When it comes to the best living guitar players of the modern era, few are as versatile and as improvisational as Wilco’s Nels Cline. Dabbling in jazz, punk, noise, funk, Americana and that good old fashioned rock and roll, Cline has proved to be one of the most talented riffmasters in the game today with his eclectic and electrifying take on strumming a six-string.
Wilco will once again be hosting the Solid Sound Festival at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in North Adams this weekend, headlining a hearty lineup that features Real Estate, Mac Demarco, Tweedy, Cibo Matto, Parquet Courts, John Hodgman’s Big Time Comedy Thing, and the recently added Speedy Ortiz (replacing an ill Taj Mahal). Vanyaland had a chat with Cline about collaborating with such a diverse cast of musicians over the years, joining Wilco in 2004, growing up with his identical twin brother Alex, and, of course, his love for Jimi Hendrix.
Rob Duguay: You’ve had a very wide ranged career since the late-’70s, playing with the likes of the late jazz bassist Charlie Haden, jazz guitarist Bill Frisell, Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth, Willie Nelson and even starting the experimental jazz-funk act Banyan with Mike Watt of the Minutemen and Stephen Perkins from Jane’s Addiction. What inspires you to work with such a diverse cast of talents rather stick with one core group?
Nels Cline: Well I actually never played with or even met Willie Nelson, though I wish I had. When Carla Bozulich recorded her version of “Red Headed Stranger” with my band The [Nels Cline] Singers as her basic band all those years ago, a friend of mine named John Rosenfelder played some of the rough mixes of it for Willie and he said something like, “I want to play along with that!”, eventually having someone contact Carla to meet him at the studio on his property in Austin, Texas.
He overdubbed guitar and voice on some tracks. Carla and I went to hear him after the record came out — she brought him a thank you gift, too — but we never saw him. I have never met him, either. Also, Banyan was started by Stephen Perkins and a man named David Turin, who produced the first Banyan record with “Money” Mark Nishita and Watt and me as a replacement for Dave Navarro, as I recall. I had nothing to do with starting the group, which was always Stephen’s thing with whomever could play the gigs, which was not always me.
Now, though as a person who was originally coming out of rock and roll and thus a sort of “band guy,” I am primarily an improviser. This means that I am driven to and nourished by collaboration. The stylistic differences between playing with Charlie Haden and Wilco may seem vast, but it suits whatever sensibility I possess, and I also feel when I play guitar I’m able to quite easily traverse these imagined chasms. My personal tastes are quite wide-ranging. Though I truly enjoy doing my own music as often as possible, the challenges of fitting into different, satisfying settings are inherently rewarding.
What was the transition like when you joined Wilco back in 2004? Did you have to make any adjustments when it came to playing with Jeff Tweedy or did he give you a lot of creative freedom? It’s pretty rare nowadays seeing a highly influential musician like yourself joining a band that already made their mark and we’re gaining a huge following at that time.
The transition was both dramatic and rather seamless, which may seem impossible, but I think it’s true. Certainly I was a busy musician pre-Wilco, but also a struggling, near-broke and stressed-out one. I was approaching 50 with almost no money with what may politely be termed as having a rather underground status in the music world. Joining Wilco was dramatic because it made thousands of people aware of me almost right away who had never heard of me while also enabling me to continue playing the guitar without all the financial worry I was experiencing prior to 2004.
It is true that when Jeff called me I had decided to try to go back to some sort of day job, I worked in record and book stores for about 18 years during my early musical life, to alleviate my anxieties about survival. The seamless part has something to do with why I took the gig in the first place after having turned down “paying gigs” before this: I knew Jeff a bit from having met him while I was playing with The Geraldine Fibbers, and had met John Stirratt, Glenn Kotchke and Mikael Jorgensen when I opened for Wilco in 2003 as a member of Carla Bozulich’s band.
I knew that the repertoire was unpredictable, flexible, potentially offering me a modicum of freedom as well as supplying surprising twists and turns, which when added up, made me say to myself “I should try this!”, especially after Jeff sent me the finished mixes of A Ghost Is Born. The first rehearsals with Pat Sansone who was also on board were really relaxed. I had great talks with Jeff and Glenn prior to these about everything from garage rock to psychology. Everyone is really committed and passionate in a functional, low-key way, and this is really all I need to participate and thrive in a given musical setting whether it’s improvised music or composed music.
To make it even more attractive, the people who manage Wilco also ended up assisting me to play more of my own music. Where creative freedom is concerned, it’s really not a prerequisite for me in music as much as is commitment, harmony, vision, unity of purpose. I believe that this band possesses these ingredients. Yes, I have creative freedom, but I strive more to be part of the orchestra, to illuminate and enliven the material as best as I can and honor the songs.
How was growing up with your identical twin brother Alex in Los Angeles? Were you both victims of people getting your names confused?
No, this was never a problem. Growing up with Alex was the best thing because we did everything together, became obsessed with music and played together all the time. Alex, unlike me, was always really good, so I always had this amazing drummer to play with. The only life I know is the one I have as an identical twin, but I recommend it wholeheartedly. Los Angeles became almost like a small town for me after playing in so many different groups while also working where musicians, artists, and writers and as well as music fans and listeners hung out. Also, our parents encouraged our artistic natures, so it was a pretty great situation growing up.
While it’s true that Los Angeles, like pretty much every major city in America, does not supply the most nurturing climate for improvisers and jazz musicians, I always had wonderful comrades with whom to play and talented friends whom I treasure to this day. I think being from Los Angeles gives one a much different perspective on this rather maligned and misunderstood city. As in many places, there is a really cool underground happening there.
You’ve said before that the major moment in you becoming a guitarist was the first time you heard Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression.” Do you ever delve into the videos of him making those live 10 minute long sessions of abstract distorted noise for an influence on your avant-garde style of playing?
Actually, no. It may seem weird to you when I say this, but I always thought of Hendrix as a magical, shaman-esque, and consequently, untouchable artist. I never tried to emulate him in those early days at all. In fact, I thought that such a thing was impossible, maybe even disrespectful. I never aspired to be flamboyant. Eventually, I saw myself in a more modest light and I drew inspiration from players like Duane Allman, Johnny Winter and Peter Frampton when he was in Humble Pie, modeling myself on their styles. Then, while in high school, I got into guys like Steve Howe, Jan Akkerman, John McLaughlin, Fred Frith and Ralph Towner. My brother Alex was always the more avant-garde one. He finds it amusing that nowadays that I am referred to as intense and noisy. Yes, when I was 12 years old and a total primitive I thought doing pure feedback for a solo was a good idea, but very soon I became more conservative as I began to try to learn to really play.
It was after becoming obsessed with Sonic Youth in the early-’80s and hearing bands like DNA and Wire along with people like Sonny Sharrock and Fred Frith that I got noisier. Eventually, my inner Hendrix has leaked out without my really thinking or worrying about it. A lot of the archival Hendrix recordings that have emerged often tend to make me a bit sad as I feel he was searching so vigorously while at the same time feeling so drained in his later life. There is no doubt that Hendrix and the electricity of his sound were one, and this is something I feel deeply within myself and that I strive for at all times while playing electric guitar. As an aside, I heartily recommend reading “Starting From Zero,” the collection of his journals, interviews, and some lyrics that illuminate his magical mind as well as his real innocence and eventual feelings of being trapped and burnt out.
Is there any musician out there today that you’ve haven’t gotten the chance to collaborate with yet who you’d like to write a song with someday?
I get asked this from time to time and it’s kind of hard to answer, mostly because I just wish I could do more with the artists I have already collaborated with. Ichiru Agata from Melt-Banana, Christian Wallumrød, Ash Bowie from Polvo and Arto Lindsay from DNA do come to mind. If I don’t end up collaborating with either one at least I could learn something from them.
WILCO’S SOLID SOUND FESTIVAL :: June 26 to 28 at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, 1040 Mass MoCA Way in North Adams, MA :: All-ages, $50 to $159 :: Advance tickets :: Click here for the full schedule
