20 Questions with Mark Prindle

"Mark Prindle, he's a buddy of mine!" I say, with the fervor and coked-up enthusiasm of Alfred Molina's character in "Boogie Nights" when he describes his relationship with Rick Springfield. There is no Chinese boy throwing firecrackers in the background as I say this, just as there is no real "relationship" between myself and Mark Prindle.
What it amounts to is that one day back in the 90's, I was looking for some information about Polvo, a band that I was totally obsessing on at the time. While scouring the internets, I discovered a guy who had posted some online reviews of Polvo albums and he let readers "Add Your Thoughts" about the topic. I did and then I promply forgot about it, much in the same way that most people completely forgot about Polvo.
A year or two later, I ran into Prindle's website and discovered that this was the same dude that reviewed the Polvo albums. He expanded his scope. Big time. To the point where dozens of other bands were reviewed, and with no hint of linear thought.
Buckner & Garcia, Sun City Girls, Sonic Youth, and many more were provided with reviews and, this is telling, their entire catalog was represented.
Prindle was/is unlike any reviewer that I've ever come across. Mixing a dollop of Lester Bangs with a heaping tablespoon of junior high humor, his reviews provide more laughs than actual information on whether or not you'd actually like the music. Like most music fanatics, he's obsessive about his hobby and his stream-of-consciousness commentary is not only an end result of his passion, it's fucking refreshing. Particularly after you've read a Pitchfork review.
Like Bangs, Mark has also ventured into the music world via such albums as "Keep On Zaccin'! Songs From And Inspired By Mystical Excursions On The Experimental Hallucinogen 'Prozac' (Fluxetine)" and "Stop, Drop and Roll: A Musical Celebration Of Death By Smoke Inhalation." His music, like his reviews, are littered with inside jokes, potty humor, and enough busywork to make a kid on Ritalin remain on task. And that's not saying that his music, like his reviews, are bad by any means. Christ, I heard more talent in his "Only The Good Die Young" album than I have in any fucking Jandek album, and that fucker has a documentary on him. Prindle, on the otherhand, does have a Wikipedia page devoted to him, so give him time and we may be seeing a biography about him in Netflix.
I started reviewing music and posting online ramblings for two reasons: 1.) My therapist at the time suggested that I needed a creative outlet to compliment my own passion and 2.) Mark Prindle. Actually, the therapist suggested that I start and maintain a journal and write about anything, but that idea came to an end when my ex-wife started rummaging through it and ripping out pages. She also ripped out several pages of my copy of Jim Carroll's "Forced Entries," for what reason, I don't know. So I started blogging shit, and I used Prindle's unrelenting enthusiasm as a role model. This isn't his career, which helps, and it adds to the validity of everything he writes about.
So as a way to public thank Mark Prindle and to perhaps let anyone who runs across this little slice of heaven know about him, I posed 20 questions to the man and he responded. Some of the questions use obvious Prindlesque juvenilia and I've added comments after the fact using that nifty italicized "-ed" thing that Jack Rabid does.

TWENTY QUESTIONS


Why did you start markprindle.com?
"I wrote silly record reviews for my college newspaper (the Daily Tar Heel) and upon moving to NYC with my brother in early ’96, remarked to him that I would greatly enjoy writing a book in which I told my thoughts about every single album I own. He said, “You could do that on a web site” and offered to set up the HTML for me. The rest is (etc)."

How much time do you typically devote to maintaining the site and/or writing reviews?
"Too much. Probably an hour and a half a day, at very least."

Do you still write for any zines or other publications?
"Not that I know of. Sometimes I’ll send something to New York Waste. I was in a good position to begin writing for Maxim UK (and wrote one very brief little joke article for them), but then the editor-in-chief who liked me got fired."

How did you get noticed by some of these publications? Did you solicit them or did they approach you?
"Both. Citizine and California Pop approached me. I approached most of the others."

I know that little is left for the imagination on the site reviews, but have you ever had to “modify” a review for a publication based on the feedback it received?
"I believe so, yes. If a joke didn’t come across the way I meant it to. Like Aerosmith’s “Hooked On Bobo” or whatever that one’s called."

The website has been up for ten years, what keeps you going?
"My urge to do something ‘creative’ (which is why I don’t write straightforward record reviews at all anymore – too fucking boring!), and the positive feedback I get from people. It’s nice to know I can make people laugh their folly and cares away."
Mission accomplished, sir!-ed.

Tell me about the worst album that you’ve heard so far this year?
"That new Pink album. It’s just terrible. She’s terrible. No vocal melodies, no musical melodies – why does she exist?"
Pink is regularly panned by Prindle and is a fairly easy target, I suppose. At the same time, I've heard one of her newer songs and it didn't produce the violent reaction that she seems to cause Mark. Who knew?-ed.

So far, what’s the best album that’s been released this year?
"Who knows. I’ve only heard about 1% of this year’s releases."
OK, he's got me there. What I was trying to get out of him was "What is your favorite release so far this year and he gets all pissy about the semantics. Christ.-ed.

You got a lot of feedback regarding your comments about Katrina, what other topics or comments have you made in the past ten years that struck a nerve with your readers?
"Did I? I got many more comments about my dumb attack on the 9/11 firefighters. I ended up deleting that whole bit after enough letters came through pointing out how asinine that whole bit was. So there’s another answer for #5."

Occasionally, I’ll try and solicit feedback from people at work by saying “Add your thoughts.” It makes me chuckle because I think about you. Does that make me gay?
"Couldn’t think of a full 20 questions, I take it?"
Actually, I originally had about 26, but narrowed it down to 20 and kept this one on the list because I thought it was funny. I was wrong.-ed.

Seriously. What’s your fucking deal about the band Bloodrock?
"My fucking deal is that they fucking ruled. Have you ever heard any of their albums?"
You're Goddamn right I have...When I was six, I listened to "Bloodrock 2" countless times and always got freaked out by the song "D.O.A." Then I got some taste and started listening to Styx albums. This is a great example of Mark's passion. Here's a band that was, he'll take offense to this categorization, a farm league Grand Funk. Both were managed/produced by Terry Knight and both sucked sweaty balls. For the record: Bloodrock is much better than Styx.-ed.

Have your parents ever visited your site? Do you talk that way to your Mother?
"My mother used to read my site, but stopped when she realized how “blue” my writing style is."

Was it hard to understand Mark E. Smith on the telephone?
"Very."

What bands would you consider yourself to be a piss drinking little fan faggot for?

"None. I’m too old for that silliness. "
OK, a little explanation here. Mark loves The Fall and so do I. Except he had a chance to speak with Mark E. Smith and, when he transcribed the interview several years after the fact, he publically declared himself to be a "piss drinking little fan faggot" after he chuckled at one of M.E.S.'s comments for no apparent reason. It's a great example of Prindle's self deprecating humor and one of the reasons why I enjoy reading him.-ed.

Stephen Thomas Erlewine. Add your thoughts.
"He just seems to really love a lot of records that are goddamned near OBJECTIVELY horrible. Maybe he just likes everything ever recorded?"
I don't mind S.T.E. that much. But many people do.-ed.

You’re on Wikipedia now. How gay is that?
"I’ve been on Wikipedia for about four years. Way to keep up on current “Mark Prindle” goings-on."
Again with the semantics. I should have deleted the "now" and left it at that. But really, had I known that Prindle has been on Wikipedia for the past four years, wouldn't that qualify me as being a piss drinking little fan faggot? Does the fact that I'm doing 20 questions with Mark make me one anyway?-ed.

Was it hard sucking Jess Margera’s dick and interviewing him at the same time?
"You could ask the same thing about any of my interviews. I actually don’t recall being all that fawning about Jess Margera, but I haven’t read that review since I posted it so you may be right. I don’t set out to do confrontational interviews though; that’s never been part of it. I set out to let my favorite artists (or.. you know, people whose bands I like) know how much their music means to me, so that they trust me and will be more willing to open up about things that they normally don’t discuss in interviews."
A little explanation here. It totally blew my mind that Prindle liked C.K.Y. and went so far as to interview Jess Margera for his site. That, to me, qualifies as being a real fan/supporter of their work. I consider C.K.Y.'s work to be of minimal importance; sure it's nice background music for my C.K.Y. videos (which I own), but I never really considered them to be anything more than a by-product of Bam Margera's MTV-funded empire. But whatever, it's his site and this is just some gentle ribbing, in much the same way I kid those who are huge Elvis Costello fans about his album "Spike." Christ, I've admitted to liking April Fucking Wine, so there's a huge target for anyone who wants to take aim at me.-ed.

How’s your dog?
"Great! He’s very happy at the moment because my wife and I have been out of town for 8 days and now we’re home."
Mark has a very cute dog. And his wife is very attractive too. Like Rod Stewart said, "some guys have all the luck. Then Phil Collins said something too, but I was into Peter Gabriel at the time.-ed.

How many beers would it take before you seriously would consider fucking Pink?
"So many that I would be passed out and incapable of performing."

What prescriptions are you taking right now?
"Effexor, Gabitril and Lipitor"
"Effexor" is an anti-depressant medication that is known as a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor.
"Gabitril" is typically used as a medication to help with epileptic seizures.
"Lipitor" is a cholesterol-lowering medication.
All of these medications produce no side effects which prevent or hinder an individual's ability to maintain a review website.-ed.

So there you have it: Glam Racket's first interview! Mark was a great sport for participating and I, again, encourage every one of you to click on the link that's always been to the right of this page and pay a visit to Mark's record reviews site. Take a look at his opinions on the many albums he's heard and check out his own, ever-growing list of interviews.
And while you're there, add your thoughts.
I did.
Look where it got me.

Dinner With Mike Watt

Ray Farrell, head of SST Record’s promotion department, called me one day while working at the college radio station. I was the program director there, and through the years at the station, I developed some pretty nice relationships with record labels and their employees. Ray had slighted me on a few occasions, or at least, I had felt that he had slighted me. It seemed that I could get whatever I wanted from record labels at the time; hell, I was prominently featured in fucking trade magazines as a “mover and shaker.” At least in my mind I was a mover and shaker. The reality, and Ray Farrell probably knew this, was somewhat different. Bottom line: Ray didn’t give me a ton of free shit. The label couldn’t afford it and I was probably presumptuous in asking for it. But whatever. I was young. I was movin’ and shakin.’
“firehose is going on tour and they’re coming to Iowa.” He explained. “You want to do a phone interview with Mike Watt?” Out of all the things Ray could have given me (free tickets, giveaways, a Raymond Pettibon print) the only thing he could come up with is a shitty sounding interview recorded over the phone line?! Fuck that. I had bigger plans.
I agreed to it and Ray gave me the phone number to Mike Watt’s house. “Call at [this time] on [this date].” He instructed. “Give me a call afterwards and let me know how it went.”
The bigger plan was this: I was going to parlay the phone interview into a full-fledged encounter with this, the man who played with the legendary Minutemen. I figured that I would invite him to dinner before the show in Iowa and treat him to a nice sit down dinner.

I called on the predetermined date and time only to hear about thirty minutes of busy signals. When I finally got through, a gruff sounding voice answered. “Hey Watt!” I announced, trying to sound cool, housed in a fairly clean Saccharine Trust t-shirt.
“I know you’ve probably been doin’ this all day long now…”
“Yeah, I’ve been on the phone all day…” he acknowledged.
“So whaddya say we cut this thing short and let’s just hook up here when you get to Iowa in a few weeks.”
“Oh, you mean like do an interview there at the station?” he asked.
I explained that the station I worked for was well over a hundred miles from where his band would be playing; therefore, it would be fairly impossible for him to stop by the station when they got into the state.
“What kind of food do you like?” I asked him.
“Mexican.” Was his short, to the point, and undebatable reply.
So with that, I told him that I would meet up with him before the show and take him to a nice Mexican restaurant where we could conduct the interview privately. Dinner, I added, was on me.
It goes without saying that the financial resources of most college students is fairly limited, and my role as Program Director for the student radio station paid a whopping one credit hour per semester. What that means is that I didn’t get paid, that actually, I was losing money at this gig. To supplement this lucrative salary, I worked for two other stations in the same market (under different names, to avoid that silly little non-compete clause) so that I could actually get a paycheck somehow.
I figured that I could afford to pay for Mike’s dinner and my own without much worry, and still have enough left over for gas, grass, and, well, that was about the extent of my budget right there.
I let Ray know to put me and my “producer” on the guest list for the show. I let my “producer,” a first year transfer student from somewhere around Omaha, know that he could come with me, but he’d have to buy his own dinner at the Mexican restaurant.
Before heading out, I called a few friends in the area to get their opinions as to what was the most authentic Mexican restaurant in the area. The consensus was that there was a little Mexican joint not too far from the venue that had a pretty authentic menu, and I was stoked that I’d be able to show Mike Watt how we do Mexican here in Iowa.
Now, before you start to giggle at the thought of “authentic Mexican food” and the state of Iowa together in the same sentence, let me explain that the part of Iowa where I’m originally from is close to a town that has some truly authentic Mexican restaurants. This was an area that heavily used Mexican migrant workers and the town actually built a fairly shitty subdivision to house them all in. A lot of families stayed there and continued their heritage with various community events, social clubs, and started a few restaurants so that the Iowa crackers could learn how to pronounce “Chimichanga” correctly.
On the way down to the firehouse show, I start to set the expectations of the interview with my “producer.” He had a tendency to try and take over my interviews, so I had to set him straight with this one. I also told him that he was not to mention anything about D. Boon. It was just a couple of years after Boon’s death and I wanted to avoid the topic entirely with Watt. I didn’t want to be “the guy that bummed out Mike Watt” and was afraid that any discussion of the topic would send him into a drop D chord, if you know what I mean…
I meet up with Watt and drummer George Hurley before the show and Mike actually remembered the prior arrangement. To my shock, Mike starts inviting everyone to dinner. George Hurley, Ed Crawford, the roadie, the t-shirt guy, I’m doing the math and it’s clear that I’ll be using my Dad’s Amoco card for a lot more than just gas for the next few weeks.
Thankfully, on the way to the Mexican restaurant, Ed Crawford decided that he didn’t want to run south of the border. He makes a beeline for a Subway and I’m secretly hoping that a few more in our group join him. They don’t, so the rest of us make our way into the “authentic” Mexican joint. I tell the “producer” that I may need to borrow a few bucks from him to cover the bill. He shows me a few twenties in his wallet and I breathe a sigh of relief. To show my appreciation, I let him sit next to me (I was going to put him next to the roadies) and we set up the recording equipment while everyone starts ordering from the menu.

Mike is very open and gregarious. He seems genuinely excited about the band, the tour, the record and he provides me with long, detailed answers. He even translates some Pedro-speak for me. I’m provided with a clear definition to what “We jam econo” means. “Econo” is short for “Econoline” as in Ford Econoline vans. Mike explains that they don’t need tour buses or other forms of fancy travel. For him, rock and roll as he understands it, is simply getting your gear together, throwing it into the Econoline, and getting out there and doing it. “You know, I read these things about other bands and how tough it is to go out on the road,” he preaches, “and how the concert industry is in a slump. That bands can’t make any money on tour anymore. The thing is: every tour that I’ve ever been a part of has made money. It’s about priorities, you understand.” He says these clarifying things a lot, like “You follow me?” “You know?” It had an almost teacher-to-student tone to it, like he was very aware of the impact that punk rock had on his life and that he was going to make damn sure you knew the ropes of the trade, in case you were in the market for an Econoline van too. I picked up on about half of this while the other half was spent hoping that the roadie didn’t order the steak fajitas.
Speaking of, the meal was positively lame. The food was far from fucking authentic and the hot sauce was a tad above tepid. I made a comment about the sauce and Mike concurred by declaring it “Weak” while his mouth was stuffed with food.
Let there be no question: Mike Watt can put down some food. And he can do it quickly. The man was done in no time flat and be made no attempt at trying to impress us with manners.
But Mike Watt has never been someone to try and impress anyone else. Aside from D. Boon, probably. That’s been part of his appeal, actually. This was a guy who really didn’t subscribe to the “punk formula” at all, and had the uncanny ability to read through the bullshit of these kinds of labels. So if a little bit of refried beans spills on his flannel, oh well.
After he ate, we talked some more about the band. Without any hesitation, he began to talk about D. Boon. The pain was still there, and some twenty years later, it appears that it never really left.
“It was D. Boon’s Mom that told me to play the bass.” He explained, with the same unison as the stories he told in “We Jam Econo.” That’s what struck me about the movie: the stories he told in front of the camera were the same stories, verbatim, that he told me nearly twenty years ago at a shitty Mexican restaurant in Iowa. His voice pause after each additional “You know?” I remained silent, occasionally nodding, letting Mike Watt spill another retelling of the tragedy to someone too young to fully appreciate the importance of the topic and too young to understand the pain that he overcame.
I paid for dinner with a few borrowed bills from the “producer.” Mike offered to pay for his crew, but I declined. I said that maybe we could work something out later on, maybe in the form of a free t-shirt or something. It seemed fair to me, but Mike explained that he couldn’t barter with his “merch.” It dawned on me. Every one of his tours made money. That $10 profit attributed to the bottom line. The stories he shared with me were worth more than a “weak” Mexican dinner.
We walked back to the venue. George and Mike worked on the set list (Ed, I learned, was not feeling well, and rarely spoke the entire night) while I snapped a few photos. We watched the soundcheck and snapped a few more before the doors opened. The “producer” rigged up a few microphones to record the show and we found a few good seats in back.
On the first song, Watt broke a string on his bass, and I witnessed an impressive example of d.i.y. He walked over to his amplifier and retrieved a new string from the top of the cabinet. He removed the broken string and strung a new one while continuing to play through the rest of the song.

Then another glitch occurred. A constant crackling noise started from Ed’s combo amp. A guitar tech came on stage in between songs to try and do a quick diagnosis, but nothing changed. This irritant, combined with Ed’s already sick demeanor, made for a very by-the-numbers set. George and Mike, on the other hand, probably had several additional years of these kinds of surprises and managed to maintain composure. They ended the performance with a cover of Public Enemy’s “Sophisticated Bitch,” which had Mike grinning from ear to ear and even prompted a smile from Ed.
After the show, I met up with Mike again to thank him for his time and to grab an autograph. There wasn’t a lot of chit chat offered, it was clear that he had more pressing things to do. Rather than spending some time with a couple of college kids in Iowa, Mike had to help with the band’s load out. Part of “jamming econo,” he explained, is also making sure that everyone helps out.
I quickly learn that my own lesson in “jamming econo” isn’t quite over yet.
“Grab those cables over there” he tells me.