Photo by Lionel Deluy
Bush
When Bush released their debut album Sixteen Stone in 1994, the widespread knock against the band was that they weren’t authentic. Their brand of grunge was too polished, too perfectly in sync with the era, and they looked too good playing it. Twenty years later, though, nobody is questioning frontman Gavin Rossdale’s devotion. The singer is still committed to the heavy alternative rock of his youth, and still embracing the same subjects that fascinated him as a 20-something: doubt, conflict and, as he puts it, “the people who make mistakes, the people who live in error, who go through the wrong door.” Rossdale may not have bled for his art the way grunge’s most iconic figures did, but time has affirmed him as one of the genre’s true believers.
Last fall Bush released Man on the Run , their second album since Rossdale reunited the band, sans a couple of founding members, after nearly a decade apart in 2010. Sonically, it’s distinct from any record the band has ever recorded. The production is heavier and more metallic than ever, while the rhythms take cues from the thick pulses of EDM. An early mix of the record, Rossdale recalls, drew concern from both his manager and his guitarist because it was too electronic leaning. They came to an agreement by cranking up the guitars, too, leaving almost every track swollen with sound.
But while the surface treatment is new, there’s no mistaking Man on the Run for anything other than a Bush album. Rossdale’s anguished voice and despairing lyrics ensure that. “I’m a tortured person, really conflicted and tortured,” Rossdale says. “That’s my thing, and I feel sorry for Gwen much of the time, because she’s the opposite.”
He’s referring, of course, to his wife Gwen Stefani, the singer/TV personality/fashionista whose bubbly disposition would seem at odds with a self-professed tortured soul’s. And she isn’t the only thing in his life that cuts against his sober image. To see Rossdale photographed in the tabloids, enjoying a charity tennis match or taking in the beach, tanned and smiling with his celebrity wife and their three beautiful children, is to wonder where, exactly, all the misery is coming from. Even chatting with him on the phone for 25 minutes is to come away with the impression of a very happy man, a charming, funny guy who’s probably a hit at parties.
Rossdale understands all this.
“I’m the first person to say that I’m so lucky, and the first person to acknowledge that I have an incredible life, but that doesn’t stop your emotions,” he explains. “No one is exempt from emotional discomfort. In many ways, all of our lives are so amazing, just because of our freedom. We’re not living under the Taliban, you know? So straight off the bat, none of us live in Saudi Arabi, and our lives are better for that. But life is still challenging. Inside we’re all just a mess of feelings and issues.”
And, he argues, good fortune has never stopped artists from making pained art. “For instance, Francis Bacon painted the darkest, weirdest, most stellar paintings of life,” Rossdale says. “To me, he’s the greatest artist, right? But he had nothing but money, wealth, lovers. Now, he had a lot of pain to go along with that stuff, but you could argue why don’t his paintings reflect that?
“And Bacon was much more successful than I was,” he continues with a laugh, “so I’m hiding behind him.”
Rossdale posits one other explanation for why he doesn’t write upbeat songs: He doesn’t know how. “I marvel at the artists who can, because if I tried, I wouldn’t even know how to sustain one for three and a half minutes,” he says. “Like, how Pharrell wrote that song ‘Happy,’ it’s just unbelievable. That guy is amazing! You know, for somebody like me, if I’m feeling as happy as Pharrell, the last thing I’m going to do is write a song about it. I’m going to be on the beach, drinking a cold Stella.”
Bush play the Rave on Wednesday, Feb. 11 with Theory of a Deadman and Stars in Stereo.
