Calling All Ears

John Lurie has a lot to say about music. Just don't ask him to put any of those thoughts into words. "You're not supposed to talk about this stuff," says the sax-wielding front man of New York jazz ensemble the Lounge Lizards. "It's just like talking about UFOs or religion or sex. You belittle them by putting language to them. If I could put language to them I'd be a writer, not a musician."

As the lead melody maker behind the Lizards and composer of several film scores (including Jim Jarmusch's Mystery Train and Barry Sonnenfeld's Get Shorty), Lurie has found that he expresses himself best through music. As with any native tongue, that language has evolved over the years.

In fact, the chaotic and disjointed sounds of the original Lounge Lizards' recordings bear little resemblance to the storm-like fury and breathtaking calm of their latest eloquent release, Queen Of All Ears. Looking back, Lurie practically cringes when he recalls those first few gigs.

"We used to take a lot of drugs and go out on stage," Lurie says. "I threw this band together and it was like car crash jazz. We were afraid to play anything beautiful. Four or five years ago, me and my brother put on that first album and we were rolling on the floor in hysterics, laughing at ourselves."

The last two decades of composing and performing have taken Lurie on a near-mystical journey. Long and strange indeed: Today, when the former enfant terrible and self-described wise guy does talk about his music, he speaks of "rituals." When he speaks of the CD's first and last tracks as "opening and closing prayers," it's clear a kinder, gentler John Lurie has emerged.

"It's like an invocation, those songs. What was remarkable was that the studio blocks out everything -- the sun and God can't get in -- and those two [songs] still just sort of happened," he says. "It's like they were always there."

Not surprisingly, one of the many factors influencing Lurie's musical growth was his exposure to tribal and world music. "People tend to not believe this, but the tribal stuff came from deep within me," Lurie explains about his blend of urbane jazz, chants and global beats. "I heard Ali Fahkatouri a couple years ago and I felt like 'damn, he's stealing my stuff,' which can't be true!

"There's a lot of call and response in both jazz and tribal music. I think that jazz bands are in a way just like bastardized pygmy groups at their best. I'm talking about Ornette Coleman with [Don] Cherry or Charlie Parker or Miles," Lurie clarifies. "I'm not talking about Kenny G. I don't know what that is."

The spiritual similarities between a saxophone and trumpet player trading solos and rain forest natives in a drumming circle are very obvious for Lurie, as well. But that doesn't mean he finds it any easier to talk about. "It's almost the same principle, the band gets together, but when we perform it's almost like some kind of ritual and there's a lot of love between the musicians," Lurie begins before stopping cold. "Boy, there's no way to talk about this stuff without sounding incredibly corny! I don't know how to really explain it, I can just imagine seeing this in print afterwards, it's like oh my god, gag gag gag.

"For me and the guys in the band, the principle is basically religious or spiritual in what music is supposed to be, but again I don't know how to explain that outta my mouth. But you should be able to hear it in [the music]."

Later, Lurie perfectly summarizes our conversation without intending to do so. "Three of the first seven people we played [Queen Of All Ears] for cried. The snotty guy from Warner Brothers, which is what this was supposed to come out on, said, 'I don't know if that's the effect we're looking for.' And right then I knew I was on to something."

For a man who claims to be unable to put his thoughts into words, Lurie hit the proverbial nail on the head when he christened the label that would carry his music -- Queen included -- into the world: Strange and Beautiful Records.

STEVE GDULA
(June 15, 1998)