"That's one of the great things about rock 'n' roll—you can be like Ozzy Osbourne. You don't have to sing good, look good, or be that smart and yet you can still be Ozzy Osbourne."
Supersuckers front man Eddie Spaghetti is burning up the line from a tour stop in Austin, Texas, and he's on. Whether expounding on the glory of Willie Nelson and country music, life on the road, the digital revolution, or the indelible influence of David Lee Roth, Spaghetti has a pithy (and hilarious) opinion about whatever's put before him. For example, the state of hard rock in 2005.
"I like Turbonegro and Nashville Pussy, but I think we're better than both of those bands," he laughs, "And I should. The ego should work that way when you do rock 'n' roll music." It's this playful arrogance—combined with a fuel-injected live show—that has kept the faithful coming to see the Supersuckers for nearly twenty years. And let's not forget the music; not since the glory days of Ted Nugent has a band so joyfully celebrated the power of sex, sin, and the transmogrifying power of horns-in-the-air rock music. In the midst of preparing his band's new studio album, Spaghetti still has the unholy fire in his belly. "I'm constantly surprised at how much we still have left in us," he says. "We're working on songs for our new record right now, and I'm like, wow, we've still got it."
For Spaghetti, the urge to rawk came early, via the clarion call of The Knack's "My Sharona" and the good-time antics of the inimitable David Lee Roth. Diamond Dave, in particular, was a "biggie" for Spaghetti. "He always seemed to be having a good time, and was always funny and kinda smart, but kinda dumb at the same time." As his own songwriting began to bubble forth, Spaghetti found himself channeling Paul Westerberg and Motorhead's Lemmy Kilmister for inspiration. By the time the Supersuckers' first indie 7-inches began burning up turntables, the Arizona quartet's distinct combination of slammin' guitars and tongue-in-cheek lyrics was firmly in place. "I always wanted to be a cross between AC/DC, Motorhead, and The Replacements," says Spaghetti, "writing songs that totally stand the test of time that also rock balls."
Spaghetti (born Edward Daly) and the rest of the Supersuckers (guitarists Ron Heathman and Dan Bolton, drummer Dan "Dancing Eagle" Seigal) were signed to SubPop in 1991, and though they were the odd men out in the house that grunge built, their first two albums for the label, The Smoke Of Hell (1992) and La Mana Cornuda (1994), established them as hard rock's new leading light—no mean feat in a decade that only wanted to gaze at its shoes. Their incendiary live shows and Spaghetti's cheeky persona only fueled the fire. The Sacriligious Sounds Of The Supersuckers (featuring the signature tune "Born With A Tail") stumbled slightly due to the temporary defection of guitarist Heathman, but their next release, Must Have Been High (1997) was not only an artistic coup for the band, it was one of the strongest country albums of the last twenty years. It also began an ongoing collaboration with country music titan Willie Nelson. "He's the one that really showed me that putting an expiration date on your art is really silly," says Spaghetti. "I mean, Willie is in his 70s and he's still playing guitar like a madman."
As the '90s came to a close, life was looking pretty sweet for the Supersuckers. "SubPop was pretty great [to work with], and everything was running really smoothly until we started feeling like we wanted to be on a bigger label. That's when things got kinda weird." Kinda weird included being signed to—and dropped by—Interscope Records before their album was even released. "That was a pretty tough time," Spaghetti admits. "Interscope was the hot label, and in our minds we'd already cashed the check. I thought, oh man, it's over."
Rather than throwing in the towel, the band rallied, releasing their strongest album since Mano, 1999's The Evil Powers Of Rock 'N Roll, on a smaller label, and began the process of "grabbing the business bull by the horns" by forming their own label and managing their own merchandising and touring. Their debut for their own Mid-Fi imprint (featuring new drummer Mike Musburger), 2003's Motherfuckers Be Trippin', was a strong follow-up to Powers, and with their touring schedule as steady as ever, the Supersuckers were now fully in the driver's seat creatively and financially. It's been working for them ever since.
"We've been pretty lucky," says Spaghetti, "Rock 'n' roll has given us much more than good times, it's given us everything. We all met our wives through the band, we bring our families on the road when we can, it's a really beautiful thing. I don't know what other workplace offers those kinds of benefits." Still, even under the best conditions, a rock 'n' roll band can be a contentious landscape to navigate. Has it been difficult keeping the band together and inspired after so many years? "From day one we've had an agree-to-disagree sort of vibe; that's just how bands are. Bands are not like romantic relationships, they're more like families. You may not always agree, but when you wake up in the morning you're still brothers."
And survivors. In a time when rock 'n' roll is becoming increasingly marginalized, the Supersuckers have created an entire cottage industry. "In the long run, the [digital revolution] might add up to less record sales for us, but we make our living through touring—the live experience is something you'll never be able to download." Still, doesn't it rankle that despite their ongoing success, the band remains one of the most underrated rock bands of all time? "Nah," he chuckles, "The best rock 'n' roll is always the underground stuff, and we're like a cult band within the underground. We're more like a footnote to an anecdote."
Supersuckers appear on Rhino's Whatever: The '90s Pop & Culture Box and can be found online at www.supersuckers.com.
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