We Are The Last Men On Earth
XXQs: We Are The Last Men On Earth
PensEyeView.com (PEV): What can fans expect from a live We Are The Last Men On Earth show?
B. Todd: To paraphrase Kerouac, expectations are odious– and that’s a good mantra to carry through life. But that’s not what we’re here for, is it? Listeners may expect to be entertained.
PEV: What is the first thing that comes to mind when you step on stage?
B. Todd: Goddamnit: should have hit the mens’ room!
PEV: Do you have any “war stories” from any live shows? Where something happened and you were not sure how to handle it?
B. Todd: There was an orchestra concert during which the contrabassoonists’ girlfriend’s estranged husband, who had just gotten paroled from prison, came to the concert and leapt, shrieking, up onto the stage in the middle of the Mahler. He pulled a particularly menacing blade from his pants and charged through the 2nd violins and cellos, slashing wildly in the air, and plunged into the bass section. Apparently, he had mistaken contrabass (as the double bass was termed in the printed program notes) forcontrabassoon and had targeted a tall and rather handsome bassist instead of the contrabassoonist. Of course we all scattered, except for the tall handsome bassist, who was trapped in the middle of what had become a helter-skelter mélange of abandoned instruments, toppled music stands, and skewed chairs.
The crazed parolee lunged knife first toward the bassist, who managed to shield himself using his prized 19thcentury instrument. The knife plunged into the back of the bass, right to the hilt, with a sickening “thok!” whereupon the finely flamed, aged maple of the bass took hold of the knife and would not yield. While the parolee struggled to pull the knife from the bass, which had by this time been dropped by its fleeing owner and had fallen to the floor, the timpanist saw an opportunity to launch a counter attack and, using the huge wooden mallet specified by Mahler to deliver the symphony’s famous three-blows-of-fate, scrambled up behind the crazed parolee and clobbered him over the head with the mallet in heroic fashion. Multiple times. By this time the stage had cleared, leaving the timpanist standing alone, triumphant, over the defeated (and bleeding quite profusely) villain. All the scene needed was for a fat lady to swoop in and start singing. Hey, you can’t make this stuff up.
Oh wait, yes you can.
PEV: What’s one thing we’d be surprised to hear about the members of We Are The Last Men?
B. Todd: We have a minimum age limit of 47
PEV: What is the story behind the band name?
B. Todd: Girl to boy: “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth”
B. Todd: A deep, insightful look into romance’s darkest galaxy; spiced with razor-sharp wit, interspersed with rollicking, illicit joyrides, and full of racy double entendre and subtle between-the-lines bon bons. Arrangements featuring acoustic instruments that breathe life into each phrase. Unexpected plot twists. Relationships in which gender roles are visited, revisited, and reversed. An album of songs eclectic enough that no two sound the same, yet cohesive enough to take on a certain epic sense without seeming grandiose, pretentious, or overreaching.
PEV: With all your traveling is there one area you wish you could travel around and play that you have not yet?
B. Todd: Moscow. London. Tokyo. Bali would be nice.
PEV: What can we find each of you doing in your spare time, aside from playing/writing music?
B. Todd: Spare time? WHAT spare time? We have careers, kids, other projects, and assorted bad habits. But we do like to get out every now and then and shoot the .357 or fly a small plane down the coast to have seafood at some small seaside restaurant. Then there’s Dimples.
PEV: If playing music wasn’t your life (or life’s goal) what do you think each of you would be your career?
B. Todd: Porn star. What, you were expecting me to say “haberdasher?”
PEV: So, what is next for We Are The Last Men?
B. Todd: Scotch. Neat, please.