Before punk rock hit in 1976, there was Graham Parker and the aggressive songs he bashed out with the Rumor on his album Howlin' Wind. Twenty-five years later, after pursuing gentler solo work and moonlighting as an author, Parker is back at it with the old-wave, rough and ready album, Deepcut to Nowhere, and no shortage of things to rail against. Backed by Rumor drummer Steve Goulding -- and on U.K. live dates by Rumor guitarist Martin Belmont -- Parker is gearing up to take his road show to the U.S. with his latest Rumor-less configuration, the Figgs. And though his new songs aren't so much angry as they are critical and observational, in conversation, Parker takes on everybody and everything. By no means bitter, he always shares his forceful opinions with a laugh or as he likes to say, "I don't complain, I merely describe reality -- in italics."

Squeezing Out Sparks was one of those records that never left people's turntables when it came out in '79. Deepcut to Nowhere sounds like a return to that sound.

Yeah, I've got a bit of the old hoarseness and roughness back in my voice, coupled with the skill I have now as a singer, having actually learned to sing.

Well, it certainly helps when a singer-songwriter can sing! Not all can, you know?

People don't realize that the voice gets stronger and richer, and doing all those solo gigs has really helped me. I really started to hear myself. You gotta remember that when I started, I really was working in a gas station in 1975. And then I had a record deal. I had no stagecraft, so my singing was rudimentary. I'd go out and just yell, scream really. Burning Questions [1992] was an interesting record, but I notice now I was very tentative on that because I was trying to get away from the old Graham Parker. A lot of the time in the Eighties and Nineties, I was trying to get away from that guy who sang at the top of his voice, bellowed and often used more of his throat than the body. Often you go too far the other way.

It would be safe to say that you aren't so angry anymore, but some of your observations are certainly critical.

The song "Syphilis and Religion" is about as nasty as you can get. I read an article about atheism in America, and it said it was extremely dangerous to be an atheist in America right now. Can you imagine going through the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties and Nineties and here we are in 2001 and America's gone back to the time that if you say, "I don't believe in God," you're a very dangerous person, a sick person, someone that the local community would not be pleased to have in their midst? And so I say, "Syphilis and religion are two things the world could live without." Well, I don't think that's completely true; I'm not an atheist by any means, but I just couldn't resist saying it!

You also take some well-placed shots at the complacency that strikes some people in middle age. I love your line in "Socks and Sandals": "Socks and sandals ain't rock & roll!"

It's very much based on the bad dress sense of English people. There are people I went to school with who I visit in England who've lived the suburban dream, and I didn't do that. I did something else, and I feel much younger than them. It's strange. The guy in the song is a bit of a sad sack, but there's also a bit of me in there because sometimes I have the thong sandals sitting at the door at my residence in upstate New York. And I'll have socks on and I'll actually put the damn things on with the thongs coming through with the socks on and it's, like, really gross, and I go, "Oh my God, I really am that person!"

Since you've been playing with Steve Goulding and Martin Belmont, do you ever think about getting the Rumor together again?

Well, no doubt it's crossed my mind and there are people who would salivate at the idea, but, again, talk to anybody at this level of touring, do the paperwork and see what it would cost. This is one of the businesses where you get paid less every year. The Rumor is a five-piece band, and then there's the crew. How do we do it, cheaply and nastily? I don't think you should do that to grown men. You can't go back to a station wagon. It's horrific! Tours like U2 and Madonna do not do the business any good, in my opinion. They rip the guts out of it because a huge amount of people save their money to go to a gig and the club scene is eviscerated. It's tough. So it just doesn't make sense. But you never know what's around the corner. I'd never count anything out.

I read something that Nick Lowe said once about how it's not the time onstage you should get paid for, it's the rest of the hours of the day.

I was talking to Nick on the phone yesterday and he was saying the same thing! He said this is the occupation we're in. You have to put up with this incredible tedium and flashes of depression. People just don't get it. And I don't know whether people like U2 avoid it, when they've got a private plane and all that. I've never spoken to them and asked them, "Do you feel really miserable when you know you're gonna get paid about a million bucks tonight? You're on a private plane and can fly back to a nice house somewhere in America, or staying in a five-star hotel that's huge instead of going back to a small depressing room where the road works start at 7 a.m., the scaffolding is going up -- do you feel like I do, Bono? Please tell me. I'm dying to know." I was reading about this guy . . . What is that band? I really dislike their music intensely . . . 20 million sales and the guy got depressed . . . Dave Matthews Band! Yeah, 20 million sales and then he got depressed. And I'm like, "What the fuck you talking about?" But, you know, money doesn't really make you happy. There's no doubt about it.

Tell me about a song you had to write to survive, or one that you used to redeem a horrible experience.

"Passion Is No Ordinary Word" definitely captured a lot of the phoniness of being a celebrity -- that's what that's all about. I was probably happier working in a factory. It was simple, it was dumb, I went home and watched TV, I got stoned, I drank tea, I drank beer. That's more contentment. I don't know about happiness, but contentment is not something you're gonna get from this game with all its prizes -- no. But then again, as I said, I haven't asked Bono. I haven't said, "How good is it for you, pal?" Obviously for Dave Matthews it wasn't good!

DENISE SULLIVAN
(August 21, 2001)