Words by Sean Moeller//Illustration by Shannon Palmer
It’s crazy to me that Phillip Seymour Hoffman and John Roderick are different men. I think Roderick, the front man for the Seattle band The Long Winters, could have sunk himself into the roles of Truman Capote and Lester Bangs just as fluidly. He could have given the flourish of Bangs, pulling the Iggy Pop from the wall – galvanized by the energy of it all – and he could have delivered the “uncool” speech to William with the same (if not more intense and believable) lonesomeness of a reflective man of roguery. He could have become fascinated by a gruesome murder in the Heartlands and wanted to write a book about it. He could have been the caregiver in “Magnolia,” tending to a dying man and finding a way to get Tom Cruise on the telephone. It’s a stupid comparison, based around physical similarities like – they grow the same beard and they both like cigarettes – but Roderick is so many different personalities that it’s more fitting than totally farcical. The large and grizzly Roderick (who is likely better at tennis than Hoffman, from what I hear) has the composite of a drifter, a magician, an artist, a faker, a realist, a dreamer, a smart ass, an intellectual who could think you under the table and a regular. He packs his songs with such sly and devilish observations and cutting remarks that they must have – in another life – won arguments, shit-tons of arguments. That’s assuming that most of what he writes on his band’s latest disc, “Putting The Days To Bed” is fictionalized drama. You never really get the sense that you can take anything for complete truth or for complete heroic penmanship. He’s always got the taste of the kill in his nostrils and he goes about his songwriting as if we were going over some churlish white water rapids. Every part of the song is structurally sound and resilient to turbulence, though they all create some of their own.

After last year’s “Ultimatum” EP, I suggested to Roderick that he had become a softie with some cuddly songs that didn’t pull as many knives on us as the debut record, “When I Pretend to Fall” did. He acknowledged that his ferocity was temporarily muffled and he was writing about love on gentler terms. But not to worry, he said, he was going to anger people again with his sharp, sharp tongue and his automatic fire. “Teaspoon” on “Putting the Days To Bed” shows Roderick in his true colors, “Two can just bleed into one/Where only one does the bleeding/She calls me the alphabet gun/She orders the pilot to land/She just wants to hold the man/Well I am her pilot today.” Surprisingly, Roderick is still touching even when he’s being tough, acting as if he’s the one telling love to take a hike. There’s more moments of disappointment and sorrow on this record than was on “When I Pretend To Fall,” but it doesn’t come across as an effete woefulness, just a different kind of vitality – the kind that we usually have. And that’s really what’s at stake here, being able to see the daily knockdowns as a part of the deal that shouldn’t be so discouraging. You must know that it’s life and it’s all we’ve got. Roderick does this better than most writers and we’re lucky to have him.

The Daytrotter interview
Why’d you re-record “Ultimatum” and change the sound of it a bit for the full-length?
JR: John Roderick: Well, the “Ultimatum” EP was a total basement recording. I sat on a couch and played most of the guitar and keyboard parts without even sitting up, sometimes laying completely out with the keyboard propped up on some pillows. That vibe permeates the EP, but when it was time to make another full-length I wanted to return to the “fully standing up” sound and thought it would be fun to interpret that song again. It was originally just an exercise in reminding ourselves what we love about rock music, but it was so fun we did it for real.

What was the process like for writing this record? Do you try to challenge yourself when making a new record or is songwriting hard enough as it is that you don’t need to add obstacles?
JR: I don’t intentionally make things difficult just to add extra challenges, if that’s what you mean, but I’m always trying to make better stuff, which means I can’t rest on my laurels. I had a couple of close calls on this record, working on unfinished songs right up until the last possible moment, but in the end everything worked out. That’s a terrible habit, I think, because one day it could completely blow up, but somehow it keeps working.

Do you feel you’re closer to being an expert or a novice songwriter? Do you consider there to be magic in the air when a song’s being made?
JR: I always picture an expert songwriter as being someone like Randy Newman or Carol King, sitting in a big studio with a cup of tea writing two songs a day. But a novice songwriter is usually someone who just throws their unfiltered emotions at some chords and thinks that their pure heart will make the song wonderful. I’m neither thing, but I guess I’m closer to the former than the latter. Sometimes a song just drops on your head and it’s like finding a fifty dollar bill on the sidewalk, but most of the time I sit and work on them like my life depends on it.

What’s the best way to put a day to bed? Does it involve tucking in and warm beverages? Seriously though, why’d you choose that line to represent the album as a whole?
JR: It’s important to the meaning of the title that the “days” be plural. Putting a single day to bed feels warm and cozy, like you say. “Well, this has been a great day, honey, now let’s put it to bed.” But putting “the days” to bed is an exercise in futility, like nothing more is going to happen and life is just a process of getting to the end of one day after another. I always hope my songs are useful to people, and part of what I try to do is call attention to those feelings of frustration and resignation that often escape direct, conscious notice. All kinds of people are living lives of quiet desperation without being fully aware, and I’m usually saying, “Hey, whatever you’re scared of that’s keeping you from making a change can’t possibly be worse than just counting the days ‘til you die.”

Do you ever feel yourself wanting to go on a long journey like you did in the past or does touring suffice? Are you someone who has to get away from it all on a regular basis?
JR: Touring isn’t the same as really cutting yourself loose, but it does have moments that fulfill the crazy travel bug, and it definitely satisfies the normal travel bug. I’ll probably take several more mind-warping trips in my life, but you have to space them out. Being in a band is gratifying in different ways, and I can always just “check out” for a while no matter where I am.

What’s the best thing you learned today?
JR: Good question! I’m tempted to say that I learned a new way to dismiss someone, by saying, “You’re made of pineapples!” but I’m afraid no one will think that’s funny but me. I also learned that you can get a police graphic made for the side of your car, no questions asked, if you just tell the sign makers that you’re filming a music video.

I love how you give importance to words that no one else uses in songs—“karate” and “teaspoon,” for examples. I know most writers want to differentiate themselves from others. Is it important to you to not track across such familiar ground?
JR: I have a few rules, like: never use the word “baby” unless it’s being sung from a character’s perspective. Otherwise I try to avoid cliches, which most good songwriters do, but I also try to avoid cliches of the mind, which often results, as a side product, in me using unusual words. I’m not just trying to think of a new way to say, “Baby, you broke my heart, make a new start, do your part, etc.”

“Honest” is my favorite song on the new album and I was wondering if you consider your position as a singer valient and honorable? Did you ever have any traditional or man crushes on singers when you were younger that might have prompted writing this tune?
JR: I DO consider the job of singer as an honorable profession. It’s complicated by the fact that music is church for so many people. Singers aren’t just carpenters, banging out well-built songs, they’re also fiddling with people’s emotions and inner lives. Most of the indie rock singers in my world don’t have obvious messianic complexes, but the fans put that messiah stuff on them anyway, and it’s both funny and startling to see. I always had a pretty wry take on fame, even when I was young, and never fully bought into the mythology of the superstar, but I see the glazed look in people’s eyes and it’s stunning.

“www.thelongwinters.com”:http://www.thelongwinters.com