Magnet #33
by Matt Hickey

The fan hears him say it yet doesn’t want to believe it. Nevertheless, singer/songwriter Tommy Keene—the perennial, critically adored, doesn’t-sell-any-records best man to countless less-gifted grooms—says Isolation Party (his new Matador LP), as well as a forthcoming tour, could be his last.

"I kind of had the attitude going into it that this might be my last record," he says of his fifth album (in addition to 1993’s The Real Underground compilation), which has 13 tracks and runs more than 50 minutes. "Not that I’m quitting music or I’m not going to play anymore, but I kind of had that in the back of my mind. I could have left a couple of songs off. There were two or three songs that I was sort of up in the air about. I liked them, but I didn’t know if they flowed or whether they fit the sequence. In the end, I just left everything on the record."

The Los Angeles-based Keene initially committed a good bit of Isolation Party to tape himself, along with his usual drummer, John Richardson. He then enlisted Wilco’s Jay Bennett, a longtime touring buddy, who helped mix the tracks and offered crucial instrumental contributions to flesh them out. Bennett’s Wilco cohort Jeff Tweedy ended up adding some backing vocals, as did Jesse Valenzuela of the now-defunct Gin Blossoms. Bennett also coined the LP’s title, which, on the surface, refers to when someone would solo, or isolate, a particular track in the studio. "Jay would say something like, `Tommy’s having an isolation party," Keene laughs. "I just thought it was funny, and obviously it went beyond that meaning because it’s kind of a brooding record."

Isolation Party is a typically strong Keene outing, with his patented, guitar-dominated, timeless pop remaining intact. Thematically, Keene continues to mine the same territory, with the usual melancholic laments—spiced with a dash of rise-above-it hope—mixed with downright toe-tapping hooks. It’s a potentially difficult combination, but Keene has pulled it off so well for so long.

"It’s kind of a weird contradiction," admits Keene, who’s originally from Bethesda, Md., a suburb of Washington, D.C. "I think most good pop music touches a nerve in people. I mean, it’s true, obviously, going back to the Beatles. But even people like Bruce Springsteen, that’s why people really went nuts for him, because he had these sort of desperate songs, but he rocked out.

"That’s kind of my shtick or my thing. There’s a constant thread running through all of the records that I put out. Some records, I think, are darker than others, but they’re all pretty consistent. I get a lot of flak for it (from the press). This guy in D.C. who’s been there forever called me `Morrissey’s American cousin.’ You know, whatever. I guess Morrissey has the patent on misery."

When the fan mentions it’s sort of weird—a shame, actually—to find out the release of Isolation Party could mean the curtain closing on his impressive career, Keene agrees, but insists it’s not a new feeling: "I don’t want to sound like, `Beg me not to quit.’ I’ve been saying this for a while."

Keene’s frustration stems from the up-and-down nature of his mostly near-miss music-biz adventures. Since the late ’70s, he’s gone from being a band member (in D.C.’s the Razz) to semi-hot, pseudo-next big thing (right after the Places That Are Gone EP in 1984) to major-label signee and dumpee (on Geffen Records in the mid to late ’80s) to non-recording hired gun (touring with Velvet Crush and, later, Paul Westerberg) to functioning again as a solo artist (returning in 1996 with the terrific Ten Years After).

His Geffen fiasco is practically the stuff of legend. The short version is that after his classic Geffen debut, Songs From The Film (poorly produced by former Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick), tanked in 1986, the label wouldn’t let Keene attempt a follow-up until he penned a bona fide "hit." While that obviously never happened, Keene eventually was allowed to record Based On Happy Times in ’89, with the knowledge that the label wasn’t going to promote it. Geffen dropped him roughly a nanosecond after it hit the stores.

In a somewhat ironic twist, Geffen may end up doing Keene a favor soon by finally releasing Songs From The Film on CD for the first time, which would definitely appease those who’ve had to search cutout bins to replace their well-worn vinyl copies. Talks are progressing, Keene says, and the possibility exists the label might tack on the 1986 Run Now EP.

Perhaps the positive buzz Keene engendered thanks to touring with Westerberg provided the impetus for the Songs liberation. In mid ’96, Keene had just finished a less-than-successful tour in support of Ten Years After when Westerberg called him three weeks before his own jaunt was scheduled to start, after auditioning a bunch of other guitarists to no avail. While Westerberg has achieved a higher level of commercial success and is certainly more widely known, the two peers have crossed paths many times: Keene was the opening act on part of the Replacements’ Don’t Tell A Soul tour, and the duo had tried writing a song together in 1987. Still, Keene was hesitant about accepting, partly because he wasn’t sure the touring combination would work and also because he was somewhat in awe of Michael Bland, the prodigious drummer (physically and talent-wise) Westerberg was using, who’s played with Prince, among others. Before saying yes, Keene flew to Minneapolis to see how he’d fit in with the band.

"At first I thought, `This is weird,’ because I was playing songs like `Little Mascara’ with this guy that’s such a slick drummer," he says. "Then in the rehearsals, I was a little worried, because I thought, `This is sounding really slick.’ In the end, I think that’s why [Westerberg] wanted me to play, because I’m not a super-slick guitar player, and I’m coming from that same school of sort of not having all the licks in the world but having the right attitude and emotion behind the playing."

The conversation again turns to the future, and the fan remains incredulous—stunned, almost—about what might be in store for the 38-year-old Keene and his underappreciated abilities. Whatever happens, it won’t be for a lack of effort.

"I’m a really tenacious person, which will either turn out good in the long run or bad," he says. "I feel like I’m doing the same thing I was doing when I was 19: `Oh god, I hope I can be a rock star. I hope I can sell records. I hope people will like me.’ This is the kind of business where someone like myself doesn’t get a lot of morale boosting. I talk to fans, and that’s great, and people write me and they’re really into it, but generally I don’t get a lot of encouraging signs. It’s very self-defeating in the end because there just aren’t a lot of rewards. I find that my self-esteem really gets beaten down when I keep putting out records and they just keep not doing too much. There are a lot of times where there’s so much stress, I say, `Forget it, this is killing me.’

"Five years from now, if I’m 43 and my career hasn’t gone up a couple of notches, I’m definitely not going to be sitting in a van and then playing to 30 people at Cicero’s in St. Louis. I mean, enough is enough. That’s why I kind of feel with this record, that’s a big possibility. It could definitely be the last record and the last tour. I’ll still play with other people. I really enjoy playing in bands other than my own group. It’s great to just play in a band and not have to worry about the other stuff. I love playing, I love playing guitar."

For some of us, that won’t be nearly enough.

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