Stardom might not have been in the cards for the Atlanta-based trio, but longevity has been. They've lasted well over a decade in a business that usually chews up and spits bands out in a matter of months. Now, with the band on something of a hiatus, frontman Kevn Kinney offers up his third solo effort. On it, Kinney strips away the rock elements from DNC's sound, leaving a dusty, backwoods folk record that's clearly the most compelling music he's made in years. He sat down for lunch with WRE recently to bury old ghosts and give some new ones room to ramble.

Kinney: So did you hear the record?

WRE: Yeah. I heard it. I like it. Yeah, Michelle was telling me that when you heard it was me doing the interview, you were surprised. You knew I wasn't a big drivin' n' cryin' fan or something like that.

Rumors have it.

Yeah, I was doing a story about six or eight months about the sort of myths and realities about being on a major label and figured you'd be a good person to talk to having been through a few labels and kind having been through the wringer...

I haven't really been through the wringer. I just like to shoot myself in the foot a lot.

Either way.

(Laughs). They had every right to get rid of me. I have no animosity towards anybody. I've reaped what I've sown.

So, anyway I called a couple people who I thought would know how to get in touch with you pretty easily and they were all shocked that I wanted to talk to you. Referring to some show review I had maybe written three or four years ago at least...

I think the only thing that everyone was upset by was that 'you don't get it' or something like that. And you know what? I didn't understand why everyone was so upset. I was like, "Whatever, the guy doesn't get it, what's wrong with that?" The thing is, the way you said it, was -- well, at least I knew you were at the show. You said something about how you were at the Masquerade and you just didn't get it. At least you went to the show. That's cool with me. I don't really care. Good press or weird press it's just whatever.

I wasn't quite sure...the thing about drivin' n' cryin' is, it's so distorted when it gets to Atlanta. See, like in Seattle and New York and Boston, we're the cool, weird, Americana, psychedelic band. Y'know what I mean? We're playing like little clubs in Philly and Baltimore and then you get to Atlanta and it's like, they play you on the radio all the time and people are like, "Oh!" It's only really like that in Atlanta. (Laughs). So it leads to -- y'know, it's the usual, "Oh, I was there then." If, uh, uh, what are one of my favorite bands from here, uh, uh, Lopez, Chris Lopez...

The Rock*A*Teens?

Yeah, the Rock*A*Teens are cool. But if the Rock-A-Teens accidentally get on [Atlanta radio station] 99X and have a hit single, everybody's gonna hate them. Y'know what I mean though?

Well, I think the chance of that happening is pretty slim.

You never know though. You never know.

But I think part of it for me, like you were saying, was coming through that distorted lens of Atlanta. I moved down here about five years ago. I knew you guys, not that well, more knew of you, but I started doing a little writing on the side and everyone who knew that I wrote about music, was like, "Have you seen drivin' n' cryin'? You gotta see drivin' n' cryin'?" Everyone who grew up here was so fanatical about you guys.

It gets too much. It's just like, "Shut up about them already." They can't be that good. I know what you mean. You're sick of hearing about them.

And I think part of it was, for me...

But it's mostly, the thing about the Southern thing though is, people get used to this, they get attached to this, as a memory of drivin' n' cryin'. "They were the first band my dad took me to see..." and "They were like this," and "Oh my god, Drivin' 'N Cryin'!" It's not like that in Chicago. And the show is different in Chicago. It's a different kind of show...

Was that, or is that, fact kind of hard for you guys, where it becomes kind of a cross to bear?

No. The only hard cross there is to bear is that you're not cool in Atlanta. Y'know what I'm saying? In Boston, you're fuckin' cool because you

"It's hard not being cool in your own hometown."

never go there and you're playing and there's like 200 people and the coolest of the cool are there, and it's cool. Okay? There's no rednecks, there's no normal people, there's no anything. There's like Evan Dando and y'know what I'm saying?

It's not that hard for me because I don't give a rat's ass. I just do what I do. But it's a little distorted. It's hard not being cool in your own hometown. That's the only thing. My drummer, Jeff [Sullivan], really couldn't understand this. And it's just like, "Hey man, they play 'Straight To Hell' four times a day on [Atlanta radio station] 96Rock. They're not going to embrace you at the Earl [hip Atlanta venue]. You're cheesy. And they're gonna think you're cheesy." But we do a lot of secret shows. We did [another Atlanta venue] the Echo Lounge and did all new stuff I'd written in the last couple months. I wrote a show just for the Echo Lounge. Just to give people a vibe of what it's like when we're not in the cradle. Whatever. We don't need to talk about drivin' n' cryin' that much.

But we're rectifying the David Peisner/drivin' n' cryin' saga. But y'know what, I got nothing but respect for you and I think it's cool that you -- and I knew where you were coming from. Being here, you come to a show...R.E.M. was like that for me. I moved here from Milwaukee in '82 and all I heard was "REM, REM, REM, REM" and I went to see them at the Fox for the Reckoning show, and although I enjoyed it, and although I would have enjoyed it a lot more had I found it, the fact that everyone was telling me about it and the guy sitting next to me threw up on my shoe and it was like, I was like, "I don't get it." Cause I loved Reckoning and I loved Murmur but then I saw them in that environment -- where in Milwaukee you could go see them and there were 7 people there -- then it's like [ritzy Atlanta venue] the Fox, and it's everybody, and you get lost a little bit because you feel like you're left behind.

Well, it's just like with music, there's this bizarre joy of discovery. Of being the first person who knew. Of being one of the 10 people who sees this amazing show by some band no one's ever heard of besides you.

That's the glory of music. Discovering it.

What brought you here originally from Milwaukee?

Work. To get a job.

Any job or a specific one?

Any job. Milwaukee was just closed. It was closed.

How old were you when you came down here?

I came down in '82, so I was 21.

Had you been down here before?

No.

How'd you end up here then?

Well, my brother hiked the Appalachian Trail and wound up in Atlanta. And he called me and said, "Man, you need to come down and get a job." I remember, me and my girlfriend at the time, sold off everything we had, had a yard sale. Got in her Honda Civic, went to Graceland and came down here. And went to Tybee Island. Lived on the beach for a little while. And then I got to Atlanta. Time to get a job. I was living in my brother's truck. In the back of his pickup, he had a little camper on it. Sleeping in parking lots and things like that. And he got the Want Ads out and said, "Let's go."

So I went around and I interviewed for a bunch of jobs, contruction jobs, laborer jobs. And I got a job as a laborer at the sewage plant. And I stayed there for two and a half years. Became a carpenter. I did that. I was sleeping in that damn truck for about six months. My girlfriend would pick me up and I'd go to the Exxon station, take off my sewage clothes and put them in a plastic bag cause I was stinky as hell. Cause we were re-doing a sewage plant so it was already working. (Laughs) We don't need to talk about it really.

The good old days.

And then I would put some clothes on and wash my hair. And then, the next morning, waking up and putting those damp, cold, stinky clothes on, it was hell. But the thing was, is that, me and my brother did our first show here, opening for the Violent Femmes. Caused I grew up and went to high school with them. Brian [Ritchie] was my best friend in high school. And I had a punk-rock band in Milwaukee called the Prosecutors, so Brian had me open there and that was like my first gig in Georgia.

That

"I never wanted to be in a cover band and I don't want to be in a cover band, covering my own songs."

was for the Hallowed Ground Tour. And I was living in North High Ridge Apartments and Die Krusen used to come down. You know who Die Krusen was? They used to be on Touch & Go, they were like, Jane's Addiction ripped them off kind of. They were before Jane's Addiction, hardcore, psychedelic, and they'd come stay at my apartment, back in the days when nobody was touring, they were living in a bread truck. Touring America non-stop, making their t-shirts in my apartment, screening them, drying them, folding them -- like a whole ensemble. And they'd come for like a week and we'd learn some old Prosecutors songs and I'd open for Die Krusen at the Metroplex or something, the old punk rock club. Where are you from originally?

Detroit.

Oh, you're from Detroit.

Lived out in Boston for a little while before I moved down here.

So I was playing with Die Krusen and Tim [Nielsen] saw me play and asked me if I wanted to start a band or something like that. But I was determined not to lose my folk thing, because I really loved to play folk music or whatever it's called, acoustic.

So did you have plans to stay down here or were you thinking that far ahead?

Oh yeah. No, I was never going back. Too cold.

Did you not like growing up in Milwaukee?

Well, are you from Detroit?

Fair enough. I have no plans on going back there anytime soon.

And why? Too cold.

Well, it's not the cold for me...

It's too cold for me and too depressing for me. I call it the Land Of Things That Used To Be.

For Detroit, I think it's the Land of Things That Never Were.

Kinda.

I dunno. If I had a dime for every "renaissance" the city of Detroit's had in the past 20 years -- where they're revitalizing the downtown area, blah, blah, blah. Well, I'd have a few dimes. The suburbs are nice. The city is better than it was 10 years ago, but still not very interesting.

Well, the girl I was dating -- I broke up with her in November, December -- but she was going to Cranbrook.

That's where I went to high school.

You did not. That's a weird little complex. I was up there visiting her when Gov't Mule played at St. Andrews. She was the one that had the idea that I should make a record with Warren [Haynes of Gov't Mule]. He was like, "Let's get together," and six weeks later I was in Hoboken, making the record.

What were the things, when you moved down here, that you noticed being different, right off the bat?

Umm, well I think the first thing I noticed about the South was the lack of attention to detail. The way people let things slide and let things move. Things are a little more fluid. Like, in the Midwest, it was very like, "Oh, I can't do that. My manager will fire me." Here, things were a little more like, "we'll take care of it," or "it'll get taken care of," or "just relax and everything will be okay." You don't have to have a phone. Whatever.

That's suited you better you think?

Well, y'know. I'm pretty non-committal about everything, so that's pretty good for me. I enjoy the game. I enjoy people making decisions, I enjoy the complexities of people. I enjoy how you see some people and you don't necessarily -- people like Deacon Lunchbox. He was this brilliant poet here and the guy just looked so hard, he was huge. And all I remember he used to go, "Underbrush. The difference between the South and the North -- underbrush." Just that there's foliage everywhere and things like that. And I always think of his big beard and think of underbrush. But what a gentle, beautiful person he was. He didn't look the part, but then you seen him in like a bra, banging on a bomb. I also liked the way that people down here actually thought that they could actually succeed. In the Midwest, the music scene in the midwest, people were down on themselves and even when they did succeed, they were going, "Aw, well it was just luck, and I'm sure it'll never happen again." There's a real downer kind of mentality, like "We'll never make it. We suck," y'know what I mean? Midwesterners have that kind of self, uh, self...

Deprecating?

I was gonna say that but I'm not sure. You're the writer. (Laughs)

How quickly did drivin' n' cryin' start connecting with people down here?

That's what I was just gonna say. That was like our first show. Well, Tim was in a band called the Nightporters that were kind of big, but that first show they handed me like $200 after the show was over and I started splitting it up between the bandmembers and they were like, "No that's yours." And I was like, "You're kidding me! This is amazing!" We did a great show and people were coming and connecting with us and they really liked what we were doing with the folk thing. We'd always open with a folk song like "Mountain Top," and then we'd go in to some psychedelic thing. People got it right away. People were hungry for it at the time. I think they were waiting for something a little bit different. Y'know, punk rock and country-tinged things like that. I always thought it was just psychedelic -- y'know Flying Burrito Brothers, Chocolate Watch Band, Them. Y'know the stuff that sounds like...what's Chris Lopez's band again?

The Rock-A-Teens.

Yeah, the Rock-A-Teens.

So what's the status of the band right now?

Right now we're on Crazy Horse hiatus. Cause it's kind of like Crazy Horse. I can only play those songs with those guys really. Officially. But my official position right now is that I don't want to be a cover band of my own material. I never wanted to be in a cover band and I don't want to be in a cover band, covering my own songs. Like, y'know 30-40 minutes of each show is dedicated to playing "Honeysuckle Blues," "Straight To Hell," "Fly Me Courageous," "The Innocent," "Build A Fire," -- y'know, the required thing, and I don't have the guts to not do that. I don't have the guts to charge somebody ten bucks and not play "Straight To Hell," cause I'm too blue collar for that.

I feel like, somebody paid ten bucks, brought their girlfriend, I don't know...So it's best, if I don't feel like doing it, I'll just do this thing and I might do another rock band, something different, a little bit weirder, a little bit more....but I'm doing this folk thing and that's my way of doing something different and getting my chops up and not being lazy and working hard. It's not as easy to do, I mean, it's harder to do it, and financially, I'm definitely not making huge amounts of money but it doesn't matter to me. I would rather do my own thing now.

Make yourself happy first.

Yeah, I do. I'm very happy right now.

You mentioned not wanting to be a cover band covering your own stuff, which kind of brings to mind the fact that you covered two drivin' n' cryin' songs on the new album -- or re-doing them -- what was the impetus for that?

Well, "Scarred But Smarter," isn't really re-doing it, it's a new version of it. It's different chords, it's a different attitude. It's not an angry attitude, it's more of a positive attitude towards it. And once again, I am scarred but smarter. Again. I was scarred but smarter that way, and now fifteen years later, I've done everything, I've met every rock musician I ever wanted to meet, I toured with every rock musician I ever wanted to tour with, I've stayed in every hotel I wanted to stay in, I've done everything I've wanted to do, and now what?

And

"I've never poofed my hair. Ever. I've never worn leather pants. I've always worn the same black shirt and the same black pants that I've worn since 1979."

so, I've really worked very hard and it's not bitter, it's upbeat and it's about moving on and there's another chapter. The "Straight To Hell," that ended up on there was supposed to be a bonus track with Haynes, [Edwin] McCain, and Kinney -- "I Shall Be Released," and "Straight To Hell," which were the two closing songs we used to use when we did the shows as Haynes, McCain, and Kinney. But the thing about "Straight To Hell" is that it's a beautiful love song as far as I'm concerned, that gets a little misconstrued as far as an anthem kind of thing. And it's kind of like when they say, "own your neuroses," I wanted to take it and say, "I don't mind playing it. I enjoy playing it but if I do it at a little different tempo and I sing it a little more nonanthemic, the point of the song still gets across."

It's a little love song, a little Romeo and Juliet kind of thing. And once again, in Atlanta, it's huge. In the South, it's big. In New York, they don't give a rat's ass. They've never heard it. In Oregon, I play it up there and they're like, "Wow, what a great tune." They have no idea what "Straight To Hell" is when you get down here. So I wanted to do it -- so I'm doing a lot of NPR, a lot of weird stuff like that. A lot of bookstore signings. Most people have no idea what that is.

Like with "Straight To Hell," especially...

It's not a marketing ploy for the Southerners.

No, but I thought one of the things you'd like most about getting away from drivin' n' cryin', is not having to play that song for the 10,000th time...

I put it on there last so you can delete it easy. (laughs)

I just figured it'd be nice for you not to have to play it.

Well, I have to play that one anyway. But the main thing with drivin' n' cryin' was the volume and the rock things. The "Fly Me Courageous" thing was more of a chain around my neck than "Straight To Hell," or "Build A Fire." That was more of a burden to me than that. I never did mind playing "Straight To Hell." I like playing it. My only thing is that I like to open with it or something like that. You can put it in its place. You can put it where you want. I can also not do it. Like, I just played the Flicker bar up in Athens, those kind of shows like that, I don't have to do it. It depends on how much you pay to get in. If you pay five dollars, I don't play it. Maybe I play it. But if they paid 15 dollars to see me play somewhere...

I'm sure you feel that more down here though than somewhere else.

Yeah, that's what I'm saying. In Chicago, they don't care.

Looking back now, are you disappointed at all, that despite the success you guys had in the Southeast, that you were always sort of "on the cusp" everywhere else and never sort of rolled that over and had the big commercial success?

I'll tell you, I think the most miserable year of my life was when drivin' n' cryin' had a huge hit. That "Fly Me Courageous" hit and we were touring all over. And it was like doing the Masquerade [large Atlanta club], everywhere we were going. It was like 800, 1000, 1500 people slammed in there, people around the block. It was huge. It was a huge phenomenon.

It was great and I was never so fuckin' miserable in my entire life because I had an hour and a half of time to fill and I had a lot that I wanted to say, a lot more intricate things that drivin' n' cryin' was all made up about and I had to suffer through an hour of music that nobody really wanted to hear. They liked the first song, cause you came out, you played your first song. Now I had to play for an hour and no one's really listening and then I have to play the hit at the end and then it's over. And I had tried my best to do -- y'know, I'm doing "Peacemaker," I'm doing acoustic stuff in the middle and they're not really getting it, and that was depressing to me. It was really a lot of hard work. And no, the thing is, I'm well-known enough in every city in America to get at least 70 people, and that's really all I want.

Y'know, it depends on the day, it depends on the hype, it depends on the weather, but musicians are spoiled brats. Musicians, in general, but rock stars are babies, but when you look at the world of a painter who is never appreciated until he's basically dead. And even if he's alive, like Todd Murphy, here, who's a brilliant artist here, he does well and people come see him, but can he go to every city and have 70 people come up to him and say "good job?" You have to be focused. I don't and I never have made art for the gallery. I've always done what I do, and I've shot myself in the foot all the time on a promotional level, but no, I don't feel weird being on the cusp, I like being on the cusp. I mean, what's better, orgasming or right before you orgasm? I mean I think right before you orgasm is better. I'd rather be right on the cusp of that (laughs). Because even when you make it, then you have to stay there. Once you're there, then you gotta stay there.

The Foo Fighters, they gotta stay there. Now, they're fucked. If they make a record that doesn't sell, now they've been seen as, "They lost it. They couldn't figure it out. They couldn't keep it up." That's not an envious position for me to be in. Again, I would love to make a lot of money but I'm not -- I live in a little apartment, I have a van, and that's all I have, and I travel and I have two children that live with their mother here in Atlanta, and I take care of them and that's important, and I do my best to do what I can. The PC thing to say is "It's all about the music," but it really is all about the musical integrity of doing it.

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