by Simon Warner
Q&A 5
Jim Sampas, Beat record producer including Kerouac: Kicks Joy Darkness
Jim Sampas is Jack Kerouac’s nephew.1 He met his uncle when he was still a small child. A one-time singer-songwriter, he quickly turned to production and has, in the last decade and a half, delivered a string of recordings which have attracted widespread praise, from Beatles homages to a Bruce Springsteen tribute, Badlands. But his work on Beat-centred projects has formed a significant part of his activities. He created Kerouac: Kicks, Joy, Darkness in 1997, a collection which featured Patti Smith and Johnny Depp, Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac Reads On the Road (1999), which saw Tom Waits interpret a Kerouac song. He has also made two albums with Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A Coney Island of the Mind (1999) and Pictures of the Gone World (2005). In 2009, he produced a documentary inspired by Kerouac’s novel Big Sur, 40 years after the writer’s death, which included contribitions from Sam Shepard, Michael McClure and Carolyn Cassady. Here he talks about the genesis, evolution and success of Kicks Joy Darkness.
How did Kicks Joy Darkness come about? Was it your idea?
In my early 20s I had been producing and recording my own music at various studios in Boston and New York, with session musicians, experimenting with sounds, all culminating in a two week recording session in Woodstock, with a stellar group of players Jerry Marotta (Peter Gabriel), Gary Burke (Joe Jackson) and Graham Parker. During that time I became enthralled by the process of recording. Once the album was completed, I started playing the Boston music circuit with a band I had assembled. But after that experience, I became impatient, and found that my true love was the actual process of recording. So I started looking for a new recording project.
Jack [Kerouac] was my uncle, married to my father’s sister Stella Sampas. So from an early age I had been exposed to his work and became a big fan. In my travels in and out of recording studios I found a seemingly endless list of musicians who had been dramatically influenced by his writings. I had a hunch there might be folks of all kinds of different art forms who had as well.
I thought of the idea of doing a spoken word tribute to Kerouac somewhere around 1994, but had problems with coming up with the right approach. After asking Allen Ginsberg, who was quite gracious in giving feedback, one thing I remember Allen saying emphatically though was ‘Stay away from On the Road because it was overdone’. Around that time I started getting into Kerouac’s poetry, and became completely caught up in the playfulness, simplicity, and beautiful rhythmic structure of his ‘pomes’ as he called them. They were self-contained and perfect for a four to five minute reading. This is what sealed the idea for me. I would seek to have the world discover Kerouac’s ‘pomes’, and other obscure works like his novel Visions of Cody, through a diverse group celebrated artists, musicians, poets, actors and writers’ voices.
Over the years, so many folks have commented on the musicality of Kerouac’s writings. In the same way that jazz influenced Kerouac’s ‘spontaneous prose’ method of writing, one can only imagine that when he composed poetry he had rhythm and cadence in mind, whether consciously or unconsciously. We can assume from the recordings of Kerouac that he really enjoyed reading the “pomes’ out loud and it is surely by design that his ‘pomes’ flow so naturally when spoken.
Kerouac, like any other writer, had a strong desire to grab the readers’ attention, and keep them engaged. My guess is that it was Kerouac’s natural sense of rhythm, much like a musician, that made him instinctually understand that the key to maintaining a reader’s interest was not just through clever word play but by the musicality of the words when either aloud or in one’s head. The fact that the pomes have such an uncontrived natural tempo that begs to be read out loud is another example of Kerouac’s genius. And, unlike a book on cassette, it was indeed the pomes’ autonomy that I felt would make them similar to songs on a compilation, and thereby help to heighten the diversity of the many different voices on the album. I was inspired by Kerouac’s work with great jazz artists David Amram, Al Cohn and Zoot Sims, musical accompaniment behind many of his readings. The idea certainly registered with the contributors – two of the poet/musicians of the group, Patti Smith and Jim Carroll, would actually go on to make the pomes into songs through singing the words with their own musical accompaniment. (This approach would later become an inspiration for a couple other Kerouac projects I would work on later, the Jack Kerouac/Tom Waits song ‘On the Road’ for Jack Kerouac Reads On the Road and Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard’s One Fast Move Or I’m Gone: Music From Kerouac’s Big Sur, wherein we would have Farrar make the prose of Big Sur into lyrics for a series of songs).
With all this in mind – and a desire to show to the world that hundreds of highly praised artists possessed dog-eared Kerouac books, and how that influence had, in turn, changed art culture as we know it today – I would create a great celebration of my uncle’s work. Though I have to say, when working to explain this idea to others, I faced much resistance. ‘Who is going to buy that?’ people would ask. Which could be because back then Kerouac wasn’t quite as popular as he is today, since that revival of his work in the late 1990s.
Was it a challenge to secure record label interest?
No, not really. What happened was I put a call into Dennis McNally, the Grateful Dead publicist and author of the Kerouac biography Desolate Angel, about the idea. He thought that the label to release the project should be Rykodisc. I was very familiar with Ryko’s products, the magnificently packaged CD reissues by Frank Zappa, David Bowie and others. Logistically Ryko was also an ideal choice for me because they were based only an hour and half from where I lived, as opposed to many of the record companies in Los Angeles and New York. Dennis introduced me to David Greenberg and David ended up championing the project to president Don Rose. In an effort to entice David and Don even further, I created two live spoken word and music performances of Kerouac’s works at the Middle East Café in Cambridge, MA, with artists Graham Parker, Mark Sandman of Morphine, poet Jim Carroll and others. I invited David and others at Ryko to both events which were nearly sold out. They received widespread coverage around Boston, including nearly every news publication in the area. David was impressed by both the concert, and the corresponding press acclaim, which helped to illustrate in real terms the substantial fan base for Kerouac. We signed a deal shortly thereafter.
And while it wasn’t that difficult securing record company interest, it was a challenge for sure to get the budget I wanted. In fact I ended up financing most of the project myself, on credit cards, until I was later reimbursed by Ryko.
The title is a fragment from On the Road, isn’t it? How did you settle on that?
The title is actually a mash up of the quote from On the Road. We mixed the words up a bit. David and I wanted a title that would grab folks and give them a feel for the project. Kerouac – kicks joy darkness, with the title in lower case without the commas as a tribute to Kerouac’s own writing, which seemed to capture the essence of the project perfectly.
How did you manage to access such a rich range of material?
John Sampas, the executor of the Kerouac estate, and my uncle, kindly gave me access to materials in the Kerouac archive, including beautiful, never before seen, unpublished works such as dreams and essays.
How did you allocate it?
For the most part I gave artists three or four choices of works that I felt best suited their art and performance.
How did you attract the remarkable list of participants?
This is how it went, snowballing to include such a wonderful list of people as a direct result of Kerouac’s vast diffusion into art and all its manifestations and forms. It was like a jigsaw puzzle to put together though. Kerouac’s friend, the revered poet Allen Ginsberg, signed on right away, and then suggested Lee Ranaldo. I heard that Lee was performing in Cambridge and, luckily, I knew the manager of the club, Chris Porter, and asked him to introduce us. Lee enthusiastically jumped on board the
moment I asked him and helped me get Eddie Vedder, who in turn helped attract so many other musicians simply by his presence in the effort. Having Allen Ginsberg also helped get me Patti Smith and getting Patti was instrumental in getting me Michael Stipe. Once I had those folks I knew I could go out to anyone and they would take the project seriously. And so I made a wish-list and started dialling phone of managers, agents, and the artists themselves, through phone numbers given to me by the folks already involved.
What attracted such an impressive cast, do you think?
First and foremost it was Kerouac’s work that won the day. The project is a testament not only of the endurance of the writings, but of the widespread influence he had on people of all walks of life and varying art forms. Just imagine what the world would be like without Jack Kerouac, where the mélange of art culture would be, without that key ingredient. He taught a whole world of artists to stop thinking and over analysing too much, to make it real. As a result we have an artistic culture that I believe is far less contrived, and manipulated, than it would have been had Jack never set his ‘spontaneous prose’ to paper.
Did the two of you, Lee and yourself, actively direct the talent or did they essentially come to you with their interpretations?
It was a mix of both. Some sessions I attended and others I was unable to because of the budget I was working with. I would have many conversations with artists to help with the overall production and continuity.
Which tracks do you feel turned out best? Which are your favourites?
It’s funny, I don’t really have a favourite track. I love them all nearly equally as much. There isn’t a dud on the album, all brilliantly conceived, and fascinatingly delivered performances, that I could listen to endlessly, thanks to the phenomenal talents of all involved.
Some of the participants have since died, of course – Mark Sandman and Joe Strummer, Jim Carroll and Jeff Buckley, Warren Zevon and Allen Ginsberg, too. Do you have particular memories of those individuals no longer with us?
One of the people who has since passed away was Rob Buck, the incredibly gifted guitarist for 10,000 Maniacs. Rob had a truly unique sound in a world where so many guitarists sound the same. We would hang out at his apartment in the East Village literally across the street from the famous gathering station of poets St. Mark’s Church in New York. We’d have long conversations on the phone, he had a comedian’s wit, such a joy to hang with, the most positive person I have ever encountered. I spoke with him only a few days before he died, and while he apparently was in the hospital at the time in need of a liver transplant, I had no idea. He may have said he wasn’t feeling well but that was it. Positive until the end, so tragic is that loss.
Joe Strummer was an incredible influence on me as a kid. Chatting with him throughout the process of his creating the musical accompaniment for the Jack Kerouac recording was a real trip. Here was the guy whose every word I would hang on to, who helped me get through my teenage angst years, and not to be so absorbed in myself and see the world of politics outside of my city, my country, my small world, all through his music and ideas. I would later ask him to do an interview for a Mark Sandman documentary, and in the context of Morphine’s seminal work, he graciously talked about how originality and progression was so essential to art. That you can’t live in the past, need to dive into the future.
I got to know Mark Sandman a bit as well through my good friend Dana Colley, both of Morphine. I’m a huge admirer of Morphine’s work, and so I was quite embarrassed when he and I got into a bit of a kerfuffle in the studio. Mark came out the control room after a captivating, spontaneous reading and performance of Kerouac’s Visions of Cody with Mark reading and Dana playing sax and Billy Conway on drums at the legendary Fort Apache Studio in Cambridge. He pointed at the ADAT machine in the middle of the control room. ‘What the fuck is that?’ I said, ‘An ADAT player,’ which the engineer and I had set up in my effort to save money versus an expensive 2-inch analog tape. ‘Why on earth would you use that?’ and he continued to shout at me about the stupidity of using such a thin and fake sounding piece of technology. I listened to every word. I apologised and then, as calmly as I could, ejected the ADAT tape and handed it to Mark and asked him, ‘How can I fix this?’ He stormed out of the room, ADAT tape in hand. He would return in 20 minutes, after I believe talking to our mutual friend and his manager Deb Klein. He said it was okay, and explained that he hated the idea of using any digital recorders and that he lived by an eight-track, analog cassette player that he could have brought. He invited me to his house the next week. We first met at a local pub, had a pint, and then went this his loft/studio Hi ‘N Dry and listened to the new recording at his house. I was completely blown away, at the astounding performance and recording from the cassette recorder! The thing to note about that track is that Mark recorded with the drums muted just watching the meters go up and down. He felt that this way there wouldn’t be that contrived attempt to get each word to match the beat, and the approach works perfectly, sounds so natural. He and Hunter Thompson were the only ones who wrote a piece specifically for the project. Incidentally, I never worked with an ADAT recorder again.
I had a really nice time hanging out with Jim Carroll when he did my show in Cambridge. I picked him up at the train station and drove him everywhere. He was an incredibly intelligent guy, who talked with great excitement about creating his first novel, The Petting Zoo, and being outside of his wheelhouse with that mix of real life and fictional work.
I was so sad when Jeff Buckley passed, such an incredibly tragic moment in rock history.
When you look at this album what you see, with each and every person involved in it, is a true melting pot of talent and sway, who like Jack have been a great influence to so many people. So unbelievably sad that many involved are no longer with us, and I’m very appreciative of their work on the project, both from a creative but also historical standpoint. Again, it shows Kerouac’s influence nearly 30 years after his death back in 1997.
How did the Japanese edition end up with a number of extra tracks?
The Japanese record label wanted some more material so I delved into the archive of spoken word performances at the Kerouac estate and came across that amazing reading from a Kerouac journal entry by Graham Parker. The UFO track had already been released in the US and I was aware of the recording and absolutely loved its mesmerizing soundscape behind Kerouac’s reading. So when the label suggested we include it, I agreed right away.
Did everything you recorded for the album make the cut – or is there other unheard material that may emerge at some later point?
Yes, everything we recorded made the cut.
This was one of the most successful and, indeed, critically acclaimed spoken word albums. You must have been pleased by the responses; were you surprised?
I was truly astonished. Starting out with the project there were many naysayers and you start believing the idea that no one would be interested in ‘spoken word’ tribute. I can’t tell you how many people have since told me how much they enjoyed this album, how it touched them so. It certainly has been a big help to me and my career as a producer.
The recording presents an amazing mixture of styles – artists drawn from the worlds of grunge and indie, punk and folk and more.
How do you think Jack Kerouac would have felt about this album?
That’s a really tough question to answer. In all honesty, I just don’t know. Perhaps he would have liked some tracks and not others, he was very opinionated from what I understand. But I do believe he would have really appreciated the effort, and be proud to see the multi-generational pull of his work.
Notes
1Stella Sampas, aunt to Jim, had married Kerouac, becoming his third wife in 1966. She outlived her husband by more than 20 years, dying in 1990 aged 71, and is buried in the same Lowell grave.
8 VERSIONS OF CODY: JACK KEROUAC, TOM WAITS AND THE SONG ‘ON THE ROAD’
Jack Kerouac enjoyed music of
many varieties and styles. He liked to listen to jazz, of course, on record, on jukeboxes and live in bars and clubs, and even attempted to ape the winding solos of improvising saxophonists in his work, most notably in his long poem cycle Mexico City Blues (1959). He enjoyed the repertoire of popular songs of the 1940s and 1950s, romantic Tin Pan Alley frolics from the stage and screen.1 And he also loved to sing, at least privately, a feature perhaps of his intrinsic shyness, that self-conscious manner in company which made him a rather quieter figure, in reality, in a public setting than the larger-than-life alter egos and impetuous freewheelers who inhabited his many stories. How do we know he liked to sing? Well, several examples of his vocalese came to light in the mid-1990s, contained in a batch of unidentified recordings that cast new light on the Kerouac legend, more than a quarter of a century after his early death.
In the mid-1950s, Jerry Newman, a recording engineer friend of Kerouac’s, gave him a high-quality microphone. In the latter years of that decade and the early years of the one that followed, the novelist made extensive use of the mic, doing some studio-based recording with Newman himself, and on the home recording equipment he had in his possession. He enjoyed reading his own literary work – his fine speaking voice was well-suited to bringing his prose and poetry to life as oration. But he also liked, in his less serious, more relaxed moments, to add his own singing track to existing instrumental recordings of Broadway and Hollywood favourites. The four examples that found their way on to the 1999 spoken word collection Jack Kerouac Reads On the Road are lively, if somewhat throwaway, examples of his talent as a singer.
Not only could he hold a tune but he was capable of presenting a warm and engaging personality in his performances: well-timed delivered with a jaunty humour and passable imitations of the kind of crooner who led the field, certainly in the pre-Presley era, from Frank Sinatra to Vic Damone and Tony Bennett. On the CD, Raymond B. Egan and Gus Kahn’s ‘Ain’t We Got Fun’2 (1921), Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer’s ‘Come Rain or Come Shine’3 (1946), the Bernie Hanighen, Gordon Jenkins and Johnny Mercer4 work ‘When a Woman Loves a Man’ (1938), and George Handy and Jack Segal’s ‘Leavin’ Town’ (c. 1956)5 make up the quartet of tunes which Kerouac takes on in his easy and impromptu manner. Douglas Brinkley, Beat historian and the pen behind the sleeve notes here, says that the novelist’s rendering of ‘Ain’t We Got Fun’ ‘highlights the comic versatility that allowed Kerouac to play the distinguished Beat poet, TV showman and babbling raconteur all at the same time’. The performance is ‘no more – or less – than a jolly jape, an only mildly ironic paean to good times and the eternal happiness of nostalgia’. On ‘Leavin’ Town’, he says that Kerouac ‘accentuates the lines like a nightclub pro, using clear diction and put on phrasing to make the standard his own’.6