’t necessary. I’m not making the kind of music that’s going to be played on mainstream commercial radio so I have to go to campus radio. Their format is totally open; DJ’s play whatever songs from the album they want. You can try to get your fans to request particular songs but that doesn’t always have sway. However, if there were a first “single” for the album it would be “That Sinking Feeling”. I’m working on getting funding for a music video for that song right now. I have never tried to write a single, or a “hit song”. I could be completely wrong but I still hold to the idea that the best songs come from true inspiration, not what someone thinks is catchy or “cool”. As soon as I feel like I’m “trying” to find the hook I toss the song. Pretty much all of the hooks I’ve ever come up with I don’t really remember where they came from. They just sort of came out, eventually.

You mention trying to secure funds for a music video of “That Sinking Feeling”. Though internet sites such as YouTube are hugely popular, and have pretty much completely replaced the MTVs and other once video-friendly cable outlets that are now more concerned with reality shows, do you think that music videos still have a pertinent place in music? So many of the popular videos on YouTube seem to be quirky by nature, and though they can go a long way to getting a lot of people to notice you, it seems that fame in that regard can definitely be fleeting. Is your desire to make a music video driven by the chance of exploring another creative medium, is it because you truly believe that there’s still a place for music videos out there, or is it maybe something different? And do you have an idea of what you’d want to do for “That Sinking Feeling” visually to compliment the song?

I believe YouTube is an opportunity to expose a little piece of yourself to the world with a low budget. It’s a good way to connect personally to your fans, but as you said, it’s fleeting. My interest in making a music video isn’t so my mug can be on computer screens across the world as much as it would be the joy of attaching a visual creation to the musical creation. I think there will always be a place for music videos because often the combination of music and film is more memorable than just the song itself and ups the sentimentality a person could feel towards it. I have an idea for the video, but you will just have to wait and see it to know what it is! Completing a music video will definitely be a big check mark off the old “life to-do list”. I’m excited to say the very, very least.

Prior to the release of the album you had a pre-order where people could buy their copy (or copies) of Never Just A Dream in advance. The benefit for you was that it helped raise necessary money. The benefit for them was that they received the album upon its completion ahead of the official release date. Was the pre-sell a success, and what was the overall response. How wide-ranging in location were the people who pre-ordered?

The pre-sale was quite a success. I was surprised and flattered that people were sending me money for an album that hadn’t been recorded yet, and that they hadn’t heard even a tiny sample from. Apparently I have some very kind and supportive friends and fans. I got orders from all over the world.

Both with Indie releases and those from major studios the album booklet and its artwork are often overlooked or passed off with indifference. Perhaps that’s due to the overabundance of people who get their music in mp3 format, or perhaps it’s a way to cut down on cost, but you’ve paid great attention to the artwork and the booklet and the presentation really pays off creating a fuller experience. Was that really important to you and if so, why?

I figure anyone who buys the physical CD is buying it for that exact reason; the experience. If you’re more partial to iTunes you probably don’t give a toss what the liner notes say. So I made the booklet with the idea in mind that the CD was going to go to people who wanted that experience. I love photos; it’s obvious why I got into photography. I’ve always been drawn particularly to the way my favourite bands/musicians were presented in their artwork. There is a quote from Bjork that says:

“The reason I do photographs is to help people understand my music, so it’s very important that I am the same, emotionally, in the photographs as in the music. Most people’s eyes are much better developed than their ears. If they see a certain emotion in the photograph, they’ll understand the music. So instead of having to listen to my album ten times, they’ll get it the first time.”

I guess that explains why I do self-portraits. I can capture myself exactly as I would like to be perceived.

Now that you have your first full-length album under your belt has there been any time to relish in that feeling of “I’ve finally done it”, or is it just a matter of having to move on to the next phase of promoting and selling the album? And does the completion of the album leave you with an added sense of pressure both on yourself and what you expect of the album?

I’ve definitely had my moment to enjoy and say “Ok, it’s done” and I’ve fully moved into promo mode. As far as pressure and my expectations, I feel that I’ve done the best job I possibly could right now and I’m truly happy with the result. If people get it, and like it, that will encourage me to move forward. I look at this record as an introduction to what I’m all about, and I hope it will take me far enough to make another one.

You’ve already performed several dates in advance of the release of Never Just A Dream and have several others lined up in the coming months, including your first mini-foray into the U.S. Ideally the goal would be to tour the album as much as possible in as many different places/counties, but realistically as an Independent musician, what sort of places/cities do you see yourself getting to?

I’ve been playing with a band for most of my career. As much as I would love to take them on the road with me everywhere it’s financially not feasible right now. I’m working on finessing my solo act so I can go anywhere at the drop of a hat. A solo performance is always completely different than with the full band but it should never be thought of as better or worse - just different. Some people have said they love to hear me acoustic because my voice is at the forefront; others love the rhythmic element having a band provides. I like playing with a band for the feeling of sharing music with others on stage, but there is a certain control you get playing alone that you can’t always have with a band. I’ll go wherever people will listen; but I would like to spend more time in Europe, if only for its simpler navigation. Canada is a monster.

In terms of the live show not being any better or worse whether it’s a solo gig or one with a full band, do you feel that all of the songs from ‘Never Just A Dream’ can—and do— translate over to a solo show, or are there some that you reserve for when you have a band?

I personally prefer playing with a full band because that provides me the ability to show an audience exactly how I hear things in my own head. On the flip side, the intimacy and control you have when performing solo is also nice depending on the gig. I believe all of the songs translate to solo, that’s where they started. Not always, but as a general rule I think if it can’t stand-alone with a guitar and a voice it’s probably a dud.

Finally, in closing your last interview with Oxyfication, when asked where you saw yourself in a year’s time you answered, “I predict I will be in the midst of making a full on disco album and working on a completely pretentious coffee table book of nude self portraits.” How are those proclamations coming along, and do you have any insight into a year from this point?

[Laughs] Well, the nude coffee table book and disco album are still in the back of my mind, but I’ve been too busy with NJAD to really let them…flourish In one year from now I hope to have all the material for a new album, and if I have that, I’ll be exactly where I want to be.

***

Order Never Just A Dream here.

Discuss the interview here.

The luscious landscape of “That Sinking Feeling” sets the proper mood for what you’re going to get; a genre-defying balance of songs that are flawlessly produced to compliment one of Canada’s best-undiscovered secrets: Emma-Lee’s voice.

“Jealousy” is a gamboling good time of a “grow up already” tune that serves nicely as a dance-by-yourself-because-it-feels-good-to-be-alive anthem with lyrics such as, “If we could all make the same confessions/Stop treating lovers like god damn possessions/’Cause people do what people want to anyways.” The juxtaposition might come with “Isn’t It Obvious”, a beautifully honest song about the perils of being stuck in a place that you know isn’t right, but you can’t quite—either by choice or circumstance—get away from.

“Mr. Buttonlip” may not be as blunt as Alanis Morissette’s “You Outta Know” with its happy-go-lucky toe-tapping big band sound, but this a big fat “F’ off!’ proclamation if ever there was one, and never has a smooth-as-silk voice stung so severely as when Emma-Lee sings, “So why do you stick around just to stay in the picture?/This album closed when you hit the road.” Next up is the bluesy, “An Older Man”, a super-sexy coming-into-their-sexual-own tale that will have a legion of boys chalking up their driver’s licenses to try and disguise themselves as men when they hear a verse like, “Lips like clockwork ‘cause he’s kissed a lot of flowers.”

The minimalism of the piano-driven epic “Flow” recalls the sparse serenades of Lionel Richie’s best ballads when he ruled the contemporary airwaves. Like many of the other songs on Never Just A Dream the person in “Flow” is someone who is waiting for a crescendo that’s never going to come; only in terms of the song, as it reaches its crescendo and Emma-Lee belts out, “Just let me go” it’s just as cathartic as it is stunning.

At 25-years old, in 42-minutes, on her debut album no less, Emma-Lee accomplishes what most of her forbearers forgot long ago: that you don’t sit down to only watch certain scenes in a movie, so why should you do it with an album? As listeners we’re just as guilty, in this single-driven society we tend to sacrifice quantity for quasi-quality, forgoing the experience of experiencing an album for the convenience of the chopping block to fill our iPod playlists. With Never Just A Dream Emma-Lee spares us the shears, offering instead this top-to-bottom, no-fillers testimonial of someone, who through thick and thin, is learning to feel comfortable in their own skin. Never Just A Dream not only belongs in the discussion for the Best Debut Album of the Year, it can hold its own against the Tidals, Little Earthquakes, and whatever-other-notable-debut you want to compare it to. It’s that good.

If there’s one thing to hold against Emma-Lee it’s that she may have mislead you. On “Bruise Easy” she sings, “And it’s hard to love a girl wearing sorrow.” That’s a lie; it’s hard not to love a girl who wears it so well. Emma-Lee isn’t a name that you’re going to remember. She’s a singer you’ll never forget.

“Sure,” Henry Baum says. “And just for fun, I’ll make it damn good, too.”

The Golden Calf tracks the slow maturation of our Everyman, Ray Tompkins, from idle citizen occupied by various low rung jobs to a self-starting, though often self-important, anti-celebrity activist, stalking Brad Pitt-ish/Tom Cruise-esque kindred, Tim Griffith. His intent: to make the star “feel the curse of [his own] contentment” [pg. 110]. This all while maintaining a disquieting respect for Tompkins; an impressive balancing act considering the lengths Tompkins goes to affect the movie star.

Baum eases his protagonist into the stalking mentality with enough grace to let the reader ride the transition, rather than be jarred by it. With well-paced revelations regarding Tompkins’s always frayed childhood, family life, and personal relationships, the move from passive nobody to stalker feels natural, yet it retains necessary moral conflict in order to keep the reader engaged. Tompkins weighs this dilemma most directly when first leaving notes for Griffith at the star’s beach house:

Part of my mind was saying, don’t go, you’ll get caught and this will be all over and you haven’t done half of what you said you would do. The other half was saying, fuck him, he deserves it. Lately the latter half was winning the argument. [pg. 113]

The novel stops short of condoning Tompkins’s actions, in part by touching on the hypocrisies inherent with his actions. Ray’s subtle rise to his own version of fame – a place in life where people associate his image with destroying Hollywood egocentrism – feels too similar to the fame he claims to detest. Tompkins even touches on the need of fame in order to deliver his message of anti-fame:

To be unknown was to not exist, and that was the same as death. The best way to get fame was to touch fame, get close to it, show it what mattered and what didn’t, make it realize the things it didn’t know. [pg. 74]

These hypocrisies pepper the novel enough to destroy any façade of a perfect philosophy. Tompkins is an intentionally flawed character, driven but still human, which makes the journey all the more engaging. After all, this isn’t a manifesto or a treatise. This is a novel, and a damn good one at that.

“So, how was the read?” Henry Baum may ask.

“Beautiful,” I would say. “But I’ve learned better than to worship you for it.”