Few expected Alice In Chains to return after the death of original singer Layne Staley, but that’s what the grunge icons did in the 2000s with new frontman William Duvall. In 2013, as they prepared to release their second post-comeback album The Devil Put Dinosaurs here, Metal Hammer met the band in LA to talk about their turbulent past and bright future.
A late-winter heatwave has driven Los Angeles into a frenzy. We are only a few steps from the blissful shade of our hotel and we’re already burning up in the midday sun. The roads have ground to a halt and the mad rush of residents making a beeline for Santa Monica Beach is met with a collective ‘Ah’ as they find everyone else and their dog have had the same idea. The tantalising aroma of burgers and hotdogs wafts through the dusty air, luring all in its path closer to a heart attack, and the streets are busy with locals and tourists, though it’s hard to tell them apart.
Hammer is here to meet Alice In Chains, the grunge pioneers whose career slowly crumbled on the slopes of a magical yet treacherous peak, eventually claiming the life of frontman Layne Staley and, years later, original bassist Mike Starr. Yet today the band are in a very different place indeed and, after the resounding ‘Fuck yes’ that met 2009’s comeback record, Black Gives Way To Blue, which introduced new singer William DuVall, the multi-Grammy-nominated quartet are preparing to begin their next chapter with its successor, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here.
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As we stroll into the legendary Amoeba music store of West Hollywood, we spot Alice In Chains mainman Jerry Cantrell with William by the tills. They are both grinning and pointing at a black metal birthday card with the greeting ‘It is time to celebrate the quickening of your death’. Not far off, drummer Sean Kinney is almost crying with laughter at the vinyl artwork for the soundtrack to 80s American TV series Beauty And The Beast. “Now that’s fucking metal,” he chuckles, throwing the horns to a long-haired monster wearing what could be one of David Coverdale’s leather jackets.
Upstairs, bassist Mike Inez is eyeing up what looks like a Slayer shirt but actually has ‘Celine Dion’ scrawled across its chest in giant red letters. “I’ve met Celine a few times, she’s actually really nice,” he beams. An hour later and we’re cooling off in a gelato cafe, debating whether sangria sorbet is better than honeycomb crunch and trading our favourite ice cream ‘moments’. What happened to the endless tunnels of inner turmoil and, if black gave way to blue, what colour are they at now?
“We’re in our red period at the moment,” smiles Jerry, as we stroll to the shady courtyard of the historic Capitol Records Tower. He speaks softly and with slight caution, maintaining a level of reverential distance and mystique, his words barely audible over the perpetual hum of the building ventilation system.
“Every record is a snapshot of time,” he continues. “You get an idea of our evolution and, while a lot of things change, a lot of things stay the same. It’s never comfortable for me to make a record, but it’s something we love and it’s cool we’ve been given a second chance to do it.”
“Last time we didn’t have a record label or management sorted,” Mike interjects. “We were finding ourselves and had to work through lots of stuff. The main question was Alice In Chains surviving without Layne – which was the central theme of that album. Coming into this record we didn’t have a lot of those anxieties – we’re brothers that walk through the flaming hoops of life together and this time we feel more like a touring rock band.”
So as one door closes another one opens, and you get the impression that it’s much relief to a band who spent the majority of their last album cycle talking about drug overdoses and death, focusing on the pain of the past rather than the optimistic future ahead. Instead of shying away, the band bared their souls for the world to see and shared the very anguish which drove them to hiatus and later inspired them to return to the stage.
“It wasn’t stuff we’d really talked about in a decade so I’m glad we did it,” admits Sean. “Though it’s not a comfortable thing, none of those are pleasant stories, but I’ve learned a lot from seeing the amount of care people have for my friends.
“People dwell on the past? I hadn’t noticed,” Jerry deadpans, before bursting out laughing.
“It does get a little skewed once in a while,” continues Sean in a more serious, no-bullshit demeanour. “Especially when people feel that this affects them more than us – it’s an impossibility. Loved ones will die, your mother will die and you will have to deal with it.
“But am I gonna show up at your house or on the internet saying, ‘Quit living ’cos your Mom died’? No. And if you’re going to honour my friend, at least spell his name right. It’s disrespectful and then they have the nerve to be like, ‘Fuck you guys, for daring to go on.’”
“We get a lot of it,” shrugs William. “They keep telling me I’m no Layne Stanley ha ha!”
From the sludgy grind of Hollow to the acoustic balladry of Choke, everything about The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here is pure, unadulterated AIC – though the album name caught a few people off guard. On February 13, the band cryptically posted the message ‘Decode the past to reveal the future’ on their website, along with the letters of the album rearranged. One day later and the title was confirmed, generating some interesting reactions from fans worldwide.
“The perception of the band has always been an insular one, about personal and internal struggles, but this makes a nice change and breath of fresh air,” explains William. “A reference to the outside world to maybe get a debate going.”
And the chorus of the title track – ‘The devil put the dinosaurs here/Jesus don’t like a queer/No problem with faith just fear’ – is guaranteed to do exactly that.
“Some people still believe that dinosaurs are the devil’s work,” reasons Jerry. “They also believe the earth is flat, is only 6,000 years old and sits at the centre of the universe!”
While the words poke fun at some of the extreme views harboured by some creationists, there is also a much darker undertone and venomous polemic to the band’s message, and one that questions whether mankind is still evolving.
“It’s OK for our beliefs to grow instead of flat-out ignoring new ideas,” he muses. “It just amazes me that we’re still so fucking brutal to each other, just because of people’s skin colour, sexual preference or gender. That Westboro Baptist Church, those God Hates Fags fuckin’ guys, it’s just so disrespectful and hurtful. You’re right and everyone else is wrong – that’s the sort of mentality I have a problem with.
“As if it’s OK to strap on a bomb and go blow people up, or beat up people ’cos they’re gay or tell a woman what she can’t do with her body? It’s hate-mongering and fear-mongering and I’m not down with that. We’re trying to have a sarcastic laugh about something that isn’t that fuckin’ funny!”
“I can’t see us ever writing songs about boning strippers and doing cocaine in limousine jacuzzis,” laughs Mike.
Life for AIC looks very different these days, and the world around them has changed just as much as they have. Their final studio album before unofficially disbanding was made in an era when most artists were still recording to tape and fans were buying CDs. Fourteen years later, however, online piracy was wrapping its talons around the physical medium and, consequently, Black Gives Way To Blue entered an entirely different market. One week before releasing the most important album of their career, AIC joined the long list of bands who were getting ripped off.
“We were having a night out in Chicago with Lars Ulrich, and someone on his bus told us that our album had leaked,” Mike reveals. “There were 300,000 downloads in just that night – the numbers were mindboggling. We put in all that time, money, effort, love, sweat, piss and blood and it’s out there before we even get to do it ourselves.”
He pauses, staring at the paper cup in his hands.
“It’s like people want their art for free but are happy to pay five dollars for their coffee. We’re bitter old rock fucks at this stage, we’ve seen it all!”
“All the illegal downloading and social media is stuff we’d never dealt with before,” Jerry admits. “There was a lot to get used to and a lot of it was shit I didn’t want to get used to.”
Those haven’t been the only changes in Jerry’s life. Ten years ago, in the wake of Layne’s death, Jerry came to a crossroads that forced him to choose between “going out the front door” with those who let their chemical dependencies make decisions for them or “jumping out the back window, down a cliff into the blackberry bushes” of sobriety. Last year, he received the Stevie Ray Vaughan award, or as Mike gently put it, the ‘Junkie Of The Year’ prize, at the annual MusiCares benefit for all his work helping fellow musicians battle their demons and guiding them to recovery, following in the footsteps of previous honourees James Hetfield, Chris Cornell and Alice Cooper. For someone who was very nearly consumed by the same downward spiral that claimed the lives of many friends, the acknowledgement certainly meant a lot.
“A lot of people helped me get my shit together,” confesses Jerry. “Keeping yourself together can be an inspiration for someone else to go, ‘Well, if that fuckin’ guy can do it, so can I!’ It’s not easy, but it’s doable. I tried to replace the unhealthy habits with healthier ones.”
And what healthier habits might those be?
“Mainly golf! It’s fun to spend a few hours out in a beautiful place and forget all the bullshit. I don’t think I’ve ever cursed more than when I play that sport. There’s a bunch of us that do it – you know Alice Cooper is a ridiculous golfer, he could go pro. We went out with Alex Lifeson from Rush once; Vinnie and Rex play, too. Dime loved golf, he always used to dress up, get drunk and ride around in a golf cart with side pipes and flames on them and shit,” he reminisces.
With glowing reactions to Hollow, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here’s first single, through a fan-made lyric video using Instagram, as well as a highly conceptual sci-fi video directed by Robert ‘Roboshobo’ Schober [Metallica, Deftones, Mastodon], AIC are stepping into unchartered territories. Jerry is excited about them being in a healthy enough place to embrace evolution (not just in the lyrical sense) and continue building their legacy after re-establishing themselves as one of the most passionately admired groups on the planet.
“I think the videos came out well and were different,” he enthuses, as the temperature cools after the blazing Californian sun has gone down. “Videos are a strange medium for us, but Robo took the project on with a really strong vision, which is what appealed to us. We liked it so much, we’re doing our next one with him. Having the fans do the lyric video was killer too, and now it’s passed a million views…”
“Which doesn’t pay shit,” jokes Mike. “It would be great to get a dollar for every one of those views but I think it shows our level of commitment. We don’t just go out and buy a fuckin’ Ferrari or whatever, we put a lot of our own time and money into this…”
“Yeah, but I’d like a Ferrari some day, though,” grins Jerry.
“So there we go, that’s our next video: Jerry in a Ferrari stuck in traffic!”
Despite everything they’ve been through, AIC stand proud and still clearly love making great music. Long may they continue to do so.
Originally published in Metal Hammer issue 244, April 2013
