Don Was

By a.d.amorosi

Biography

If anyone wears more multimedia hats than Don Was, let him stand up now. The man once responsible for the ever-eclectic Was Not Was and tunes like "Out Come The Freaks" and "Walk The Dinosaur"" makes groove-oriented sounds with a magnificent curving signature all their own. "

In moving away from WNW into the world of record production, he became the mighty force behind such acts as the Rolling Stones, the Highwaymen, Bonnie Raitt, Iggy Pop, B-52's, and the "Rock Rhythm and Soul."

Recently, he's put his money where his mouth is by having his own label, Karambolage (through MCA) that has recently released such Was-produced affairs as Kris Kristofferson and ex-Rascal Felix Cavaliere. Even more surprising is his role as film producer/director. His first role as director pits Was against the ever-enigmatic face of summer, Brian Wilson . In the B? documentary I Just Wasn't Made For These Times, the Beach Boy tells the seafaring tales of abuse and harmony that brought him to the shore and back out to sea again. (The film, set for theatrical release, will showcase in Philly on the Disney cable network starting Aug 27)

a.d.: Are there any musical trends that make you laugh out loud?

DW: I won't mention any names, but there are evil things that permeate every form of music. You can spot a fraud a mile away. You can tell when people don't mean it — so desperate that they listen to the radio because some record company jerk has suggested "Well, do something like..." They get the thing texturally approximate but the essence is totally missing. You gotta laugh. I heard something the other day, a comeback of sorts, that was so slick and soulless that...

a.d.: Oh no, you're talking about the new Bowie record.

DW: (laughs) No, no. I really can't say. But this record, you just couldn't imagine it with the same lineage as Elvis Presley. It had no more soul than a Tide commercial.

a.d.: You've worked recently with Wilson and Kristofferson — two guys who fell by the wayside. How do you figure into a sound without Tide-ing em? Is it just organic?

DW: Yeah, you just let them happen. I'm trying to think of a good metaphor. OK, photography. If you were to take a photo of Kristofferson, you'd walk into the studio, see what he was doing, see what he looked like, pick up a vibe and then you'd try to snap it against the perfect backdrop that complements him. Producing songs is just like that, they have their own DNA code, along with what an artist wants texturally. You don't impose. You often really have to subvert your ideas.

For instance, I've spent plenty of time around Keith Richards while he's written songs, tinkering. He'll say "Hmm, I've gotta come up with a bridge." Now (laughs) I've got PLENTY ideas. I almost scream "Quit fumbling with that. TRY this." But I just shut up. Without fail, within 20 minutes he'll come up with something that so far exceeds what I was thinking. You just have to shut the fuck up, stay out of the way, but know how to recognize the right thing when it comes along.

a.d.: How did the Brian Wilson thing come about? Was the BBC involved?

DW: The BBC were the first and only people to put up some money, but it was gonna get made anyhow. It started with a fan letter, when all is said and done. It's funny how with Disney, the soundtrack and everything, it all seems like brilliant cross-marketing — but it just started as me meeting him and playing a gig with him. We did "Love & Mercy" with me on bass and him on piano. He nailed that fucker. That was the last straw for me getting to know him personally, I found he was a totally lucid cat, nothing like people had described to me. Very funny. I expected him to be musically braindead, drooling all over himself.

(At this point Was hears a knock on the door. Upon opening he receives a basket of Tobelerone chocolate bars "It's my wedding anniversary.")

a.d.: Do you have any favorite films that might've given you visual cues?

DW: Yeah, Stardust Memories is one. I remember it playing with the concept of time. When it first came out, I was making lots of 12-inch dance singles and I think I tried to apply the same type of montage notion onto recording and mixing.

a.d.: Without harping on this, did you ever speak privately to Eugene Landy or Mike Love?

DW: I met Brian while he was still with Landy [the psychiatrist who spent every waking hour with Wilson, now deposed], so I knew him. While I was making the film, one day out of nowhere he says "I want to make a Beach Boys record. Will you go talk to Mike?" I thought maybe there was a chance for reconciliation and get that into the film. Wilson is looking to reconcile every aspect of his life, the things he missed out on. I went down there and they were thrilled, especially Love; he's got a good cynical sense of humor.

I was expecting to meet the evilest man in the world. His complaints, the chip on the shoulder, is valid: it's "the genius and the four assholes." That would make anyone vitriolic, so any preconceived notions I had got turned around. I learned a lot about myself while making this film, that humans don't have the wherewithal to judge.

a.d.: What's the difference between recording Wilson as opposed to George Jones, Mel Torme or Leonard Cohen — all people you've worked with?

DW: You picked three people where there's not much difference. They're all very distinct artists. All you can do is prevent things from getting in their way. They're already there. It's like carving the space around them. Let em go. If they fuck up, you tell em. Look for the natural dynamic.

a.d.: Is there ever a time you can't produce an artist or won't ?

DW: Yeah, more often than not, say in the case of the Stones, the demos are the best things they're doing. You just prop em up and let em go from there and when it's done, turn off the tape.