 www.landonpigg.com
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Ask Landon Pigg about his formative years and he'll be the first to tell you he escaped from the clutches of normalcy. He tends to get a nosebleed more often than most, but he likes it when life happens naturally, and for him, it has seemed to flow that way from his very first day - August 6th, 1983. Born in Nashville, TN, he moved to Chicago as a child and it was there he learned to appreciate that flow; to read and write and ride a bike, and eventually, to have that bike stolen by a gang of ruffians from the city along with other typical childhood setbacks and milestones.
Soon, back to Nashville it was, where Landon applied himself to more benign interests such as Algebra and Chemistry and - lucky for everyone who has heard his debut RCA album, LP - Music - learning to make his own sounds as he began to rifle through the wonders of his dad's record collection.
It was Landon's father, a studio veteran himself, who encouraged Landon's musical curiosity, as Landon recalls 'Ray Stevens being the first CD I ever owned.' Pretty soon Landon was unearthing his own musical breadcrumb trail - David Mead and Rufus Wainwright who showed him the beauty of a melody; Bands like Radiohead helping to etch a deeper emotion into his songwriting; Masterworks from groups such as Led Zeppelin and the Beatles imbuing in him both the love of a creative turn of phrase and a knack for writing indelible hooks. And there's no denying the upper register of Harry Nilsson floating around somewhere amid Landon's creations, completing a patchwork topography of the singer/songwriter's musical exoskeleton that pop writer Nick Hornby would be proud of.
Landon also credits his mother for nurturing his poetic side. For the record, she still sends him words of wisdom meant to buoy one's strength on those days where the setbacks seem to outnumber the milestones. 'And' - laughs Landon, 'she still cuts my hair.'
With all these threads in hand, Landon Pigg has fastened together his own mercurial outlook on life which he effortlessly and magically captures on his debut album. Yet, he'll also be the first to tell you it does no good to equate all these disparate strands with 'figuring him out.' Those who try to solve him like a puzzle end up confused. He likes to keep his thoughts to himself. Likes to keep even 'himself' guessing. Fortunately, a faithful listen to his new CD reveals he's really not that different from any of us. The songs, which Landon says are 'about things like losing love and finding hope - about how life will start to make sense and then stop again,'- reflect an uncanny ability to cobble his own confusion into unforgettable music.
Guided by a host of maverick producers, Dan Brodbeck (Dolores O' Riordan), Paul Ebersold (3 Doors Down), and Clif Magness (Avril Lavigne, The Calling), he fuses his own raw edges into subtle and rollicking pop gems, like the plaintive 'Sailed On,' or the sparse but scrappy 'Last Stop,' which brandishes ripe examples of what can only be described as musical Pigg-speak - 'I pick up all the pieces of the chords I didn't use'.
The hint we've been waiting for about solving at least part of the musical puzzle?
'Maybe there is a naiveté in my approach,' he says. 'I never had a guitar lesson when I started out. I've always felt that when you don't learn all the rules you're much more inclined to break them with a smile.' Which dovetails nicely into another inclination of his: You might not always get to hear Landon speak his mind - but you'll always hear him sing it.
LANDON PIGG IN 700 WORDS
DON'T BLAME ME BLAME THE COFFEE
Sometimes I think I have too many ideas. Don't blame me blame the coffee. I love listening to music on headphones, walking down any 'village' section of a big city. Anything that makes me feel like I'm in a movie - cobblestone sidewalks, small alley-ways, the local flower shop with white daisies displayed on the sidewalk. Allow music to accompany your normal routine every chance you get 'cause it makes every passing glance from an attractive women feel like the end of the world - everyday things become dramatic. It's great. Exclamation point. Don't blame me blame the coffee, 'cause I can't really be expected to take responsibility for my words can I? I mean, caffeine is a drug no matter what you say. In my alter-ego, I want to be an old man with a beard scoring strings and bells for films like the Pink Panther movies -- particularly the song that occurs when Sellers is trying to cross the moat with a grapple to break into the castle. Three cheers for Mancini, the composer, I think it was. I get the same feelings when I listen to "Life In Mono" by late 90's band, Mono - very French-harpsy-chordy-wet-European-back alley kind of sound. It represents so much of my alter-ego. It's just so good. Exclamation point. Don't blame me blame the coffee. I sang on a lot of kids 'sing-a-long' records when I was young and hated the sound of my own voice when I first started recording. I'd always reach for the effects button just to cover it up. Now, thanks to my father's genes, his Levi's jeans, and some talented producers (Clif Magness, Dan Brodbeck, and Paul Ebersold), I don't hate my voice anymore. There were other people that helped pull me to the other side. Rufus, thank you for "poses." Zeppelin, thank you for "The Ocean." Harry Nillson, thank you for "Me And My Arrow." Radiohead guys, it took me a while, but thank you for "Amnesiac." A burned copy of that helped give me the grit I needed to tackle some strange emotions. Sorry, about the 'burned' part but, Don't blame me blame the coffee. I hate when you see someone great, 'cause it makes you want to be great too; instantaneously. But then you realize that it took that person a lifetime to become that way, and that nothing happens instantly, and that's the really, really frustrating part. Waiting hurts. My mother still cuts my hair. I have so many ideas sometimes it's hard to share. One time I worked on a song for four years - 'Just Like I Am' - because it just would not cooperate. I still work on it in my mind sometimes, even though it's supposed to be "finished." My dad turned me on to Alice Cooper and Ray Stevens...talk about being introduced to the whole spectrum of music. I had a couple of guitar lessons in which I learned "More Than Words" and "Black Dog." There's that musical spectrum thing again. For the most part, I run around blissfully ignorant about chords and what to call them. And to be honest, I probably wouldn't write the songs I do had I learned chords as a kid. Don't mean to be promoting ignorance or anything, but Don't blame me blame the coffee. It's just that, when you don't learn the rules you're much more inclined to break them smiling, and I like that. I like music, but I have this feeling that most of my friends like it even more than I do. I do my best work when I'm by myself, which means I'm prone to finishing a song when the sun is coming up (or an email, in this case). I get off on things like riding my bicycle to business meetings. It's just fun feeling messy when you are "supposed to be" in a stiff meeting. I get so inspired sometimes it hurts. It feels like burning in my stomach, and most of the time I can't do anything about it. I learned to write music on those kiddie keyboards with the terrible string sounds and funny electronic drums. I hate seeing a car wreck or a fistfight. There's no feeling in the world like hearing your music back for the first time on a really good set of speakers -- sometimes I feel guilty how much I like it. The black telecaster brings out the sinister side of me. I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I'm in the "music business." A friend recently told me that the key to dealing with whatever situation you are in is simply this: to "be present" wherever you find yourself. I think I agree with him. Ok, I'm done. I told you I have way too many ideas, but honestly, Don't blame me blame the coffee.
I love to sing along.
L.P. 3/06
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