They Will Be Giants: The Rolling Stone Interview
(Jonathan Groal spends a week cramming with the new proteges of college rock)

"Shit. My sequins are dropping like flies." A scant five minutes before The Plantains are scheduled to hit the stage, a mock-tragedy is beginning to unfold in the green room of Portland, Oregon's Junebug Club. Looking crestfallen, Ryan Bigge, the 25 year old lead singer/guitarist is running around in a panic, shouting at anyone who will listen. His drummer Graeme Scott is sitting in a stained lazy-boy, beer in hand, and appears rather nonplussed by Ryan's fashion concerns. Bass player Darren Gawle has been rhythmically chanting "Must guitar fix up to set play," for the past hour and thus, pays Ryan no heed.

"Calm down. No one will care. It's supposed to be about the music," Graeme admonishes. Ryan throws a platter of fruit in Graeme's direction before continuing his maddening and increasingly more frantic search for glue. A minute later, a waitress from the Junebug pokes her head backstage carrying a large purse.

"Who said they needed crazy glue?" she asks, rather concerned. "I mean coke or hash I could understand, but glue? That is so 1981."

With precious little time to waste, Ryan ignores the salvo, grabs the tube, thanks her curtly, and sets himself to the task of repairing his shirt. Constantly checking his watch, he manages to fix up his shirt mostly OK, washes his hands, and, with moments to spare, The Plantains dash on stage and start rocking the house, the audience none the wiser to the disaster that was barely averted.

*     *     *    

Four years ago, no one knew who The Plantains were. And no one much cared. But now they've become a household name, a name which will become further ingrained with the release of Muckrake High Saloon, an album that is infecting a generation world-wide with the speed of a runaway epidemic.

But getting from there to here has been quite a complex little journey. It all began when Ryan picked up the guitar in early 1993 and never put it down. Inspired by Pavement, Sebadoh, and Guided by Voices, he taught himself the crucial indie-rock chords necessary to start pouring his heart onto a four-track. After a number of indulgent and meandering home taped efforts (including the Clockwork Demos and E-Minor Explosion) he started showing sparks of talent — and surprised many people in the process. His cassette Manlysound caught the attention of a number of small labels. A few seven inches followed. While quickly gaining underground prominence, he was also gaining enough skill to sing and strum at the same time. He finally grew confident enough to take his songs to friend and musical mentor Graeme Scott. They began collaborating, practicing and finding ways of arranging Ryan's scratchy, static filled recordings for public consumption in a live setting. Their first gig, opening for Sloan, was a disaster, with alcohol playing a key role in the fiasco. But one mis-stumble live taught them a sobering lesson. They honed their chops and soon became a formidable live force.

Their voracious live sets, coupled with college radio station play caught them the attention of producer Reid Frisk, who worked with them on the now infamous Gorilla Fear seven inch. The 60 watt bulb of indie-rock spotlight was positioned upon them, resulting in a strong charting in CMJ and enough money to print some T-shirts.

By now, the kids were starting to dig the sounds of The Plantains and Reid Frisk asked The Plantains to record something more substantial. Two weeks in Vancouver's famed Studio 12 resulted in the seven song, ten inch EP, Welcome To the Plantation, May I Take Your Coat and Shoes To A Safer Location? and the mastering of an album of early seven-inch singles, B-sides, and rarities entitled Mustang by Compass.

Despite the wealth of quality material churned out during the two weeks, Reid Frisk became noticeably frustrated with Ryan's rank ineptitude and inability to read music, so much so that a mere week after the recording session finished Frisk wrote an article entitled "Idiot Savant or Idiot?" that would eventually be printed in Magnet. The ploy backfired since Ryan had, from day one, freely admitted his musical shortcomings.

Much has been said about the Ryan-style of guitar. Some have described it as deceptively simple. Others describe it as unbearably so. Ryan is proudly self taught, and further, doesn't have a lot of use for most guitar conventions and techniques. "For the longest time I thought pentatonic had something to do with Satan," he told a rather frustrated Guitar Player magazine last June.

The Frisk brouhaha died a quick death. Most people were far more captivated by the fact that the early material had been cranked out by merely two brave souls. Like Spinal Tap's proverbial revolving door of drummers, The Plantains have had so much trouble securing a bass player (death by snake bite, death by heart attack, death by killer tomato attack) that for longer than wisely possible, they decided to do without. Their current bassist, Darren Gawle, has survived the longest, and is mum on the topic of what fate's cruel hand may have in store for him.

*     *     *    

I first saw The Plantains sometime after the Studio 12 defrocking. They were playing a dive bar in the roughest section of Vancouver a few weeks after the release of Welcome To the Plantation, May I Take Your Coat and Shoes To A Safer Location? In between the fist fights I witnessed something magical and decided to keep my eye on these young hooligan-up-and-comers. Four months later they would record their first full length album, This Bomb is Solid Gold, a poorly produced tour de force. Breaking with both the low-fi and hi-fi camps, they created their own category — mid-fi — designed to alienate both indie purists and the boys in the bright white sports car seeking another alterna-hit a la Nada Surf's "Popular."

"We used a lot of vibatron on This Bomb is Solid Gold. That, coupled with the velocitator pedal I designed created the 'Vibrasonic Sound' that bands like Donkey Parole Violation, Caramel 35 and Slurp have been furtively trying to imitate ever since," Ryan noted in a 1995 Terminal City interview.

Bomb was released on the indie label Thassus and did incredibly well, especially considering how unknown and how Canadian The Plantains were, going on to sell 1.5 million copies. "We got asked to open for Alanis Morisette," Ryan would later tell me, without a hint of emotion. "We politely declined." Bronze Hill Entertainment framed Ryan's terse fax: "I must regretfully and respectfully decline your offer. P.S. Fuck you." It was soon after this incident that Ryan earned his nickname: The Notorious B.I.G.G.E.

Of course, with that level of semi-DIY success, the major label bidding war was one of the fiercest in music history. And after riding the free lunch train for all it was worth, the inevitable happened.

As Ryan once told my sister Stephanie in a moment of heated passion, "When we left the indie rock cul-de-sac there were some regrets. We'd met some great neighbors. But it was time to set our sights a bit higher, and so we signed to Dreamworks and moved up into that deluxe "alternative" apartment in the sky. Depressive indie-rock was never quite my bag. I'm the sort of person who still enjoys getting up each morning. Not early mind you. I sleep past noon if I can get away with it — but when I do eventually drag my lame ass out of bed, I'm a better man for it, and I don't complain one whit. But regardless of whatever tangent I scatter off onto, I vow never to lose the edge that makes us great."

However, despite the bright lights and the shiny future, the band made a few missteps. "We sort of lost direction," Ryan noted in a 1996 Swank interview. "We were convinced to make some sketchy decisions, like hiring a female bass player so as to appear more alternative. She got pregnant soon after and had to quit. And for the last fukin' time, I'm not the father." (To this day paternity confirmation has not been successful).

"Then we stepped into the studio and that's when the problems began." The Plantains hired Phil Spector to produce their second album. After eight months in the studio, they emerged with The Thin Line of Soul. Everything seemed to be falling into place quite nicely. But despite critic acclaim for The Thin Line of Soul, sales slumped and dreams soured like milk past its due date. As Ryan put it in a 1996 interview in Melody Maker, "Critical acclaim means that your album only sells a few thousand copies. The cool thing is that everyone who bought that album decided to start their own band. It's nice being influential . . . but I'd rather be wealthy."

After the runaway praise and commercial success of their first album, fans and industry types alike were disappointed. Part of the problem was the ambitiousness of the record. A 71 minute rock opera, it chronicled the legal battle of Roe Vs Wade, as seen through the eyes of a drunken clown.

The first (and only) single from The Thin Line of Soul, "Golf-Boy" failed to chart higher than 198 on Billboard. (The B-side, "Song Not As Good," a five minute deconstruction of how Dadaist poetry influenced the tactics of Wade's attorney, failed to win them many new fans either). Their second single "Super Duper" was never released.

Few bands have managed to throw off such a Titanic. The Plantains are one such lucky example. The loss of the spotlight reduced expectations and pressure. They toured extensively, Darren joined the band, and the fuller sound helped to secure a larger fan base. While critics started writing them off as has-beens and one shot wonders, The Plantains went into seclusion in the Swiss Alps and began work on a new album.

The pressure was looming. Ryan remembers well the atmosphere at Dreamworks. "They were very supportive. They said either shape up or ship out."

Using self-loathing, mild allergies to dairy products and chronic back pain as grist for the angst mill, they found their underdog status very inspiring. Ryan noted in his private memoirs that, "It gave us time to craft an album that no one expected. We decided to do an album for ourselves, instead of for the fans, or the record label, or my Uncle Gestopolis. This time, it was about us, and I think the gamble paid off."

Indeed. Fast forward six months. Staring them in the face is a triple platinum album. They recently completed opening slots for Jonathan Fire Eater and Iggy Pop. Now they are halfway through their own world tour. I joined them part way through their west coast leg and spent three days digging for trenchant insight into the bad boys of college rock.

*     *     *    

"We're the logical bastard children of the college rock revolution. I mean let's face it, we keep getting pegged as a highly cognitive and intellectual band, so we might as well act the part. I just bought a Mensa Boogie amp." Ryan chuckles at his own joke. No one else in the entourage does.

While he knows what comes with the rock star territory, Ryan isn't always that interested in the business end of things. "The music is everything to us. The interviews, the money — that's just other stuff. I'm doing this interview for Mary, a teenaged fan stuck in Buttfuck, Idaho who had to buy our album in a Walmart that she'll probably work at one day. Having never heard of fanzines, this is the only way she'll be able to find out that my favorite colour is blue, that I currently have three pet koi that I bring on the road with me and that I'm currently bi-sexual. But every once in awhile, you get tired of the game. We once did 18 interviews in one day. That can do irreparable damage to a man's soul. By the fourth one I was fed up. So I grabbed a dictionary, picked a word I liked, and used that word as many times as I could." He roots around for a accordion-style file folder and eventually hands me a newspaper clipping from The Chicago Reader.

Chicago Reader: How long have you been on tour supporting this album?
Ryan: It seems like a millennium of ennui.
CR: Umm, OK. How do you find playing smaller clubs this tour?
Ryan: Good, it's very good. I find that the large venues have a lot of ennui hiding in the corners and the rafters, which tends to detract from the overall experience.
CR: Right, and it says in your press kit that you recently hired Tanja Young, the original KISS choreographer, to handle your lighting effects.
Ryan: Yes we did. She's great. She controls the vertical. She controls the horizontal. She controls the ennui.
CR: You know, I interviewed The Dave Matthews Band last week. I don't have to put up with your bullshit.
Ryan: You sound angry. You must have a lot of ennui in your bloodstream.

He waits dutifully for me to finish reading. I eventually do. "Another thing that I hate is getting misquoted. Like the We write music for the common people brouhaha. What I said was that we write music for the comma people. And never have I said that we're bigger than even fukin' Oasis. What I said was that we're taller than Oasis."

*     *     *    

The second show I attend has the makings of a memorable outing, as it's in their hometown of Vancouver. The show sold out in 34 minutes. The excitement in the room is palpable. Perusing the crowd (of which many are female) I try to find a common thread. College kids and 35 year old certified general accountants stand shoulder to shoulder, mesmerized.

They're playing the Luxnor, which has a neon slogan above the door that reads, "Death is temporal — dancing is forever."

I ask the tall, blue haired girl beside me why she lined up at six am and spent $27.50 to see three guys play rudimentary rock n' roll. "They're so dreamy," she responds, reduced to the eloquence of a 12 year old by the mere mention of her heroes.

A burly looking mall punk intrudes and says, "They bring my mind to a complete halt." As I begin to probe her further, The Plantains emerge, and she, along with the rest of the crowd is transfixed. In between songs, an inordinate amount of screaming and shouting occurs, reminding me of an Ed Sullivan audience watching The Beatles. Local boys made good, they thank the hometown crowd by playing for what seems like hours.

"Shake your arms up and down with the boogie speed," shouts Ryan at one point, and the whole crowd becomes a sweaty, grungy octopus. His lanky frame bounces about the stage, his 200 lbs of creative energy seemingly converting the six-strings of his devil's wand into a thousand. He effortlessly takes the crowd's enthusiasm and spits it right back in their faces.

They return to the stage three times before the show ends. The final encore consists entirely of covers, including a hip-hop style jam of Beck's "Truck Drivin' Neighbors Downstairs."

After the show, drenched in sweat, grinning, and ultimately pleased at the fact that they just kicked some major ass, they grab a beer and relax. Ryan comments on the choice of covers. "We met Beck two months ago. He said, 'I dig what you're doing. Your tracks are tight.' That made me happier than almost anything. Just to connect with that thing that he does."

But they don't relax for long. They've been invited to a number of after hour shows, and they don't want to miss a rare opportunity to catch their friends in action.

Darren pauses to check his pulse, ensuring he's still alive. He then makes three rosaries and a hail mary before looking at me intently. "The Vancouver scene isn't about quantity, but of quality. Bands like Rug Lust and Shoelace Swing are working to expand the boundaries of what music can and should be." He then makes a quick escape out the back door.

*     *     *    

As their motor home "Further" chugs towards Calgary, Ryan and I chat over a couple of low-fat lattes.

"The music press is an odd milieu to communicate through. I mean, I could tell a particular musician to go fuck themselves, and you'll probably print it." His eyes start to gleam mischievously. He continues. "Look at the cat fight between Pavement and the Smashing Pumpkins. That's something I dearly want to avoid. One slip of the tongue, and I could have an angry Gavin Rosendale at my door."

"So you don't especially like Bush?" I ask.

"No, I think they're quite talented actually. Take Razorblade Suitcase for example. I would say without hesitation or hyperbole that it's the 467th best grunge album of 1992." He grins for a moment. "Don't print that." He grins even wider. "Of course, I know you will anyway." He affects a British accent, "Hallo mate. What's this your shite band has been saying about us?" He takes another sip of his latte.

"Oh, and while I'm at it, Steve Albini can suck my dick," Ryan says with a flourish, just as a label publicist wanders into the kitchen. She scowls at my tape recorder.

He quickly starts "the act" that other reporters I've talked to have mentioned. "You know, I shouldn't be so negative about the side effects of fame. It's not all piss and vinegar. I've met many musicians that have influenced me over the years. I got to crack some jokes with Thurston Moore at NXNW. He said, 'I don't know what the hell you guys are doing, but I love it.' That was pretty gratifying, just to connect with that thing that he does."

Ryan stands up suddenly, and looks around to ensure that the publicist has found something else to do. He sits back down and says, "Is it just me, or is Jimmy Ray the most whiny, oxygen wasting sponge brain on the planet?"

*     *     *    

"We don't live like typical rock stars. We take the money that most bands spend on drugs and invest it in mutual funds," Graeme shouts at me over the roar of soundcheck. This is the first time I've had an opportunity to interview Graeme. While the rumors of their fist-fights and near break-ups are just that, rumors, the unspoken assumption is that if I want to talk to Graeme, it's got to be when Ryan isn't around. While Ryan refuses to put a label on his music, Graeme is slightly more comfortable creating a musical pigeonhole for The Plantains. "We sound a lot like Sebadoh fronted by Link Wray or The Cramps meeting R.E.M. We pioneered the surf ballad. Slow, moody songs about slow moody waves."

"What is it about your music that connects so well with the disenfranchised youth of today?" I ask.

"To be honest, I believe that the gum-chewing, free wheeling youngsters of today are ready for anything musically, and only we are prepared to deliver on that promise. Our creativity and flexibility have been the key. We've been talking for a long time now about doing some complex genre merging. Sort of surf music meets drum n' bass."

Ryan finishes his soundcheck and walks towards our vicinity. Graeme vanishes suddenly and without warning.

*     *     *    

Darren is the newest, and least well understood member of the band. Somedays it seems he prefers it that way. I decide on the direct approach with Darren. "Some wags in the music press have speculated that your height was a key factor in you being hired. After all, ever since you joined the band, Ryan has been quoted in article after article as saying that The Plantains are now the tallest freestanding band in the world. How do you respond?"

Darren chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Yeah, we're all pretty tall," he manages finally.

I stare at Darren for a moment before pressing on. "Now what about the rumors about the coffin stored in the tour bus in case lightening strikes a fourth time and a low-frequency Plantain once again dies. Is that true?"

"Yes," Darren responds.

Doesn't that worry you?" I ask, incredulous.

"No."

"If I could delve into your past for a moment I was wondering if it's true that you played on the Skeleton Retard's fourth album?"

"Can I go now?" Darren asks, and a minute later, he does just that.

*     *     *    

During a drunken night on the town in Dayton, Ohio, Ryan manages to steal my tape recorder. A day later I play back my tape and hear him mumbling "We try to be as real as possible and stay true to who we are. But we have this role-model thing to think about all the time. The music is everything to us. The interviews, the money - that's just other stuff."

After a few muffled giggles, he continues, "Sometimes you get the feeling that the crowd is only reacting to one thing - the way we look. I think they're respecting our music too, but I don't know if anyone can hear it because of the screaming."

A deep, long, overly theatrical pause ensues. "And always remember - music is a weapon. Wield it carefully."

*     *     *    

I corner Graeme a final time before leaving him and the rest of the merry pranksters. "Is it true about Ryan's bouts of depression? Is he as insane as some have painted him?" I probe.

Graeme looks around nervously. "He's a control freak. To allow someone the opportunity to twist around his musical vision is frightening. To be misunderstood is very dangerous in this game." Graeme pauses to take a sip of guava nectar mixed with Ribena.

"The temper tantrums, the yellow smarties, the sanitized water glasses, the lucky rabbit's foot. It's all true. But it doesn't really matter. It doesn't bother me. I have a side project, Coin Gutter, which lets me express and develop my own musical ideas. My first love is guitar. Always has been. Always will. But drumming for The Plantains gives me an opportunity to express my primal, primitive instincts. Ryan's neuroses and insanity make for great music, so for me, it's worth putting up with the occasional bout of paranoia or creative doubt to be able to work with someone who's written a song as brilliant as "Honey Parlor." Despite what some might say, I'm given more than enough room to create - there's still plenty of open canvas for me in The Plantains."

He pauses to wipe off the guava and Ribena cocktail from his thick moustache. "I mean, you've got to remember, we've come a long way. When we started we were very poor. We defined success in very limited terms. We just wanted to get to a point where Ryan could afford to tape four or five guitar picks onto his microphone stand and I could have more than one set of drumsticks. Now we have picks and drumsticks with our logo on them, and we own the respective manufacturing plants."

Graeme hears an unusual noise coming from a large air duct above us. He assesses the situation and then, like a ninja, disappears into dust.

*     *     *    

On the second to last night of our interview, Ryan hands me some excerpts from his tour diary with permission to reprint them.

July 28th: Olympia Washington. Met Calvin Johnson. Told him how much I admire the Halo Benders. Asked him if we could do a "One Foot in the Grave" kinda thing. He seemed non-committal. Tried to hit on me though.

August 15th: Finally heard back from Calvin Johnson. Turns out he was going to let us record an album at Dub Narcotic until he found out Graeme and I weren't gay. I guess our lame attempt at "homo cred" failed when we kissed each other at the end of Saturday Night Live. He saw through us like a Courtney Love dress.

August 29th: A reporter from Teen Beat managed to secure an interview with me, despite my best intentions and my repeated and graphic warnings to the label's publicist. When she asked me what sort of fashion style I try and exude, I said, "You know, that post-college-grad modified grunge look. Well tailored corduroy shirts unbuttoned to reveal a T-shirt with a witty slogan. That sort of 'I've got errands to run, and yet I'm going to be looking okay vibe.'"

August 30th: Fact checker (intern most likely) called me back to confirm certain allegations and "potentially libelous statements made about Teen Beat and Teen Beat reporter Candi Eversteen."

Sept 1st: Lawyers from Teen Beat contact me regarding Aug 29th interview.

Sept 3rd: My label settles out of court. I doubt they'll make another $10,000 mistake like that with me again.

September 20th: How can one man be so talentless?

*     *     *    

It's the last night of my tour of duty with The Plantains. I'm a bit sad. So are they. Ryan gives me a hug and a copy of their upcoming concert album entitled The Suprafresh Live Adventures of Doctor Bad Vibes. As I activate my tape recorder for the final time, I smile and say, "Go ahead, the last word is yours."

Ryan grins a knowing grin. "To all the people that helped us get where we are today, I thank you. For without the little people, we'd be nowhere. And when you're six foot five, there are a lot of little people. But don't lose sight of your dreams. Anyone can do anything, through hard work and perseverance. We're proof of that. Always remember, we're not special. We're just lucky."