Every musician has “ah-ha!” moments that are spurred by another artist’s creativity. Most of the time, those moments come in the form of little tricks you pick up and put in your back pocket. But on magical rare occasions, an artist can fundamentally change the way you approach music and songwriting.
Mike Watt’s music and econo mindset lit up my imagination, took a sledgehammer to my preconceived musical notions, and continue to serve as invaluable sources of inspiration. From Minutemen to his solo work and everything else he has explored throughout his impactful career, I’ll never be able to thank him enough. On Friday, though, I was able to thank him in person. It was a moment I won’t forget.
James and I wrapped up our gig at Evangeline’s in St. Louis’ Central West End and headed straight to The Sinkhole in deep South City to catch mssv, Watt’s current touring band with Mike Baggetta and Stephen Hodges. We missed the very beginning of mssv’s set, and from outside the tiny unassuming venue, we couldn’t tell if the band had started yet. We couldn’t tell because this amazingly dynamic experimental-jazz-punk band was playing whisper quiet, and inside was a listening audience for sure.
We politely, without raising our voices, ordered a couple beers and settled into the crowd toward the back. The Sinkhole is a cool place to see a rock show, but there is no stage. The band is on ground level, and you have to step over the guitarist’s pedalboard to access the rest rooms. It was difficult to see much of anything from the rear. But I found a perfect little sightline between the sweaty heads, where I could see Watt’s face most of the time.
Before long, mssv was performing a master class on dynamics, going from conversation-level volume to blistering rock n roll riffage and every weird thing in between. I was thrilled to be among the very intimate St. Louis crowd. As the last song rang out, Watt delivered the exclamation point - “Ah, shit!” - and much of the smiling crowd waded toward the exit door to huddle on the sidewalk and smoke cigarettes. A few stayed inside, hoping to bump elbows with the band.
James and I, still glowing from a great night of music, both on stage and in an audience, waited near our bassist hero. When it was our turn to say hi, I handed him a poster to collect his punk rock John Hancock. I said, “Mike, I just want you to know that your music changed the way I think about music. You changed what I thought a song could be.”
This music legend (though I’m sure he’d never call himself that) was the most down to earth dude I’ve ever met. He walked the walk, completely gracious and humble in his ole fishing hat and worn yellow jacket. ‘We Jam Econo’ isn’t just a pithy catchphrase. He fucking lives it. When I praised the dynamics in the room that night, he likened it to “having a conversation with the other members of the band.” And when we told him we missed the very beginning because of our gig, he radiated, “Keep playing! Keep playing!”
Indeed, we will. Thanks again, Mike, for everything.