Essential 8: Collisionville

Northern California's Collisionville - Cory Snavely, Stephen Pride, Conor Thompson, and Matt Campana - meld punk with Americana on their latest outing, Stones, Keys, Flat Ninths, & Salvage released on October 19th. Here band member Stephen Pride answers his Essential 8 where he talks about songwriting, Chuck Berry and Paul Westerberg, shares the story behind the album's title, and more!

Is there a story behind your album’s title?
 Indeed there is. We were a ways in to working out new songs, and at some point the idea started creeping into my head that we might end up with enough material for a double album. Many of my favorite records are double LPs (Electric Ladyland, Exile on Main St., Songs in the Key of Life, Double Nickels on the Dime), so it got to the point where I couldn’t resist, and I started dragging my bandmates into it with me.
 
Then the plan got more complicated as we decided to start sneaking out the album on our Bandcamp site, one side at a time, calling each side an EP. I figured the full album title should have four parts to it, one for each side. A list of things. And so I started thinking about the songs and looking for things that were recurring in them. We ended up with Stones, Keys, Flat Ninths, & Salvage. You’ll hear about these things more than once as you make your way through the record.
 
 
Why did you choose to anchor the album with the songs you did?
 It was a fun challenge to decide on sequencing for a four-sided record. You want to think in particular about what should be the first song on each side, and what should be the last. There is a thread that runs through the first song of each side. Additionally, each side has a song that features the plectrum banjo, and a song that has bottleneck guitar.
 
Where do you draw inspiration from when writing?
 I have to start with some idea that fell into my lap unbidden at some point. Some subconscious part of the brain does the initial work. I’m not sure where the subconscious is drawing inspiration from. Sometimes I think I’m drawing from things I’ve heard but didn’t even like!

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When/where do you do your best writing?
Once I have that first idea, my conscious mind has to do the rest of the work to flesh it out into something I can bring to the band. Usually the best writing at this stage is done very late at night, on the sofa. For some reason it helps if I feel like I’m the only one who’s still awake.
 
Do you write about personal experience, the experience of others, observations, made-up stories, something else or a combination?
 All of the above! As the years have gone by, I’ve tried to avoid anything “confessional.” The desire is to create something that will stand on its own (or “...a song is anything that can walk by itself,” as Dylan said). I don’t like the idea that hearing details of my personal life will have some great effect on how somebody hears the songs. So to the extent that there’s any personal experience being used in the writing, it’s not done with the aim of revealing anything about myself.
 
What’s the best advice you have ever gotten from another musician?
This is pretty basic, really, but I worked for a while with a jazz guitar teacher who stressed the importance of practicing with a metronome, and in particular, to dig in on the 2 and the 4, to really get a good sense of swing. I did that a lot for a number of years and always feel like I benefit from it.
 
Do you have a favorite (or first) concert you have ever attended?
There are many favorites, but as I sit here typing an answer to this question, the one that comes to mind is Chuck Berry, sometime in the mid-90’s, at the Denver Zoo, of all places. It was a fairly standard show, according to what I’ve read about him, where he arrived shortly before showtime and met the backing band for the first time just a few seconds before going into the first song. He always traveled alone and just played with whatever band was there, no practice beforehand, just expected them to know the songs and be able to follow him. The band that night did pretty well. I remember the piano player signaling the key to the bass player & other guitar player at the beginning of each song (three fingers pointing down means three flats in the key signature, so the key of Eb, etc.). Chuck was in good form that night and did all the hits you’d want to hear, and I managed to get fairly close to the stage by the end of the set. As it got to the end of the last song, he played an extended guitar solo as he walked off the stage into the wings. You could tell the exact moment he handed the guitar to someone else, even though they somehow managed to avoid any pause in the playing. The guy who took the guitar stepped onstage to finish the song, and was just playing some conventional single-note, pentatonic lines, not the characteristic double-stops that were Chuck’s trademark.
 
Have you met any of your heroes? If so, how did it go?
Twice I managed to talk to Paul Westerberg. The first time was after a show at the Mercury Cafe in Denver, touring to promote 14 Songs. I waited around downstairs afterwards, and he came walking by. “Great show,” I said, and he looked over his shoulder at me with this expression of surprise and irritation. “Thanks,” he said, while seeming to scoff simultaneously.
 
The second time was at the now-deceased Virgin Records Megastore, formerly on Market St. in San Francisco. This was a solo show, promoting Stereo and Mono. I managed to get pretty close to the stage. A guy was heckling him in a fairly gentle, teasing manner throughout the set, and at some point, Westerberg decided he’d had enough, dropped his guitar, and came running into the crowd to grab the guy by the lapels. This was about five feet away from me. He lightly slapped the guy in the face a few times and hissed “Do you even like me?” before storming away and hopping on the escalator to the second floor. I stood there confused with the rest of the crowd until an employee got on the mic and assured us that Paul would start giving autographs upstairs in a few minutes. I made a new friend named Lisa in the back of the line, someone who’s still a close friend to this day. Eventually she got her turn for an autograph, and ended up sitting in his lap and giving him a kiss. My turn was next, and once again, just as had been the case at the Mercury Cafe in Denver years before, he wasn’t particularly excited to see me. But I won him over by asking him where he learned the song “Mr. Rabbit,” one of my favorite tracks on Stereo. His face lit up, and he said he got it from a Burl Ives children’s record after reading about it in a Nick Tosches book.
 
I also got to chat for a second with Mike Watt after a show he played at Bottom of the Hill a few years ago. After his set, he started selling t-shirts out himself, out of a bin sitting on the stage. My turn in line came up and I bought a size large, and while he was digging it out, I stupidly pointed out to him that I had worn my Bloomsday t-shirt in his honor (this has to do with James Joyce’s Ulysses, a book that he and I both love and obsess over). He wasn’t the least bit impressed but he humored me anyway. I was buzzing the rest of the week over that.

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