Henry Rollins

The name Henry Rollins evokes different thoughts in different people. Some remember the man’s days in the seminal punk rock band Black Flag. His position as the band’s last and most memorable frontman earned him a reputation as a tough, take-the-punk-rock-bull-by-the-horns-and-don’t-let-go-until-it’s-dead kind of guy. It is the kind of credibility that you can’t buy; it has to be earned, and Rollins earned it.
From the rough and tumble of the same DC punk scene that spawned bands like Minor Threat and Fugazi (which, coincidentally enough, both feature one of Rollins’ oldest friends and independent punk rock guru Ian MacKaye), Rollins saw the nation and the world with Black Flag, before it all came to an end in the mid-1980s. At that point, Rollins diversified.
Some know Rollins as a writer and publisher, as well as a public speaker. The end of Black Flag found this road-weary, maturing, punk rock frontman in Los Angeles, where he began doing spoken word, writing poetry and publishing his own, mostly hand-written ‘zines. As his garage-based publishing business, 2.13.61 Publications (titled after Rollins’ birthdate) grew, Rollins became known as publisher in his own right, putting out his own books at first, and then signing the work of other authors, including other notable Los Angeles rock types Iggy Pop, Exene Cervenka and Nick Cave, as well as lesser-known writers. Nowadays, much of Rollins’ time is taken up by his prodigious spoken word tours, engaging college students and others with his ideas, stories and anecdotes. Rollins is currently on his Think Tank tour, in support of a spoken word album of the same name.
But Rollins started with music, and he is still deeply entrenched that world. Though Black Flag has long been over, Rollins carried on with a short-lived, minimalist yet aggressive rock project called Wartime, and then put together the Rollins Band, a group of dedicated, talented musicians who add quality aural backing to the less-than-in-tune, cathartic vocal releases of Rollins, an expression in which you can hear the power and strength of the man’s personality.
It is this fortitude of character and iron will that marks Rollins' public persona and personal philosophy, in everything from making music to making books to lifting weights. ("When your head explodes and the capillaries your eyes break open, you know you’re lifting some weights," says the thick-necked weight-lifting junkie, who readily refers to the gym as church.) And Rollins carries on with music, whether it be with the Rollins Band or with his new solo project.
"It’s really hard rockin’," said Rollins about the music on his upcoming solo records. "It’s kind of lower in the food chain on riffs, not as musically ambitious as the Rollins Band, but it packs quite a punch. I wrote a lot of the music for it, and I’m producing it, so it’s going to be a very burly mix—lots of guitars and lots of testosterone."
The album features a supporting cast made up mostly of the Los Angeles band Mother Superior, as well as a couple of guest appearances by MC5’s Wayne Kramer and Thin Lizzy’s Scott Gorham, and is rife with the heavy guitar sound that Rollins loves.
"It’s hot slabs of rock," he said about the burly blues-based rock record, "played with mucho gusto."
But Rollins isn’t necessarily the big tough guy people may gather from seeing him on television, listening to his records, or reading his prose and poetry. Rollins is, in fact, an intelligent, considerate person, who is, personally speaking, as human as one can get. At one point in our conversation, Rollins referred to the state of the nation, seeing hard times on the horizon.
"I think the culture’s falling in on itself, and I think we can expect a fairly rough ride. I’m predicting stormy weather," he said. However, if you’re thinking that one of rock music’s hardest hard-asses is ready to hunker down and kick some ass when it comes down to it, think again. Rollins has a different outlook on the big picture.
"I’m being tolerant, and hope that it spreads. You know, being generous, friendly and strong."

How does a punk rocker get into the world of publishing?
I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask one?

Okay. How did you break into the world of publishing?
I saved a lot of my food money back in the ‘80s. I was only saving a few bucks here and there—‘cause it was pretty lean back then—and I saved enough money to make a fold-and-staple book. I kinda’ hand wrote everything out because I didn’t have a typewriter. I sold about 500 of those, and took the money—whatever money I got back from them; I gave most of them away, I’m sure—and made another paperback, another run of the fold-and-staple. I took that money and got someone to typeset some stuff for me and I made a paperback. And then another one, and then another one, and eventually, I got an office to kind of hold it all. Basically, it was very small steps.

It’s an expensive business to get into.
Yeah, and just slow-moving, unless you just kind of take off. It’s a kind of a bit of overhead that doesn’t fly out the door, so what money you put into it stays in for quite a while, but if you’re on a strained financial landscape, it might not be the way to go, if you’re fond of food every now and again.

Are you still pretty involved in the running of the 2.13.61. operation?
Not as a involved as I used to be. I mean, I pick all the stuff that goes on the label, but for the day-to-day, I’ve hired a staff of people to do stuff because I just can’t be here for it—nor do I want to mother over the business part. I’m really not interested in the day-to-day business thing.

You’ve said that writing music is kind of a catharsis for you when you’re penned up, frustrated, angry, whatever.
Oh yeah, it’s definitely good to have an outlet. I think that’s probably true for a lot of people.

What drives the poetry and spoken word writing you do?
It’s not as angst ridden as the music, but it’s a real need to communicate. I’m one of those people who wants to be heard, I guess. I think I have that horrible need for attention.

How did you get started doing spoken word?
Just through local shows around here [Los Angeles]. It basically started with, like, poets on stage. This one promoter knew that I was writing stuff, and he knew I had an attitude, and he said, "Why don’t you get up amongst these poets and do your thing." I’d get up on stage for about 20 minutes, tell some stories. I’d kinda be the "punk rock" guy, you know, the wise guy. I’d be lookin’ pretty scruffy, there among these poets, and they’d see me as the illiterate, the Cro-Magnon—when I’m actually pretty far from illiterate—with tattoos, unshaven. You know, some people might draw conclusions. So, I was seen as like this kinda’ scruffy Neanderthal, and I would just get up and do my thing. Pretty soon, all those people were opening up for me, which kind of pissed them off. Now I’m publishing books and they’re still arguing about how their gonna do their fold-and-staple book. A lot of these people kind of waited around for opportunity to knock, and it really doesn’t knock, you know? You gotta’ go break it open. I used to get a lot of shit like, "Oh, you think you’re all that ‘cause you have a book out." Whatever, man. I sleep with the owner of the company every night. I mean, I don’t even have a regular job, and if I can do this, what’s holding you back? That was always my question.

The last time you spoke in Chico, your material ran the emotional gambit. There was some really funny stuff, and also a really serious story about a young fan in Australia who was hospitalized, who you went to visit. Do you sit down and map out how you want the mood of your shows to go, or do you just get up on stage with your notebook and go for it?
Well, on that notebook, there are ideas. That young man’s name was Marius, and on the set list, his name will be on there, like a song. I basically write down single words to make kind of an emotional flow chart. That’s a pretty serious story, there’s not a whole lot funny about it, so I set that one up right after something that is funny, and I basically create this landscape that, hopefully, keeps people interested in staying with me. And if I never get to any of those ideas on the page, I don’t worry about it. Also, I’ve been on stage almost half my life. It’s a place I’m very at home.

Do you also express yourself through your acting, or is that just for fun?
It’s fun. When you’re acting like someone else, it’s kind of a confining thing, but you can find yourself in there. I guess that’s part of the job. And I like it the more I do it. I did three films last year, and quite enjoyed it.

It seems like all of your roles are pretty fun too.
Yeah, but they’re not going to throw anything serious to me. I mean, I’m a non-actor, I look how I look. I’m not going to play the sensitive doctor with tattoos. I’m gonna get what I’m gonna get, but you can’t necessarily say that I’m not having fun and I’m not doing a good job. It just that, yeah, I’m pretty limited.

You’ve obviously got your hands in a lot of jars, including the occasional television appearance and advertisement. Exposure of that magnitude can really get you tagged with a "sell-out" label by the hipster types.
Well, those are indie hipsters who probably don’t work for a living, and if they do, I bet you anything they’d probably switch paychecks with me in a second. That says it all.

What’s the motivation for doing all that stuff?
I do it because I have to. I have fun though, you know, it’s fun doing all that stuff. I know the industry I’m in, and I live on people’s approval. It could all be over tomorrow. And I’m not stupid. If they’re offering work that I don’t think compromises me, I go for it. I mean, if they want me to advertise cigarettes, I say no. If it’s
something I’m not down with, I don’t do it. But I do all the voice over work for GM Trucks, and next time you get pulled off the slab, it’ll be a GM truck—that ambulance taking you off to the hospital. They’re all right. I’d drive one of those things in a hot second, if I wasn’t so busy driving the BMW 540i that I have.

It’s a far cry from the van, huh?
It’s a very far cry from the van. It’s black, it’s sleek, it goes really fast, it’s very comfortable, and it’s got a great stereo in it…unlike the van.

What are you rackin’ in the stereo these days?
Right now, in the other room, I’m listening to Alice in Chains but I listen to a lot of different stuff—everything from folk music to classical. Actually, I’ve been listening to this Nubian Oud player named Hamza el Din, and I have about seven of his records. I recently saw a lot of Nubians in Egypt, and I wanted to hear more of that stuff, so I just went to the Egypt section [of the record store], and there was all this stuff by him. I said, "Well, he looks interesting," and bought one record. Then I went back and bought the rest. He is just amazing. That’s some heavy stuff.

You’re also a big jazz fan. Does that come across in anything you do?
No, not really. It’s so high over the head, I mean those guys were operating on such a heavy level. I think it’s just more inspiring ‘cause it’s these guys who went out with no real insurance of a future, but went and made this music for the sake of it, not for financial gain. I mean, no one in those days really became a rich rock star. The first rock star of jazz was Miles [Davis], he had the Ferrari and the lifestyle. Everyone else, at best, lived fairly comfortably. Like [John] Coltrane, he had a house at the end of the day. But guys like [Thelonious] Monk, they never got out of an apartment.

They just did it for the love of it.
Yeah, and when you’re operating like that, you don’t have a lot of commercial concerns, and your whole thing is going to be different.

You’ve told interviewers that you aren’t too fond of the idea of a so-called music "underground," which in most cases, isn’t.
Well, I think it’s just that America’s been pretty pussified. You know, there’s a lot of real pussy-ass music out there, and I just wonder why young people would be interested in mediocre, cowardly, timid music. I just wonder if maybe I come from a coarser time.

What kind of music are you referring to?
The kind of stuff I see on MTV and hear on the radio. It’s so corny. I think, ‘Wow, you’re really into that?!’

The definitions of the terms "underground," or "independent" are pretty wide ranging. Do you consider yourself an independent artist?
I’m not tied to anybody, really. I do what I want. I call my own shots, and I have worked very hard to eat and do that.

Are you going for that "tough guy" image?
I don’t know how tough I am… I’ve met tough guys, and I just don’t know how tough I am. But, who else is going to stand up for me? I can’t count on you to do that, nor would I want to. It’s not your job to take care of me, so I’ve learned to take care of me. You know, the entertainment world is very harsh, [there is] a lot of rejection in this business, a lot of people here today, gone tomorrow. To hang, you gotta’ be pretty rugged. You’ve got to have a thick skin, show up on time and deliver the goods even when you’re not so good. If you do that for 18 or 19 years like I have, you’ll get pretty intense. And you know, there’s nothing you can put in your article that will stop me. Anything you can say has been said before, and they were probably right.

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