An interview with Kenosha-based musician Brent Mitchell
By Nick Demske
Trashing hotel rooms, bare knuckle street boxing, jumping from moving vehicles…who knows what musicians do in their time off stage? And after hearing some of Brent Mitchell’s lyrics—involving men killed by their wives, peyote induced confrontations with the devil, even perfectly sober confrontations with God or the religions claiming to represent a deity—one might hesitate interrupting the musician in his spare time. However, the casual question preceding the formal interview (“How is your day going?”) produces the most shocking answer of all:
“Pretty good so far. I just got back from a run to try to clear my head of all this textbook babble; I’ve been taking a break from writing my Buddhism term paper and studying Islamic jurisprudence in the meantime.”
Some break. Hopefully, in the interview, Brent will happen to mention just what exactly “jurisprudence” means…
ND: When and how did you become a musician? How old were you when you started playing music?
BM: Oh man, I can barely remember. It’s always been an essential part of my life. Starting when I was a kid, thirteen or so, my father was taking me to blues clubs, jazz clubs, honky tonks—this wasn’t an occasional thing. I’m talking about several times a week. I grew up in Texas and the culture’s real different there. Instead of watching TV or football on the weekend, you went to a club to see live music.
ND: Do you remember any specific events or shows where you heard a particular musician and realized music was what you wanted to do?
BM: Well, yeah I suppose so. It just happened so many times. I don’t think I could point just one out. And while a lot of them were famous, big name acts, probably more were just big in Texas and no one’s ever heard of them here. I guess some just weren’t big anywhere. I just saw so many performers all the time that there was just bound to be some really good, inspirational ones in there. And I never questioned it. In that environment, music just always seemed like the natural progression for me—of course that’s what I’ll do—cause I was around it all the time. But this unconventional upbringing had its drawbacks, too. You know, I grew up in a bachelor pad not learning a lot of things. When I moved out, I took care of a ranch for four or five years. That was my first big gig, I guess. But then the next ten years were just this massive sedimentary accretion of undeniable errors. I got a lot of songs out of it though.
ND: Do you remember your first guitar?
BM: Sure do. I bought it from a pawnshop that this stoned out philosophy professor took me to. He taught me my first three chords, taught me Leadbelly’s “Midnight Special.”
ND: Could you cite some of your musical influences or compare your style to anyone else?
BM: It would be hard for me to do that because, like I said, the Texas musicians’ names would be obscure. Names like “Stiff Young Stevens…” their names never made it up to here. I’m influenced by anybody who writes an exceptional lyric. Lyrics are really important to me. In Texas and down South, songwriters were a big deal, how sports teams are in the Midwest. Clubs would put several songwriters on one stage and have them trading songs, sort of; one would play a song and it would remind the next of a song he had and they’d go down the line like that. And if people liked it, they’d buy their album and maybe a few to give to friends and then they’d buy more just to support them. But that emphasized the importance of lyrics to me—all kinds. I read articles with songwriters sometimes now discouraging others from writing autobiographical songs. I really disagree with that. So many of the best songs are autobiographical. And the writer still might be role-playing to some degree. I’ve heard musician’s say it’s naïve, it’s wrong, it’s a trap…and it is a trap, but the trap is being overly subjective. There’s nothing bad about autobiographical lyrics so long as they transcend the subjective experience of the writer and say something universal.
ND: All this emphasis solely on lyrics is surprising since most people that hear or see you play probably are first struck by what an exceptional guitar player you are.
BM: I didn’t even try to become a good guitar player.
ND: You were just a natural at it?
BM: No, that’s not what I’m saying. It didn’t come natural to me at all. I’m just really and truly not a good guitar player. I’m very, very average. I just make up my renditions of other people’s songs enough so they’re recognizable. It’s this kind of smoke and mirrors trick and I’m pretty happy with it so far. It seems to be working ok. I’ve seen really good guitar players. They can pull anything out of their hat. When I was waiting tables in Nashville for a stretch, whoever wasn’t on tour with a big name act would get together Wednesday nights—country players, jazz and blues players, rock—and they’d just work off anything the other ones played. Not the big Nashville acts. They all sounded the same. But these guys were musicians. I just fake it.
ND: Where have you performed?
BM: I’ve been doing it for a while so I’ve played shows in Austin, Nashville, New York, London…I played six or seven nights a week with a touring band for a while. We’d have a travel day, a gig the next and then back on the road in the morning. We’d go for a month at a time or so, hit every town big enough to have a roadhouse or dance hall.
ND: How about in Southeastern Wisconsin?
BM: Let’s see, I’ve played Miraz, Pazo’s, a whole circuit of corner bars, usually with my friend, another local musician, Kevin Grissom. I’ve been playing coffee shops, too: Java Vino and Dunn Bros. in Racine, The Coffee Connection. I’ve played at Carthage College, the 716: Fine Art gallery…the benefit to coffee shops in this area is you actually get a listening audience. In Texas, the bars were all listening audiences, but the bars here are a different atmosphere. But it’s easier for a bar to pay since, for every one drink an audience member might be buying at a coffee shop, they’d buy five or six at a bar.
ND: It seems like a recurring theme for this interview and your music is “geography.” Do ever have trouble with performing in Wisconsin while your music is so rooted in the South?
BM: In some ways. That is often true to an extent. It’s just contextual. One reason I like to play shows in Texas is people there understand a Texas upbringing. Here my upbringing just sounds bizarre. When I was growing up, all the Texas ranchers were devoted to “cutting horses,” these horses bred for chasing cows. But in the early eighties, the market flooded and so a bunch of cowboys turned to smuggling drugs cause they owned airplanes and big ranches to land them on. And they were seriously desperate. The cowboy culture overlapped with drug and hippie culture. That’s where I learned about music. Not in the suburbs. And all the old time cowboy music was jazz. People don’t know that now. Swinging cowboy music with Flamenco thrown in—pure swing—and then it mixed with hippie music. That’s the backdrop that I, as a songwriter, am coming from.
ND: You reference poetry pretty often in your music, even set William Blake’s “The Tyger” to music on your last album. Is that a product of geography, too?
BM: Not really. My dad was an English Lit professor and published poet. He wasn’t a consistently good poet, but he knew tons, could quote Classical, Romantic, Modern…I think writing lyrics is sort of shooting for poetry. A song might not stand up on the page without a melody. Sometimes it might. It shouldn’t have to, though—they’re different. But that influence came from my father. I have a real old memory of my father and I drunk in a parking lot, waiting for something, when he starts quoting W. H. Auden’s “Lay Your Sleeping Head, My Love” and the poem “September, 1939.” I couldn’t believe it! “Holy [expletive]!” I said to him. “Where have you been hiding that?” And he said, you know, “What do you mean? It’s what I do. I haven’t been hiding it at all.” It may have just been the first time I listened. It hit me like a brick, it was so beautiful. After that, either he started reciting and teaching it all the time or I just started listening, I don’t know which. That definitely still affects my music, though.
ND: I understand a song you wrote received a Grammy listing…
BM: Yeah, I didn’t record it though. It’s called “Hand of God” and recorded by
Bonnie Whitmore.
ND: You’ve also appeared on a bigger name soundtrack, right?
BM: Yes. The movie is called “Partners in Crime.” It’s a terrible movie, but it has three songs from my second album in it.
ND: I also understand you’ve recently developed pretty bad tendonitis which is inhibiting your ability to play guitar. With that in mind, what are your plans or desires for the future?
BM: I’m trying not to ruin my wrists, but the plan is to keep playing. Right now, I’m taking on a full time undergraduate course load, but I’m trying to play on weekends and stay busy locally. It just takes so much time to book yourself, promote yourself, keep the information current, follow up with phone calls…before coming to the area, I used to play a lot of places that also brought big name acts and, in the future, I would like to be playing some of the higher caliber places that showcase songwriters like in Chicago and Madison.
ND: OK, one final question: what’s Islamic jurisprudence?
BM: Ha! Well, in Islam, I’m reading, the law of the state would just be an extension of the laws the religion sets up. Like how Christianity in Leviticus says, you know, if someone engages with their son or daughter in sex they have to be stoned. Well, with Islam, those religiously mandated laws would be superimposed on our secular laws and be functions of the state. However, since they’re not, Muslims coming to America, say, now have this internal conflict about whether they should adhere to America’s laws or the laws of Islam. Like Islamic law forbids boys and girls going to school together, you know. It’s mind-numbingly boring, but it’s also really interesting. This is how I’ve been spending my time in between shows.
ND: Wow. Well, do you have any clever, last one-liners you want the interview wrapped up with?
BM: Uh, Probably not. It’s probably impossible to think of clever one-liners when you’ve spent the last few hours on Islamic jurisprudence.
Brent Mitchell, you have been “Exposed”
Brent Mitchell lives in Kenosha with his wife and three kids and is studying Comparative Religion full-time at Carthage College. He has recorded three albums: Reciting Whitman to the Cows (1998), Fallen Angel Palace (!999) and, most recently, his self-titled album, Brent Mitchell (2003), all available on the website CD baby. Brent has started recording a new album, but is taking a hiatus because of studio expenses. He would love hearing from anyone that wants to offer him free studio time.
Hear Brent’s music at www.myspace.com/brentmitchellmusic. For booking queries or other information, contact him through the above website or at (262) 553-1835.
Nick Demske is a poet living in downtown Racine, Wisconsin and a contributing editor for ExposeKenosha.com
4 comments ↓
Brent,
I enjoyed learning more about you. It sure was fun getting to play at your gig the other night and look forward to your continued involvement in the music community. I think all of us could learn from your experiences as a musician. I hope and pray that your tendonitis gets better, its rather like watching a lame champion stallion. In the meantime, anytime you want me to come and play to help you take a load off, you just let me know. Also, thanks to Nickypoo for doing the article. Way to go! And long live Otis Henry!
Rachelle Laundrie
Brent,
Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking up there in the frozen land of good beer. Why do I have the feeling the words “Islamic Jurisprudence” will be song lyrics one day? ;-)
We miss you down here.
Kerby
Brent good.
Nick good.
Otis Henry good.
“Massive sedimentary accretion of undeniable errors” turned into art always good. Thank you for not succumbing.
great interview!
i feel like i was eavesdropping!
keep up the great work, Nick!
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