A Conversation with Alex Rosamilia of The Gaslight Anthem

There are good bands, and then there are bands with music so good they become the standard of a genre. The Hold Steady have done just that for barroom rock, The Roots have done it for live hip-hop. And more recently, punk rock got its contemporary standard in the form of New Jersey-ites The Gaslight Anthem.

The band, made of singer Brian Fallon, guitarist Alex Rosamilia, bassist Alex Levine and drummer Benny Horowitz, make music that is a synthesis of two of New Jersey’s finest exports — the epic, storytelling, everyman rock of Bruce Springsteen fused sonically with the fast, fist-pumping punk of the Bouncing Souls. And with last year’s The ’59 Sound picking up steam, a cross-country headlining tour about to launch and spots on magazine covers and TV shows piling up, The Gaslight Anthem is about to ignite.

Guitarist Alex Rosamilia, on his last day off before hitting the road, called Gravity Rides Everything to talk rock, Jersey and meditation.

GRE: You’ve had a pretty incredible and quick rise to rock fame.

AR: It’s weird. It’s a constant barrage of surreal moments and pinching myself. I don’t believe this is actually happening because everyone told me it was too impossible for someone like me. We just got back from Europe and most of the shows were sold out. To go to places I’ve never been before and have people stoked to see us, that was incredible.

GRE: How’d the band come together originally?

AR: Brian and Alex were playing together in a band and drafted Benny. The previous guitarist wanted to go back to school and Benny asked if I wanted to join, but I was cautious at first — I’d given up the dream at that point. I was ok with being assistant manager at a sneaker store. I made enough money to do whatever. But he twisted my arm enough to do it.

GRE: A lot’s been made of the band being from New Jersey. Do you feel a particular connection to Jersey bands?

AR: I wouldn’t say there’s a specific Jersey sound or a Jersey genre. But even though everything sounds different, there’s a similar sense of desperation. There’s a hint of claustrophobia because of how easy it is to get stuck in New Jersey. So it’s not a genre, but a state of mind.


GRE: Gaslight’s music has a timeless quality. Is that where the ‘59 Sound concept comes from?

AR: The whole idea behind the record was that we’d found out that we all liked soul music. We basically tried to make an homage to an earlier time. We’re reaching for that sound on purpose — the Stax sound, the Motown sound.

GRE: A lot of songs on the record were written specifically to be live tunes. How do you feel onstage?

AR: This is going to sound really cheesy, but it’s a meditative process. It’s the hour a day where I don’t worry about anything, the only time I feel really focused. We’ll be driving all day, doing photo shoots and interviews, but I get onstage and it all makes sense for an hour. Then I step offstage and it stops making sense again. Onstage I don’t have to worry about creditors calling and asking for money, what I’ll do when I get home. All that shit leaves my head and I just worry about the guitar — a totally innocent thing to worry about. Something can go wrong on guitar and it won’t be the end of the world. Playing a bad note isn’t hazardous to my health.

GRE: There are a lot of styles going into Gaslight Anthem music. What are some acts that have influenced you the most?

AR: Personally, I’d say The Cure. Robert Smith and Johnny Marr have had more say over what I sound like than any guitar player. Peter Green, the original guitar player of Fleetwood Mac, and I’d have to throw in Dave Knudson from Minus the Bear. He’s too good — it’s not fair.

GRE: If you could control the future, what would the next five years look like?

AR: We’d keep doing what we’re doing, but I’d have my own place. That’s the consensus of everybody. I’m currently residing on my friend’s couch. When you’re not home at all, it’s not worth spending money. And I’m not the only one — a few of us are living the nomadic lifestyle right now.

Photo courtesy Lisa Johnson

A Conversation with Erika Wennerstrom of Heartless Bastards

Female voices don’t come tougher, ballsier and more beautiful than the siren call of Heartless Bastards front woman Erika Wennerstrom. Her band’s dirty power blues sound finds Wennerstrom’s voice dragging through gravel, howling in pain like a lover scorned, all over a punch-in-the-gut bed of thunderous dirt-road guitar and percussion.

The band sounds like the soundtrack to riding into the sunset just after the apocalypse. Yup, they’re that good.

Wennerstrom took some time to talk to Gravity Rides Everything as she winded through the country — soon to be in Pittsburgh Sunday night.

GRE: A lot’s been made of your voice. When did you realize you could sing?

Erika Wennerstrom: I was 18 or 19. I’d always wanted to sing, but I never had — I just told everybody I was going to be a singer. Then around 18, I thought ‘Well, I should start doing this if it’s what I want to do as a career.’ I began to write songs and work at it.

GRE: Do you remember first time singing in front of a crowd?

EW: I’m sure it was some sort of open mic night in Dayton Ohio, but I don’t remember the exact night or what happened or anything.

GRE: How’d you get hooked up with [indie label] Fat Possum?

EW: Patrick Carney of The Black Keys walked into a show we did in Akron, Ohio and I thought I recognized him — I went up to him afterwards and we ended up hanging out and drinking some beers. I handed him a demo and he passed it on to Fat Possum.

GRE: At this point in your career, would you consider moving to a major label?

EW: I don’t know. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Ultimately, I’ve got to do what’s best for the band. I think there are a lot of great things about independent labels, and good things as far as the exposure bigger labels can offer. But in the industry right now, I think indie labels do better. They have more loyal followings. I don’t know anyone who says ‘I have the whole Sony catalogue.’ But I know people that are really big fans of labels like Fat Possum or Sub Pop or Matador. Those labels have really loyal followings that will check something out just because it’s on the label.

GRE: Who are some of your vocal idols? Who do you look up to?

EW: I love Otis Redding, Iggy Pop. I love Mick Jagger, Nina Simone, Joan Jett. My influences are all over the place.

GRE: If you could control the future, what would the next five years look like?

EW: Well, I’d hope that I can continue to write songs that I like and have people respond to them. Plus the whole ‘hope to be happy’ stuff. I’d be livin’ the good life.

GRE: What can fans expect to see from a Heartless Bastards live show?

EW: I’m sure everyone’s view of it is a bit different, but I think we’re a good band. I think we’re entertaining. I don’t do any crazy acrobatics or anything — we’re straightforward. We don’t wear costumes. No pyrotechnics or lighting. We put on a good, old fashioned rock and roll show. We’re just doing what we love to do.

Check out Heartless Bastards at Mr. Small's on Sunday night. Expect to leave feeling like you got kicked in the stomach.

T-Pain is a cultural icon bigger than a boat

Goodbye, Paris Hilton. See you later, Jennifer Aniston. The most important cultural icon we’ve got nowadays is none other than T-Pain.

Why? Well, first off, he’s on a boat. He’s on a boat. Take a good, hard look, because he’s sailing on a boat.

In the parallel universe of pop culture that co-exists with the real world in which normal shmoes like you and I exist, T-Pain is the guy that shows up at every party (though no one is sure who invited him). He always has something witty to say, and he probably slept with your sister. And very possibly your mother.

By appearing in just about every popular song to hit the radio, he has become the digitized voice of pop music, the thermometer for what is hot up in da club and what is not.

Seriously, his resume of hits is staggering. Here’s just a sampler: Chris Brown’s “Kiss Kiss,” Kanye West’s “Good Life,” Flo Rida’s “Low,” Baby Bash’s “Cyclone” and my personal favorite, “I’m ‘n Luv (Wit a Stripper).”

Aren’t we all, Mr. Pain, aren’t we all?

But with T-Pain’s latest guest appearance on the brilliantly dumb “I’m on a Boat,” this big-hatted teddy bear has come full circle in the pop universe, revealing that, yes, he knows what he does is silly and meaningless, but damn it, there is nothing wrong with that.


“I’m on a Boat,” written by the regular-dude trio of Andy Samberg, Akiva Schaffer and Jorma Taccone as The Lonely Island, is, at first listen, a club track with a colossal, thumping beat about — predictably — how cool it is to be on a boat, motherf****r.


The lyrics are obviously silly, especially when being rhymed by awkward white boys in tuxedos.

“I’m the king of the world, on a boat like Leo / If you’re on the shore, then you’re sure not me, oh,” is not exactly Dylan, but that’s not the point. “I’m on a Boat” is a spot-on parody of the entire genre of bling-tastic, my-grillz-is-shinier-than-yours hip-hop pop music. The bigger the boat, the more garish the display of wealth.

That part’s easy, though. Without T-Pain, the track would be little more than the best song Weird Al never wrote.

By featuring Mr. Pain, the genre king of mechanized, impersonal party jams, the song not only sounds way cooler, but also raises the tune to a whole other level of parody.

In imitating the sound of big-beat hip-hop tracks, “I’m on a Boat” has become one of the best to drop in months. It’s divine irony is anchored by T-Pain’s self-knowingly ridiculous appearance.

Because his trademark vocal addition to any song is sung through an auto-tune machine, thereby making the sounds you hear on the record not his own, T-Pain is the ultimate disposable pop star.

He is every hip-hop dude rapping about booties droppin’ down to the flo’, he is every pop star singing about love or sex or love and sex and he is every recycled chorus that sounds like a song from six months ago.

By appearing in a song that directly makes fun of just how silly club jams are, he is stepping back from his bling-image and saying, “Yup, it’s pretty stupid.” And in admitting so, he immediately becomes the smartest pop star in the business.

You wouldn’t see Akon on this track — dude takes himself way too seriously. And you sure wouldn’t see fellas like Diddy or Young Jeezy or Usher singing lines like “Never thought I’d be on a boat. It’s a big, blue watery road ... Believe me when I say I f****d a mermaid.” Those guys are too caught up in exactly the image that “I’m on a Boat” is making fun of.

And so was T-Pain.

But by jumping around on a boat, he’s winking to every music listener that has trouble swallowing the meaningless, hollow club tracks that seem to be recycled and redone every few months.

He gets it, he’s in on the joke. But you know what? That doesn’t bother him at all. He’s getting paid, and he’s giving us one more silly banger to get us gyrating on the dance floor.

And you really can’t blame him. Because the dude’s on a boat. He’s on a boat. And all we can do is take a good, hard look at the motherf*****g boat.

And continuing the 'things that are beautiful' tip...

This video hit the web back in January, but it warrants repeated viewings. If you haven't seen it yet, pay attention and listen up. The stop motion action going on here is nothing short of breathtaking, and it helps that the song is quite lovely as well.

Just a bit of background - singer Oren Lavie is an Israeli singer-songwriter with a concentration on theater. The rest of his tunes are very Leonard Cohen-y in their understated beauty, subtle melodies and slow, plodding pace. Really, really nice stuff.

Interestingly enough, his video for "Her Morning Elegance" has hit over 4 million views on YouTube, but the dude's only got 6000 or so friends on MySpace. Guess we're all just in for a one-off, which is a shame — Lavie's no one trick pony. Check the rest of his online music here.

My weekend of Grizzly Bear submission

Brothers and sisters,

It is my hope with Gravity Rides Everything to present thoughtful and thought-provoking discourse on music so as to push readers and listeners to think and appreciate music on a more thorough level. As in, no silly over-hyping, no crazed-fan freakout — I want to keep a weight to the music, hence Gravity Rides Everything.

But damn it, it sure as hell is hard not to have a mini-freak out after hearing Grizzly Bear's new record, Veckatimest.

The copy came to me through a friend in town to give a poetry reading — both the work and the people behind it are quite fantastic. Check 'em out here.

The Brooklynites told me they'd been jamming to Veckatimest consistently on their reading-tour of the past week — they'd fall asleep and be brought back to life by the sweeping sounds of the record, finding themselves in a new city, new surroundings. Thinking about how gigantic each song on the record becomes, only to sink back to the shadows, it sounds like a pretty beautiful experience.

Well, this was Thursday. Now Sunday night, I've fully submitted to the power of the record. I can't turn it off. I've tried, sure, by playing other new music (Thanks you Heartless Bastards and Thursday, but you just can't help) and even old standbys (Good effort, Band of Horses), but nothing can draw me away from this record.

I will likely bite my tongue for typing this at somepoint, as I'm sure that my life will soon be significantly less swallowed by Grizzly Bear, but right now it feels right: Veckatimist is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard.


These harmonies are otherworldly — a chorus of ghosts singing from a dark corner in an abandoned house. The guitars alternate between ground-rumbling and barely-whispers, sweeping you up like a strong wind and twirling you around, over and over and upside down and inside out. And then the piano. Oh, lord the piano. Jetting in and out of each track like a devilish and clever child, beautiful, full of life.

The whole album feels like the ocean, it's tides changing over and again, each bringing something different to shore. The scope is both a huge, endless open field and the tiny space under the bed of a scared child where he hides from monsters.

It is absolutely gorgeous. I honestly cannot remember hearing another album that hit me the way Veckatimist has. Maybe The Decemberists' "Her Majesty," and that was back in 2003.

End of weekend count: 21. I've listened to the record 21 times through. That's over 1000 minutes, over 17 hours. I feel like a drug addict. But when the smack is this good, I don't wanna stop.


Here are a few of the most-leaked tracks, in the best video forms I can find 'em. Enjoy. I know you will.