Culture War

With the release of his striking new album GRAHAM PARKER takes on current issues and lets go of some of his past

Graham Parker is notable as one of the key singer-songwriters in what came to be known as the British New Wave. With his band, The Rumour, Parker recorded some of the Seventies' most memorable albums - Howlin' Wind, Heat Treatment and Squeezing Out Sparks - and such songs as "White Honey," "Don't Ask Me Questions," "Fool's Gold," "Pouring It All Out" and "Local Girls." He has remained an active performing and recording presence through the years, flourishing recently in the era of independent labels. Making his home in upstate New York for most of the past two decades, Parker has applied his razor sharp wit to current issues – including the Iraq War and the tabloid culture - on his newest release, Don't Tell Columbus (Bloodshot Records). Parker recently spoke candidly with Playback about songwriting, his early career and how the music business has changed.

It's unusual for people to record as often as you do– it's kind of a throwback to the 1960s when the Beatles first came out… they had to make three albums a year.
I like to get one out every year. It doesn't quite work out exactly, but it's near that. About six months after a record's been out you're well and truly fed up with it. I always treat it with some reluctance when I start writing because it's not easy and it doesn't get any easier. You develop a lot of craft after all of these years. I didn't have that craft in the beginning - which, of course, led to lots of flights of incredible originality. If you still have got the inspiration and you add in the craft, then certain good things happen like being able to write a fantastic song with three chords, and not feel like you have to tart it up with something clever. There's a song on this album called "Somebody Save Me", that is three chords – that's all; I had no intention of doing a bridge or dropping to a minor key. It was perfect.

Your first couple of albums on Mercury (Howlin' Wind and Heat Treatment) were records you could really remember and sing along with every time. It was an incredible collaboration and sound you had with your band, The Rumour.
There wasn't anything else quite like it, that's for sure. In 1976, I know punk was kind of brimming around in the back pages of the music press but we kind of emerged and had that whole field -- I was in a field of one for a year. And then '77 came, of course, and then it was like, "Wow where did all these people come from?" and everyone was working on the same kind of idea with three and a half minute songs and trying to make albums that were all good.

As you've done many times in the past, you address a number of topical subjects on the new album. With your really early records, you didn't do that very much.
Well, I hinted at it always. I don't want to be literal about this stuff; it's not folk singing. But it's always been in there from "Don't Ask Me Questions" in 1976 - there's an indignant quality about those lyrics. "Stick to the Plan" on the new album has perhaps some references that are current to today. But I try to do it with humor and bounce off of that all over the place, so you're going into different areas and not just hammering home a subject. A song I've played a few times recently live, that I hadn't played in a while is "Syphilis and Religion" from Deepcut to Nowhere in 2001. It's quite scathing - British colonialism in action is in the song but it doesn't beat anyone over the head with literal ideas like "OK, listen to me, I'm being serious." And a song like "Stick to the Plan," as soon as I got rolling on the first verse -- it's what I call theme association, which is like word association but bigger.

You've been through a lot of years in the music business and managed to stay around. I know you were involved with many big labels — are you happier now?
I can't say that, because when a record company gives you $300,000 to make an album, it makes you feel pretty happy. Unfortunately, I was much younger then, and I thought it would keep coming forever. People think I had a lot of trouble with record companies because of the song "Mercury Poisoning" and, let's face it, Mercury didn't exactly take Graham Parker in the room and say "we believe in this band." But my first manager, Dave Robinson, was very smart from the beginning and said, "this guy is a modern equivalent of Bob Dylan; you don't touch him, OK?" That was his attitude. By the time I got to Arista, I had been given all kinds of ridiculous money. I had major labels from '75 when I started right up until the 90s. I just feel great about it, really. A lot of people can't get a chance to do that these days.

— Jim Steinblatt


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