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ing Khan is one bad, brown dude and a hard
one to track down at that. I failed for a full-
fledged week in corralling the Berlin-based
soulscreecher, and when I finally caught him,
he ’was in some seriously dire straits: limping around rush-hour
New York in the rickety Vice Records company car with some
bad lunch percolating in his gut. He was amid some schematic
scramblings to which I can fully relate: gone to Jersey City to
pick up appropriately vintage tuck-and-roll Kustom amps for
his upcoming tour, then doing a headachy automotive crabwalk
through the boroughs to gather his band of soulful, scruffy
internationals: a French organist, a horn section
from Hamburg, an ancient American expat who
hand-drummed for Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield
and other assorted musicians all stand among the
roster of his apocalyptically wiggly R&B revue,
The Shrines. Herding them through Gotham was
all on Khan's now-stooped shoulders, so we made
a date to chat.
He was chipper when he answered, and I
was surprised; having just returned from a tour
with my own huge and horny band that ended in
The Apple, I know the mindset endemic to the
context: it doesn't make for a shining familiar
ity with that brutal crack-of-noon. Nevertheless,
we talked about all sorts of enlightening stuff,
among other things, The Melted Men, his great
grandfather, "The Johnny Thunders of Sitar,"
his dead idols and the effect that the beautiful,
hypnotic music indigenous to his parents' native
India had on the amniotic fluid that fostered his
development as a prenatal maniac!
Comb the following conversation for Khan's
handle on how to burn a house down: his deep-
set love for the Great Maniacs of History, his appreciation for
esoteric noise of all sorts, and his great enthusiasm in extol
ling anecdotal mayhem should tell you what kind of show he
and his Shrines are gonna throw. It'll be one rowdy wingding.
Flagpole: Khan, tell me how you hooked up with Curtis
Mayfield's percussionist.
King Khan: It was really late, and I was really drunk, and
I'd never been to this bar. I walk in, and there's Ron playing
percussion with this Latin DJ. His setup was so amazing—all
these spoons and maracas and bongos—and he was really
great. He had one of those big, red trucke' hats, and he just
looked really funny. I was drunk, you know, and I wasn't sure
if he spoke English or what—if he was African or German or
whatever; this was in Kassel, the small town I lived in before I
moved to Berlin. So, I went up to him and I started talking to
him like this: "HELL-0! I-PLAY-RITH-THIM-AND-BLUES-MUSE-
SIC!" and he's looking at me like I'm a total idiot and he goes
(gruffly): "Shit, I gotta go to the bathroom." And he's in there
for like 15 minutes, and I'm drunk so I'm totally impatient. So,
I wrote my number on this napkin, and I walk in the bathroom
and go,"HELL-0! ARE-YOU-STILL HEE-UR?" and I hea- him
go, "Got-damn it!" and I say, "HERE- IS-MY-PHONE-NUMBER!
PLEASE-DON'T-WIPE-YOUR-ASS-WITH-IT!" and I put my hand
under the stall, and he starts laughing. I asked him if he spoke
English, and through the stall, he goes, "Motherfucker, I grew
up in San Francisco! I play rhythm and blues!" It was tike,
"GcJ gave me this person!"
FP: I know you're a huge Bo Diddleyfan—y'all cover
"Crackin' Up." Any memoriums planned?
KK: Oh, man, you know what? On the day Bo Diddley died,
my sister had a baby. And her husband, we used to play in a
band together called The Spaceshits, and he's the one who got
me super-into Bo Diddley, so it's really beautiful that his son
was born on the day Bo Diddley died. I think Bo Diddley is the
true king of rock and roll. Little Richard and Bo Diddley and
Chuck Berry. Jesus! They changed the world.
FP: Yeah, those were the Great Maniacs. Those early rock and
roll dudes...
KK: Check this out! I met Dickie Peterson of Blue Cheer
in Cologne, and I ended up hanging with him a lot. Anyway,
he told me this story about Screamin' Jay Hawkins. It was in
L.A. in 1968, and they were going to do a festival together,
right? So they meet him at the airport, and they're walking
together, and Screaming Jay's got this white suit on—looking
real dashing—and there was this big group of elderly tourists.
Screamin' Jay walks right up into the middle of the group and
goes: "UUGGGGGH! UGGG-UNNNGGGHHH!" and fakes a heart
attack, and falls on the floor like he's dying! And everybody
starts flipping out and all the old ladies are going "AAAHHH!"
He lays there dead for a few seconds, then he opens his eyes,
pops up and takes this flashpaper money out—they look just
like American dollar bills—and he lights them and they burst
into flames, and he throws them in the air and strolls aw ay,
chuckling to himself!
FP: Amazing! Hey, tell me about your great-grandpop, the
sitar player.
. KK: He was this deadbeat guy who played sitar all day and
was addicted to opium, which is a pretty vicious combination!
So, I have a heavy psychedelic connection to
Indian music. My father collected Indian classical
music; he would travel the trains for free because
his father was a conductor, and he collected all
this amazing music. Anyway, when I was in my
mom's belly, they put headphones on the womb
and blast Indian classical sitar in there! I always
thought that had a heavy effect on my brain. I've
got special folds; I've got paisleys in my brain!
FP: Vice reissued our first record. So, we were
touring on the reissue, and people wanted to hear
some of those old, obsolete songs. We felt bad,
but we just weren't feeling it. We couldn't do some
particular songs from back then...
KK: I know! It feels impossible at times to
rehash those feelings. You feel like you're cheat
ing. It just doesn't work.
FP: It's play-acting.
KK: But that's what I love about that music.
It has completely everything to do with your
guts. Like, last night I saw Silver Apples, and
man, it was like watching prayer. Whatever he was saying,
it felt like it would go right into your body and come out in
a holy light. And you know, just being in New York, at the
Knitting Factory, like 40 years later, and this guy is up there,
alone, and this smile on his face. And the crowd was so funny,
so different, so weird: the psychedelic children of New York. It
was amazing! That's what I love about this music! Music to me
is immortality, and it's my religion and my career, you know?
If I want to pray, I put on Alice Coltrane, and there's that feel
ing! It's there! It's just so incredible: the power of music.
Jim McHugh
WHO: The Jacuzzi Boys, King Khan and the Shrines
WHERE: 40 Watt Club
WHEN: Thursday, July 3
HOW MUCH: $10
V )
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22 FLAGPOLE.COM • JULY 2. 2008
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