On today's brand-new quick episode of Perfect Songs Forever, Rudy Fischmann wanted to talk about a Yo La Tengo song, and of course I immediately said fuck yes. Why? Because I honestly think Yo La Tengo might be the greatest and most consistent indie rock band of all time.
No band has stayed this brilliant for this long while constantly shifting styles, moods, and textures the way Yo La Tengo has. Noise rock. Whisper pop. Motorik jams. Drone pieces. Tender love songs. Feedback storms. No matter what lane they step into, they somehow still sound unmistakably amazing and just like themselves.
They make you feel it... Hurt. Warmth. Loneliness. Sweetness. Nostalgia. Hope. Longing. Chaos and Calm.
The last time I saw them live, I was going through a really transitional time in my life. Near the end of their set they played “I Heard You Looking,” joined by Alan Sparhawk from Low, who had recently lost his bandmate and wife, Mimi Parker. Watching Alan play with Yo La Tengo during that performance felt fucking spiritual. No words. Just this massive wave of sound and emotion rolling through the room. I remember by the end of this 10 minute song, tears welling up in my eyes. Goosebumps all over my body. I felt grief, beauty and survival were all happening at once. They are just the best band in the world at making you feel. Or at least making me feel.
Back when I worked with Daytrotter, I went down to Austin during South by Southwest to help record sessions. Sean Moeller had told me there was a chance Yo La Tengo might come through and do a session, and that I’d get to help record it if I came. Honestly, that alone was enough for me to get into a van and drive 18 hours south to where the sun’s reflection off Lone Star beer cans shines bright.
Hearing their records, its obvious Yo La Tengo loves vintage gear. Weird keyboards. Old synthesizers. Electric pianos. Strange little sonic toys. And apparently whoever had communicated with them had sent over a list of all the incredible equipment Pat Stolley had back at his Daytrotter studio in the Quad Cities. Pat’s studio was legendary for that stuff. That’s one of the reasons my band, The Poison Control Center, made records with him. Every corner had some bizarre, beautiful old instrument you’d never seen before that somehow made you want to create something immediately.
So Yo La Tengo arrives in Austin expecting this wonderland of vintage gear.
Instead, we were recording in what was basically a cramped garage studio in the middle of nowhere with a toilet that hadn’t worked in days during the Texas heat.
The smell was… as Nat King Cole would say… “unforgettable,” to say the least.
And somehow because I loved the band so much, I became the poor soul who had to break all the bad news, one PAINFUL piece at a time.
“No… that synthesizer is actually back in Rock Island, Illinois.”
“No… we don’t really have a headphone setup here.”
“No… unfortunately the bathroom is not working.”
Georgia looked absolutely horrified because she really needed to use the restroom, and I just felt terrible. Completely terrible. Here I was meeting one of my favorite bands of all time under what probably looked like the least professional circumstances imaginable.
You should really try to never find yourself in a situation where you’re telling your musical idols that people have mostly just been going to the bathroom outside or letting the yellow mellow in the toilet. That is not a conversation you dream about having with Yo La Tengo when you’re growing up.
But they were unbelievably kind about all of it.
Frustrated? Sure. Confused? Definitely. But still kind.
At one point I asked if they would play “Stockholm Syndrome,” and I think they realized I wasn’t just some random guy helping with the session. I was genuinely a massive fan.
And then they absolutely fucking destroyed the song.
Ira ripped through his famous guitar solo with this furious, beautiful energy that shook the whole studio. Maybe it was exhaustion from playing nine SXSW shows in four days. Maybe it was frustration. Maybe it was adrenaline. Whatever it was, I could feel the noise zipping through my veins. I was completely in shock that I was standing five feet away watching this master work.
When the song ended, Ira casually mentioned that he thought he’d played an E minor instead of a C at one point and asked if they should do another take. James just looked at him, shrugged, and said, “Nah, it’s fine.”
By the end of the session, I worked up the courage to hand Ira a Poison Control Center CD. A friend snapped a photo of us together, and I still absolutely love that picture. I look impossibly young and baby-faced sporting a vintage Vikings stocking cap. Ira looks like a man who had just survived one of the most chaotic recording situations imaginable.
And somehow, despite all of it, they were still this beautifully gracious group of people who had just gotten through yet another tiny blip in their magical mystery tour of a career.
That’s probably why they’ve meant so much to so many people for so long. They’ve never felt larger than life. Zeppelin or Floyd can feel almost alien sometimes. Yo La Tengo has always felt deeply human.
And maybe that’s why their music makes me feel so much.
You can listen to the new episode of Perfect Songs Forever a part of the Discograffiti network of Podcasts.
A big thanks to Dave Gebroe for creating the best deep dive music podcast for music obsessives!
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