Austin American-Statesman (08 April 1983)

Tour promotes 'No Man's Land'

Lene Lovich plays first Austin concert

Detroit's transplanted Yugoslavian Lene Lovich has been playing now-you-see-me-now-you-don't with the rock scene, but not by choice.

In 1978, she joined the maverick Stiff Records label along with Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe and Ian Dury. Lovich released "Stateless" and captured the attention of an FM-weary with the single "Lucky Number", a dizzy, daffy, unforgettable hit. The follow-up, "Flex", marked the end of her honeymoon: Stiff/Epic began to lose interest, and by early 1981, she had dropped out of sight. No extensive tours, no albums - only the underpublicized EP "New Toy", which died quietly on the record racks.

Lovich hopes that it's all behind her now. Her latest release, "No Man's Land", is "something I feel very strongly about", she says. "But I was afraid that without my touring, it wouldn't get the exposure I'd like to see it get." Hence, her full-scale American tour, and her first visit to Austin tonight at the Opry House.

So far in the tour, it's become evident that her audience hasn't abandoned her. "Our concerts have tended to be sellouts", she observes calmly but with pride. Lovich fans will notice a new leaning in "No Man's Land" toward electronic texturing, with cohort Les Chappell opting for synthesizers over guitars in most songs.

The similarity to fellow traveller Thomas Dolby's techno-pop is obvious, but Lovich hastens to point out that, "'No Man's Land' should've been released two years ago. Before then, I couldn't afford much equipment and had to borrow a used synthesizer from a sculptor friend.

"When I recorded 'Stateless', although I had a number of ideas, I think I was relying on popular rock traditions. On 'Flex' I was able to experiment a bit more, but the product was still a little rough. On 'No Man's Land', the musical ideas are more technically effective, I'd say."

One area that remains consistent about Lovich's work is her lyrical fascination with romance, communication and the breakdown of both. Although she's reluctant to explain her prose - "I'd rather leave them open so that the audience can participate in the music" - she confesses that they're "very, very personal."

Still, Lovich's desire to break through to universal communication is unwavering. Her recent theatrical production in England of "Mata Hari" succeeded from every conventional vantage point, but Lovich remains dissatisfied. "There could've been more for Mata Hari (her role) to say - "it could've been made more universal", she says. "I'm hoping to do the production again, but without these changes, I won't."

Lovich has plenty with which to occupy herself in the meantime. The unintended hiatus hasn't shut off any avenues for her; indeed, she sees even greater possibilities in 1983. "Certain radio stations have begun to open their mind to different kinds of music, and this is very good", says Lovich. "They're also playing more 12-inch singles, which gives the artist more room to experiment."

"But a variety of music still isn't being played; it's mainly dance music you hear. Some of the European material has been good, but as far as the actual musical content . . . well, it's been lacking."

Enter Lene Lovich - perhaps, this time, for good.

Lene Lovich will appear at 9 tonight at the Austin Opera House, 200 Academy. Admission is $8.50.

New York concert - rehearsal interview (23 Sep 1981)

From original broadcast of concert excerpts (released on DVD in 2007).

"We want to play Studio 54, because we're very impressed of the idea that this trendsetting disco is gonna start to promote live shows. They made a deliberate effort to encourage live music, and we wanna support this. Also, there's the opportunity to film the show. I mean, TV is a very personal media, and we're gonna be able to invade people's homes. And I like that idea, I mean, people are going to be able to see us as we really are. Most people, in order to get anywhere in this music business, have got to water down their ideas a lot. And you gotta become very middle-of-the-road, so that the general public feel comfortable enough to go out and buy your records. But that just wouldn't work with us. So far, I think we've managed to keep our personal identity, and it's very important to us. We've now got this great opportunity to communicate with a lot of people without having to compromise at all. I think doing this film is going to help people understand us. I think photos can be very misleading. And I think some people are put off by the way we look. But I want people to know that it's not a gimmick, it's just our own personal style. And I'm very concerned with personal freedom. I think looking the way you want to look is a very small freedom that you should enjoy, if you have the opportunity. I just feel I wanna be creative in everything I do. But I want people to understand that we're real. And I want them to know that our music means something to us. I mean, it's our whole life. We're very independent, and we wanna survive. I think it's important to try and create without compromise, because that's the only way to progress. And I'm not interested in being a Top Ten artist if that means being a clone of the next one. I wanna be myself. I think there are a lot of individuals out there who'd enjoy what we do and have affinity with it, but they won't, and that's our way of getting through to them, and that's why we're doing the show."

In Record Timez (US; Jan-Feb 1983)

LENE LOVICH SAYS WHEN

"I don't speak at all from the American side of the company," Lene qualifies before citing her grievances, "but in England, Stiff is very much a Top 10 record company, which is fine in a way, but sometimes it's a little difficult trying to please everybody and at the same time please yourself. And I'm extremely stubborn I suppose when it comes to my creative freedom in music. So it's just taken a very long time to find something that they're happy with and that I'm also happy with."

It is impossible to classify Lene, because she refuses too succumb to anything quite so tangible. "I see myself as very much of an international person," she declares. I don't really concern myself with (creating an image) because here I am and this is what I do. There are certain things about my past that I don't really wish to discuss. So for this reason I suppose I remain slightly vague. It's a little bit like the presentation of my songs really in that I don't wish to spell everything out to people. It lessens the audience participation in what you do. I don't know, I've never made a real secret of the basic facts of my life. They are there if anyone cares."

[...] Lene first picked up her reputed saxophone around this time, as well, which she leaned to play under the tutelage of a friend, Bob Flag. She also had a burning desire to sing, but found that her unique falsetto met with much opposition.

"I used to go to auditions with bands and I never got the gig," she recalls. "You see, people have a preconceptive idea of what they think a singer should be. And I just didn't measure up to their expectations."

Although she laughs now, it's apparent that Lene Lovich, the aspiring performer, did not laugh at her rejection. But the fire that burns from her cobalt eyes likewise burns within. It drove her. It still drives her. "There was a little voice inside me that wouldn't be quiet. It was desperate to get out and it made me do it," she says, half mockingly, of her determination. "I was very unconfident and yet I wanted to do it. What I did is that I went off and for five years did all sorts of jobs. Anything I could to get close to music. All sorts of stupid cabaret gigs. Put up with all sorts of abuse just to be close to music. And just to gain experience."

Now as her long-overdue third album is being readied for shelf life, Lene is in England testing her talents in yet another untried area: the theater. In a musical account of the most fantastic treason trial of World War One, which she composed in collaboration with Les and Chris Judge Smith, the upwardly mobile exotic dancer who convicted of spying died before a French firing squad in the early 1900's.

Like Mata Hari, the middle class Dutch girl who created her own legend as mysterious Indian dancer, Lene Lovich writes the script to her own life. "The thing that's most important to me," she decrees, "is the freedom to be myself. I don't want to be silenced. I think I've every right to do what I want to do."