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- Hi Matt, welcome to VENTS! How have you been?
Well! And you?
2. Reseda Spleen was recorded around 30 years ago, largely in the second bedroom of your North Hollywood apartment, and is finally receiving the release you feel it deserves. What has it been like revisiting this record after so many years, and does it feel different to you now than it did when you first completed it?
Reseda Spleen always meant something to me, so I’m grateful for what Bar/None has done to get the album out there like it never was. Listening to it reminds me of a good time in my life, being creative in new ways and on my terms, and working at my own pace. It also takes me back to the start of living with Linda, who would become my wife. We had just moved into our first apartment, and I began setting up the second bedroom as a place to record music. I recognize now that I was instinctively creating the environment I needed to thrive musically.
3. You began Ventilator after leaving Permanent Green Light, where you shared songwriting and vocal duties with Michael Quercio. At the time, you described wanting to make music without having to compromise your own vision. How liberating was that transition, and what did you discover about yourself as a songwriter when you finally had the freedom to follow your instincts?
I left Permanent Green Light in late September of 1994, but I had acquired my Tascam 388 recorder earlier that year. The 388 is what I would use to record all the Ventilator music. It’s an eight-track reel-to-reel that has a built-in mixer. The more time I spent learning how to work the 388, the less time Michael and I spent together on PGL material, and even less hanging out at nightclubs. Within days of leaving that band, I wound up laying down the basics for one of my favorite songs on Reseda Spleen, “Lint Duet”. Byron Reynolds would overdub drums on it a few months later, taking it to the next level. It was fun making musical discoveries in a new space and seeing them develop.
4. The Tascam 388 eight-track recorder played a central role in shaping Reseda Spleen, giving you the opportunity to experiment at home and develop your own recording methods. What was it about that machine that inspired you, and how did its limitations—or possibilities—influence the album’s distinctive sound?
Eight tracks was a step down from the 24-track that Permanent Green Light used at Earle Mankey’s for Against Nature. But I was into it. I embraced the way the machine and the rest of my gear sounded and the results I was getting. Going back to “Lint Duet”: that was an experiment recording my Gibson LG-1 acoustic in an alternate tuning and then overdubbing a second part, playing off the first take. The LG-1 is an old, smaller-body parlor guitar strung with electric strings, so it gets a certain tone. I was encouraged by the sounds I tracked using this inexpensive Russian compressor I found through an ad in the back of a magazine. I didn’t worry that the mic picked up noise from the neighborhood. You can hear cars driving outside the apartment on the recording, and when I listen now, it puts me in that place and time. I didn’t tone-chase, or fret about buying a particular model and year of an axe some rock god used. I just got busy writing songs, getting the point across with what I had.
5. There’s an interesting tension running through Reseda Spleen: songs like “The Tailor’s Lament” celebrate a fresh start with brash power chords and an unapologetic chorus, while tracks such as “Happy New Year” and “Lansdowne” explore uncertainty, unrequited love, and the pressure of growing up. Were these contrasting emotions part of the album’s original vision, or did they emerge naturally as you wrote and recorded?
It all came together naturally. I was really just following my muse. Most of the tunes were written at the time, like “Earthquake Song” (after the Northridge earthquake) and “Lansdowne”, but some were a few years old. I wrote “Happy New Year” when I was 19 in late 1988. I was hung up on a girl and feeling especially down. On a trip to New York City that December, I ate at a restaurant called Exterminator Chili. They had a postcard celebrating the new year that said, “Auld Lang Syne,” but purposely misspelled as a gag. Seeing that phrase planted the seed for the song in my mind, and I worked on it that winter. “The Daily Drag” was written in 1990 after my first band Lazytown broke up. I liked the arpeggiated parts, so I decided to return to the song, and the lyrics resonated with me then. I was expressing myself through songs, recent or older, that kept my attention.
6. The album brought together several talented friends, including Byron Reynolds of Possum Dixon, Jeff Caruana, and Brad Laner of Medicine. How did these collaborations shape the recordings, and did having musicians you trusted around you make it easier to take creative risks in the studio?
Yes, because I had the support of talented players, I was open to ideas they’d bring, and it raised my game. Jeff Caruana and I played guitar together in our band Lazytown, so Ventilator was a return to making music with each other as well as hanging out, wasting time at record stores and diners in the Valley. He was a sounding board for me, listening to my new songs and sharing his opinions. His lap steel and Hawaiian guitar give Reseda Spleen more character. Those instruments have a distinct 20th-century American sound and he plays with style. Byron Reynolds was recommended to me by our mutual friend in Possum Dixon, Robert Sullivan. Byron’s contributions made the whole thing real. His drumming is incredible, as is the quality of the set he used. He swung and knew how to tune his drums, so that made my work recording him easier. Brad Laner and I became pals after he invited me to join Medicine in ’95 for what wound up being their final US tour. Brad’s an amazing bass player, so I asked him to contribute to “Earthquake Song” just because I knew it would sound cool. My early mixes of “Schadenfreude” were turning out lifeless, and, as it’s an experimental track, I thought Brad would do something adventurous with it. He did.
7. Earle Mankey, whose credits include Sparks, the Runaways, and the Beach Boys, handled most of the album’s mixing after you developed a friendship through your work on Permanent Green Light’s Against Nature. What did you learn from working with him, and how important was his contribution in translating your home-recorded experiments into the finished album?
Earle Mankey ran his studio out of a back house at his home. At the time, it definitely had some funkiness going on. He used to set up the drummer in his kitchen, before he professionally built the studio out later that decade. So Earle was an influence by doing things his way, which led to recordings you couldn’t get elsewhere, because of his approach and his talent. He was an inspiration on other levels too, as he’s a beautiful person. After working with him, I made a reality out of the idea of doing my own thing, in my own space, at my own pace, with the gear I had. As Reseda Spleen was being created, I’d ask Earle technical questions from time to time, or we’d meet up so he could hear my rough mixes. When I had to go through my tapes for the Bar/None reissue, I listened to some of my rough mixes from the apartment before Earle mixed them properly, and they aren’t too far off, in regard to the elements being presented. But Earle made sure the tracks were limited and EQ’d correctly, and that there was a healthy amount of bass guitar, something my mixes seemed to lack. Plus, Earle had a giant plate reverb. It features prominently at times on Reseda Spleen, notably on “In Mysterium”, and it really makes that chorus happen for me.
8. Despite receiving enthusiastic reviews from publications such as The Big Takeover and TapeOp, Reseda Spleen largely disappeared from view after its original 1996 release. Looking back, how do you feel about the album’s overlooked history, and what do you hope listeners discover now that it is finally getting a wider audience?
After the record didn’t get out there in ’96, I was disappointed, but I moved on pretty quickly. I didn’t stop recording on the 388, working on a new batch of songs for what was later released as Rock Folk Suicide. I also played guitar and wrote for Possum Dixon throughout 1997 and into 1998. That stretch culminated in recording New Sheets in New York at Electric Lady Studios with Ric Ocasek producing. Working with Ric was an amazing experience. But I have always looked back fondly on Reseda Spleen, as we had such a good time making it. If people enjoy it now, and I hope they do, that’s a bonus. Turn it up.
9. Ventilator’s next album, Rock Folk Suicide, took a very different path, remaining unreleased until 2008 despite being completed years earlier. How did your approach to songwriting and recording evolve between these two records, and do you see Reseda Spleen as the foundation for the more experimental directions you explored afterward?
Rock Folk Suicide was more psychedelic than Reseda Spleen. It was about welcoming chance events and experimenting with the 388, and looking back, that seems like a logical progression. I’d bounce tracks, applying effects after the fact, and use tape vari-speeding. I’d record a guitar with the tape moving faster so it would sound dreamlike at normal speed, or I’d cut a vocal with the tape moving slower so it would brighten when pitched back up. I’d manipulate the Akai quarter-track I used on “Schadenfreude” to add some color, such as the fluttery “Mr. Kite” moment on “Cherry Flavor Night Time.” I was getting weird and pushing the 388 harder. It became less about making sure a song had a middle eight and more about sonic surprises.
10. You’ve described the friendships and experiences surrounding Reseda Spleen as a lasting source of gratitude, and the reissue offers an opportunity to reconnect with that period of your life. What does this release mean to you personally, and does bringing this music back into the world inspire you to explore new creative possibilities with Ventilator?
Making Reseda Spleen was a lot of fun, but it did take plenty of effort and time, so I was excited about it getting out into the world. The few people who heard it seemed to genuinely enjoy it, listeners whose opinions I trusted, like Earle and Brad, plus new friends I had recently made, including Jeff Copas in Sixteen Deluxe. It was a drag when it was inauspiciously released in 1996. But that’s life, y’know. So all the care that Bar/None’s taken with this reissue on vinyl, what with Dan Epstein’s liner notes, Michael Graves’ remastering, and Rachel Gutek’s design, means a lot. I’ve never stopped playing guitar and collaborating in different ways, and Jeff, Byron, and I have been getting together over guitars and beers, so we’ll see… But hey, there’s this cool Mexican restaurant in Van Nuys that we love, Los Tres Hermanos. If you’re in L.A., we’ll skip rehearsal and all meet up for molcajetes instead.
