Boston Weekly Week interview

The Big Interview: Edith Frost

You have to like a singer who lists both good and bad reviews of her own music on her self-designed web site (at http://edithfrost.com/).  At least I have to, anyway; It’s very charming, after all.  Singer/songwriter Edith Frost is one of the several left-of-center acts on Chicago’s ueber-label Drag City Records.  I first encountered her in the pages of "Puncture" magazine while visiting my parents over Thanksgiving weekend last year.  Trapped as I was in rural (read: out-of-touch and boring) America, I had to wait until I was home in Boston before I could track down her debut, full-length release, Calling Over Time.  I was quickly won over to her melancholy, Twin Peaks-like, country torch singer-ish style.  Almost a year after that introduction Frost has another release: Telescopic.  This time around she’s added some fuzzy psychedelia to her hodge-podge sound and I’m still smitten.  She’ll be at T.T. The Bear’s in Cambridge on Saturday, November 7 with Sam Prekop (of The Sea and Cake and Shrimpboat) and Archer Prewitt (also of The Sea and Cake, as well as super-fun retro before retro was the thing band, The Coctails).

Weekly Week: Just so you know, I’m going to begin recording

Edith Frost: Cool.

And you’ll be committed to everything you say.

Oh — kay.

I’m just kidding. All right. I guess the best way to start out is with music — since that’s what you do. How did you get involved in music? From what I’ve read about you, you grew up loving music… being involved with it.

Yeah, more or less always. Both of my parents were into music. My mom always hung with musicians, had a piano around the house and put me in lessons. I took some piano, I took some cello. In school I was doing chorus and everything.

I went through this phase where I was rescuing cats. But when the ringworm thing happened, I was like "That’s it."

Did she ever make you take an instrument that you hated?

Cello. I wasn’t really crazy about it. It was just so … I thought it was a big pain in the ass because it was so hard to lug around and cumbersome. So that didn’t last very long. I got to where I was just like: [pleading voice] I don’t want to go. I took some guitar when I was, like, fourteen. I got an acoustic guitar. Then I pretty much stuck with guitar. Everything else I’ve just fooled around with, but guitar is the one thing that I’ve been able to hold my own on.

When did you start playing with bands?

That wasn’t until the early ’90s. I was doing music on my own at home, but I didn’t play at all in public until after I moved to New York in 1990. I don’t know why, but it took me awhile. I was like already 28 or something.

What were you doing up until then?

Well, you know, I was recording. My boyfriend at the time, when I lived in Texas, we had a home studio and he’s a really great musician and stuff. So I was kind of fooling around at home, in private. And I was writing songs here and there. But I didn’t get the nerve to do anything in public until like ‘92, which was an open mike. It was like: Oh my God, I’m going to do an open mike. Oh no.

And how did you get involved with Drag City?

I sent them a demo tape of some songs I’d done at home. And that was in around late ‘93, early ‘94. But it took them like six months or eight months or something before they got back to me. By the time they did I had already given up on it. I was like, wow, they called. I can’t believe that they called me. I’d sent out like four to five different labels that I dug. And one of them had called me back already before Drag City did. And I was kind of in the talking stages with them. But when Drag City called it just felt like really the right place to go. So I did.

Were you living in Chicago then, or were you …

No. I was in Brooklyn.

So, did you move to Chicago for Drag City?

Well, I came here [Chicago] after they put out the EP. I had to do an album, and we ended up doing it out here. I flew out from New York to do "Calling Over Time." Really shortly after that — basically, I went back to New York and I was like: I want to move to Chicago. It was so cool. It seemed like such a cool place and I was getting really fed up with New York, or with trying to live there, beating my head against the wall there financially, and all these things — I’d broken up with my husband, it was just too … I wanted to get out of there. And I’d been there seven years. So it seemed like the right place to go. The only people I knew here were the Drag City guys and, you know, the people who’d played on my record basically. But I figured that was more than I could say about any other town. And it seemed like as good a place as any to try. And I’m really glad — it worked out totally great. It was kind of a shot in the dark, but it turned out to be totally the right thing to do.

You spent most of your childhood in Texas. Is that right?

Yeah, I did. I lived for like six and a half years in Mexico, off in Guadalajara from like fourth through the middle of ninth grade. Texas and Mexico yeah. Mainly Austin and San Antonio.

Do you think the Southwest has had an effect on your music and you?

Well, sure. Yeah. I’m, like, proud to be from Texas. Most Texans would say that. Just ’cause they ingrain it in you. It’s the only state that matters! But, of course I can’t say that because I don’t live there. But yeah, the first music that I really learned to play easily was country. So both being from there and kind of being immersed in the music … So, sure, it’s had a big effect on me.

I have a question about Texas: Do you consider Texas part of the south?

Well, you’re not supposed to say that. It’s the Southwest. The South conjures up, you know — the "Beautiful South," which it really is not. It’s the Southwest. Yeah, people like to make that distinction. And the accents are different, too. We have a twang instead of a drawl.

Yeah. I grew up a lot in the South-South, in Alabama. So, when people call Texas the South it kind of irks me.

Yeah, it’s not the South. I don’t get offended but it’s like — there’s a distinction.

I was looking at your web site today. One of the things I really liked about it was that you listed, like, your dreams and at some point you had your diary on it.

I keep wanting to make it less personal because I keep going a little overboard with how personal it is. Sometimes I’m into it and proud of it. And sometimes I just want to erase the whole shit.

Well, it must be kind of odd for people to know things about you when you don’t really know them at all.

Yeah. Usually I don’t mind it. But there are some definite drawbacks to it, you know? That was why I took the diary down. It was too — well, first of all it was taking up way too much of my time. I was ignoring the whole rest of the web site because I was spending an hour every day on the diary. And, also — I mean, I don’t mind if my life is an open book that much because it just doesn’t bug me. But my friends would get kind of weirded out by it. Even if I didn’t talk about them, they might think I was going to. I don’t know. I’m blaming it on my friends. Right? That’s not good.

That is good.

No, it just got to be a thorn in my side. I’ve had lots of different sections. I’ve had a web site different places for almost four years now. I’ve had whole sites up that I completely tore down and started something else. I had one about — the first one I put up was all about cowgirls. And it had just different bios, cowgirl music and pictures and whatever. It just started getting stale so I tore it down. I did a Palace web site, and the same thing. Like a year later I tore it all down and started up what you see now pretty much. I don’t know what’s next. But it’s always changing.

The other thing I really liked about your web site was that you not only put up the good reviews [of your music], but you put up the bad reviews as well.

Yeah, well. I think they’re all equally weird. I mean, they don’t bother me at all. Some of them — like if they just get something flat wrong, you know, then it’s annoying because I know other people are reading it and they’re getting it totally wrong. I think the one that bugged me the most was the guy that called me, like, you know: "There’s an Edith Frost in every town — she’s the folky in the corner of the coffee house with her hair hanging limply in front of her face." Or something like that. I was like: I am not that person at all.

You also listed one from the Tufts online daily.

Yeah, that one was scathing, wasn’t it?

Yeah, that one was really bad. I thought the guy should have introduced it: If only she’d sounded more like Dave Matthews I could have blared her from my jeep on my way to pick up the keg.

Yeah. I want to remember these people’s names, though. But I don’t know what I’d do. I’d probably end up buying them a beer or something. Saying, like, "You know, you have the right to …" whatever.

Well, in John Updike’s latest novel, Bech at Bay, he has his character kill some literary critics.

Yeah? [menacingly] Just have them shot.

Yeah. Have you read anything interesting lately?

Well, the book I just finished was an old Philip K. Dick book called Simulacra. And that was good. I have, like, a million billion Philip K. Dick books. Actually, I have like probably 49 or 50 of them. I used to read them all the time like 10 years ago. But I haven’t in a long time, really. This was one that I found that I hadn’t read. So I read it. Now I just started this book called Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. I read mostly science fiction. I love William Gibson a lot. I love his stuff. There are just like a few authors I collect everything they do.

What is it about science fiction that draws you to it?

I don’t know. I like really tech-y stuff. It’s just — I don’t know, it entertains me. I don’t want to be, like, taken away from this world or anything. I don’t know. Philip K. Dick you couldn’t even really call "science fiction" because he’s so psychological and it’s always more like paranoia. His books, a lot of them take place in the future, but that’s not what it dwells on at all. Philip K. Dick has such a wide range of what he did. Some really crazy, almost religious books, some straight up science fiction. He’s just great.

Okay. Here’s an exercise we can do. Not an athletic exercise. A word exercise. I’m going to list three things and you should rank them in order of their appeal to you.

Okay. That’s easy, I guess.

The first one is: Frosted Flakes, Count Chocula and Honeycombs.

Frosted Flakes, and then Count Chocula and then Honeycombs.

And now the words — just like the sound of the word, not really the meaning, if you can separate them, which is questionable. Culottes, dervish and multilingual.

I would say [laughing] Dervish. Culottes. Multilingual.

How about these sounds? Doorbells, pipes clanging and car horns?

I would say pipes clanging, car horns and then door bells. I don’t like people coming over.

Secret. Degree. Or Dry Idea.

Secret what?

Degree and Dry Idea. Deodorants.

Oh! I’d say: Dry Idea, Degree, Secret.

And this is the last one: foreign policy, skin moisturizer and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy! First and foremost. And then the moisturizer. Yeah, the foreign policy would be like so far down.

Are you a big Buffy fan?

Yeah, I really dig her. She’s totally cool.

Yeah. I like her a lot too, actually. Do you want to ask me some?

Okay. Are you a mod or are you a rocker?

[Laughing] A rocker. I’m no mod!

Who’s your favorite drummer?

Ummm … I guess I don’t really have a favorite drummer. I’m so bad with names that een if I had one I wouldn’t know their name. I guess I’m being a difficult interview subject. I’m sorry.

What’s your favorite candy?

Candy. I love Butterfingers.

Ewww.

Yeah. It’s very sweet. I can only eat them occasionally. But it’s quite a score on Halloween when someone gives you one.

What are you going to be for Halloween?

I thought of this yesterday, I think I might be "Big Blonde," which is a character in a Dorothy Parker short story. She’s this really obnoxious, busty, blonde woman from the ’20s. I get to wear silk pajamas and carry around a martini glass and have a really big chest, which I don’t usually have.

I don’t know what I’m going to be.

It’s a lot of pressure.

I guess the only thing I can be is a cowgirl. That’s the only gear I have.

Do you have the holster?

No. That’s the only thing. I don’t have a gun and I don’t have a holster. So I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. I’m not even sure they sell that kind of stuff in Toys "R" Us anymore. Do they still have guns and stuff for kids to play with? I thought that was, like, very non-PC now.

Yeah, they only have Nerf guns now.

They have to be plastic and purple.

The bullets have very peaceful things written on them.

I do have a Stetson and boots.

I think that would carry it. What’s in your pockets?

Well, I haven’t really left the house yet, so I don’t think … Oh wait. There is … hang on. Chap Stick. Mint flavored. That’s all. That’s the only thing in my pocket.

I have Chap Stick as well. And I have a key to a lock box.

Oooh. How very provocative.

Yeah, well … Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Mostly cops. I live right across the street from the cop station, and I think there are just tons of cops that live right around me here. That’s cool in a way because my van kept getting broken into, and I hope that never happens again. I keep parking it right in front of the cop station.

That would go over well on "Sesame Street" with the song.

Yeah, [singing] "The policeman is a person in your …"

I mostly have cats in my neighborhood.

Cats?

Yes. Lots of cats, and I don’t know quite where they belong. They’re all sort of cute, except one we call "Twitchy Cat." That one’s a little scary — very twitchy.

Could be rabies.

Yeah, I stay away. There’s no froth on the mouth, though.

One time I got ringworm from petting a stray cat.

Really?

Yeah. So don’t ever pet a stray cat, I’ll tell you now. Especially the sweetest little kittens. That’s what it was. It was like I took it in and found a home for it, but it turned out it had ringworm. And the person I gave it to got ringworm, too. And we both saw each other and were like: "You?" "You?" "Yes?" "Oh God." It was just, like, you have to put lotion on it — it’s like psoriasis or something. There’s no worm. I recommend that you don’t do that.

Stay away from all the cats. It’s hard, though, there are cats everywhere. I’ll run. No ringworm!

I went through this phase in New York where I was rescuing cats. I think I found homes for three cats, or four maybe. But when the ringworm thing happened I was like, that’s it.

You swore off the cats.

Forget it. They’re going to have to find a home for themselves.

One of the things I was wondering as I was listening to your latest album is: Has anyone ever made Julee Cruise comparisons?

[Sighs] Yeah. I’ve said that myself. I was really, really into that album when it came out. The "Twin Peaks" stuff. So I don’t mind. I don’t want that to be the only comparison. I dig that stuff, though.

So would you ever be interested in working with David Lynch …

Oh Jesus! Well, yeah. Sure.

‘Cause you know, Julee Cruise now sings with the B-52’s, doesn’t she? Or she did. They might have an opening for someone like you.

Oh man. Angelo Badalamenti. What a trip. That’s so retro. It’s so ’80s.

Do you believe in objective truth?

I doubt it. I don’t think so. It’s got to be different for everybody. Maybe that’s not what you meant, but…

Yes. I love it that your answer was "I doubt it."

Not for any humans. Maybe for a machine. That’s such binary thinking.

What question are you surprised no interviewer has ever asked you?

Ummmm … [Long pause.] I guess they never ask me who the songs are about.

Are they usually about specific people?

Usually. Yeah. You know, even if I don’t start it to be that way it usually turns out that I can pinpoint whose song is whose.

So are your friends ever like: I know that song was about me.

Well, they’re not — they don’t get specific enough, ever. I don’t have enough details in there for anybody to know, hopefully. But I’ve had songs where I’ve actually given it to the person. So they knew, and I told them it was. But no. They’ve never confronted me on it.

I guess my last question is: So many people talk about the influence of country on your music.

Yeah.

Do you ever find it funny that no one mentions the strong influence of opera on your work?

[Startled] Opera? No one’s ever said that.

I’m kidding.

Yeah, everyone always talks about the country influence. Even now with the new album, "Telescopic," they’re still bringing up Hank Williams and Patsy Cline all the time. Which is great and everything. But I think this record is so much less country and so different from the other record. I don’t know. It’s got some country-esque tunes, I guess. But people do tend to want to lump me into alt-country.

Shoegazer twang.

Or real country, Americana-type music. I would lean more, if I were going to describe it, to weird, folky, more psychedelic stuff. Like when I hear Syd Barrett I go: Yeah. And I’m really into Lisa Germano right now. I think she comes really, really close to what I want to be doing musically. When I hear her stuff it sounds like I’m doing it, like I just forgot recording it. And they wouldn’t call her "country." I do come from country, and I can’t say I don’t come from that place. But, they tend to leave it at that and not use any other description. I don’t want the people who are real, serious, hardcore country fans to think if they bought this that they were going to really like it. Because they might not.

Or it might open a whole new world of music to them. They wouldn’t be country fans anymore.

Oh, that’ll never happen. Country stands forever.