A warning appears in the inbox: She writes all music and lyrics, Him just produces and arranges, so assuming otherwise is a misconception best avoided. Normally this would suggest a difficult interviewee, but it’s hard to imagine indie’s platonic sweethearts being anything other than easygoing. You can sense it in their seamless pairing: she’s the cutesy Hollywood starlet who grew up in showbiz, he’s the soft-spoken, intensely private songwriter who forbids photography at shows. Together their wholesome duets channel American’s golden age of pop, replicating its timeless qualities with a saccharine finish.

In a dimly lit Marylebone hotel, M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel are munching on lunch ordered in from Wagamama. Ward resembles a freckled Johnny Depp, with streaks of grey flaming around each ear and his boots looking like they’ve been subjected to prolonged kicks of frustration. He’s well-known for getting interview fatigue before you can press record, treating each question like an invoice to worm out of.

Yet he steps up gamely to the first subject, enthusing about how to make a cover-version sound like an original and how David Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ is over-produced. But a chill drifts in from the opposite side of the table. Deschanel does not look impressed: a faux-pas has been committed. As if on cue, Ward takes off his glasses, pockets them in resignation, and shuts down …until Deschanel spots something suspicious in the edamame. Ward springs forward as if discovering a bomb under the table. “Serious?” He scrutinises the beans in alarm before sending his manager out to fetch a lemon crêpe, retiring once more.

“I just pulled something strange out of my mange tout,” says Deschanel, happy to take over. “That doesn’t faze me: I will still eat the rest of it.” She proceeds to trot out the banalities with media-trained shrewdness, steering the conversation to underline who does what. “There are boundaries. I write alone. So that’s that.”

Vol. 2, as with its precursor, was a long-distance collaboration where Deschanel wrote songs in the middle of the night during film productions and emailed tracks to Ward for polishing. The uncanny similarities between their songwriting styles, she explains, are due to a shared love for classic acts like the Everly Brothers. But if that really is that, surely she doesn’t need Ward for interviews and photo shoots: the two things he seems to loathe more than anything.

Pressing for an explanation is difficult. So far Ward has remained curt and vaguely disdainful; always shrugging, yawning or holding his head in exasperation, spewing fragmented sentences like: “Because the songs were so good. Next question.” Songs are not up for discussion either. “Better to show, not tell,” mutters Ward. “We don’t like to give interpretations to people.” Deschanel agrees. “I won’t be doing VH-1 Storytellers.”

With shoes off, hair tied, a baby blue cardigan to match her bulging eyes, Deschanel resembles one of those dolls that plays back a pre-recorded inanity when you pull their string. Anything that veers from staid territory is batted away with: “I don’t know how to answer that question… It makes my mind go blank”. One unquotable stock answer follows another until the most interesting thing at the table is the sight of Ward trying to eat his crêpe with chopsticks. When asked if he prefers working in the background, such as with Jenny Lewis or Monsters of Folk, he mumbles in a disinterested monotone: “Yeah, no, um…um.”

“Obviously, Matt, I don’t want to answer this question for you,” Deschanel interjects, “but I feel like it’s all fun.”

“I’m very lucky to have a great… uh… job,” adds Ward. “Um… I love She & Him because I can just focus on guitar and arrangements. I love that perspective.” Is that because you find it more comfortable? “I don’t know… It’s something that takes me back to when I first started playing guitar. I never used to sing. I just played guitar into my 4-track. It was my first instrument… and um… I live a good life. I’m good right now. You know what’s funny about this crêpe, though? It didn’t have any lemon or powdered sugar. I think it was just a plain.” Oh. “Like, it had the subtlest hint of lemon. Could you think of a crêpe that was like that before? Probably with lemon curd or something, right?” Eh… “Okay, it’s lemon juice. There’s lemon juice there but normally, in France anyway, there’s like lemon curd or… preserves… but there wasn’t in there.” Okay. “I think there was lemon juice in it. Anyway… that’s going off the subject.”

The blockade is in force. So what does Ward not want us to know? Matthew Stephen Ward grew up in Ventura County, California to a Mexican mother and American father in a Baptist household where his older brothers and sisters jostled to control the radio. He started recording when he was 16 and, not wanting to wake anyone up, learned to sing quietly. He studied English at Cal Poly, moved to Portland with a handful of college pals and married a writing professor in 2001. Ward gave a tape to Howe Gelb (whom he was a big fan of) after a show and Gelb released his debut, Duet for Guitars #2. After five well-received albums he met fellow Californian Deschanel in 2006 during the making of The Go-Getter and together they recorded a song for the film’s closing credits. The actress had been writing country pop songs for years and though encouraged by her family, it wasn’t until she “found the right person” in Ward that she felt ready to launch a second career.

But they share another, lesser-known mutual interest: Twin Peaks, the surreal TV series by David Lynch and Mark Frost. Ward has been a long-time Lynch fan, occasionally burying references in his lyrics, while Deschanel’s mother acted in the show. “My dad directed three episodes too,” she says. “I was kind of obsessed with it, even when I was nine, because it’s so good.”

“Best TV show ever,” grunts Ward. When talk turns to the annual Twin Peaks festival, where hardcore fans flock to the show’s setting in rural Washington State, Ward pipes up, his attention stolen back from checking emails and reclining ever further under the table. “Well yeah, I went to one of ‘em…” For a moment, the mask slips. Then, realising he’s revealed something, Ward backpedals furiously. “I mean… I just happened to be in the area… I’m not that crazy about it that I’d go out of my way.”

At this point Deschanel sits up on the armrest of her chair, her legs swinging apart, vying for attention. If it wasn’t for those leggings, it’d feel like an outtake from Basic Instinct. Ward, meanwhile, holds a crumpled napkin to his mouth as if trying to knock himself out with Chloroform.

Okay, time to wrap it up. But not before one last attempt at understanding Ward’s reticence. For years, he only played support slots. Even with a strong following and several albums, fans frequently had to go to someone else’s show to see him. Sometimes they still do. But why? “I don’t know…” There’s a glint in his eye. He thinks about answering. We’re almost there. You can sense it. A wry smile creeps in; a hint of recognition. He opens his mouth, holds his breath… “I just like working with talented people.” The wall crashes down again, bringing silence with it… until Ward chuckles awkwardly. Showing, maybe, but not telling.

Originally published in The Stool Pigeon, April 2010

Joseph Childress – Chariots [Exclusive]

After championing ‘Animal’ as one of my favourite tracks of last year, I’ve finally got a copy of Joseph Childress’ debut album, The Rebirths, and have barely stopped playing it all week. It’s difficult to make an album with just an acoustic guitar and still absorb the listener right the way through, but there’s such a variety of so ideas and styles in here that it stays fresh and engaging. The Rebirths was recorded in the bathroom of Childress’s parents over the course of a week in 2006 and remains released. But he has since then recorded a new album with Mike Coykendall (engineer behind M. Ward’s early albums) and though it doesn’t have a label behind it yet, there should be a limited vinyl pressing of 500 in spring 2010.

MySpace

Photo by SFBNess, licensed under Creative Commons

An old favourite and perhaps one of the best cover versions around, put to the visuals of Bowie’s original.

Aquarium Drunkard has not only posted up some video clips of Jim James and M. Ward in action together (and separately) at St. David’s Church in Austin, but the entire sets of both acoustic shows are available for free download. Set list is as follows:

Disk 1 (part 1) – M Ward (solo)

01) Sad, Sad Song
02) Oh Lonesome Me
03) Poison Cup
04) Rollercoaster
05) Duet for Guitars #3

Disk 1 (part 2) – Jim James and M Ward

06) Chinese Translation
07) One Life Away
08) Outta My Head
09) Wonderful (the Way I Feel)
10) Golden
11) Look at You

Disk 2 – Jim James

01) Bermuda Highway
02) It Beats 4 U
03) What A Wonderful Man
04) Sec Walkin’
05) Librarian
06) Smokin From Shootin
07) Thank You Too
08) I Will Be There When You Die
09) Gideon

Perhaps it was the name that mislead me, but M. Ward and actress Zooey Deschanel’s collaborative project had me expecting an album of luvy-duvy duets. In reality, Ward’s gravely croon makes few appearances here – and that’s not the only reason his fans may find this a somewhat frustrating listen.

Essentially, Volume One sounds like someone else singing an M. Ward album: his signature is all over its style, melodies, lyrics and production – yet he is almost nowhere to be seen.

For those uninterested in M. Ward’s level of involvement,  Volume One is reminiscent of Jenny Lewis’ solo album Rabbit Fur Coat (another project Ward helped pen, produce and perform) – it’s soulful, searching…and just a touch country and western.

Overall,  this seems to be a case of the seasoned veteran pulling the strings in the background while the rookie steps into the spotlight. The right ingredients are all there, it’s just the recipe that may catch some people off guard.

…what did you think he would bring to the project?
Well I think there’s a magical quality to his records, they’re really timeless. They occupy this weird place in my brain when I listen to them – it’s like nothing else. So I kind of just hoped that he would do whatever he does for his own songs on my songs. I didn’t know how that would turn out because when I went up to Portland, some of the songs weren’t even finished. So we sat down and he played guitar with me, and it was so seamless, so easy working with him. We recorded like five songs a day and I think we work really well together.

A lot of questions are being asked on ‘Rabbit Fur Coat’ – is that reflective of the time you wrote them, or are they just things you’ve always wondered about?
I think songs tend to reflect how you feel in any given period; you know, they’re not necessarily life lasting, burning questions. I think these ideas just come up in songs and perhaps they’re just passing thoughts, you know? They’re not quite as important as they become later when you actually record them and people ask you questions about them.

Well I’ve always wondered whether, when you’re playing the songs every night, if it’s kind of like re-living a certain moment, or maybe even exorcising your demons a little bit…
(Contemplatively) No…
…or is that you just don’t think about them?
No, it’s not like a big therapy session up there on stage every night, and there are a lot of stories in the songs and made-up characters and plots…so not all of the characters necessarily lead back to me. But I think every night is different, some songs feel better on certain nights and I just try to find the honesty as far as how I’m feeling in that moment. Performing the song on the spot relates it back to a more personal thing that’s happening to me rather than the songs which aren’t necessarily always personal.

Yeah, I was going to mention the storytelling on the album; do you think you might have a book in you one day?
I don’t know if I have the patience or the true talent to write a book.

Well what about an autobiography? You seem to have had a pretty interesting life…
Yeah, that would be great…just to tell the story of my family. Because I come from a long line of performers: my father was a harmonica player, my mother was a singer, my father’s mother was a dancer on vaudeville, so I think it’s an interesting lineage of crazy show people.

How have you found the solo experience so far?
It’s great! It’s been really carefree, you know? There’s not that much riding on it, because I haven’t put a lot on the line for this. It’s kind of funny when you work really hard doing something, because it has a different effect. I’ve come into this and the whole process has just been carefree and easy. I recorded the album quickly, mixed it in three days, the touring’s really great, and I feel like good things are coming because I didn’t put too much on it.

So it doesn’t feel like a gamble?
Yeah! I’m doing it exactly as I want to, there’s no compromise, and you know, if it didn’t work out initially, I guess I could have always gone running back to the band.

Given the stripped-down nature of album, I’d imagine a more intimate setting could be a contrast to the bigger venue gigs you would have experienced with Rilo Kiley and Postal Service…
I think with Rilo Kiley we always have a moment that’s small and intimate, and I think a lot of the songs on this record stem from some of the tracks on ‘More Adventurous’, the last Rilo Kiley record. There were some stripped-down, kind of pop-country songs and I think I kind of elaborated on that idea. So I think a lot of the same elements are there…but for the most part we are a rock band and there are no electric guitars on stage for this, which is nice.

But in terms of the atmosphere at the shows, though – is that different?
Yeah, it’s completely different. Completely! Because it’s a very deliberate show, it’s kind of theatrical, and everything is the same every night. We play the same set, and it has dips and bobs, but they’re calculated, almost. Whereas with Rilo Kiley, we’re a little more willing to change up the set and have a more spontaneous thing.

With such a personal record, and arguably more of a specialised audience, it’s probably going to give you a bit more of a hands-on relationship with the feedback from the audience. If you found that – on an individual basis, anyway – you were really touching people and relating to them with Rabbit Fur Coat, would that feel more rewarding than being part of a bigger, commercially successful band?
(Puts chin in her hand, pondering the question carefully.) You know, it kind of feels the same as with Rilo Kiley because I write the songs in that band and I definitely put my heart into it. Plus, you know we’re really not any big rock stars or anything, we haven’t really been played on the radio much, so it’s still the same kind of feeling within the band. But with this there’s a lot more on me, so if someone doesn’t like it, then I tend to take it more personally.

I know Laura Nyro and Loretta Lynn were big influences in making this album, but are there any modern artists within relatively similar brackets that have caught your attention?
Gillian Welsh – she’s great. She actually came to our show in Nashville and sang with us on a song. That was so amazing, just to see her up close and to hear that voice coming out of her. I’m such a huge fan. I really like Will Oldham; I’ve never seen him play live. I love Bonnie Prince Billy; ‘I See a Darkness’ is such a great record.

Finally, and I hope this doesn’t sound too ridiculous, but I have to say there’s definitely something about the album cover that reminds me of ‘The Shining’.
(As I say the sentence, the expression on her face rises up with excitement only to fall disappointedly on those final two words.)
Okay, you’ve heard that before then…
(Nods patiently)
Oh, well at least you weren’t mortified by the comparison…
We didn’t really intend to do that, we took a bunch of pictures for the artwork inside the album and that was one that really was the creepiest, so we opted for that to be the cover. I was like “that’s it! That has to be the cover.” It’s really eerie…

And with that, I get up to leave, thanking her for time. Perhaps a little taken aback that an interviewer has managed not to touch upon her child acting career for once, or maybe that the interaction felt more casual than professional, she seems somewhat disappointed as I excuse myself. As I walk away, all questions answered but now wondering if I was leaving prematurely nonetheless, I turn back to see Jenny Lewis still sitting at the table, pensively poking at her smoothie with a straw as the sunlight streams in to The Village’s now-empty hall. I don’t know why, but it’s an image that will stay with me.