The Wallflowers
The Wallflowers:
Rock ‘n’ roll is often hard to define, or even to find, in these fractured musical times. But to paraphrase an old saying, you know it when you hear it.
And you always hear it with the Wallflowers. For the past 30 years, the Jakob Dylan-led act has stood as one of rock’s most dynamic and purposeful bands – a unit dedicated to and continually honing a sound that meshes timeless songwriting and storytelling with a hard-hitting and decidedly modern musical attack. That signature style has been present through the decades, baked into the grooves of smash hits like 1996’s Bringing Down the Horse as well as more recent and exploratory fare like 2012’s Glad All Over.
Even so, in recent years, Dylan – the Wallflowers’ founding singer, songwriter and guitarist – has repeatedly stepped outside of his band, first with a pair of more acoustic and rootsy records, 2008’s Seeing Things and 2010’s Women + Country, and then with the 2018 film Echo in the Canyon and the accompanying soundtrack, which saw him collaborate with a host of artists classic and contemporary, from Neil Young and Eric Clapton to Beck and Fiona Apple.
But while it’s been nine long years since we’ve heard from the group with whom he first made his mark, the Wallflowers are silent no more. And Dylan always knew they’d return. “The Wallflowers is much of my life’s work,” he says simply.
Plus, he adds with a laugh, “It’s pretty hard to get a good band name, so if you have one, keep it.”
Good band name aside, that life’s work continues with Exit Wounds, the brand-new Wallflowers studio offering. The collection marks the first new Wallflowers material since Glad All Over. And while the wait has been long, the much-anticipated record finds the band’s signature sound – lean, potent and eminently entrancing – intact, even as Dylan surrounds himself with a fresh cast of musicians.
Which, the front man is quick to point out, is not all that unusual. “The Wallflowers has always been a vehicle for me to make great rock ‘n’ roll records,” he says. “And sometimes the lineup that makes the record transfers over into touring, and sometimes it doesn’t. But my intention is always to make the Wallflowers record I want to make, using the musicians I have beside me.”
Dylan’s vision has always been the core of the Wallflower’s music. How he chooses to express that vision, however, is what makes a song a Wallflowers song. “I usually just let the songs tell me what kind of arrangements they need,” he says. “And if they’re asking for full-band electric
arrangements, then that’s what the Wallflowers provide. And I knew I wanted to make a full-band electric record this time out.”
And made one he has, with one special guest on board – Shelby Lynne, who lends her voice to three of the album’s tracks. “I hadn’t met Shelby before, but like most people, I’ve been a fan of hers for quite some time,” Dylan says. “She has one of those voices that’s very uncommon, very unique, very rare.”
But there was more to their duet than just a mutual appreciation. “You can have your favorite singer come in, but it doesn’t mean you’ll have any connection – there has to be more than that,” Dylan continues. “And as soon as I heard Shelby sing, I knew we had something.”
That “something” is present throughout Exit Wounds, which, true to its title, is an ode to people – individual and collective – that have, to put it mildly, been through some stuff.
“I think everybody – no matter what side of the aisle you’re on – wherever we’re going to next, we’re all taking a lot of exit wounds with us,” Dylan says. “Nobody is the same as they were four years ago. That, to me, is what Exit Wounds signifies. And it’s not meant to be negative at all. It just means that wherever you’re headed, even if it’s to a better place, you leave people and things behind, and you think about those people and those things and you carry them with you. Those are your exit wounds. And right now, we’re all swimming in them.”
To be sure, Exit Wounds is populated by scarred souls that “used to rumble, used to roar,” of “nobodies drinking flat beer,” and those who’ve been “abandoned and locked out and pressed to the fire.” Throughout, Dylan’s lyrics are specked with images of spears and swords and battle-worn flags being raised, of wayward buses and battered ships, riderless horses and lost planes.
Of course, ask Dylan what these songs are about, and, well, like most practiced songwriters, he’s not going to tell you. “I’m always a little cautious when people ask that,” he says. “Not because it demystifies the songs, but more because I think it’s belittling to the listener to have to be ‘told.’ I usually find that if you have to do that for someone, you probably didn’t hit your mark.”
That said, Dylan will at least acknowledge that the tracks on Exit Wounds reflect the tumultuous times in which they were written. “The climate affects how you feel, which affects how you’re writing songs, even if you’re not writing specifically about current events.” He turns to the late John Prine to illustrate his point. “If we still had John Prine, I don’t think he’d be writing songs specifically about current affairs, but he’d probably be writing songs about characters affected by current affairs. I think that’s mostly what I do.”
As far as Exit Wounds, Dylan continues, “I’m the same writer I’ve always been – I was just also writing during a time when the world felt like it was falling apart. That changes the way you address even the simplest things, because you have panic in your mind all the time. You have anxiety. And you also have hope. And it’s all in there.”
When it came to realizing these new songs on record, Dylan assembled a backing band of musical associates – “people that I’ve wanted to play with or that I have played with through the years” – and headed into the studio under the watchful eye of producer Butch Walker.
As for what Butch brought to the sessions? Beyond his pedigree as an in-demand producer and first-rate singer-songwriter and musician, he’s also, Dylan says, “someone I’ve known a long time, and that was important to me. Because you go through a lot when you make records, to be honest. When you’re young, you’re taught that if you don’t have conflict in the studio, then you’re probably not doing anything good. But I don’t believe that. And so it was more of a joyful experience making this record.”
That joyful experience extended to Dylan’s interplay with his fellow musicians. “This was not the type of thing where it’s a rotating cast and you call a different drummer for each song, or you pull out the Rolodex and ring the local sessions guys,” Dylan says. “The record was made as a band – the five Wallflowers.”
And to Dylan, a band, even one with a constantly shifting lineup, is a sacred thing. “I’ve always been a believer in collaboration,” he says, “and no matter who I’m playing with I’ve always tried to include them very heavily. Otherwise, why would they be around? Because I do think bands, whether it’s a long standing group or just five people who are working together for that one stretch of time, make better rock ‘n’ roll records than solo artists.”
He laughs. “I mean, it’s not 100 percent true, but it’s usually true.”
At the end of the day, Dylan continues, “It’s just exciting to have guys playing in a room together. That’s how you get the one plus one equals three factor, you know? That’s the magic.”
For Dylan, Exit Wounds is the next chapter in a career devoted to chasing – and capturing – that magic. “I came up in an era of great rock ‘n’ roll bands making great music, and it’s the way I always imagined I would do it one day,” he says.
“So that’s always been my vision with the Wallflowers – to be a great rock ‘n’ roll band. And I’ve worked on it for 30 years now and I still have a lot to say. It’s something I started a long time ago, and it’s far from finished.”
Aaron Lee Tasjan:
Singer, songwriter, guitarist, producer, band leader, activist, and Grammy nominee. Aaron Lee Tasjan has been and continues to be all of these things.
Over his past decade plus of writing, recording, producing, Tasjan has released four excellent and critically acclaimed solo albums, toured the world over on his own and as the guitarist in the New York Dolls. He co-founded and co-wrote all of the material for the band Semi Precious Weapons. In 2021 he was nominated for a Grammy for his writing on Yola’s “Diamond Studded Shoes” and most recently, Tasjan produced Mya Byrne’s album Rhinestone Tomboy (Kill Rock Stars Nashville) which helped to establish her as one of the first openly trans artists in Americana Music.
He’s cultivated a brilliant and outstanding career to date already. But his forthcoming album Stellar Evolution (Blue Élan Records) is just what the title says. Tasjan’s new album is truly the sum of all of the parts of his diverse accomplishments to date while clearly heading in a brand-new direction. You can’t put any labels on Stellar Evolution except for it being a career defining work and a major leap forward for someone who’s never been afraid to push the boundaries of any and all expectations.
As he set out to work on Stellar Evolution, Tasjan knew better than ever what was important to him. He’s been working his way towards a record like this since he first started making solo albums, with 2015’s In the Blazes. He stuck to an alt-country paradigm early in his career, though he knew that all of his favorite artists were the ones who broke out of their own boxes. His approach to that changed when he began to be more open about his queer identity.
“I realized that part of being an artist means building a community. What do you want that community to look like? Who do you want to be a part of that community? As an artist, it’s your job to curate that, and to be a reflection of what you wanna see in the world,” he says. “I gradually got braver to share more and more of myself through each record, and the music just kinda had to follow suit.” Stellar Evolution is a record on which Tasjan’s songwriting is beholden to nothing — no expectations, and certainly no genre. Just the pure sense of wonder and discovery that had made him fall in love with music as a kid in Orange County, devouring it all with no understanding or care for what was “cool.”
As he was writing, times became very dark for the queer community in the South. Bathroom bans and drag bans were enacted in Tennessee, while right-wing rhetoric around LGBT people became uglier and uglier. Tasjan knew this album needed to reflect the vibrant community that has become home to him. “You don’t wanna think that you live in a time where people are still so vocal about the hatred that they have for each other. But it’s something that I think we’re seeing the whole world over,” he says. “I felt like it was really important to let people know that they’re not alone, that we’re all in this fight together and that we see each other, and that we’re gonna do what this community always does, which is come together and have each other’s backs.
“The record became a sort of rallying cry for being who you are in a time when people literally wanna try to make it illegal to do that.”
Opening track “Alien Space Queen” is the perfect introduction to Stellar Evolution’s inclusive, celebratory ethos. Driven by slick, strutting synth, it’s a playful yet heartfelt ode to the brightest-shining weirdos among us. “She drives an old Trans Am in sunset gold / Yeah, she’s transfemme, a demigirl dream,” Tasjan sings, in what he describes as “a song of pure support and love.”
Meanwhile, inside the funky grooves of “Pants” you’ll find perhaps Tasjan’s most life-affirming feat of songwriting. It’s a call for “authentic and righteous” self-expression, against all odds and despite all obstacles. This is a track that started out, in its early demos, as acoustic indie-rock; but the more Tasjan worked on it with co-producer Gregory Lattimer, the more he took it in the joyous and transcendent musical direction that became its final form. “It just didn’t feel right to me until it got to that place,” Tasjan says. “I wanted it to feel like we were all in a giant parade going down the street together, [saying] damn the torpedoes, we’re gonna be who we are and there’s too many of us to stop us.”
Of course, the pursuit of living truthfully always comes with plenty to unpack and reflect on in your own self; and as such, this is also Tasjan’s most vulnerable album. On the lead single “The Horror of It All,” Tasjan reflects on the confusions and humiliations of queer adolescence — letting that pure and enduring pain bloom into a heartland-rock anthem. The woozy and darkly funny “The Drugs Did Me” sees Tasjan laughing so he doesn’t cry at the rocky, substance-laden path he had walked until fairly recently. And “Dylan Shades” is a gorgeous, tender love song, on which Tasjan reflects on the hypothetical idea of his partner deciding to leave him, and movingly explores the love present in letting go. “When I had the opportunity to examine a lot of the fear I have in my life with a therapist, there were times I allowed my brain to wander off and imagine these worst case scenarios in which I lost things or people I loved,” Tasjan explains. “I tried to imagine accepting the loss with a softness and nobility. I wanted to try to make peace with the feeling.”
Two of the album’s most striking songs lie back-to-back near its center. “I Love America Better Than You” is a scathing protest song which took Tasjan eight years to write — and ended up more relevant now than it had been when he started. “I love America better than you / Her dirty water and her hot dogs too,” goes the winking chorus; “First Black president, insurrectionists / I love America better than you.” Then there’s “Nightmare,” a deeply poignant track, which subverts its clubby beat in exploring the ever-present fear of becoming victim to a hate crime. “I want all my friends to know I love ‘em, just in case I should disappear,” Tasjan heartbreakingly sings on the bridge. It’s a document of exhaustion and terror which will ring true to most queer listeners; and it’s a song like this that makes the celebrations elsewhere on the record feel all the more vital.
The album comes to a sweet close with the duo of “Cry Till You’re Laughing”, a Lennon-McCartney-esque romp that calls out for hard-won optimism, and the hushed piano ballad “Young.” The latter track brings the scope of the album back down to something personal and bare. In each verse, Tasjan sings about his perspective of love from a different time of his life; from childhood, to adolescence, to adulthood. Yet each is tied together with the simple chorus line, almost a prayer: “Holding on to my only one.” “There’s parts of me that feel the same, as well as parts of me that life experience has changed forever,” Tasjan says. “It was another love song that felt a little different than the kind of stuff one usually hears. Maybe I can write one more verse when I’m 70?”
There’s not a wasted word on Stellar Evolution, and that’s deliberate. After everything he’s been through and everything he’s learned, Aaron Lee Tasjan is a more intentional artist than ever before. “When you’re a touring artist, songs are like mantras; you have to say them every night. And so I really wanted those words to be affirming, and for the energy that’s gonna come out of them to create more of what I hope to foster,” he says. It’s another grasp towards the community and connection that matters most to Tasjan. “The role I feel like I can occupy is to say, okay, I’m gonna be in these rooms where people are gonna be paying attention, and somebody’s gonna get lifted up; who’s it gonna be?” That’s an attitude that harkens right back to the 11-year-old Aaron Lee in Orange County, a throughline that Tasjan never loses sight of for a minute across this album. With Stellar Evolution, he honors that kid and every other version of himself — past, present and future.