East River Pipe and The Tortured Artist Fallacy

Must great art result from suffering? Who knows, who cares. This is well trodden territory. Suffice to say, for me, the music is always more interesting than the story. As the poem is always superior to its context.  Whatever produced the work of art; its catalyst, can only ever be factual, however tragic and dramatic the saga. Whereas the book, poem song, despite being precipitated by everyday life, is distinct from the sordid details of its inception. It enters the ether of all art and becomes full of possibility for whoever encounters it. It is mystical and free and occupies a logic unique to itself. Is able to speak to all who are exposed to it, thus having a universality that the events of one life could never attain. New each time a different set of ears hears the melody. 
       This is why I find it infuriating that the cult of personality has become so dominant in music. Would Nirvana be as renowned today if not for Cobain's tragic demise? Probably not considering the (relative) obscurity of their contemporaries such as Mudhoney, and Dinosaur Junior. People love a story. This is why Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago, achieved such notoriety. It conformed to a cliched idea of romanticism; the heartbroken bard trekking off to his cabin to translate his soul's deepest murmurings.This is to say nothing of the album's impenetrable lyrics, and murky, brilliant soundscapes. All people want to talk about is the story and that is the least interesting thing. Everyone has a story, it is what these artists make their story into that counts.
 If you want gossip read Hello. This kind of prurience has become so ingrained into our culture that the myth ends up swamping the art. This may sound somewhat paradoxical coming from me (here I am writing about music!), but I just feel it is better to concentrate on the tunes themselves. I'm of the Leavis school of criticism.
    Enter Fred Cornog, (aka East River Pipe) who has been quietly churning out confessional lo (ish)- fi gems for over two decades now. With a backstory which, by his own admission, is "profoundly fucked up", Cornog is one of those artists whose 'story' is captivating enough on its own.
           From Norfolk, Virginia, Cornog wound up homeless and an alcoholic after dropping out of college, only to be rescued (literally) by his now wife, Barbara Powers. She managed to find a home for the talented hobo, in the form of an esteemed record company, Merge, who released his music. He also signed for the now extinct cult indie label Sarah Records in the UK.

          East River Pipe's relative anonymity stems partially from Cornog's refusal to do gigs and tour, and also from his unwillingness to be centre of attention. In a recent interview he said "I have low ego needs......my dad spent the first 18 years of my life drumming that out of me." He records all the instrumentation himself. This hermetic insularity in such a commercial age is both eccentric and refreshing. It really is all about the music. And it's the quality of this work which sustains the Merge contract. Cornog still has a job, he works at the Home Depot (a kind of US Homebase) in the flooring department.
           This could be seen as a metaphor for the humble, earthy nature which permeates his music. And I suppose, despite my splenetic protestations above, that it does help to listen to his music with a knowledge of his personal life. It confirms the gritty realism and authenticity with which Cornog seals his narratives.   
   The opener, 'Back Room Deals' comes over as a world weary sigh against the vapidity and monotony of the everyday. Presenting its narrator as opposed to a world in which the titular "deals", are all the world seems to hinge on. A perfect introduction to an album of slightly unhinged indie, at odds with its surroundings. ERP sound unique. Perhaps a bit of Beatles here and there, bit of Kinks, or, as Spotify suggested, Teenage Fanclub. Yet no more than faint echoes of all these acts. Cornog's inimitable melodic stamp is all over proceedings.
  Subtly expansive, tracks such as 'Cold Ground', have a glorious sonic complexity that repeated listens unveils. In a similar way to Cornog's deadpan delivery, the sounds at first seem slightly underwhelming, unremarkable. Yet this veneer of ordinariness slowly peels away, revealing insidious hooks which seep into the skull. Each song pans out with minimal fuss, never a false note, no song outstaying its welcome.
            There is lovely variety too; from simple love songs such as "Summerboy", to the mordant, short-story-like vignettes of "Payback Time", and even a slice of glorious FM pop, in "The Flames are Coming Back." This last cut is perhaps my favourite East River Pipe song. Strangely cryptic but resonant lyrics, "threw a coin in the wishing well, and now I want it back," set the scene for an emotional odyssey; the centrepoint of the album. The narrator wrestles with the flames (demons?) in his attempts "to change (his) life."

The closest Cornog ever gets to a gig.

Despite such melancholy humour is never far away, lighting the bleak halls of ....Rented Rooms . Payback Time's great line, "Voltaire and Kierkegaard fell from his lips....of steel" will live long in the memory.

Beauty in art shouldn't be dependent on pain in the artist, but Cornog along with so many other great artists goes some way to supporting this potted hypothesis. Indeed, a stint as a homeless alcoholic should be a rite of passage for all aspiring musos, if this is the result.
  Tortured or not, this artist's songs speak for themselves. They speak specifically through his brilliant lyrics; wry, unobtrusive, sometimes caustic and always candid. His abilities have won him many plaudits, including luminaries such as John Darnielle of Mountain Goats, Okkervil River and David Byrne among others.
           
Let this everyman loner virtuoso into your life. Or just listen once and you won't have a choice!