Art Appreciating Art: An Interview with Thax Douglas
Late last year, I found myself pulling into Davenport, IA as it began to snow. I was on tour with my bandmates in Styrofoam Winos, and despite the weather or the fact that it was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we were excited to play the infamous Raccoon Motel for the first time. These are the kind of mixed expectations and hopes that anyone who has embarked on DIY touring is deeply familiar with.
As we wrapped up our soundcheck, a man entered the club and approached the stage. I assumed he was with the local band, Subatlantic, who introduced him as Thax. He explained that he was actually a poet, and that he had driven three hours from Wisconsin because he had written a poem about our music, and he offered to read it as an introduction for our set. We stammered our appreciation and looked at one other with the kind of delighted glances that, again, anyone who has embarked on DIY touring is deeply familiar with. Of course, we would love it if he did that — it would be an honor. Our tour was now blessed.
We asked the sound guy if there was a decent spot for a quick bite, and Thax said he’d like to walk us. So we all shivered around the block to hole up in a pizza spot and got to know each other over slices. Thax explained that he’s been introducing bands with poems for decades, starting in Chicago; then in Austin; and now based in Madison, where he lives. He told us there was a 2007 documentary film about him called THAX, which we watched after the show in the band lodging above the venue. It was the perfect way to end a lovely night.
We were right to expect a scant turnout at the show, between the snow and the holiday. But the people that came were wonderful listeners, and the local band blew us all away. Most treasured of all was the poem that Thax read to introduce us, which we’ve framed and hung in our practice space. You can watch him read it below, followed by a short interview with Thax. When I told him the name of this magazine, he shared that he also composes quarter-tone and microtonal music in addition to the poems. “Ekphrastic poetry” is a term that’s used to define poems inspired by other art forms, but after meeting Thax, it seems like ekphrasis can actually be a whole way of being. I’m grateful he took the time to share more about his singular approach to poetry and to life, which seem to be one and the same.
LT: When did you begin writing poetry?
TD: Although I scribbled a lot in the 70’s and took some poetry classes between 1979 and 1983, my first serious poem was written the day after my 30th birthday. I’ve been doing it in a torrent or a trickle ever since.
LT: What gave you the idea to read your poems as an introduction for bands?
TD: I was looking for something that fit my aesthetic needs. My late 80’s and early 90’s poetry was gritty, personal stuff, but I’d burned out, and I wanted poetry that showed an appreciation for the outside world. I did poetry portraits of people for about a year but that fizzled. Reading for a band was a novelty at first, but it suited me. It was art appreciating art, and when I introduced the band I was part of the performance. I’m an honorary member of the band for that night! Since I’m constantly dealing with different bands it never gets boring.
“I wanted poetry that showed an appreciation for the outside world… it was art appreciating art.”
LT: What are some all-time favorite moments from the shows you’ve been a part of?
TD: Every night is special in its own way. The current answer to that question is a New York Dolls reunion show I was lucky enough to read for in 2008 or so. They were in their mid 60’s and they rocked so intensely! They gathered in a circle and concentrated on their instruments… they didn’t jump around like they may have done when they were younger.
LT: What is the process of writing a poem for a band like?
TD: I just sit down and think about how the band’s music makes me feel and start writing. Fortunately, those parts of my brain are crystal clear. I’ve learned to never second guess or revise.
LT: How do you discover new music? What about a band compels you to make the drive (sometimes out of town) to introduce a band?
TD: I just see who’s playing in town or in driving distance – I rely on my intuition that tells me what show to go to and I obey. It’s the same as letting the talent do the work for the writing. The whole project really has the aura of having been run by an outside force, a common experience for both artists and autists. Now, of course, with Bandcamp, YouTube, etc, it’s easy. When I started I usually discovered a band because they were opening for a band I was reading for, or I happened to hear their record on a college radio station, or I remembered them from when they played Lounge Ax in the 90s. As for how to choose a band, usually if I’m interested right away or if interest builds during the song that’s when the love starts. A bad band is one that thinks they’re succeeding by slavishly following cliches.
“The whole project really has the aura of having been run by an outside force, a common experience for both artists and autists.”
LT: Can you name three musicians, poets, filmmakers or performers that have most influenced your work throughout your life?
TD: Frank Zappa for being absolutely yourself. David Lynch for taking weirdness seriously. Allen Ginsberg for [his] concept of liberation through poetry, both reading and writing.
LT: Have you read poems at a poetry reading, with other poets? If so, how did that compare to reading at a rock show?
TD: In the 80’s my social life was reading with the same crew of other Chicago open mic-ers. There was usually an open mic somewhere every night, usually with a featured reader that was one of us. It was a jolly crew of eccentrics that wanted to have a good time and looked askance at the ambitions of the academic and poetry slam scenes. As the 90’s wore on, the scene got stale and I stopped going.
LT: How has writing poems for bands and attending shows influenced the way you think about your own music?
TD: Actually I wanted to do it first, but mostly autism and social inadequacy got in the way. But in this way, I’m a totally unique kind of rock star, one who’s part of thousands of bands. I think I’ve solved a couple of aesthetic problems by [the] great ones of the past.
There’s a Syd Barrett story that he showed up at the sessions for Wish You Were Here and said, “I’ve got a new song, want to hear it?” The band agreed, but when they started to play it Syd said “NO! That’s not right!” and played something totally different, saying, “Did you get it? Did you get it?” and when the band tried to play it, Syd did it again! I think Syd (or me) would only not be bored if he could do a new band with 10 new songs every night. I mean, I would feel trapped if I had a band and had to play the same 10 songs every night.
I also like to think I’m fulfilling the great critic Lester Bangs’ fantasy, [who] imagined sharing the stage with the J. Geils band and getting cheers from the audience as he typed his review. By the way, Lester Bangs, like myself, did a musical vanity project while living in Austin called Jook Savages on the Brazos.
LT: Have you considered releasing another book of poems to follow Tragic Faggot Syndrome?
TD: There’s one from 2008 called The Good Life, which features all the band poems I did in the summer of 2007. A few little chapbooks, too. I’m definitely overdue for a new one. When I first started doing this I had a fantasy that I would publish a book a year, each one featuring all the poems I did the year before – which in the years 2001-2010 was about 300 or so.
Quarter Notes Magazine 