Patrick Bower believes in the magic of New York City

Patrick Bower @ Pete's Candy Shop copyright Brooklyn Vegan

We’ve made no secret of our attachment to New York City. One of the perks of holding a transatlantic blog is getting to ask questions about how location affects creativity, and specifically music writing, touring, and the longing for home. Patrick Bower, who has been living in Brooklyn for eight years now, discusses the pros and cons of living in The City That Never Sleeps, the City of Blinding Lights. And it’s magical.

Your move to New York – was it a musically motivated decision or was it just a drive to go live to New York City?

A little bit of both. At the time I was actually married. I said “let’s go to New York; I’m very unhappy here” (in Indiana). I had a band there, and we did okay. We used to open for big bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, and it’s a lot of fun, cause you’re a big fish in a little pond. You get paid a hundred bucks to do it and nobody cares who’s opening for these bands. I was tired of this, I saw its glass ceiling. My marriage lasted about a year. Deep down it was about music, but I was moving a family in the process, so it was more complicated than that. I was touring with my old band, The Nods we were called, I had plans to move to New York but I hadn’t put anything in place yet. We had just played Philadelphia, we were about to play New York, at the Cake Shop, something like that. Our van caught on fire on the highway, smoke poured out of it. Everyone kind of freaked out and dispersed, hitched a ride back to Indiana. I was sort of left there, so I stored the equipment, put the van on the side of the road, picked my guitar at the back, and moved to Greenpoint where I had some friends. I took the train and said, “Hey, I’m here, let’s start this.” I got a job in three days at a coffee shop on Bedford Ave, and I eventually got back and moved the rest.

Do you feel like this is something that bands have to do, go coastal? Or could you pull a Josh Ritter and be fine with being from Idaho? I mean, Prince comes from Minneapolis.

He seems to be pretty happy there! But what does he know, he lives in outer space. I think there is a huge sense that bands are missing out on something, even if they have a cool local scene, like in Oklahoma, but you’re still missing out on something.

But when you think about it, the two most interesting festivals in the US are SxSW and ACL, and they’re in Texas.

In Texas, yeah, small towns, and it might as well be Indiana. My friend Chris Swanson is the president of Secretly Canadian, those guys are a huge influence, in their attitude and their belief in DIY music. Now they’re rich, they’re big indie. It’s great, I’m so happy for them. As a matter of fact one of their first signings, Dave Fischoff, is now my neighbor in Brooklyn. We’re collaborating on some stuff. They’re doing amazing things in Bloomington, IN: turning out records by Anthony and the Johnsons, and people who may not live there but the machinery is there. You know, bands like Magnolia Electric Company, they’re doing very well. So small bands, small town, the thing is if you don’t get signed by that one label, that’s it, there’s no other industry to speak of to bounce back on. So you pretty much have to go where the business is.

Park Slope

Because rock’n'roll is so urban the tri-state area is basically drawing all the attention to itself, especially with DC having spawned such a brilliant punk scene. New York will always be New York, but recently Gothamist came up with this analysis of whether New York was still New York, with the Lower East Side becoming too glossy. Do you think it’s lost it?

The answer is yes and no. Yes it has, but no, because it’s just not in Manhattan anymore. The centers have shifted you know. It’s cool that y’all have a nostalgia with the Lower East Side, and I do too, that was a fun place to be for a while. The center of the music scene is north by Greenpoint and Williamsburg. Some of the greatest venues are there and in Park Slope, with the Bell House, Little Fields, the Rock Shop, it’s great, Peter Bjorn and John just played there. That’s where most of the low-key bands are now. The National live in Prospect Heights.

There are plenty of other cities that could claim to be Music City now. I mean look at Nashville – you have a record company on every corner.

I’ve always wanted to go. Let’s go. Do you have a car?

I can’t drive here, my European license isn’t valid.

My license lapsed!

We have to find a car.

Johnny Lamb, my driver, he has one. He has a car.

Mostly rock’n'roll belongs to the South. Elvis belongs to Tennessee, Hank Williams belongs to Alabama. The rhythm’n'blues has nothing to do with the coasts. It came to the coasts because people wanted it to be urban – but I’m fascinated by the origins of rock’n'roll and how tied it is to southern history.

You can still be a 20 years old musician and come here and make it to the city, that’s the thing. Sleep with five other people in a loft apartment. When you’re 20 years old, you don’t mind. You can take those wait tables and tend bars. I’m constantly fascinated by New York City, I never get over it. My daughter doesn’t think twice about it.  New York City is a great place to raise a kid. So much at your fingertips. I only knew one black person until I went to college.  He was my token black friend. He wasn’t even a friend, just someone I knew. I was so impressed that it was someone I knew. My daughter, she’s the only white kid in her school. And she’s totally thriving and doesn’t even understand that it’s different from Indiana.

Do you buy into the fact that New York City is often referred to as “a poor man’s Europe”?

No, because I think it’s completely different. The disillusionment just happens whenever my bank account gets too low. I wanted to come to NYC because of Lou Reed, because of The Walkmen, Bob Dylan, and Woody Allen! I grew up on Woody Allen and all his images of New York, so I come here, and so much was prohibited from me, I realized that right away. I had to sort of adjust.

Do you think New York is the Sin City to your religious background?

Oh yeah. I came here, started doing tons of drugs. I was doing all the things my parents didn’t want me to do. It’s so easy. I could do anything. It was totally that. People always say there is a death element to a life, or to a music scene. There’s something for everybody, all of the time. I used to go to all of these places that you could have afters at, you know, that are open until noon the next day. It’s never going to die. On the other hand, you lose a lot, and people are more privileged than others here, and everything is expanding. You’re in Bushwick, right? So you’re close to the center of New York. You’re close to everything. I live in a no-place right now. Clinton Hill is a no-place. It has no kind of character. I like it a lot, actually. It’s a place to be at peace.

Do you believe that if you make it to New York, you can make it anywhere?

I do believe in it, yeah. And I think that if you know New York well enough, you become part of it. Since I’ve been here I’ve gone to many places in the world and I’m very comfortable, because I feel I’m so integrated into the culture of New York, that people get me, culturally. Whereas if I’m from some place like in the middle of the country, people can’t relate. It’s also about the survival techniques that we’ve acquired, coming here. People with different accents, different ideas about life – you have to be able to deal with them too.

Do you consider yourself a New Yorker now?

After eight years, I feel I’ve earned it. Technically it’s nine – someone told me that it’s after nine years that you get to call yourself a New Yorker and you get to start complaining about New York.

Patrick Bower still believes in magic

Copyright Tamara Smith

Patrick Bower is atypical. He’s doesn’t hail from London, but from the great wide plains of Indiana; he did not meet his band mates at a posh boarding school, but in Greenpoint; and his story-telling abilities are a true testament to his talent as a songwriter. This interview took place in a dimly lit Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn, NY, where we hope to meet with him again. In the first part of this interview, Patrick discusses his beginnings in a state that is hard to put on a map, his love for music, and what musical magic represents to him.

This concept of a world without any magic, creatively and musically speaking, tell us more about it.

I came to New York City in 2002 and was looking to start over (I’m from Indiana, originally). I came here and it was really tough, you know. I met some people I’m still very close to and we started doing music very early on. I got a sense of dread about the future, I had no idea what was going to happen. I thought about starting a new band, and my friend, who was having a harder time than I was (he was teaching English in South Korea), did it for five years, so I asked him about band names, he handed me a list, and at the top of the list was The World Without Magic.  I think it’s sad, the idea, I hope it’s a little funny. I hope people will get the humor. A lot of our songs are really dark and serious, but I hope the humor comes through at times.

The first thing I thought about was the “Spoonful of Lightning Song”, Do you believe in magic. It became even clearer in my head when I saw the video, which was stunning. There is a complete universe being brought to life, the song has such a clear narrative.  Is there a bit of unexplained magic in the way you approach your work, instead of focusing on the side of songwriting that can be very technical at times?

The process must be magic ’cause it surprises me every time. I get up in the morning, I write. Actually when I first met Nico, he interviewed me, the title of the article was “coffee is the most important drug to the creative process”. It’s true, I get up in the morning, I drink coffee. I’m always working. When something happens, comes together, it’s really beyond me. A lot of artists would feel that way, you know, you have to put the time in and have all of those things at your disposal. That’s a little bit why the name of the band is a little interesting that way.

It’s interesting, most artists would like to chill, have a few drinks before they write or even go onstage; but you pick the one drug that actually sets your brain into motion. Is it a need to be pro-active?

Must be my working class background, you know, cause I look at it as some kind of job. My normal state is also so depressed that I normally need caffeine to push me through.

Otherwise you would just write an album that could be recorded by The Smiths?

Exactly. At half-speed. Wrist-slitting shit. My friend Elisa and her boyfriend Scott Cummins directed the video and did such a good job. They just came back from Sundance, and she got the flu. Like everybody in New York right now I think. Her debut film was accepted at Sundance, and her second film was our video and she did such an amazing job. I came up with the concept, but they’ve definitely fleshed it out, and we spent a long time interviewing the actors. We did a fun casting with different kids. Lamar is the blonde kid, he’s from Slovenia, he’s here to be a model, he’s got the look and the vibe. CJ was the other kid. The subtext of the whole video is that they’re in a relationship, innocent but also a homosexual relationship, and they were totally cool with it. And they’re twelve, you know, it says a lot of good things about their parents.

You’ve mentioned your working-class background and coming from Indiana. It’s very rural, it’s mostly corn fields, it’s not a traditional rock’n'roll city like Seattle, Portland or New York. How did it come about?

I come from a blank slate. It could kind of best be compared to the weather there, which is always white or gray. The skies are always white or gray. Flat, with trees, beautiful nature, it’s very bleak and sad. I realized something was a little wrong with my environment when I was really young, so I started reading a lot of books. I buried myself in books. I was also home schooled.  I didn’t go to school from third grade until college. I was able to get my school work done early then doing stuff I cared about – writing short stories, playing guitar.

So your parents were perfectly fine with you taking the time to develop an artistic side, was it the reason they home schooled you?

No, they home schooled me cause the public schools were really bad, and they didn’t have enough money to send me to a private school. There is definitely a religious side to it as well, which I don’t follow anymore, didn’t really even when I was really young.

What were the books that you were reading, that influenced you, made you want to pick up a guitar?

The early, early books I read really did it. Like The Chronicles of Narnia, when I was 7. Tolkien, like that. I was listening to rap when I was older, then I played guitar. I remember, I had a MC Hammer tape. I had the big pants, you know, and we would go down, go to roller skater parties. I looked terrible. When you come from such a bleak place and you suddenly hear that very authoritative music, it does something for you. Cause rap is all about identity. Not to mention the fact that of course, in our lifetime, it’s been the most innovative music. It touched everybody. It’s about self-actualization, so it did help. But I wasn’t listening to the cool rap, you know, no Public Enemy, no NWA.

So, you picked up the guitar, and what would you play?

My dad was a singer in a band, but it was a Christian band, so I grew up around his music. Some of the most mellow stuff, my dad’s from LA. Lots of CCR. My dad was the dude from The Big Lebowski, without the weed.

Did you play by ear? Did you have guitar lessons?

My dad taught me a few chords, I had a few guitar lessons, really I was just too stubborn so I thought I’d invent. I thought everything I came up with was brand new.  I thought I would invent a Nirvana song. Nirvana was… I guess I was 16 when Kurt Cobain died, that affected me a lot.

I remember the day my brother brought Bleach home. I can pinpoint this moment as being the one when I seriously got into music. Back home in Indiana, listening to rap, how did grunge come into play? How big was it for you?

It was huge. That was the real counter culture of my lifetime, it was this massive force. Nothing has happened since then that had the same level of influence. Within a year, it was ubiquitous. Everybody was listening to the same song. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was an anthem. It couldn’t last forever, but essentially this one song. “Rape Me”, “Heart-Shaped Box”.

Artists of our generation always refer to Kurt Cobain as being the one who made them want to go into music, but who made you want to go to New York? Is there one specific artist that led you here?

Actually, yes, and it’s Lou Reed. I saw Lou Reed the other day, we were at the same movie at the Anjelica Film Center. Of course I wanted to say something to him, but he looked so old and mean.

Remember when Kurt Cobain covered Bowie? When Nirvana does MTV, first of all, counter culture becomes mainstream in a way, and they cover this monument of music, and it’s “The man who sold the world”, this extremely sad song. Do you have this punk rock ideology that the mid-70s were the dawn of a new era, or do you believe in a continuity?

I think it’s very disingenuous in a lot of cases, and this is a great example, cause I think Kurt Cobain wanted to be seen in the continuity of artists, and helped their friends out, a very punk rock thing too, and also said he could do Bowie better. To me the Cobain version is even better than the original. It’s the best version I’ve ever heard, as far as I’m concerned.

Even to this day, even after punk rock and “the Beatlemania biting the dust”, most people still refer to Reed and Bowie as the founders of rock’n'roll and the mainline influence. Do you feel that way too or are you comfortable referring to more contemporary artists?

I’m comfortable with both. I try to be a fan of music, even if I’m an artist, cause it’s easy to stay in your own head and isolate yourself, I try to go out and see shows all the time and support my friends in their endeavors too.  The band that really influenced me was The Walkmen, their debut, I still think it’s an amazing record. The first I did when coming to New York was to record an EP in their studio, that was in Harlem, it’s since moved upstate. Interestingly the back-up band for this EP is now Adam Green’s back-up band.

Seems to me that New York has this gap of influence between the Dresden Dolls and The Strokes. There is nothing in the 90s.

Interpol was a very interesting New York band.

But it’s the same wave as the Strokes.

Jeff Buckley?

He worked and recorded in Tennessee though. Nico spoke to this blog at length about the Parisian scene and whether there is indeed such a thing.

People are really responsive to what we’re doing. I usually tour as a two-piece – I have a steel pedal player here, a string player, but I can’t afford to take them out on tour yet.  So I wasn’t sure how they would take it, but even though we play fairly quiet music, we have a certain edge that people responded to, I kind of realized how we seem kind of gritty, and I never thought of us as that way at all, until we went there. It was nice to be in that kind of environment, I felt very comfortable there. I felt welcome and everyone was nice and encouraging. Bordeaux’s been great too, we love Bordeaux.

You’re signed on one label here, and Shakermaker is working on your publishing deals in Europe. What was the thought behind having a US company handling your affairs here and looking towards another to work in Europe, rather than having your home label branch out across the ocean?

It’s really simple, the US label is my label.

It takes a lot of control to put out your own label. I’m starting to feel like it’s necessary to have – not necessarily your own label, but one that is small enough to let you run free, creatively speaking, that won’t put a lid on your musical ambitions and won’t schedule your recording session over a five year period.

The main difference is capital. I am my own publicist, I pay for everything. The cash flow comes this one small source. I have friends who are on major labels, some are on some big indie labels, and you know, they bartend, and they wait tables, “oh great, I just played the fucking Isle of Wight”, and then literally coming back and working at Taco Chulo. They played their cards into other people’s hands, but you know, when I come off your and I schlep around like everybody else – I’m a copywriter for Bloomingdale’s – it’s good, we have a deal, they let me go on tour, it’s fine.

Do you think it’s a reaction to Universal buying everyone and this fear of being swallowed by this giant whale?

I think it’s more simple than that. It’s all about money. Small businesses and big labels can thrive at the same time as long as people buy records.  I think some of those small indie labels are much smarter than most of the big labels now. They know how to make money for their artists and for themselves. I have another record to put out after this next tour, and I don’t know how much money is going to come from it now, people do Kickstarter, I record everything myself, we need these patrons to take care of us. We need guidance. It’s always going to be a place for labels, and I’m all for major labels. It’s sort of unfortunate that there is this sort of in-between space.