Photo by Cat Roif
False rumors of a lawsuit from Disney. A personalized line of weed grinders (and an international drug arrest). A comic book, a video game, and a "guest composer" gig on an MTV show. A gig at Madison Square Garden. Corporate deals with Target and Taco Bell. Collaborations with Big Boi, Freddie Gibbs, and Fucked Up-- oh, and not one, but two hip-hop-leaning instrumental tapes, not to mention a steady presence on the touring circuit. It may have been three years since Wavves' last album, 2010's breakout King of the Beach, but calling 26-year-old frontman Nathan Willliams a slacker at this point isn't an option.
Next week, Wavves are back with a new full-length, Afraid of Heights, on new label home Mom + Pop. Technically, the full-time lineup's the same as it was with 2011's guest-laden Life Sux EP-- Williams and bassist Stephen Pope, who trade multi-instrumentalist duties throughout the album-- but after just one listen to these impressively produced songs, it's apparent that this isn't just the work of two guys bashing it out in a studio. In addition to Jenny Lewis contributing backing vocals to the swaying centerpiece of a title track, six other studio musicians kicked in contributions to the album, including a cellist. That's right: A cellist plays on the new Wavves album.
With big-ticket pop producer John Hill (Santigold, Rihanna, M.I.A.) in the booth, Williams self-financed Afraid of Heights' writing and recording over the course of a year, a move that, as he told me over the phone last month after catching an episode of ABC's cooking-show-cum-chat-fest "The Chew", was an attempt to make an album without being signed to a label. This resulted in a recording process that took a little longer than usual, as a few tentative announced release dates passed the guys by.
Our conversation took place just as Joel, Williams' brother and the other half of his beat-making Sweet Valley project, had arrived to work on new material. So even with an impending tour, Williams is still on his grind, with new Sweet Valley releases on the way and upcoming collaborations with Killer Mike and Bay Area rapper DaVinci, who's been making an entire album with Nathan and Joel. We can only hope that more innovative merch is in the works as well...
"While I was making the first couple of records, I was living
at my parents' house and didn’t have to worry about anything.
It's different now. I mean, I’m not old yet, but getting old sucks."
Pitchfork: Your old label Fat Possum's involvement during the recording process of King of the Beach threatened to derail that record altogether. Did that play into you self-financing the new album?
Nathan Williams: I felt like King of the Beach was under a magnifying glass. There were people who were giving us money to finance our record constantly coming in to check on the progress. These people have never written or recorded songs before. Previously, the only places I’d recorded were my parents’ basement and garage, so having people give opinions on stuff that wasn’t even finished yet was strange to me.
Also, the producer, Dennis Herring, didn’t want [former drummer] Billy [Hayes] to play on the record because he didn’t think he was a good enough drummer. They were going to try and have [veteran session drummer] Josh Freese come in and play drums instead-- he's a great drummer, but when somebody else is making decisions like that for you, it dilutes your original ideas as an artist.
So I stood firm that I was going to keep Stephen and Billy, and it became a standoff. There was a point where we thought the album might not happen. I didn’t have a manager or anybody at that point who could tell me to be reasonable. But I’m glad I stood firm. Eventually, the label buckled, and Dennis vouched for me too.
I'm still friends with the guys at Fat Possum and I hold them in the highest regard. I would've run into those problems at Matador or any other label-- it’s more common than anybody thinks. With Afraid of Heights, when I thought, "OK, I'll just pay for it myself," it seemed like a scary thought, but after having gone through what I did on a label, being able to actually do it that way was a purer experience.
Pitchfork: Self-financing your own album must've been expensive, though.
NW: I knew in the back of my head that if I spent this money and it didn’t work out, I was gonna be fucked. It still crosses my mind. I had already bought a house. After the album was finished, I knew that we could shuck it around to labels and get that money back in advance and that I’d never actually have to pay for it. When we were shopping the album around, one label took us to Cut, in the Beverly Hills Four Seasons, and Criss Angel was sitting next to us. I was starstruck. But paying for the album myself was scary in the beginning.
Pitchfork: How so?
NW: When we started recording, John, Stephen, and I got so drunk-- everyone was nervous, but nobody would just outright say that, so nobody knew what was going on. During that time, I accidentally hit John in the face with a bat. I don't really remember how that happened. We were just fake fighting with bats, which was really smart.
I met John when he was recording songs for other artists, but it was never the plan to do something like this with him. It just happened. He cancelled a year of working with other artists like Rihanna and whoever the fuck to work on this, so once we realized we went two weeks and didn't have anything, we were like, "Fuck." But once we actually started working, things settled down.
Pitchfork: What was it like working with a pop producer like John?
NW: He was very straightforward, which helped. Especially after a few drinks-- you'd see him with a mug and you'd know there's Don Julio in there, and he'll buzz into the recording booth and say, "Nathan, you're singing like shit, get a glass of tea or something." Everyone's like, "Oh, John Hill's a pop guy." But he's a little fucking weirdo.
Pitchfork: You can certainly hear the studio polish on the album.
NW: That was the idea. With King of the Beach, we'd play our parts, and they'd say, "Come back tomorrow and we’ll show you what we did with the parts that you played.” With this one, it was: “Play your parts 300 times, with 300 different guitars, and 300 different amp combinations, then sit here and listen to every single one, and tell me what sounds good and why.” It became monotonous. I'd be like, “Do I even like this part? I think I do, but right now I’m just really annoyed and tired and wasted, and Stephen keeps grabbing my crotch."
Pitchfork: There's a cello on this album, which is certainly unexpected.
NW: About four or five times, when we were all drunk at the end of the night, I'd bring up using a cello, and we just shrugged it off. Then, we brought in the demo for "Dog", and John was like, “That’s going to be the song that’s got the cello on it.” The guy who did the cello parts for us, Phil Peterson, is this acid-head that would stay up at night, record it, and send it back the next day. It was opulent. We were like, "Wait, are we really going to do this? What if it sounds cheesy?" But with Weezer, and even a lot of Nirvana's stuff, you listen to it now and it's a little bit cheesy. But it’s still really good.
Pitchfork: What's the story behind the album cover?
NW: It's taken from Rich Mingin's overview of tattoos and people's attitudes towards them during the first half of the 20th century. There are a lot of really striking photos in there that have a "classic" look to them, which was what I wanted. Back then, having tattoos was almost like being a part of a club, or underworld. There's a photo of one guy from Siberia who had a bunch of scribbles tattooed on his forehead; the story was that he got a pretty bad fever when he was eight years old, so his parents called up a witch to come and cast a spell on him to spare his life. The tattoo on his forehead was to rid him of evil and sickness.
Pitchfork: The lyrics on this album are filled with even more self-loathing than previous efforts. Do you worry that people will perceive that as a gimmick?
NW: I hadn’t really thought about that, but that’s fine. Realistically, in the last few years, my life has got exponentially more complicated. It’s not a gimmick, it’s just what it is. Remember, while I was making the first couple of records, I was living at my parents' house. I had stability, I didn’t have to worry about anything. It's different now, but I’m sure it will be different in a couple of years, too. I mean, I’m not old yet, but getting old sucks.
Pitchfork: Have you ever been treated for any sort of mental illness?
NW: I went to see a doctor once, and they recommended I take something for anxiety and depression. I was put on something that was similar to Prozac for a little bit. I took maybe six or seven pills and got fed up with it [laughs], so I just stopped taking them. That stuff's not for me. There are probably things in my life that I need to figure out, and I’m not the type of person that figures them out by talking to someone I don’t know or taking prescribed pills. As long as it’s not prescribed to me, though, I’ll take it.
Pitchfork: At this point, do you find that alcohol and drugs helps or hurts your creative process?
NW: There was one night where I decided to drink King Cobras. Maybe I thought it’d be funny. But we didn’t get anything done, and I could tell everybody was like, “What the fuck? Why did you drink three King Cobras then try to sing?” After a while, it got to the point where we felt like we shouldn’t start drinking until after lunch.
But there were a bunch of nights where alcohol would get us to try something we normally wouldn’t. We'd be like, "Do you remember when we put something on the piano strings after we got drunk that night?" That one was a stupid idea-- terrible-- but there were other things that we did that actually did end up working out. Sometimes it’ll help if you're sitting in the booth all day. A couple of beers is nice to have.
I definitely feel it more now, though. I could stay up for two days when I was younger. I'd rage coke and pills, and then take a bunch of Nyquil and Xanax and come down. I’d wake up and feel kinda shitty, but I’d be OK. I definitely can’t do shit like that anymore. If I drink a couple of beers, I wake up the next day hungover. I probably should slow down, but I don’t see it happening anytime soon.