Dianthus in the Dark

PH: It was very cool. You already discussed your poetic approach, which is very rich in metaphors like the dying star, the garden, etc. And then there’s a lot of existential pondering on the right path in life and on morality—it feels like there’s a kind of philosophical grappling going on. Was there anything you were reading, whether it be philosophy or poetry or something else, that influenced the lyrics in this album?

JL: There’s a couple things I think that influenced me literally. I was reading a book I found at the dump called Uses of the Past. Basically, it was a book where instead of making a traditional history book, this historian tried to touch on the more ethical, philosophical underpinnings of history, starting from Babylon up to modern-day Britain, which was 1956, I think, when the book came out. I was reading that, and there were a lot of things in that that I really, really enjoyed.

He made a lot of parallels between symbolism of things like the mother and the Christ figure or the Savior and the Father, and how they developed and weaved themselves throughout history to modern times. How Judaism affected modern Britain, how that started potentially in Babylon and went through Egypt. I never even thought of history that way. I think he’s explicitly atheist, so reading a book from that perspective was different for me. There were parts where he was frustrated with Judaism’s, then Christianity’s influence on modern Britain or modern Europe, but then he was hard-pressed to say what he’d prefer as an alternative. That kind of gray-area morality.

Also, at the time I was reading poems by John O’Donohue, who’s an Irish poet. And then Louise Glück, there’s a poem called “The White Lilies,” which is [from] a beautiful, beautiful poetry book. And some of the spoken word stuff in the songs are actually excerpts from those books. And then there’s another poet named [Kahlil] Gibran, and he has a book called The Prophet. The beginning and the ending of “hand in hand” are excerpts from that poem.

Thinking about it now, a bunch of these poetry books are actually heavily steeped in Christian scripture.
And so there’s definitely a weaving through of all these things, but specifically “The White Lilies.” There’s some views from the flowers’ perspective. For instance, ‘the frustration over how you sent me a storm that’s going to kill me and you could save me. You’re supposed to care for me, but you don’t. You allow me to die.’ So that kind of moralistic view, specifically of a higher power. I think that’s weaved in.

PH: So, this is another album with another collaboration with Emily Anderson. You two almost have enough for your own duo EP now! Tell me about that ongoing artistic collaboration.

JL: [Laughs] You better believe it! I love it. I think, and this is not a slight on anyone, but Emily has been the most responsive and consistent collaborator for me. I love working with her. She’s so freaking talented in every aspect, so whatever she comes up with is always good. We actually are doing some writing right now where we’re covering each other’s songs for a split.
It gives me life because it’s someone that’s not me that I can play off of and that draws me out of slumps into a broader spectrum of possibilities. Just co-writing in general does that. With her specifically, it’s been really good because she is so amazingly talented in every direction. I’m a bit more narrowed in with my abilities, so she gives me a palette that I would never have been able to work with that I can go from. I’m so happy she was a part of this.

PH: So like 10–15 years ago, your band, Young Fangs, seemed like the biggest band in Fairbanks. You were opening for big out-of-state bands, maybe even primed for doing bigger things beyond Fairbanks, and still are the soundtrack for a killer Explore Fairbanks promo that runs on loop at the Fairbanks Airport. Going from that band to more of a solo artist, how have things evolved for you, and, more generally, the Fairbanks music scene since then?

JL: I think for me, Young Fangs was a very collaborative effort. We would come and bring our ideas and then we’d all write and change the ideas depending on who was playing what. The person that wrote the song and would sing would have the electric guitar, and then the bassist would write their part, and then Joel, the drummer, would write his part. It was very collaborative. We had some input, but mostly we would just let everyone make whatever they wanted, and then we’d fine-tune it as a band.

Going solo, though, it’s just me writing and then [doing] everything. When I perform it live, I bring in people, including Joel Fagre, the drummer from Young Fangs, but everyone would just play what I had recorded. What changed the most is the lack of collaboration, which I’ve been trying to get back in the most recent years with the writing of these new songs. Getting more input.

And the landscape changed, you know. Social media got stronger, Netflix got stronger, people’s interest in going out lessened. You can get high production stuff in your house or on your phone. And I’m not about to blame the success of a show on people wanting to stay home, but, I mean, there was that. There was this transition. I think there was a kind of exhaustion that happened in the Alaska scene. And so people just stopped performing. The people that I played with stopped performing or moved.

There was this lull post-Young Fangs and Feeding Frenzy. And from Anchorage: the Young Guns, Turquoise Boy, Historian. Everyone was like, ‘We’re gonna do it! We’re gonna make it!’ And then it just got too difficult, I think. It gets to a certain point where people stop going to your show, you haven’t released an album, and we all got like five years older. People got families or they just changed their priorities and it was fine. I think you strike the iron when it’s hot and then when it starts to cool, you just try to find a different path.

So that’s what happened. People just got tired and then it didn’t feel like there was this next generation to help ignite the scene. I go to a show and it’s the same bands. No shade on people, but it’s the same bands that are playing all these events. And maybe it’s a lack of opportunity. I don’t know what it is, but it just doesn’t feel like there was another generation to take up the torch of live performance that would have kept that inertia alive. I think it’s a combination of things.

PH: So, for young people who now find themselves in this reality, and, looking at a band like Tamarack, where there’s a lot of excitement about a young band and the scene that’s growing around them, do you have any advice?

JL: My advice to them is just to get together and play music and then just try–even if it’s the shittiest demo–to start making something together. Because that’ll really freaking give you the inertia you need. Just get together, write a song, and record it on your freaking iPhone. Put all your iPhones up in different places and record it. GarageBand is free. Reaper is free. You can get a package deal of recording stuff, monitors, mixer, monitors, interface, headphones, on Sweetwater, a package deal for like 400 bucks. Just pitch in and don’t pay your Xbox subscription for a couple months and then buy a mixer, you know? Make it something that’s a priority and fun and just record. I think once you start putting stuff down, it’ll really inspire you. I really think it will. The problem is, you see stuff online and then you start to really compare yourself and then you ask, why start? I feel it all the time. All these bands are doing so well, why would anyone listen to anything I’ve ever made ever?

My advice to them is that the doubt and insecurities will be there, but don’t let it tear [music] away from you because you don’t know where you can go. I would never give up all the experiences and the fun I’ve had, touring with Young Fangs or even the little I’ve done with Once & Future, all the relationships I’ve got, the experiences and the traveling and the lessons. I’ve had so much joy from being in a band.

At the very center of it, the making of the art and the joining together in the community of people and your friends and, even if it’s just one show, there’s something real about it and truthful and purposeful. I tell my son this—I’m helping him record some stuff for his own band—
don’t hide. There are two parts of being an artist: There’s a part of it where like you learn and perform and you get the joy. Then there’s a part where people get to hear it and that’s a gift to them. If you really grow your skill and talent and really care about it, there is a gift that you can give to other people with making it.
Just don’t ever lose the joy of making it.

PH: You grew up as an Army brat, probably moving around a fair bit, but then you grew roots here in Fairbanks. What’s one thing you wish people knew or understood about Fairbanks and what keeps you?

JL: Fairbanks is a place where you learn about the work it takes to live. And it gives you an appreciation for life that you wouldn’t have anywhere else. It’s very difficult to live here all year round. And I think that’s what this place does, especially this winter.

It teaches you the work it takes to survive in a way that elsewhere you don’t [have to]. So when you’re shoveling at 35 below or your car won’t start and you’re trying to lift a lid and you don’t have gloves on, it gives you another perspective of the work it takes to live.

It’s something we miss at other places that are more temperate because our society is moving more and more to an automated, have-it-your-way kind of society, which I’m very resistant to in many ways, much to my family’s chagrin.

This place forces you to look at the world and your life as something that you actually have to contest with physically. We’re constantly engineering our way out of having to deal with boredom, having to deal with the elements, having to deal with things not working.

Things just always work, things get delivered to our house instantly. Everything is so on-demand. But this is a place where people come and they literally live in a dry cabin on purpose. I’m talking, like, 55-, 60-year-old people, that’s what they do. They drive the same old car because they learn to work on it. There’s an ideal here around having a connection between what you need and the work it takes to do it. There’s a joy of that kind of accomplishment of contending.

It’s that kind of thing I really appreciate about this place. If you really want to test your mettle and test the kind of person you could be, this is a place you would come to. Can you do it, you know? Can you be here? I think what this place offers is that opportunity.

PH: Do you think you’re the only artist in the history of rock ‘n’ roll to rhyme “chemical core” with “credit score”?

JL: [Laughs] I don’t know, maybe. Do you think that’s the case?

PH: I think so. I think you hold the title in that particular category.

JL: I’ll take any title at all.