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 The sexy soul sounds of MAYER HAWTHORNE will return to Australian shores soon. MITCH ALEXANDER checks how the party preparations are coming along.
Ann Arbor, Michigan – A Saturday morning in 1986. A young Andrew Cohen sits at the kitchen table across from his mother. The weather outside is expectedly cold, so Cohen and his pals have planned to hang out at the mall, maybe go see a movie, maybe run into some girls from school and awkwardly flirt the only way pre-pre-teens know how: slight to medium levels of psychological abuse. But first, he absent-mindedly plays with his Cheerios while Mom (not Mum, this is America, remember?) delivers another one of her well-natured but boring lectures.
“Andrew, you’re on your way to becoming a man, and that comes with certain expectations,” she says, trying to hold the child’s attention.
“Mom, don’t call me Andrew, my friends call me Mayer,” he fibs to her, trying to cultivate the new name while fixing the hood of his jumper. It will be colder, but if he keeps his jumper unzipped, people will see his fresh new Grimlock t-shirt. Girls like Transformers, right?
“Andrew, are you listening to me?” says Mrs Cohen, popping his daydream bubble. “Now, most grownups treat each other with respect. Being polite is very important, so say please and thank-you. And you should always try and make a good impression, so yourself when you meet people.”
“But why?” Andrew groans. “It all sounds like being a phoney, what if I don’t want to?”
“Well, years from now, you might become a neo-soul singer who tours the world and talks to lots of people … and there are very few musicians that get anywhere by being a dick to perfect strangers, do you understand? Ok, run along with your friends. And don’t tell your dad I said the D word – that can be our secret.”
“Right on, mamma” he says, already halfway to the door.
Whip forward to the present day, and that boy amazingly still remembers those words. Andrew Cohen, now Mayer Hawthorne, picks up the phone from his LA recording studio and casually says:
“Hello, this is Mayer Hawthorne, how do you do?”
“Oh hey, this is Mitch Alexander, how do you do?” says the voice on the other end, having had a very similar lecture from his parents years ago. “That’s kind of cool, that your introduction is also the name of your album … it’s like a subconscious plug!”
“Well, you know me, the album is like an introduction for people, so I’m introducing myself too,” Mayer explains.
I do not, in fact, know Mayer Hawthorne very well. I mean musically, yeah, I listened to the suave sounds of 2011’s How Do You Do more than most other records from the year, then worked my way backwards to his 2009 debut A Strange Arrangement. But we’re not buddies, a fact that became apparent when I asked whether he goes by Mayer or Andrew in general conversations.
“Oh man, call me Mayer, only my parents call me Andrew,” he quickly replies, almost sounding offended. “Calling me Andrew is a sure fire way to show that you don’t know me, that we’re not friends. People come up to me all the time at shows and call me Andrew, thinking that will get them in … and it has the opposite effect.”
Naming preciousness is not the greatest start to an interview, so I fall back on an easy question. Lob one straight across the plate: where are you and what are you up to?
“We’re hanging in LA, just between rehearsals, getting ready for the big How Do You Do world tour,” he responds, much more at ease. Bingo. When in doubt, fawn.
“That must be exciting, how is the band going with the new songs?” I offer.
"…obviously there are lots of sexy ladies at every show, but then there are the cool kids, the punk kids, mothers and fathers, old people, hip hop people, and we always make sure they have a good time."
“Man, y’know, it helps that I have probably one of the greatest bands in the world,” he boasts (aka 'The County', the catch-all label for any musicians who back him). “We’ve been doing new arrangements for old songs, completely new songs.
“It’s going to be great to come to Australia, we’ve been there a few times already – we’re veterans! – and it’s always a good time. This job is great, it means I can visit places around the world that most people don’t get a chance to, and eat everyone’s dope meals.”
Non-ironic use of the phrase ‘dope meals’ aside, we’re getting back on track. Hawthorne’s music is a syrupy soul salute to the slow jams of mid-'70s Curtis Mayfield or Marvin Gaye, meticulously crafted with instruments made of wood and metal instead of chips and processors. His voice, once wavering and ancillary on The Strange Arrangement, is now an expressive force, whether it’s in the shape of a delicate falsetto or a masculine tenor. A scrawny white guy from Michigan singing the values of sexual healing could be accused of pastiche or parody if it wasn’t done so damn well.
“Man, I’m not like James Brown, fining cats for playing bad notes, but I like to make sure everybody is doing their best,” he says with a laugh. “This band works harder than anybody else around.
“The way I see it, why show up if you’re not going to give it everything you’ve got? I always say, we don’t do concerts, we do shows. And the greatest thing about a Mayer Hawthorne show is that all types of people come along, and they all get into it. I mean, obviously there are lots of sexy ladies at every show, but then are the cool kids, the punk kids, mothers and fathers, old people, hip hop people, and we always make sure they have a good time.”
“I mean, to each their own – if you want to come to a show and sit still, that’s your thing, that’s fine. But move towards the back and leave room up the front for the party people.”
There’s a level of self-assurance that you can’t help but admire and jealously loathe. But when discussing his move from Stones Throw Records – the tastemaking Californian hip hop label that has over the years housed underground masters like Madvillain, J Rocc, Quasimodo and label founder Peanut Butter Wolf – to Universal Republic, he shows a level of honest reflection not hinted at from previous responses.
“When I put out The Strange Arrangement, I had every major label knocking on my door,” he reveals. “But I have lots of friends in the music industry, and there are thousands of horror stories about bands that disappear after a bad experience with a major.
“Dude, I couldn’t sleep; it kept me awake thinking about it. Universal Republic were the first guys to sit down with me and be on the same wavelength, and so far it’s been a good decision. But it was still the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life.”
I get it, it makes sense. Hawthorne’s attraction is built on the notion of authenticity, the ability to channel a bygone era of sultry and suggestive soul music, with real emotions and real instruments. ‘Selling out’ is Kryptonite to such artists, and signing to a major label can be the most effective ways of getting chunks of green space rock thrown in your direction. But in my Mayer Hawthorne fan fiction, this is just one more step to make sure there’s more party people at the front of the room.
“And what happens if you can’t remember people’s names?,” the 1986 Mayer Hawthorne asks, his hand clutching the doorknob.
“Well, hopefully if you become the cool soul singer that I’m grooming you to be, it will be perfectly reasonable to call people ‘dude’ and ‘man’.”
Hawthorne is in charge of his own comic book story arc from this point forward. And like all the best, it looks like there will be action and adventure, and plenty of sexy ladies. Obviously.
MAYER HAWTHORNE & THE COUNTY play The Hi-Fi on Thursday Mar 1, supported by Electric Empire and Fantine. HOW DO YOU DO Is out now through Universal. www.mayerhawthorne.com
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