Wooden Wand

(September 2006)

Interview by Adam McKibbin

“I don’t want to end up in some kind of bargain bin ghetto,” says Wooden Wand, explaining his aversion to flying the freak-folk flag, or becoming a leader or spokesman for that movement (a la Devendra Banhart).  “A lot of those [freak-folkers] are friends of mine, but I think I’m also a little disappointed in them because they don’t seem to be trying very hard to distance themselves.”

Second Attention, the latest offering from Wooden Wand (this time backed by The Sky High Band), tries to distance itself not just from a genre, but from its own preceding discography.  Accessible and downright sunny, it’s a far cry from Wooden Wand & The Vanishing Voice’s Gipsy Freedom, an album of fractured psychedelic jazz.

“It’s pretty divisive,” he says of the new record.  “I think it’s going to polarize some fans.  But I think the best artists have always done that.”

One potentially polarizing aspect of Second Attention is the prevalence of religious themes, although they’re handled in such an abstract way to avoid lapsing into dogma.  “I’ve met a hundred Lucifers and I have met a thousand Christs,” he sings on the thoroughly charming “Rolling One Sun Blues,” which begins with the vagabond’s declaration “I get my news from my shoes / Traffic reports from my shorts.”

Up until now, though, Wooden Wand fans—at least the diehards—have been very willing to open their arms, gobbling up a pretty massive amount of material in recent years and, in some cases, plunking down serious cash in order to play completist and lay hands on rare seven-inches, singles, tour albums and so forth.  There is also a blossoming tape trading community following the band, a pleasant fact which Wooden Wand calls “well beyond my expectations.”

Leery that the phrase “new Wooden Wand album” will start to feel like an everyday occurrence, some record labels have kindly suggested that maybe he slow his pace a little bit.  “I think that’s kind of weird,” he says.  “A carpenter works every day.  But as a songwriter, you expect me to write a song in January and then play it all summer and then sit around until next summer?  I write a lot of songs.  I think it’s kind of ridiculous.”

But he’s quick to point new fans in the direction of the full-length albums, and is nostalgic for a time when songwriters like Neil Young and Bob Dylan made albums meant to be digested as albums and weren't ever expected to be your MySpace friend just because, hey, you really loved Blood on the Tracks.  He also pokes fun at the idea that fans are obligated to buy everything that is released, or that someone is more of an authority by virtue of accumulating more material.  “ ‘You liked that record?  You’ve gotta get this seven-inch, man!’  That’s so dumb, but it will always happen.  I think generally if you can find it in Borders or Tower Records, that’s probably the one you can get.”

“We’re pro-piracy,” he adds.  “We’re all for it.  You can download the record, too.  Most people on my level know that there’s really no money in record sales.  Unless you’re U2 or Radiohead, you’re not going to make a lot of money.  I’d rather have people hear the music.”

That isn’t always so easy in Knoxville, a temporary solution for a place of residence that has turned into a slightly-longer-than-temporary solution.  With New York experience under his belt, he’s contemplating a move to the West Coast and an escape from the “cultural Siberia” in which he currently finds himself—albeit a Siberia where a person has enough space to throw a ball around outside without paying a million dollars for the privilege.  But on top of providing a challenge when it comes time to find an audience, Knoxville also provides a challenge even when it comes time to round up the band.

“It’s hard living in Knoxville,” he admits.  “It’s hard getting people together.  A lot of the people who have played with me on tours are from all over the country, so it’s hard to pull it off.”

To make Wooden Wand records fly, he relies heavily on his collaborators, particularly when it comes time to iron out the arrangements.  The surrounding cast has changed considerably, and has now mutated from The Vanishing Voice to The Sky High Band.  Assembling the right cast has proven to be a challenge, and while it seems like Wooden Wand would pick bandmates based on what they could contribute to a certain project, he says that the process is actually a little messier than that.

“To be perfectly honest, it’s more like finding what’s not working somehow,” he says.  “You know what I mean?  It’s different combinations of people, collections of individuals that are really talented.  Some combinations work and others don’t, and the only way to find that out is through trial and error.”

One thing is for certain:  Second Attention was not born under dull circumstances.  Wooden Wand, The Sky High Band, and—by the sound of it—a fair number of friends and assorted randoms all holed up in a house for two weeks and essentially kept the tape running.

“Yeah, it was super informal,” he says.  “That was the only way to work.  There were a lot of people there…it was kind of a party.  Maybe sometimes a little too much, maybe to the detriment of the record.  Like I said, everything is an experiment.  It got real loose.”