Devo
WHIP IT UP!
Iconic Punks Devo Dredge Up Their Eerily Prescient History
Were they not men? Anyone who poked around on the fringes of rock in the late '70s and early '80s can attest, Devo were much more than just that. The quintet are often praised for their quirky pop songs but seldom cited for their genuinely revolutionary stance, which brought low-budget theatricality, obsolete electronics, and avant-rock passion to a mainstream audience. These days, the group's members have moved on to other projects -- film scores and television directing among them -- but the specter of Devo looms large over virtually any band with a synth in the hand and a smirk on the face. Akron, Ohio's proudest export -- well, alongside the Goodyear blimp -- is celebrated in all its off-the-wall glory on PIONEERS WHO GOT SCALPED: THE ANTHOLOGY, an appropriately titled retrospective that delves well beneath the surface in its depiction of de-evolution in action. Devo cofounder Gerald Casale lets barnesandnoble.com rock editor David Sprague in on the answers to all the burning questions -- aside from "what's round on the end and high in the middle," of course.
barnesandnoble.com: Back in the '70s, you suggested that society was headed for the dumper -- and called it the theory of de-evolution. How do you feel about seeing those prophecies in action?
Gerald Casale: It hasn't been much fun to watch. We took that as a creative stance, in reaction to what we saw happening around us. It wasn't something we believed should come true, nor did we think it would, to the extent that it has.
bn.com: Long before Devo hit mainstream consciousness, you were playing shows in Ohio, alongside a lot of other offbeat bands like Pere Ubu and so on. Was that place and time significant, in retrospect?
GC: Very much so, as much as Seattle in the late '80s, I'd say. What they have in common is that both places were so awful in terms of atmosphere that you had to dig down deep and ignore the fact that 99 percent of the population around you considered you idiots and fools. On the other hand, it was possible to have a gestation period to figure out what you wanted to do, without someone "hip" telling you to grow your hair and wear contacts.
bn.com: Do you think it's safe to say that Devo grew a bit "friendlier" and a bit less confrontational over time?
GC: Certainly, we ended up a little more beaten up and with considerably lower expectations. We were a D.I.Y. band that started out with the best intentions and did the best we could. Devo was iconic, ironic -- it didn't fit in any better in the days of skinny ties and new wave than it would today.
bn.com: Do you see any evidence of an influence today?
GC: Bits and pieces, yes, but Devo was an integrated fusion. It wasn't all theater by any means -- there were electronics, there were rock elements, avant-garde elements. These days, everything is broken up. The Chemical Brothers have wonderful electronics and are a great backdrop for taking drugs, but there are no songs. Beck has a great sensibility, but he's so mannered and unprimal -- plus, he keeps making Devo videos, and he won't let me direct one.
bn.com: Were you really trying to push peoples' buttons back in the '70s, what with radiation suits, Halloween masks, the whole automaton attitude?
GC: We were really trying to take music where we believed it should go. We wanted to be a thinking man's Kiss, a straight version of Queen, and we got maliciously attacked by people who wanted to crush any signs of originality. In terms of sound, what we did was work on four levels: a bizarre, twisted drumbeat; a blues bass line; a guitar that sounded like something out of Captain Beefheart; and Mark [Mothersbaugh] spraying the whole thing with synthesizer that had nothing to do with any of that.
bn.com: Where does Devo stand today?
GC: Right now, we're in sort of a cocoon state. We played on Lollapalooza a few years ago, and we've done isolated benefits and private dot-com gigs. But as far as a full-time reunion, Mark isn't interested.
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