Dug Nap
From pinhead to duane
Burlington painter/comic Dug Nap has been a charismatic figure on the Vermont music scene since his early ‘80s days as singer/songwriter with the immortal Johnson-based new wave band Pinhead. Pinhead made quirky, highly original music that used keyboards, guitars and percussion to create an art that was as much performance based as it was musical. Over the course of three albums, You Don’t Like Me, Do Ya?, Where Are You, and Forbidden Love, Pinhead created intense music that drew from the then-current new wave explosion as much as it did from reggae and urban dance music. Songs like “Kill Your Parents, Then We’ll Talk”, “Don’t Dance,” “No More Sex For Me,” and “Robots Making Love” were staples of a Pinhead diet. Hordes of folks were packing clubs like Hunts in Burlington and the Alibi in Middlebury and what was then known as “Upstairs at Nectar’s” to watch Dug Nap draw chalk-corpse outlines on dance floors, spray audiences with water during “Why Can’t You Get Me Wet,” and generally confuse and provoke the masses. While members of Pinhead have gone on to various other lives in various other places (early drummer Ron Ward now fronts the NYC-based punkabilly outfit Speedball Baby, just signed to MCA Records. Mark Spencer is currently on the road with Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories after spending a few years with Freedy Johnston, and his brother Jeff Spencer teaches future pinheads at Lamoille Union High School,) the man known as Dug Nap (formerly Doug Knapp) has made a highly successful transition into the art world, both as a sought-after painter and as the man behind a series of Vermont related greeting cards and the popular 'Duane" strip that appears weekly in local arts paper Seven Days. When we started this magazine, Dug Nap was on our mind. We wanted to create a lo-fi 'zine that would serve and promote Vermont bands that affected us and worked their asses off like Pinhead did, so we stole our name from one of their classic songs,"Be a Good Citizen." We hadn't really talked to Dug since the Pinhead days (Editor-guy was in a John Ford Noonan play called "The Year Boston Won the Pennnant" with Dug at JSC in the, uh, early '80s) so we decided it was high time to check in with our musical mentor, and who better to talk to the man himself then everybody's favorite sax player and studio owner… Gus Ziesing. Take it away, Gus.
My interview with Dug Nap was not hard to set up. We met for an hour or so at Speeder and Earl's on Pine Street where, coincidentally, Dug's paintings were on display–small canvases with a homily on each, things like "Be a good citizen", or "Honey, please don't load your automatic weapons in the kitchen." I booted up the 64-track digital recorder and the interview started.
DN: It's just about me, right?
GC: It's just about you, yeah. You but also some Pinhead stuff.
DN: What do you want to know? What do you want to know, motherfucker?
GC: You seem pretty busy these days with the art thing. It seems like it's happening for you, you know? You've got a cellular phone, a lawn chair. The art's going good, huh?
DN: Yeah, it seems to be going pretty good.
GC: You still work at the parking garage?
DN: Twelve hours a week.
GC: Are you doing mostly paintings, comics, or signs these days?
DN: I'm mostly doing paintings, but the signs are kind of an offshoot of the paintings. The painting started out in the beginning being images and words, incorporating the words in the images; and then, kind of an outgrowth of that was, well, I'll just do some with words, I don't think I have any images for these words. That was kind of an outgrowth of me being a lyricist. At some point I decided I didn't want to sing anymore, but I also wanted to use that lyric part of me. So I thought I'd have lyrics with the images, instead of lyrics with the music. And that felt really right to me. So the signs just grew out of that, and the cartoon just grew out of the other work, you know. "Duane" and stuff. The good thing about the comic is that it can give you more of a storyline, because it's small drawings. If I did everything I want to do in "Duane's" story and paintings, I'd have to make three thousand or ten thousand paintings, you know? I kind of enjoy it all, because I'm doing what I want to do. And then I do the cards, too, and that's getting a lot busier.
GC: The cards are getting busier? Weren’t you trying to keep a lip on that so that it didn't take all of your time?
DN: yeah. Other people in town have a national card business, but that’s not my goal. But I would like to increase it more in Vermont. The good thing about the cards is that’s a little more regular, but it’s more time consuming. It doesn’t pay as much as the art can, but it’s more consistent. (The discussion wanders off into the economic difficulties so being an artist or musician, a subject many readers of GC might be familiar with).
GC: How many paintings are you selling these days?
DN: Oh. I don’t want to talk about that really…
GC: O.K. Is it consistent?
DN: No, that’s my whole point, it’s not consistent. You sell a painting once in a while. That’s what is is. You sell a painting once in a while, and then you might not sell one for a long time, and there’s no way to predict that. Scary, you know? So I never have the feeling I have enough money. I’m living hand to mouth, but that could change…
GC: You’re from Vermont originally, right?
DN: Yeah, from Montpelier. I was born in Montpelier in 1946 on a Friday the thirteenth at ten of nine at night, at the same moment the town curfew went into effect telling everyone under the age of sixteen to get off the streets. On the city hall there’s a whistle that goes off at ten of nine. That was in effect before I was born- they don’t use it anymore. SOmeone told me that, I think it’s true.
GC: In your comics, I get a feeling of an autobiographical tone. Is the comic “Duane” somewhat autobiographical?
DN: Yeah, it’s autobiographical but I sort of reserve the right to use poetic license, and combine things. You know, like you might not really live right next to someone, but for purposes of telling a story it’s easier to change them to your next door neighbor, you know what I mean? You keep some sort of emotional truth but you translate to different keys, like in music. That’s the way I think of it.
GC: Do you have any strong childhood memories? Were you a happy little kid?
DN: I guess I’d just like to, uh…
GC: I’m not trying to pry…
DN: No, that’s o.k. In a lot of ways I feel like jeez. I’m sort of revealing everything. But I guess the way I prefer to reveal it is more through my work and hopefully people get some sort of idea.
GC: Were you interested in music and or art early as a kid?
DN: I was interested in art the first. I used to have this friend in my neighborhood, and we would get together and draw, sort of cartoons, things like cowboys. We must have been nine or ten. And also, I remember at his parent;s house, they had a piano there, and I used to like to band on that. My sister and her friends would sometimes sing, and I was impressed with that.
GC: In highschool did you consider yourself an artist or a musician?
DN: No, I didn’t consider myself to be a musician. I had friends who could play and I was sort of envious…
GC: Were you talked up as “the artist” in high school? You know, the way some kids are…
DN: No, I was talked up as the fuckup…actually. I don’t even know if that’s true. I would just characterize myself as having a lot of emotional problems in high school. I would mostly see myself as being pretty untogether then. I’d go to homewoom and sleep through the first few periods. And after awhile the teacher would just let me do that. I’d go in there, ga;; asleep in the back, and another class would come in, and I’d still be up in the back, my head on the desk, sleeping. They didn’t know what to do with me, I guess…I was having problems, so that was reflected in my grades, which were usually pretty terrible. I was troubled, that’s the honest way I could describe myself back then. I was abusing alcohol and stuff…
GC: No drugs?
DN: Not in the beginning, it was just alcohol. I didn’t really abuse drugs until ‘64
GC: Late high school? That was early back then, you were on the cutting edge.
DN: Oh, I ran away to New York. In September of ‘65 I ended up in a mental hospital because I had all these emotional problems, but also I’m sure because I was abusing drugs. The summer before that I was mostly abusing drugs in New York, and that ended me up back in the hospital, and that was a good connection in terms of art, because initially…
GCL How old were you then?
DN: Eighteen. But that was a good experience. I was really sick the first few months in the state hospital. But that I started to feel better, and I used to go to this art therapy program, in the state hospital, in 1965. They had just started it then, And so often on Wednesdays I would just make art for eight hours. But at the same time I had this strong interest in becoming a musician, after the Bearles and all that stuff, but I didn’t have any sort of skills to do that.
GC: Was Pinhead your first band?
DN: I had a couple of other bands…
GC: But nobody ever heard ‘em?
DN: No.
GC: What were your musical influences before Pinhead?
DN: IN 1970, or maybe 1969, I was exposed to Leonard Cohen. I thought he was neat ‘cause he sort of covered sadness. And I like blues for the same reason, because I think I felt a lot of sadness. And so I liked him, and I liked Tim Hardin alot. I would do speed or meth, and really get into listening to Tim Hardin, maybe fifty times in a row. And really just getting into that sadness- “Oh God, I just feel so terrible”...
GC: So you were into these folk guys who were lyricists.
DN: Yeah, kind of lyricists but also they would say it’s o.k. to be sad. And they would just make these really sad things, and of course Tim Hardin was into drugs, too. He ended up dying from a heroin overdose. So I was sort of attracted to that, but then I got into all kinds of rock stuff, too.
GC: I was just trying to figure out if there was a musical influence on Pinhead itself, because it sort of had a punk aspect to it.
DC: Yeah, it did. Now I definitely would agree…I was interested in things I could relate to. When I heard Leonard Cohen I guess I could relate to the verbal stuff, the good lyrics, and when I heard the other stuff I just related to the way I felt. It’s just like I use my art now, it’s a place to get rid of stuff you’re feeling. You’re feeling angry, you write a song about that. And then you start thinking, ‘Well, I’m not just feeling angry, I’m feeling happy yoo, what about trying to write a song about that’? And that can be harder to do, and it might not be popular- “We don’t want to hear any happy songs’ you know?
GC: I want to ask you a little more about Pinhead, because I know Good Citizen loves Pinhead. How did you meet up with the Spencer brothers and Tor (Borgstrom) and those guys? You started at Johnson and you were all students there?
DN: Yeah. I had some songs that I had written, bits and pieces. What really helped me was taking some creative writing courses, and having someone say, ‘why don’t you work on 15 or 20 songs and complete them all’ - that was really helpful.
GC: So that was the genesis of those Pinhead lyrics?
Dn: Actually there was more of a transitional period. At first, I was writing more of a Leonard Cohen or Dylan thing, and Marl (Spencer) collaborated on some songs like that, - in fact, we made a tape… sort of quiet acoustic stuff.
GC: And you put the tape out?
DC: Yeah. And we had this teacher, it was a work study thing. We would write songs and get credit. Mark would do the music, and that was really helpful to me. I can throw a few chords together, but Mark’s mother is a music teacher– I could call him a true musician, he has a good ear. He and his brother Jeff are both good singers, they sang in chorus, that whole thing. Knowing how to sing…
GC: So when the songs were written, you’d do the lyrics?
DN: Yeah, usually I would come up with some real rough musical idea and Mark would flesh it out and suggest better things, add things.
GC: Actually, I’ve heard things you did on your own, and I can hear the melodic similarities to Pinhead stuff.
DN: Yeah, I do have sort of a knowledge of basic chords, and I can make up a melody. With Pinhead. I’d come up with something really basic, and I’d have most of the words written…
GC: The words all had a similarity, they would stage the theme, and then they’d go into a list of reasons…
DN: Yeah, back then, that was probably most influenced by Dylan, and he gets it from Allen Ginsburg, it's kind of like a catalog of stuff. I think a mix of that catalog stuff is typical of Dylan, or a certain period of Dylan. And to me that comes from the Beat poets. It’s really related to rap. I know it must have influenced rap somehow. But I'm sure rap has an older tradition going back into black music. Things sort of meet, and react to each other, and get mixed up… But it would get kind of frustrating, that catalog thing. It’s kind of wooden in a way. I would get tired of doing it. I’d think, ‘How can I get out of this sort of catalog thing?’
GC: Can you remember the words to “Good Citizen”? The chorus goes “Be a good citizen” –
DN: yeah. I haven’t thought about that for a long time. I don’t remember all the words.
GC: Doesn’t come to the top of your head?
DN: No.
GC: We’ll have to research it…
DN: Don’t ever be a litterbug…Don’t get hooked on booze or drugs…
GC: One of them was ‘Dont have sex with little kids’...
DN: Don’t have sex with little kids…yeah… But there's also a good part of the catalog in that it’s not too precious, you know? Some lyric writing is too precious, like college students wrote it or something…the good thing about it is it can be really fresh, but it can get stale and wooden. Sometimes it’s effective, but I can get really sick of hearing these long grocery lists, you know?
GC: The early ‘80’s were Pinhead’s heyday. You guys were drawing the big crowds, and you were the front man for this unique band that was drawing the big crowds, at least locally. Didi you find yourself thinking like ‘Man I’m a rock star’ and get drawn into it in any way or did you keep your perspective or did you not care?
DN: I think that was probably more true for the other guys, just because I was ten years older than everyone else. I think I was pretty clear, I didn’t drink then at all. I was totally straight for the whole thing. And everyone thought. “Man he must be on acid.” But that’s the thing that’s so good about being straight– you can really access all this stuff and it doesn’t get blocked. That’s how it feels for myself. We all gave this stuff inside of us, and if you just choose to let it go, you can, and it’s really interesting, but a lot of times people are afraid. Towards the end I was frustrated on stage, I wasn’t really enjoying myself, I had a lot of fear. I wasn’t in a lot of ways happy with what I was doing. Like I’d listen to my voice when we were recording, or we’d do soundchecks and I'd be uncomfortable with what I was doing…Most of what I was doing was purely from the gut sometimes…It’s hard to describe.
GC: You guys had a good stage show, good presence…
DN: Yeah, my problem was more with the vocals, the catalog stuff, some of the writing. I had some kind of theatrical background, so I felt good as a front person; I wasn’t shy, I moved around a lot. I always liked dancing, have since I was a kid. That was one of the things that I was attracted to about a rock band, the fact that I could combine my interest in dancing with my interest in theater, and my interest in writing and expressing my feelings, and even my interest in art some by doing posters. I thought, “Gee, this is perfect for me’, combining all these things. But I feel much happier now as an artist.
GC: Flies are crawling on your scones.
DN: That would be a good name for a song.
GC: Just a couple more Pinhead questions–I don’t mean to dwell on it or anything. It seemed that Pinhead was all set to break out of Burlington, which was a rare thing back then. You had a nice original sound and you were playing down in New York and all that. A lot of people thought Pinhead would become a regional or national band. Why did the band break up?
DN:I think because of my age at that point. We’re talking about ten years ago, so I was like thirty-eight. I think I did sort of an evaluation. First of all, the relationships in the band I would describe as dysfunctional. At times. And there was problems between the band and management, and I think because of these problems, that made me re-evaluate. I remember thinking, “O.K., We’re having this sort of local success…” And my attitude was always, we’re not competing with the Decentz; like, I want to compete with the Rolling Stones or something, you know? I had that attitude. But at the same time I felt I took a realistic look, O.K., here’s where we’re at now. It would probably have taken us another four or five years to become really successful. So then I’d be what, forty-three? So I started thinking about that, and the problems with the band, and I felt I didn;t have a lot of musical skills, And I think I got burnt out doing it. It is a younger kind of thing. It’s strenuous, you’re repeating yourself every night, and you can’t write enough songs, and you get sick of some of the songs. So to me it was sort of this whole re-evaluation I knew the most important thing for me was the creating part. I like to make thighs. That was the attraction…I think I was really just getting burnt out. I wasn't a drinker anymore, didn’t want to be a smoker. And there was a ten year difference between myself and the rest of the band. They either put me or I put myself into some sort of leadership position. I was always the one saying, “We should rehearse four nights a week”, and not just like fuck around. I think that might be some of the reason we had the success that we did.
GC: How much did you rehearse?
DN: three or four nights a week. We had a house in Johnson that we rehearsed in. My friend John Ford Noonan, the playwright, got some money from selling a screenplay, and let us use his house. That was really helpful. So yeah, I was really into doing it. I thought the best way to get better at this was to do it a lot, and I liked doing it, And I think that the rest of the band liked doing it, too, but they also liked getting high, and those things don’t always go together. It’s better almost if five people in a band want to get high, but not to have one person that doesn’t want to get high and four people that do want to get high, you know? It put me into a kind of fatherly position, and everyone resents me because I’m more like the boss or something… It’s hard to be a boss and I was a boss in a way, but on the other hand, Mark (Spencer) was a boss, too, with all of his musical knowledge. One of the good things about me is I was able to…I could hear people playing these little licks, and I would say, “Oh, that’s neat, let’s put that together with this” or whatever. I could respect Mark’s musical knowledge and take advantage of that– I was always supportive of his playing. So we're talking about the negatives, but there was definitely a lot of positive stuff too.
GC: What’s your current opinions or preferences in music? If you did a band now, what kind of band would you like to be?
DN: Well, I wouldn’t do a band now. But I have written these songs you’re aware of, and I have an interest in finding another singer to sing them. I don’t have any interest in performing. In terms of listening to new stuff, I listen to the radio…I liked WEXP before they were sold…I like to hear a mix of classics and new stuff, because a lot of the new stuff coming out is really good.
GC: Do you listen to any of the local bands?
DN: I don’t really go out at all.
GC: Have you ever heard Chin Ho!
DN: A couple of times, a few years ago. I thought it was good, it was expressive…I saw them on cable, but it was much better to see them live–but I don't go out much.
GC:Have you ever read the Good Citizen magazine?
DN: I’ve read it once or twice.
GC: How do you feel about their naming the paper after your song title?
DN: I don’t know what…it’s sort of like Rolling Stone naming itself after a line from a Muddy Waters song, It’s just another generation of something, I don’t know…
GC: So they’ll be hearing from your lawyers?
DN: I think people should buy my…maybe what I should do is make a “Be a good citizen” sign…I should make some band title songs, because I’m not a musician anymore, and I've got all this stuff that's not doing anything.
GC: I would think Good Citizen would pay you big money to have a sign like that in their office…
DN: Yeah, they should put that in their office. I could a series of Pinhead song title signs.
GC: What were some of those song titles, just for those people who don’t remember?
DN: “Kill Your Parents, Then We’ll Talk”...”No More Sex”...”Be a Good Citizen”...”Almost Human”...”I Want Women”...(At this point someone starts mopping the floor near the table. The flies have almost completely devoured the scones. Coffee grinders drown out the conversation. John Hiatt blares from the Jukebox. It is time to go).
GC: Any future plans?
DN:I feel comfortable doing art. I just want to have fun doing it, in the same way a rock band has fun doing what they want to do. I'm trying not to sell out, but at the same time trying to make a living. I like doing art a lot, so I need to do it for a living, or else I’ll spend my time doing something else, and I’d rather do art. I’ve had a show at my place on lower Church Street for the past two years with the help of Pat Parsons. I’ve been invited to be in outsider art shows in N.Y. and L.A. So for all your west coast readers out there…(pause) do you have any more questions?
GC: No, I gotta take off pretty soon.
DN: Can you give me a ride back?
GC: Yeah.