On a much-needed hiatus from a nationwide tour—and fresh off the release of his first proper studio album—Patrick Carney, half of the blues-rock duo The Black Keys, was kind enough to pull himself out of bed (at noon) to talk to me. I remembered to ask the obligatory, “How was it working with Danger Mouse?” question, but what actually perked up the groggy drummer was talk of his favorite sports town (Cleveland) and his most-hated franchise (the Detroit Pistons). So here’s an expletive-filled rant that ranges from Attack & Release to Rasheed “Crybaby” Wallace.
I read your recent interview with Pitchfork and was surprised to find that you know your sports. Living in Akron, have you always been a big Cavaliers and Indians fan?
Patrick Carney: When I was 7 or 8 my dad started taking me to Indians games, and I can name the entire roster of the 1988 Indians. I had so much fun watching them for nine years, and I got to go to the World Series in ‘97. My dad was talking about how they hadn’t been there since the ‘50s, then watching them blow it…it made me want to stop watching fucking baseball. It always happens to [Cleveland]. We get to the playoffs in football and fumble it away, or we get Shawn Kemp four years too late. Fucking unbelievable.
Must feel pretty good, then, with fellow Akronite LeBron James in Cleveland now.
Yeah. I actually lived on the corner from where he went to high school [St. Vincent-St. Mary]. My roommate would get stuck behind his Hummer when he was on his way to school. I think when LeBron’s on, he’s one of the most fun players to watch in the NBA. He’s obviously a cool guy, the way he was blowing people away that first year and then dialing it back the second year, trying to get everyone the ball. Every time he’d pass to Damon Jones I would punch the fucking wall. I mean I love Damon, but it just killed me.
I thought the best part of the interview was you going off on Rasheed Wallace. And I quote: “Sucks. Prick. Awful, awful man. Giant fucking crybaby.” Care to retract?
I hate that guy. In the series a couple seasons ago against [the Cavs], he played like a British soccer player—falling everywhere and crying about every call. When he went down and looked like he broke his ankle, I’d never been happier to see someone in pain.
Man...
I felt the same way about the Pistons in the ’80s. Isiah Thomas was easy to hate. And that one guy, who looked like a fucking ogre…
Bill Laimbeer?
Yeah. He was the Rasheed Wallace of the ’80s.
Now that you’re awake: I’m sure you’re tired of being asked about Danger Mouse.
Not really. I’m just tired of everyone feeling like this record came out of left field. It didn’t. It’s more of a natural progression for us as a band.
What’s the story behind getting involved with DM?
We were contacted by Brian [Burton, aka Danger Mouse] to write songs and record the music for the Ike Turner album, and we said, ‘Sure,’ but in return we wanted him to produce our album. We were flattered that a guy like Danger Mouse wanted to work with us. We’d never worked with a producer before, but I think Brian is probably different from most producers. He’s not hung up on the performance as long as the band’s happy.
Yeah, I can see that. Attack & Release doesn’t sound too far removed from your previous albums. But there’s an extra instrument here, a change of tempo there. You begin to notice the subtle differences from the straight, gritty blues of Magic Potion.
Dan [Auerbach] and I pay attention to the overall sound and sonic side of the music. Brian pays attention to shit we normally don’t, things like tempo. He basically had us deconstruct the demos we already had and start from scratch. Like “Psychotic Girl,” for instance, started out as a fast-paced garage rock track, and Brian said we should try it much slower, then he built a drum loop out of white noise to keep tempo. It was the most fun I’d ever had recording an album.
Sounds more collaborative than what most people tend to think of a Danger Mouse project.
There’s this misconception—that we can only make rock ’n’ roll sounds, and then Brian showed up and added these new sounds as an afterthought. We wanted to do something different from the start. This was meant to be us coming out of our shell. It was really a three-way collaboration. We didn’t use anything if someone didn’t feel right about it.
Do you think you’ve found a new audience as a result?
Not really. That wasn’t the idea behind doing this. It was all about the music and trying something different. I’d say it’s actually going both ways. A lot of fans were probably taken aback since we’ve never used a producer, let alone a hip-hop producer, and it’s probably the same way with his fans.
So does this open the door for more studio albums? More producers?
We’ve decided to go in the studio and wing it on the next one. That’s the way we usually record—just get in and do the first, second, third and fourth takes. Then never play it again. We were writing all these songs, and a couple of them, like “Strange Times,” we made up in the studio. I think it’s more fun making a record when you don’t know what you’re going to do. Yeah, it’s potentially a waste of money. But I think Dan and I both know enough about each other and our sound that if something’s not working, we know when to can it pretty quick.
May 15, Terminal 5, 610 W 56th St. (at 11th St.), 212-260-4700; 7, $27.
I read your recent interview with Pitchfork and was surprised to find that you know your sports. Living in Akron, have you always been a big Cavaliers and Indians fan?
Patrick Carney: When I was 7 or 8 my dad started taking me to Indians games, and I can name the entire roster of the 1988 Indians. I had so much fun watching them for nine years, and I got to go to the World Series in ‘97. My dad was talking about how they hadn’t been there since the ‘50s, then watching them blow it…it made me want to stop watching fucking baseball. It always happens to [Cleveland]. We get to the playoffs in football and fumble it away, or we get Shawn Kemp four years too late. Fucking unbelievable.
Must feel pretty good, then, with fellow Akronite LeBron James in Cleveland now.
Yeah. I actually lived on the corner from where he went to high school [St. Vincent-St. Mary]. My roommate would get stuck behind his Hummer when he was on his way to school. I think when LeBron’s on, he’s one of the most fun players to watch in the NBA. He’s obviously a cool guy, the way he was blowing people away that first year and then dialing it back the second year, trying to get everyone the ball. Every time he’d pass to Damon Jones I would punch the fucking wall. I mean I love Damon, but it just killed me.
I thought the best part of the interview was you going off on Rasheed Wallace. And I quote: “Sucks. Prick. Awful, awful man. Giant fucking crybaby.” Care to retract?
I hate that guy. In the series a couple seasons ago against [the Cavs], he played like a British soccer player—falling everywhere and crying about every call. When he went down and looked like he broke his ankle, I’d never been happier to see someone in pain.
Man...
I felt the same way about the Pistons in the ’80s. Isiah Thomas was easy to hate. And that one guy, who looked like a fucking ogre…
Bill Laimbeer?
Yeah. He was the Rasheed Wallace of the ’80s.
Now that you’re awake: I’m sure you’re tired of being asked about Danger Mouse.
Not really. I’m just tired of everyone feeling like this record came out of left field. It didn’t. It’s more of a natural progression for us as a band.
What’s the story behind getting involved with DM?
We were contacted by Brian [Burton, aka Danger Mouse] to write songs and record the music for the Ike Turner album, and we said, ‘Sure,’ but in return we wanted him to produce our album. We were flattered that a guy like Danger Mouse wanted to work with us. We’d never worked with a producer before, but I think Brian is probably different from most producers. He’s not hung up on the performance as long as the band’s happy.
Yeah, I can see that. Attack & Release doesn’t sound too far removed from your previous albums. But there’s an extra instrument here, a change of tempo there. You begin to notice the subtle differences from the straight, gritty blues of Magic Potion.
Dan [Auerbach] and I pay attention to the overall sound and sonic side of the music. Brian pays attention to shit we normally don’t, things like tempo. He basically had us deconstruct the demos we already had and start from scratch. Like “Psychotic Girl,” for instance, started out as a fast-paced garage rock track, and Brian said we should try it much slower, then he built a drum loop out of white noise to keep tempo. It was the most fun I’d ever had recording an album.
Sounds more collaborative than what most people tend to think of a Danger Mouse project.
There’s this misconception—that we can only make rock ’n’ roll sounds, and then Brian showed up and added these new sounds as an afterthought. We wanted to do something different from the start. This was meant to be us coming out of our shell. It was really a three-way collaboration. We didn’t use anything if someone didn’t feel right about it.
Do you think you’ve found a new audience as a result?
Not really. That wasn’t the idea behind doing this. It was all about the music and trying something different. I’d say it’s actually going both ways. A lot of fans were probably taken aback since we’ve never used a producer, let alone a hip-hop producer, and it’s probably the same way with his fans.
So does this open the door for more studio albums? More producers?
We’ve decided to go in the studio and wing it on the next one. That’s the way we usually record—just get in and do the first, second, third and fourth takes. Then never play it again. We were writing all these songs, and a couple of them, like “Strange Times,” we made up in the studio. I think it’s more fun making a record when you don’t know what you’re going to do. Yeah, it’s potentially a waste of money. But I think Dan and I both know enough about each other and our sound that if something’s not working, we know when to can it pretty quick.
May 15, Terminal 5, 610 W 56th St. (at 11th St.), 212-260-4700; 7, $27.
