Rock raconteur Henry Rollins returns to NZ, where fans have given him magic memories in a past encounter.
Once upon a time, Henry Rollins was the Incredible Hulk of American rock. As the frontman of hardcore band Black Flag in the 1980s and the Rollins Band in the 1990s, he was a shirtless, ripped-shorts ball of rage with a microphone. In recent decades, he’s become ever more the Bruce Banner, the Hulk’s mild-mannered human alter ego, though one still squeezing a microphone in spoken-word shows. The live punk-rock raconteur is part of a career portfolio of acting, TV presenting, podcasting, publishing and writing that included columnist stints at Vanity Fair, LA Weekly and the Huffington Post. A call from the Listener in advance of four New Zealand dates finds him at work in Nashville, his home of the past few years.
What’s up for discussion on this tour?
If you’ve ever suffered through any of my shows before, there’s always a travel component, but with Covid I couldn’t go anywhere. Luckily, or unluckily, I had enough events during Covid domestically that made for good storytelling. They were unpleasant at the time, but in retrospect made for a damn good tale. That was my challenge this time around, because I often use an interesting location just for things to happen. But when you wake up in your bedroom every day, chances are not as good.
Given your many outlets, what is it that makes you keep touring? And how does a talking performance compare to your music days?
It’s one take. It’s the proverbial tightrope without the net. With podcasting or any written thing, it’s never a first take. You edit, you edit, you edit. On stage, you better have it together. You can’t go, “Can I do that again?” No one’s going to go, “Yeah, we’d love to hear that crap again.” I like just the simple duty of the repetition – you’ve got to show up and do it again and again and again. If you don’t love it, you will phone it in and you can’t fool an audience. I love that duty, that obligation. With the band, the physical output was far more intense. But the talking shows are far more draining. Afterwards I’m mentally wiped out. But there’s just not enough pressure in anything else I do. It gets the best out of me.
You’re not playing music now but I imagine some of your audience see you as their rock-generation spokesman. How does that feel?
I see a lot of young bands play and what I’ve noticed is there’s far less caloric expenditure on stage. A few years ago, Dinosaur Jr was doing a week of shows in New York and I went to every single one, and I became the MC of the week. The show was great, with two sets, and the first set was Dinosaur Jr playing their first album and the second was like the greatest hits, with all kinds of musical guests. And they’re bringing on some young person, and it was okay, and then Bob Mould of Hüsker Dü gets on stage and just crushes it. Then it is like two people from My Bloody Valentine, and it was just awesome. And then they bring on Mike Watt of the Minutemen or Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth. Down to the last person, it was the old-school people who brought the game. I’m not trying to be the old man yelling at some young person to get off my lawn but … these young people don’t work very hard. They work smart. It’s just a different time and music is maybe serving a different purpose. I was a young angry man and if I was a young person now I’d be angrier than I was in the early 1980s, seeing what’s going on in my country. I’d be beside myself.
You’ve been here a few times. Got any damn good tales?
Usually, the anecdotes come from something disastrous, but I’ve never had a really bad time in New Zealand. I’m not saying that my wonderful and small audience over there is in any way boring. They’re just incredibly friendly and I’m grateful. But there was one interesting night in, like, 1991, and I forget what time of the year we were there, or if there’s such a season, but all these people came in with bags of magic mushrooms that they had picked themselves. The first row is all these people passing around immense quantities of mushrooms. So, we had this large group in front of us, grinning and chewing the inside of their cheeks and laughing and contorting themselves. At one point I asked, “What is it with you people?” and someone said, “We’re shrooming.” So we played the show in front of this extremely high group of people and the more the show went on, the more they were just really dosed, and it was funny, it was harmless, no one was a danger at all. But it was just one of those nights where it was, “Okay, that was interesting.”
Tour dates: Vic Theatre, Devonport, July 5; SkyCity Theatre, Auckland, July 6; James Hay Theatre, Christchurch, July 7; Old St Paul’s, Wellington, July 8.
