‘Buy me a sandwich or something’ — the trucker-hatted John McCrea just wants to be able to eat
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If you’ve turned on a radio in the past decade, there’s a good chance you’ve been exposed to Cake. Singles like “The Distance” and “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” propelled the band to short-lived bouts of mainstream success, but most taste-makers seemed unwilling to look beyond a handful of hits. Thus, in spite of churning out six LPs worth of excellent material, deftly fusing musical styles as diverse as ska, country and rap, Cake has been labelled a one-hit wonder or a novelty band.
“We get that from people who haven’t ever listened to a whole album,” says John McCrea, whose rich vocals and flawless sense of lyrical timing are one of the band’s many defining features. “I know that we have value, and despite the fact that record companies and radio stations have honed in on one kind of song from us, I think we have some depth, and it doesn’t bother me. I feel grateful that people are enjoying our music, even if to them we’re just a gimmick band, even though I know that’s not what we are. Or maybe life is a gimmick — the whole thing. Maybe there’s no such thing as a gimmick band and there’s no such thing as a serious band either, because seriousness is a gimmick, too.”
Clearly, the biting sarcasm and bitter cynicism found in Cake’s lyrics are in sync with its front man's sentiments. Coupled with his long-running habit of using the band’s website to foster debate on social and environmental issues, McCrea’s demeanour places him askew in the music business, walking in syncopated step half a beat ahead of the fold. Not surprisingly, last year’s B-sides and Rarities compilation was self-released on the newly created Upbeat Records label, marking the end of Cake's relationship with Capitol Records.
“We’ll never sign with a major label again,” assures McCrea, a longtime opponent of the rock ’n' roll lifestyle. “I think the geometry of that business is a little too top-heavy. Too many professional diners taking themselves out for lunch all the time. The bottom line is that labels are selling something that’s free. These days, only suckers pay for music. How is that kind of corporate culture going to sustain itself on crumbs?”
McCrea’s cynicism regarding the recording industry is far-reaching. While he remains committed to his craft, he clearly struggles with the ever-increasing perception that he’s part of a dying industry. His sense of skepticism appears to be born of an unusually savvy understanding of the shortcomings of the new music economy. Even when discussing recent milestones like Radiohead's self-released In Rainbows, he sees more of the same.
“With Radiohead, it seems like most people didn’t pay anything or paid a dollar,” he says with a sense of exhaustion. “So the biggest band in the world is reduced to panhandling on a street corner, really. As much as I’m excited by the freedom of that model, it’s a little bit pathetic that the thing we do — our job for the year — is free. That’s a hard thing to stomach. If people want to listen to the thing that I can do, that I think I’m good at, I deserve something for it. Buy me a sandwich or something.”
Despite the turning of the screws, McCrea and his gang of misanthropes soldier on. Their loathing of the “carnie lifestyle” of touring will continue to be balanced by their love of playing shows. And in the next few months, with or without sandwiches, fans can look forward to a new studio album. Whether or not the band will finally receive due credit for its sad songs, waltzes and other such fare is hard to say.
“It’s actually really different than any of the previous Cake music,” says McCrea with guarded enthusiasm. “Although I’m sure everyone will say it sounds exactly the same.”
