Q&A with World/Inferno Friendship Society

Like a lot of bands you just stumble across, I had no idea World/Inferno Friendship Society (current labelmates of Radio 4 on Gern Blandsten Records) existed until my buddy Rodney (who knew the lead guitarist) dragged me out to a show at ABC No Rio.

"What kind of stupid name is World/Inferno Friendship Society, anyway?" I asked. Next thing I knew, I’d been so dumbfounded by their anarchic live show–hardcore-influenced guitar under an assault of horns and percussion, an accordion, broken glass, fire in a cramped art space–and singer/MC Jack Terrycloth’s charismatic delivery (somewhere between gospel-tent revival, punk "Get up!" aggression and a nightclub croon) that I didn’t really care. The whole experience created a sense of chaos and impending disaster that more traditional punk rock shows rarely manage to convey anymore; between the fire and the frenetic crowd, I was exhilarated by the possibility I might not make it out of the venue in one piece.

Amazing that this is coming from a nine-piece band in evening dress.

"The name is a mantra to help people work contradicting ideas into their life," Jack’s explaining to me many shows later as he slides noticeably into stage persona. "This will make people more happy."

I’m sitting in Mona’s, the dive bar and former squatter-punk haven at B and 13th, with Jack and band members Rudy (clarinet) and Franz (accordion). "World/Inferno is designed to help make people’s lives better. The first step is that we want to confuse them with the name and make them think."

"People usually bill us as two different bands," Rudy chimes in.

When I’d initially called Jack for an interview he said he was intending to "bring a couple of the guys down so if you misquote me I’ve got backup." I get the impression they’re not getting great press. When I first approached the band after their recent CD release show at Bowery Ballroom, Rudy came over from the bar and asked me if I was there to pan them.

World/Inferno is not an easy band to get a handle on. This is a band that dares its audience to actually like music, and some people are not going to be up for it.

"We wanted to start our own scene," Jack says. "We don’t fit with any of the bands we play with. We think of ourselves as punk rockers who want to find other instruments to be loud, fast, angry and political. There’s a whole orchestral range that’s being ignored."

I tell him that anytime I hear World/Inferno described, phrases like "cabaret punk" and references to Oingo Boingo start to fly. "Well, I’m a big fan of Kurt Weill," Jack grins. "Punk’s not dead, but rock ’n’ roll is. It’s Cold War phallic music that’s gone obsolete. We want to take punk back from the dummies and give it back to the weirdos."

I ask how they manage to write songs with nine people. My experience is that dealing with just two or three knuckleheaded musicians can be a nightmare.

"Our songwriting process takes forever," Jack says. "It’s proof that democracy does not work." Franz elbows him. "Well, okay, it does work and everyone’s eventually happy," Jack retracts, "but it takes exactly three times as long as a power trio." So the band is more like a collective? "We prefer the term ‘cult.’"

Then there’s an underlying political aim? "What, besides kneejerk nihilism?" Jack laughs.

"Once you get past the layers of subterfuge and obfuscation," Franz offers, "we like to burn things and break stuff."

"We’ve got our own politics," Jack adds more seriously, "which come out in the lyrics. I don’t want to preach but I also don’t want to be misunderstood."

So far as I can tell, they’re authentic punks in intent; anti-authoritarians with an eye to raise hell and have a good time. Songs from the latest CD, Just The Best Party, like "Secret Service Freedom Fighting U.S.A." and "All the World is a Stage (Dive)," proclaim the joy of flouting social convention and mouthing off until you get in a shitload of trouble. Others veer into torch-song territory or offer sage advice ("Stay on the Charming Side of Drunk"), and "Zen and the Art of Breaking Everything in This Room" puts it bluntly: "Stockbrokers ain’t no heroes."

"I can’t put it more plainly," Jack exclaims. "Are your heroes pirates or are they stockbrokers?"

I ask Jack about the "I shot Reagan" story I’ve heard.

"Yeah, that’s all true," admits Jack. "I’ll get into that because I think some of your editors might have framed pictures of him."

No comment.

"So I had the Secret Service’s number when I was in high school, and I prank-called them with the line from that Suicidal Tendencies song," he goes on. "Little did I know he was a town over on some publicity tour. So the Secret Service did in fact end up catching me, dragging me kicking and screaming out of my high school, beating me unconscious and keeping me away from home for two days until they determined that I was just a dumb 15-year-old kid. Of course, their plan backfired. If they’d left me alone I probably would have grown up to be normal. Now I’m a professional rabble-rouser."

It hasn’t made him averse to provocative public statements. At a gig in early October, he flippantly joked about being on tour during the World Trade Center attack. I for one thought the gallows humor was much-needed relief, but evidently the band caught some heat.

"Well, normally I’d been saying, ‘Fuck the police,’ at our shows," he says somberly. "That soon after 9/11 we decided I shouldn’t do that...so I ended up saying things that people took much, much worse."

How about leftist politics after 9/11?

"People should stick to their guns. Our bassist Yula is from Israel, she said, ‘Things blow up next to you in my country all the time, but we don’t change our political views because of it.’"

"On Sept. 11 she said, ‘Welcome to my world,’" says Franz.

"Oh yeah!" Rudy interjects. "We’re also the jerk punks that got quoted in New York Press as saying, ‘Check it out!It’s the bat signal!’ when we saw the Trade Center Memorial."

"And we are jerk punks," Jack agrees.

Still, they all affirm their love for the city. "Everywhere else just pales by comparison. If there were anyplace cooler," Rudy says with characteristic nonchalance, "they would have gone and blown that place up."

The spirit of impending disaster at their shows does not come with a promise of violence. They’re not Black Flag and this is not 1985. The vibe is more "Let’s pack this place wall to wall and then go nuts until something gets broken." At the CD release party, World/Inferno managed to muster up a higher level of audience energy than super-hip openers Hot Socky and the Realistics. The crowd pushed back to accommodate a circle pit; kids with mohawks and sneakers danced manically and dove off the stage (the first time I’ve ever witnessed a stage dive at Bowery Ballroom), backing vocalist Semra Erçin jumped off for a crowd-ride (and how did she manage to jump around so much in those heels?).

But you get the full experience at a squat or an art space; run-ins with club management have hampered their use of fire, and coupled with the fact that their more energetic fans tend to be under 21, their club dates have been tamed down.

"We lit Brownies on fire once," Jack tells me. "We’ve almost gotten banned from most clubs in Manhattan." They were expelled from the Brooklyn Good/Bad Art Collective for using a giant pumpkin with a propane jet onstage. "We found out they’re more into supporting good art than bad art," Jack laughs. "But after not playing out for about six months, we had to ask ourselves if we were a band or a band who set things on fire, and had to make a compromise. That’s why it’s good to go on tour now–by the time they realize we’ve trashed the place we’re eight hours away. We can’t do that at home.

"Northsix has been cool to us, though."

"The owner said, ‘You guys set things on fire and I’ll stand next to the stage with an extinguisher,’" Rudy explains.

"Northsix enjoys the fire, all respect," smiles Franz.

The three of them insist I go have Italian with them. The food’s fantastic and Jack picks out a really nice wine. They also offer tips on how to get into Peter Luger’s for steak without a reservation.

"See, the reason we never make any money at this," Rudy confides, "is that if we get $500 for a show we’ll end up spending $900 on dinner."

"When you come right down to it, we’re sensualists," Jack agrees. "One must live well to know what living is. That’s a Kurt Weill line."