London May

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London May

London May is pretty much my best friend in Los Angeles. I love working with him, and he's also a great guy.

He befriended me when I first moved here, and we talk a lot. I think there's a good chance I would have left to move back to San Francisco if I hadn't met him.

I also saw him play with Reptile House back in 1984. He was a monster on the drums then, and still is now. (Be sure to watch the movie on the CD that he stars in, I Left My Band in San Francisco . His segment is the "London May 99-Cent Drum Clinic." He drops mad science).

A few of the bands/ artists he's played/ jammed with (at one time or another): Rueben and Dave from Dain Bramage (replacing a pre-Nirvana Dave Grohl ), Asa and Dan Higgs (Lungfish), The Circle Jerks, Ron Emory and Jack Grisham (from TSOL), Glenn Danzig and Samhain ( played both drums and bass), Son of Sam (featuring Davey Havok of AFI), Tiger Army, Reptile House, Dag Nasty, Dead, White and Blue, Lunch Box, Distorted Pony, Rat Patrol, Sheppard Pratt (drums and guitar), Amazing Chan Clan (guitar), Duane Peters and The Hunns (with Nashville Pussy's Corey Parks), Michael W. Dean ("D.I.Y. or Die" soundtrack), Jeremy Stacey (Echo and the Bunnymen), Treephort (guitar-Warped Tour '03), Mark Phillips (Down by Law, Joy Killer) and many more.

Figure 18.2. London May. Photo by Michael Dean.

Producers he's worked with: Michael Bienhorn (Red Hot Chili Peppers, Soundgarden), Rick Rubin (Slayer, The Cult), Mark Van Hecke (Violent Femmes, Smithereens), Paul Stacey (Oasis, Madonna), Steve Albini (Nirvana, Page & Plant), Kid Congo Powers (The Bad Seeds, The Cramps), Ian Mackaye (Minor Threat, Fugazi).

Interview with London May

August 9, 2003, in the caf of a Barnes and Noble, Manhattan Beach, California, before Michael Dean's book signing for $30 Film School .

London May: This is a hub of awkwardness.

Michael Dean: If we start talking, people will go away sooner or later. So, what bands have you been in?

LM: I'll narrow it down to the well-known ones or the ones that did records. Reptile House did a record on Dischord. I was in a band called Samhain that did quite a few records on quite a few labels. I drummed and toured with Dag Nasty that did some records on Dischord. I played with Ron Emory, from TSOL, in Lunchbox for a couple of years . Played in a band called Distorted Pony who put out a couple of records on a label called Trance out of Texas, King Coffee from the Butthole's label. Then what else? I had a band called Shepard Pratt that recorded a record for a label called Tim Kerr out of Portland. I did the Son of Sam project on Nitro Records. And then I did the second Tiger Army record, which is on Hellcat/Epitaph. And that about brings me up to speed. There's a bunch of singles and various things I guested on, but those are the main records.

MD: Did you play drums on all those?

LM: I played drums on all of them. Some of them, like the Shepard Pratt record, I played guitar also. On the Samhain reunion tour in '99, I also played bass.

MD: Do you make a living at music?

LM: No. Ever since I started playing I've always wanted to support myself at it, but the money was it was just never consistent. You had to rely on too many flaky people. If you thought you would be okay financially because you had a tour coming up, the tour could get cancelled. Somebody could quit. It was always so sketchy, and you never make any money as the drummer anyway.

MD: Why not?

LM: Because you're eternally regarded as a sideman, which is just the nature of the beast . It's really hard to get more than a pittance for your efforts. So, I always worked a side job, in a restaurant, a bookstore, a video store. I was always supporting myself primarily through working a 9 to 5 job, and hopefully I could do something flexible enough that I could go on tour and play shows and they wouldn't flip out. But after 10 years of making minimum wage and getting later into my 20s, I started realizing why they call them "dead-end jobs."

Any money that I made from band stuff was always just fun money, just a gift. I never got into music for money. I never counted on the money I made in music to support myself. I graduated high school and went right on tour, holding down shit jobs along the way. Never had another thought of going back to school.

But then one day I just had this epiphany that I should get involved with some type of academia where I could learn a marketable trade that I could use whether I'm playing or not. So I got into the medical field and went to nursing school about eight years ago. All the time, I was still playing and touring and recording, but I also managed to go to classes in between. So now I'm a pediatric nurse here in Los Angeles. That's something I can pretty much rely on, whereas music is very, very fickle.

MD: Do they let you leave to go on tour?

LM: Yeah. It's good to have a career in an area that has a shortage. And for my particular field, there are not enough people to do all the work. There's always going to be sick people. There's always going to be sick kids . And the number of people to handle it is just dwindling. And because I have this particular skill, they are very accommodating to what I do with my art, whether it's traveling or touring or recording. So, I'm not saying that's going to work for everybody in every situation, but if you do specialize in something, you might have more flexibility to make your own schedule.

MD: You just did something on the Warped Tour, right? And you did a tour of Southern California, 'cause LA's so big, you can do that. And you came home every night, right? Can you tell us about that? And what else you're up to?

LM: Besides music, I'm working on a film project on the unsolved murders of women in Juarez, Mexico.

MD: What's the Web site?

LM: www.decimalmedia.com I was filming some stuff in Texas and Mexico a couple of months ago. While I was in Texas, I stumbled on this band who I just thought were amazing. I wasn't even thinking about music or bands. It was just weird and random. I was one of about eight people at this dreadful bar and this punk band from Atlanta called Treephort played. They were on a little tour. It's very rare that I see anything that gives me any sort of belief in punk rock, but this band was the exception.

They eventually came to Los Angeles, and they stayed with me for a couple of weeks while they were playing. I went to see them play a couple of times while they were doing club shows around, and I got that taste for wanting to play a little bit so I took over the rhythm guitar parts from the lead singer so he didn't have to carry a guitar around. I did his guitar parts and we did I did a stint on the Warped Tour. Treephort being there was the best thing about it. They were not scheduled; we crashed the Warped Tour at 6:30 in the morning and rode in with the vendors . And ended up getting a chance to play and became kind of the underdog favorites of the people running the Warped Tour and were allowed to stay.

MD: What do you mean you crashed the tour? Is this something any band could do? ( Laughs. )

LM: After this tour I imagine there are going to be stricter guidelines. There's going to be the Treephort rule. I doubt it'll ever be allowed to happen again.

Security is pretty lax at 6:30 in the morning. You've got a lot of sleepy people not checking passes . We got in and set up on a friend's stage.

MD: Another band?

LM: On the Troma Films stage. Troma knew about Treephort and they were kind of, "Well, if you can get in with your equipment, you can play." And so .

So we did that every day. We thought our ad hoc guerilla performances were really on the down low, but word had spread quickly. Our shows became such an event that we became kind of the bastard child of the Warped Tour. And everybody in charge kind of looked the other way when we were sneaking in and out, and we got to play every day. By the time we played in Pomona, California, the fellow who runs the Warped Tour, this guy named Kevin Lyman, actually sent the local news crew over to film us.

Sometimes we'd do four shows a day. I was playing guitar and it was great. It was the most fun I've had in a long time. And then I left the tour to go back to my life, which working and you know I have a lot of stuff here in LA that I have to take care of. So I wasn't able to finish the tour with them.

MD: And these guys were playing to eight people when you saw them a month or two earlier?

LM: And by the time we had finished, there were 500 people. And we weren't even supposed to be there.

MD: And you were playing four times a day?

LM: Yes, but sometimes the set would last only 15 minutes. Maybe we would do one song and everything would get destroyed . One time the generator ran out of gas. It was really exciting. To me it really was punk rock. It was warfare . It had nothing to do with the corporations, you know.

MD: Like Vans .

LM: Target brand, Vans brand just the mall rock that punk is now.

MD: As someone who's been playing punk rock since '78, '79

LM: '80.

MD: '80. Okay, since 1980. For 23 years you've been playing punk rock, starting back when there was no way to make a living out of it, there was no way in hell a major corporation would touch it. What do you think about how it's changed to become kiddie punk, cookie- cutter , mall culture now?

LM: I think, like everything that's fairly superficial and bland , it'll just run its course. It's just the way our culture is. There will always be an underground that will never be in the spotlight. So the stuff in the spotlight, to me, is not underground. It's the factory version of what the underground was. It's the safe version. It's not for me.

MD: My friend calls 'em "Civil War re-creationists."

They're just puttin' on the uniform and going through the already established motions . Like being in a play, but not as interesting.

LM: Well, it's very being at these big punk shows these days for me, it's not like "Oh, I'm so much older, so it's weird for me." It's just weird because things are so different.

MD: How old are you?

LM: Just turned 36. It's weird to see just how how what's the word I'm looking for? just how family-oriented this new punk rock stuff is.

MD: PG-rated Punk.

LM: PG Punk. And it's just those words don't go together. Punk has nothing to do with taking your family to a rock festival. What are they thinking ?

MD: Yeah, the people that used to beat us up for being into punk rock are into punk rock now. That's kind of weird to me.

LM: It's all jocks and I hate jocks. I hate jocks. I think jocks are the Nazis in Nike.

MD: Jocks are the reason punk rock had to be created!

LM: And they're still there. Now jocks are 80 percent of the audience and even make up the bands. It just makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable to see what is being touted as punk rock.

MD: I always wondered what the next generation what would be into that would shock me and thought everything has to get more offensive, but it's actually gone the other way. Good Charlotte offends me.

LM: Yes, but I don't want to spend this whole thing talking about what I like and don't like about popular music. It doesn't really matter. If you're happy out there, and the kids love you, and you're playing and selling records, that's fine. It's just a shiny machine that's not for me. Most of the musicians I associate with are pretty much unphased by anything that's happening now in popular music. So just as it's always been, we don't waste time spittin' in the wind. We just make our own music.

MD: What's the biggest audience you've ever played to? The smallest you've ever played to? And the average?

LM: The biggest would be 5000 with the Samhain reunion tour in Detroit. It was a great show to play and a terrific place to dislocate my shoulder halfway through the set and wind up in the emergency room. I'll never forget that.

MD: You didn't play any festivals in Europe that were bigger than that?

LM: Lots of small shows in Europe but no, no Wembley. No, not yet. Not yet. The smallest would be certainly

MD: Nobody.

LM: Nobody. The soundman and the club owner.

MD: And the pissed-off bartender who's not making any tips and hates you.

How many times has that happened ?

LM: More than I would like to admit. I can't remember the last time, though.

That stuff never bothered me. If there was nobody there, then it was a chance to stretch out musically or practice a new song.

MD: So you play anyway, even if no one shows up.

LM: Absolutely.

MD: Me too. It's a matter of honor .

LM: Yes, you show up like you said you would, and you play every night like it's the last show of your life. A take-no- prisoners /take-no-shit kind of attitude.

You have to earn your right to rock, and it's by doing the turd town tours. The dog-food tours .

MD: I played a show to three people in Tucson one time and it got written up favorably in Spin magazine. Even when that doesn't happen, the three people there love it and remember it if you're great and you do your best.

I read once that The Police were playing to three people in a bar in West Virginia the day they first had a song chart in England.

LM: You know, I see new bands now get onstage in front of thousands of people and then they bitch about the monitors or they don't have the right guitar and they are apologizing for this and that. They've got a runny nose or something and I just can't believe it. What sort of audacity ? These kids don't deserve to be playing outside of the garage and then they get onstage and you know I don't think even the Rolling Stones would do that prima donna crap. These kids just scowl all night if the side fill is not pumping the floor tom enough, and that's just bullshit.

I can play with the lights off and boxing gloves on. Every band I've been in, I can play the entire set by myself, completely isolated. You've got these guys onstage now who, unless it sounds like a fucking record onstage, they can't play. And they're completely pissed. And they treat their crews like little worker ants . And it's gonna make or break their night because the sample didn't trigger at the right time or the lights went out at the wrong cue. That's ridiculous. Michael, you know what it's like. You've played with nothing and you're happy with it. You sing out of a guitar amp. You play whatever you have and if you're good, it comes through. If you suck, there's no amount of tech that can make it any better.

MD: Average size crowd you've played to?

LM: Average would be all the shows all together, right? Boy, there's a lot of stinkers (attendance-wise) and then there are a lot a huge ones too. So it would be right in the middle. It would be like 500. But there's a lot of club shows that were 40 people, but there were a lot of hall shows where there were 2,000 people.

MD: Have you had as much fun at a 40-person show as at a 2,000-person show before?

LM: Oh, of course. Honestly, I always have a good time playing. I look forward to it. I prepare for it. It's a big part of why I do what I do, and I take it very seriously. I try to give everything, every time I play.

But other people can drain that away from you, if other people get pissy and act unappreciative of the fact that anybody even showed up. Nobody has to show up anyway. If anybody shows up, that's a reason to go crazy and you don't put on half a show. I've been in situations where that's happened. If it's not a big show where the room is going crazy, then some players only put on half a show.

MD: You mean half as long or half

LM: Half the effort. And that's not what I'm about.

MD: What have you had to do to get paid money you're owed before?

LM: Well, it starts with some phone calls. Nice phone calls, reminders. Then it goes to letters. Nice letters . "This is what we agreed on and that hasn't happened."

And then, if you still don't hear back, make the letters more stern and formal, and of course, you save copies of all the letters. And you send them all certified mail.

MD: So you have a signature confirmation.

LM: Yeah. And make sure that you get whomever you're sending to, get their home address. At one point, I had to actually go to the person's house and

MD: Cause you've been there but you didn't know the actual street address .

LM: Exactly. Had to go to the person's house and write it down so I could send them a letter to their home address.

MD: Because if you send it to an office, they can say they never got it.

LM: Right. Then, if you're still not getting their attention, go to the next step, which is an even tougher letter saying that you have an attorney now and you are ready to get legal on their lame asses.

MD: You write that or does an attorney write that?

LM: In the past I'd have a lawyer do it, but now I'm so familiar with this game, I pretty much have a form letter ready: Insert band name, insert record company name . Today I use my attorney as a last resort.

MD: We should put the template on the CD-ROM with the book. ( Laughs. )

LM: That'd be great. I've got the original. ( Laughs. )

(We did put it on the CD.)

What will finally happenafter this letter campaign, you'll get a call that says, "Hey, we gotta talk about this." Usually someone on their end has advised them to straighten this out. But don't count on them to be amicable or agreeable. You are probably still a long way away from resolution.

MD: And you keep records of when they call and what

LM: You prepare yourself for that conversation. You write some stuff down. You go back and you talk to your friends and you go, "Do you remember this and do you remember that?" "Yeah, I was there when he said this." You get some people to back up your claims because the people who owe you will act like they don't fucking know you. People that you have been with in a band with for years will act like, "What did you do for us?" or "You were just the "

MD: Drummer.

LM: Yeah, "You were just the drummer." So you really have to get your paperwork in order. Documentation, documentation. "You said this, and he was here to verify that. You said this on this date. You promised me this but you gave me that." Be ready when these cheats call to "discuss" your "misunderstandings." He or she is going to say everything to discourage you and frustrate you from getting what's yours.

I look at a band like building a house. They build a house and they need a special person to come put the roof on. They call me, and I put my special roof on. And then they sell the house and don't give me any money. And that's when I have to go back and say, "No ."

MD: Or they live in the house but won't let you live in it.

LM: Exactly. Or they'll almost force you to quit. Then they can feel justified in not paying you. The scenario is common; they promise you the world when things are getting started, and then when things get rolling and the money's flowin,' they'll vibe key members out so they can replace them with yes men (usually fans) who are happy to play for nothing. Then the remaining guy gets to keep a bigger share of the pie.

Fuck that.

MD: It's also an issue of left-brain versus right-brain. Art versus commerce, and a lot of people don't have the capacity for both of those. I think you kind of need to develop both to survive as an independent artist.

LM: Most artist/performers know just enough about the music business to protect their own ass but not yours. They know just enough to say the right phrase, here or there, that makes you think they know what they're talking about. Don't count on someone else looking out for your best interests.

There's always going to be a guy in the band who's getting more than everyone else, and that's fine. But there comes a level of arrogance and greed that those people get, that they want to give you an actual penny on the dollar and think that you should be happy. I can't accept that. Punk and alternative bands may not be Fortune 500 companies, but a small, savvy group can make a killing and provide decently for everyone. I'm not insisting on equal compensation, just fair compensation. The bands that go through lineup after lineup after lineup are the ones who are giving some of the players pennies on the dollar.

MD: That's why people quit.

LM: That's why people quit.

MD: It's like working at McDonald's.

LM: Yeah. It's worse than working at McDonald's. At least you got benefits there. I'm sure when you see the bands that split things more fairly, those are the bands that stay together and continue to do good work.

MD: Who have you had personal dealings with that do it the right way, bands and labels?

LM: Financially, I'm really happy with the Son of Sam project that came out on Nitro Records. Everything was equally split four ways. Writing, playing, etc.

MD: And the label?

LM: And the label, Nitro, is the best label that I've had any sort of dealings with. They send me statements and checks on a regular basis, and accounting, without having to go after them. The other records labels will make you go after them.

MD: Not Dischord or Touch and Go, though?

LM: Yeah. Actually, Touch and Go tracked me down to pay me, which was nice.

MD: Wow.

MD: Which band was on Touch and Go?

LM: Distorted Pony. They were on Trance, which is an offshoot of Touch and Go.

Back with Dischord you got paid in records.

MD: Regularly?

LM: Yeah, they just said, "We're going to take this amount; you guys take that amount." That was fine.

With other labels and bands, once you are out of favor you fell off the face of the earth as far as they're concerned . And when you try to go to them for support or help or promo copies or shit like that, or money that's owed to you, half of them won't take your calls. So try to establish some stuff while you're in the band. But if you're thinking of leaving, remember that you will lose all your clout, overnight.

MD: Have you been on a major label?

LM: Yeah.

MD: Which one. Which band?

LM: It was on a Capital affiliate called Bug, which was run by the hipster music publisher Bug Music. This was back in the 80s when I was in a group called Lunch Box. The label got canned, and the band got dropped. That was kind of heartbreaking 'cause we worked long and hard on that band. I was also in a band called Dead White And Blue. We did a bunch of indie records. And then the band got signed to MCA. But I was fired at the midnight hour .

MD: Before they got signed?

LM: Like two days before the contracts were signed.

MD: Why?

LM: Um

MD: 'Cause they didn't want to pay you?

LM: No, I got a little I put a lot of that blame on me. I pretty much fucked up that was a situation that was an ideal three-way split. But I wanted not only my three-way financial split but also I wanted 33 percent artistic control. I wanted to be the spoiler on any sort of democracy decision that came down. If I didn't agree

MD: Veto.

LM: Then it was vetoed. So, the singer and I had some disagreement about some artwork and I threw a fucking tantrum. And I packed up my drums and left. I left the recording studio.

MD: (Imitates bratty child voice) You took your ball and went home.

LM: I took my ball and went home. Literally. I took the carpet they were playing on. I went home, and they even asked me to come back. And I said, "No, I'm on strike." And they were like, "You're so fired. You're so fired." They signed a seven-record deal with another drummer 24 hours later and kept all the money.

MD: So, throwing a hissy fit cost you like 20 grand?

LM: Absolutely. Pick your battles . Tantrums can be expensive.

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