After four decades, Ray Davies still has a story to tell
By JONATHAN TAKIFF
Philadelphia Daily News
takiffj@phillynews.com 215-854-5960
Not even a high fever and raging head cold could keep me from my appointed phone chat with Ray Davies.
Since his introduction to the world fronting the British Invasion band the Kinks, Davies has been a personal hero, one of the most sublime, amusing and righteously iconoclastic of musical storytellers.
Yes, the hits came mostly in his youth: the power-chording "You Really Got Me" and "All Day and All of the Night"; the gorgeously calming, picturesque "Waterloo Sunset"; the winking homage to a "Dedicated Follower of Fashion" and she-male "Lola"; plus his nostalgic celebration of Hollywood's glorious past, "Celluloid Heroes"; and homages to small town life like "Village Green Preservation Society."
Yet even four decades later, his new work still feels vitally alive, of the moment and important. Davies is currently out and about in support of his fourth solo album, "Working Man's Cafe," bringing him to the Tower tomorrow night.
On the new set, he tackles themes like the global mashup of cultures ("Vietnam Cowboys"), the dilution of neighborhood identity (the title track), our inevitable march toward the sunset ("Morphine Song") and the urgent need for "Peace In Our Time," a song which aptly echoes "Waterloo Sunset."
So I stifled the cough and dialed up the talent at his San Francisco hotel, where the man answered "Ray DAY-viss here." That's right. Shock upon shocks, I've been mispronouncing his name wrong, for all these years!
And while I'm not sure he heard the rasp in my throat, Davis, er, Davies sure made the chatting easy. All I had to do was ask a question, and he was good to go for five minutes.
Q: Last time around, you were doing the solo "Storyteller" show, with almost as much spoken material as songs. What's the show all about this time?
A: I have a band. It's me and four others - your classic keyboards, guitars, bass and drums - and it rocks, occasionally. I try to minimize the conversation. People expect me to be talking after the storytelling thing, but with the band I feel the less I talk, the better it is. It's a sonic thing.
The good news is, I like to feel it's not Ray Davies with a band, it's Ray Davies as part of a band. Some nights, I look over my shoulder and I think I see Mick Avery [the original Kinks drummer]. Maybe that's a good thing. These are good players. We've done a couple of tours. Even the old things we put in have a new inspiration.
Q: Re-reading parts of your autobiography, "X-Ray," I was reminded how quickly you laid down the performances of your early hits in the studio. Are you still recording like that today?
A: We did things in basically two takes - one to learn it, one to record it. I remember that's how we cut "All Day and All of the Night." "You Really Got Me" was the first hit, then I literally got a knock at the door, my manager saying "Things are bad,
you've dropped out of the Top Ten, you're booked into the studio next Tuesday." "But we're doing a gig in Yorkshire that night!" I protested. "So you'll do the gig, then drive there."
Essentially, he was telling me I had to do the session in three hours. So there was no time for finessing, to indulge. I bet there are a lot of bands that could do that, but it's not the way things are anymore. I see bands coming through our Konk Studios in London. After they've essentially finished a track, they say, "Let's put this on Pro Tools, let's make it groovier." There are so many options to fix things. Technology makes anything possible.
And we're locked into that click-track time signature business that nails down the rhythm. If you listen carefully to "All Day" and "You Really Got Me," I'm sure you'd hear that the band changed tempo mid-song at least once, if not more. That's considered a cardinal sin today, but that's precisely why those records endured, because they had a life of their own.
For this new album, we cut live in Nashville. Yes, we'd use a click track to count off a song, but then we'd turn the click track off.
Q: I know you lived in the United States for a while. Where are you based now?
A: I moved back to London. Now I'm trying to get away from it. I have fallen out of love with that city. The big baddie there is the mayor, Ken Livingstone. He's put cameras everywhere; it's very Big Brother-ish.
They've let in all these rich oligarchs from Russia, who get away without paying taxes and are buying up all the property, jacking up the prices. The biggest scam is what they're doing in the area where the 2012 Olympics are supposed to be built, an area with lots of ethnic neighborhoods.
They're homogenizing the area. The working man's cafes are disappearing. Cockney could be extinct in 10 years. All these people are cheering because the Olympics will fix up the area, but they won't be able to afford to live there. I've started writing a musical project about it already.
Q: You've long taken on the role of social observer and critic. Today, do you feel like you're out there alone, carrying the banner? Are you writing for your peers, too? Do you ever feel like you're running out of time, which "Morphine Song" seems to suggest?
A: I'm not affiliated with any big media company that lays down a policy, which gives me a certain amount of freedom. In England today, if you want to say certain things, you can be oppressed by the system. Yes, you can pose something on the Internet, but then they think you're wacky.
Of course I'm writing for my peers but also for a lot of kids who're living for today, because they don't know what tomorrow will bring. These bands I hear in London that I like, they're not apocalyptic, but they're making music for a tomorrow that might not be there. Yet it's fun music, let-it-all-hang-out stuff, so in a sense it's a liberating time.
As for feeling I'm running out of time, I wrote that ["Morphine"] song when I was in hospital in New Orleans in 2004, feeling close to death after I'd been shot in a robbery. Don't worry, I'm fine now.
Q: What do you make of our presidential campaign?
A: Whoever wins, it's a defeat. I think the voting process has already gone on too long. They should have done it, resolved it with the New Hampshire thing. There's too much analysis, too much slow-motion coverage, too much reacting to a handshake. Get it over with, for God's sake. It's all such a soap opera. *
Tower Theater, 69th and Ludlow streets, Ray Davies with Dana Fuchs, 8 p.m. tomorrow, $65-$39.50, 215-568-3222,
www.livenation.com.