"A writer may describe the ugliness and pain in graphic terms but he
can also try to find the dignity and significance in ruined parts of
the city in the people he sees there." --Don DeLillo, regarding urban
scenes in the novel Great Jones Street.
The best writers do this
very effectively, even if not without effort. The very best often
weather negative scrutiny -- even derision -- to further pursue the
muse too persistent to really leave forever.
I went to a live
Seven Mary Three show this past Monday night -- categorically, one of
the best I've ever seen. I was able to meet everyone and get
autographs, pictures; something I have never really cared to do with
any band, ever. Perhaps the most intimidating part of it all was
meeting Jason Ross, shaking his hand. Not imposing in stature or
demeanor: dressed in a torn Wrathchild tee-shirt that had seen its
better days nearly a decade ago, tan cords and Chuck Taylors, he
could've been a guy walking up to mow my lawn for $50. Immaterial: I
was meeting arguably one of the greatest and most underrated poets of
my generation.
Finding dignity where it's seldom sought in
illusive hope, ...This Kansas wheat won't break us and another drink
won't make us free. The oven's wide open, hold your breath and see.
Hold your breath and see... (Oven, Rock Crown) and uncomfortable
distinction, ...The way his arms float around his cage, he's caged;
canary sings, silently brings, his voice to rage. The way they stop and
stare, the way they turn their heads; it's enough to make him want to
run away. But he stays, he stands his ground... (Lame, American
Standard), Jason Ross consistently glorifies an entire faction of
outsiders, dreamers and social misfits; makes them downright beautiful.
He is one of the most prolific and eloquent purveyors of the real human
element of this era in all its variant shades and hues, and he creates
an ever-evolving personal musical tapestry. His distinctly Southern
flair for telling a story of poignancy laced with dignity is
reminiscent of Blue Roses and Streetcars.
In contrast to the
more open and boisterous personalities of the other members of the
band, Ross is sometimes perceived by fans as comparatively
unapproachable. He is admittedly quieter and more reserved, though (for
my experience) just as kind. He seems a little stunned by the assertion
that he is among the greatest contemporary poets of our generation. In
fact he seems genuinely demurred, Thank you very much, he interjects to
the question of whether some of the setbacks they've endured as a band
coupled with what outwardly appears as his own reticence of being a
'rock star' make his writing talent seem sometimes as much a curse as a
gift. I wouldn't say that at all. I knew early on I had to find some
way to express myself creatively; if it was film, music,
writing...whatever. This happened to be where (my creativity) went. But
I feel very fortunate to still be doing this, even if it is sometimes a
little overwhelming.
Defining the most personally painful and
simultaneously quiet facets of loving someone up close, too young,
...Do you think it's just enough to know how I wanted you to feel. Read
things back to me, back up to see from where I am. There is nothing
more than this, more than this. Is it enough to say that I want you to
keep it close to me? Me, me is all I think about, but every word you
say. Do I mean anything?... (Anything, American Standard) and from far
away as a grown-up, ...You invent for me a usefulness And Ive started
getting used to it: What I miss when Im not there... (By Your Side,
Dis/location) Ross's writing revels in universal experiences few are
willing to admit, let alone embrace.
Given the personal
depth of his writing, I'm curious whether he's a spiritual person.
Surprised by the question, he pauses for a moment, considering, Hmm, I
don't know... he says, mulling a response, I think spirituality is a
way for people to address pain in themselves; to not feel like they're
the only ones. An awareness of how the things we do affects everything
around us. And yeah, I'm affected by the things that go on around
me...that awareness. I think all artists are filters in that way,
really. They take what is going on and interpret it; they shape it into
what they see.
His lyrics possess a very literate sensibility.
With references and even a couple of homages to some of the greatest
classic writers, poets and playwrights in history -- Allen Ginsberg,
Dylan Thomas, William Butler Yeats, Samuel Beckett and most recently
Ray Carver -- he's managed to apply them quite universally, without the
appearance of heavy-handed intellectualism and has made them something
to which any one of us could readily relate, whether or not the the
parallels are realized. An unusual combination of cerebral and
visceral, there's something uniquely inspiring about his bent, Yeah,
some of the earlier references were what I was reading in college, but
there's a running theme of whatever I'm reading in one way or another I
guess, he offers, adding Right now, I'm reading a lot of (Don) Delillo,
(Ray) Carver, (John) Steinbeck, (Kurt) Vonnegut...I'm working my way
through the entire series of Delillo. I like him.
Asked if he
still gets nervous before shows, Ross replies simply, I get nervous
when we don't have shows, y'know? When we take off for more than a week
or so, I get restless; I feel like I should be doing something. I need
to be out there, contributing; communing with an audience. I really
miss it when we're not on stage.
Any nervous habits in
general? He replies without missing a beat, I pace. A lot. I used to
smoke, but I quit two years ago, this explains in part, why the
characteristic growl has smoothed somewhat since previous releases, Did
the gum. People really don't realize how hard that is to do; to quit
smoking.
A staunchly-held position among critics following the
release of their first album American Standard held Seven Mary Three to
an unfair caricaturization as 'Pearl Jam bubblegrunge' with an 'Eddie
Vedder wannabe' at the helm. The premature assessment undoubtedly
shadowed some of the very concrete validity of their ensuing efforts
for a number of years.
Regarding the inevitable question of his
current position on the critics' rather dismissive early-on
categorization of the band, he responds easily, philosophically, and
with another surprising measure of unpracticed humility, You know, that
was a really incredible time in music; the late eighties, early
nineties. We really had so much come out of that time that was almost
lost, coming out of the excess of the early eighties, trying so hard to
counter the 'image' and just get back to the music. Vedder's an
incredible artist with a lot to say and I think on our first album,
when we were 18 or 19, we did sort of pattern ourselves after what was
the market...and they were definitely part of that market. But I think
in the albums since, we've all developed in our own directions. I feel
like we've stepped well out of that shadow.
As we have grown, so
too has he. His lyrics, always a step-above, have evolved from epithets
to lost groupies to reflections of genuine admiration for his wife's
intelligence, uniqueness and fortitude; from borderline self-loathing
to what seems a version of self-acceptance of who he is today; from a
twenty-something to a thirty-something. They still reflect us
beautifully, those words...maybe even better: just listen.
can also try to find the dignity and significance in ruined parts of
the city in the people he sees there." --Don DeLillo, regarding urban
scenes in the novel Great Jones Street.
The best writers do this
very effectively, even if not without effort. The very best often
weather negative scrutiny -- even derision -- to further pursue the
muse too persistent to really leave forever.
I went to a live
Seven Mary Three show this past Monday night -- categorically, one of
the best I've ever seen. I was able to meet everyone and get
autographs, pictures; something I have never really cared to do with
any band, ever. Perhaps the most intimidating part of it all was
meeting Jason Ross, shaking his hand. Not imposing in stature or
demeanor: dressed in a torn Wrathchild tee-shirt that had seen its
better days nearly a decade ago, tan cords and Chuck Taylors, he
could've been a guy walking up to mow my lawn for $50. Immaterial: I
was meeting arguably one of the greatest and most underrated poets of
my generation.
Finding dignity where it's seldom sought in
illusive hope, ...This Kansas wheat won't break us and another drink
won't make us free. The oven's wide open, hold your breath and see.
Hold your breath and see... (Oven, Rock Crown) and uncomfortable
distinction, ...The way his arms float around his cage, he's caged;
canary sings, silently brings, his voice to rage. The way they stop and
stare, the way they turn their heads; it's enough to make him want to
run away. But he stays, he stands his ground... (Lame, American
Standard), Jason Ross consistently glorifies an entire faction of
outsiders, dreamers and social misfits; makes them downright beautiful.
He is one of the most prolific and eloquent purveyors of the real human
element of this era in all its variant shades and hues, and he creates
an ever-evolving personal musical tapestry. His distinctly Southern
flair for telling a story of poignancy laced with dignity is
reminiscent of Blue Roses and Streetcars.
In contrast to the
more open and boisterous personalities of the other members of the
band, Ross is sometimes perceived by fans as comparatively
unapproachable. He is admittedly quieter and more reserved, though (for
my experience) just as kind. He seems a little stunned by the assertion
that he is among the greatest contemporary poets of our generation. In
fact he seems genuinely demurred, Thank you very much, he interjects to
the question of whether some of the setbacks they've endured as a band
coupled with what outwardly appears as his own reticence of being a
'rock star' make his writing talent seem sometimes as much a curse as a
gift. I wouldn't say that at all. I knew early on I had to find some
way to express myself creatively; if it was film, music,
writing...whatever. This happened to be where (my creativity) went. But
I feel very fortunate to still be doing this, even if it is sometimes a
little overwhelming.
Defining the most personally painful and
simultaneously quiet facets of loving someone up close, too young,
...Do you think it's just enough to know how I wanted you to feel. Read
things back to me, back up to see from where I am. There is nothing
more than this, more than this. Is it enough to say that I want you to
keep it close to me? Me, me is all I think about, but every word you
say. Do I mean anything?... (Anything, American Standard) and from far
away as a grown-up, ...You invent for me a usefulness And Ive started
getting used to it: What I miss when Im not there... (By Your Side,
Dis/location) Ross's writing revels in universal experiences few are
willing to admit, let alone embrace.
Given the personal
depth of his writing, I'm curious whether he's a spiritual person.
Surprised by the question, he pauses for a moment, considering, Hmm, I
don't know... he says, mulling a response, I think spirituality is a
way for people to address pain in themselves; to not feel like they're
the only ones. An awareness of how the things we do affects everything
around us. And yeah, I'm affected by the things that go on around
me...that awareness. I think all artists are filters in that way,
really. They take what is going on and interpret it; they shape it into
what they see.
His lyrics possess a very literate sensibility.
With references and even a couple of homages to some of the greatest
classic writers, poets and playwrights in history -- Allen Ginsberg,
Dylan Thomas, William Butler Yeats, Samuel Beckett and most recently
Ray Carver -- he's managed to apply them quite universally, without the
appearance of heavy-handed intellectualism and has made them something
to which any one of us could readily relate, whether or not the the
parallels are realized. An unusual combination of cerebral and
visceral, there's something uniquely inspiring about his bent, Yeah,
some of the earlier references were what I was reading in college, but
there's a running theme of whatever I'm reading in one way or another I
guess, he offers, adding Right now, I'm reading a lot of (Don) Delillo,
(Ray) Carver, (John) Steinbeck, (Kurt) Vonnegut...I'm working my way
through the entire series of Delillo. I like him.
Asked if he
still gets nervous before shows, Ross replies simply, I get nervous
when we don't have shows, y'know? When we take off for more than a week
or so, I get restless; I feel like I should be doing something. I need
to be out there, contributing; communing with an audience. I really
miss it when we're not on stage.
Any nervous habits in
general? He replies without missing a beat, I pace. A lot. I used to
smoke, but I quit two years ago, this explains in part, why the
characteristic growl has smoothed somewhat since previous releases, Did
the gum. People really don't realize how hard that is to do; to quit
smoking.
A staunchly-held position among critics following the
release of their first album American Standard held Seven Mary Three to
an unfair caricaturization as 'Pearl Jam bubblegrunge' with an 'Eddie
Vedder wannabe' at the helm. The premature assessment undoubtedly
shadowed some of the very concrete validity of their ensuing efforts
for a number of years.
Regarding the inevitable question of his
current position on the critics' rather dismissive early-on
categorization of the band, he responds easily, philosophically, and
with another surprising measure of unpracticed humility, You know, that
was a really incredible time in music; the late eighties, early
nineties. We really had so much come out of that time that was almost
lost, coming out of the excess of the early eighties, trying so hard to
counter the 'image' and just get back to the music. Vedder's an
incredible artist with a lot to say and I think on our first album,
when we were 18 or 19, we did sort of pattern ourselves after what was
the market...and they were definitely part of that market. But I think
in the albums since, we've all developed in our own directions. I feel
like we've stepped well out of that shadow.
As we have grown, so
too has he. His lyrics, always a step-above, have evolved from epithets
to lost groupies to reflections of genuine admiration for his wife's
intelligence, uniqueness and fortitude; from borderline self-loathing
to what seems a version of self-acceptance of who he is today; from a
twenty-something to a thirty-something. They still reflect us
beautifully, those words...maybe even better: just listen.
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