Deep in the zone with the Dirty Three
By THOMAS CONNER firstname.lastname@example.org September 20, 2012 8:58PM
Dirty Three playing at Fowlers Bar Adelaide in 2010. Image licenced to the Dirty Three for promotion up until 21/11/2013. Image (C) Ben Searcy 2010. Photo credit required upon publication. www.bensearcy.com.au. Email Ben@bensearcy.com.au.
the DIRTY THREE
WITH THE CAIRO GANG
When: 9 p.m. Wednesday
Where: Lincoln Hall, 2424
Info: lincolnhallchicago.com; (773) 525-2508
Updated: October 24, 2012 6:19AM
One of my all-time favorite concerts was the Dirty Three opening for Beck in 1996 in an Oklahoma ballroom. The trio’s instrumental rock is haunting enough on record, and in concert, the players crackle with intensity.
This particular night, violinist Warren Ellis sawed at his fiddle like a troll possessed, which isn’t unusual. But he kept … spitting, and straight upward. Lost in concentration, he would snort, hack and fire off a gob of goo at the low ceiling directly above him. His expulsions collected and collected — and drooped and sagged — until the inevitable occurred.
“That was the show when the loogie fell on my head? Yeah,” Ellis recalls, impressively. “That was the only applause I got all night.”
Unknown and from Australia, the Dirty Three had just broken through with its third disc, “Horse Stories,” hailed in critics’ polls and voted by Rolling Stone as one of the top three albums of ’96. Since then, Dirty Three has recorded five more albums of dense, emotional instrumental rock — including this year’s “Toward the Low Sun” — and Ellis has joined the Bad Seeds and Grinderman, bands led by fellow Aussie Nick Cave, and worked with him on film scores.
Before launching the new tour, which stops here Wednesday, Ellis chatted from his Paris home about his hard-driving creative process, his position as a default front man and his new soundtrack with Cave for the recent film “Lawless,” featuring Mark Lanegan (Screaming Trees), Emmylou Harris and 85-year-old bluegrass legend Ralph Stanley singing songs by the Velvet Underground, Captain Beefheart, Townes Van Zandt and more.
Q. You go into a zone when you perform live. What’s happening?
A. I don’t know any other way. I’ve always been like that. When I first started playing, there was an addictive thing about it. It’s very much like taking drugs in that you get this kick from it. You don’t get it every time, but when you get it you want it again. Nothing else gives me that.
Q. What happens when that doesn’t happen?
A. It’s terrifying. I get nervous about a bunch of stuff, but the two constant things are going into the studio and thinking, “Is this the day it stops?” and going onstage, and it all goes horribly wrong. There are moments when it crumbles, and I realize I’m just a dick with a violin. I feel healthy that this happens. It helps me keep my place in the scheme of things.
Q. That’s a tough form of self-motivation.
A. It makes me stretch further. The next record I do, I always want to be the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m still waiting for the day I feel I’ve done something really, really great. That there’s still a part of the experience that’s mysterious is what’s really attractive about it. Like doing a film score or trying to play a four-string guitar, or a few years ago, I put the fiddle down and tried working with things I had no idea how to approach. It renews my interest in the whole thing.
Q. Do you consider yourself a front man?
A. I never have. Usually a singer is, by default, the front guy. That’s how bands work. If I’m alluded to as the front guy, it’s ’cause I’m closer to the front. But we’ve never thought about this band in that respect. It’s always about the way the three of go together — the sum of its parts as opposed to anything else. Without any one of us, this would cease to exist. That’s always been the really strong attraction.
Q. What — musically more than logistically — made “Horse Stories” such a breakout record?
A. I don’t know. That album was recorded under pretty bad conditions. I was a real mess on every level. The three of us were at war with each other, too. The record was shelved, but we played it for a couple of people, who said, “You should put this out, there’s really something here.” I guess there’s something quite desperate about it, pretty and desperate. It feels like you’re privy to something, like you’re sitting in a room with us. It’s certainly a very charged album.
Q. “Toward the Low Sun” had its own difficulty in getting under way. You had writer’s block?
A. We kept coming up with material, but it felt like we knew it, knew what was going on with it; it felt familiar. But every time we played live, something great happened. We realized we needed to get the live show into the new material, to give the music space to move around like in concert, open it up to how we react to each other on stage. That was the key. I’d started wondering if we’d ever make another record, thought maybe we’d said as much as we could. I was in a creative stalemate. It’s a thing that happens to anybody no matter what you’re doing. I don’t want it to feel easy. I want to surprise myself.
Q. What was the spark that ignited between you and Nick Cave?
A. I don’t know. We met in the ’90s, and I played on a record or two. We push each other. For the time being, it’s a relationship that’s very creative and productive.
Q. On the “Lawless” soundtrack, you’ve got some interesting versions of the Velvet Underground’s “White Light/White Heat.” How did those come about?
A. That was a joy to be a part of. Getting Ralph Stanley to throw his voice on our versions of these, it just sounded so insane. And it wasn’t easy. We couldn’t get Ralph to sing in 4/4, and he wouldn’t sing in key. But he came out with these amazing versions. The real thing was when we brought Lou Reed into the studio and played them for him. His reaction was extraordinary. He really welled up. He couldn’t believe it. Ralph took the song back to a place where it had come from. It was amazing. It certainly feels like one of the things that resonates the most historically that I’ve been involved in.