Santeria is a Louisiana-based rock band that is set to release it's fourth album on it's own label on March 10. The band plays a brand of southern influenced rock that is dark, heavy and complex. "Year of the Knife" was produced by Grammy winner Tony Daigle and it is a fine record. Frontman Dege Legg recently took time from one his many projetcs to tell us a little about the band and the latest record. I want to thank Dege for taking the time to provide such an insightful look into the world of Santeria.
For more on Santeria please visit: http://officialsanteria.com
Congratulations on the new record. Your music has been described as “complex and compelling”. How do you describe your style and approach to making music?
We’re not reinventing the wheel…just jamming our own cards in the spokes. It’s psychedelic-influenced rock filtered through a distinctively southern perspective, but with none of the clichés you’ve come to expect from southern rock—beer guzzling and monster trucks. It’s psyouthern rock with a Deep South post-modern set of aesthetics.
Is there a project that you are taking a break from to do this Q&A?
Yes, in addition to Santeria, I play in a sonic-roots ensemble called Black Bayou Construkt—like God Speed You Black Emperor-meets-Neil Young-meets a southern Pink Floyd. Also, I do solo stuff under the name Brother Dege—like Robert Johnson on Thorazine slide-Delta Blues…all originals and no mid-life crisis cheese.
Do you have a particular musical philosophy?
Yeh, it’s called “Go with Your Gut.” The key to timeless music is to find a nice mix of butt and brains. If it goes too far to one extreme, it tends to suck. Too much butt and you get meathead rock. Too much brain and you lose the soul and only end up impressing other musicians—and they don’t really give a crap because they’re just a bunch of desperate bastards who are nuts as well.
Is there a thread to the work you do?
The thread is the vision and the vision is this: take some mellow psychedelics, duct tape two kaleidoscopes together like some freaky binoculars, and point them at people and things around you. In our case, that would be the Deep South. Look inside. Repeat.
Growing up, did you want to be a musician?
Absolutely. There were no other aspirations. Never wanted to be a fireman, lawyer, cop, salesman, or bank teller. There was a short spell where I lost the plot and wanted to be a truckdriver, because it seemed like fun…but not as fun as rocking or being some kind of master criminal…so I forgot about it. I never really had a “plan,” nor do I now. I just knew that I was destined to not be a robot…even though over the years I’ve worked some seriously robotic manual labor jobs…it was all in service of a higher ideal.
Did you come from a musical family?
No. None of them played music. Not one. They were all farmers, cotton pickers (no bullshit), and fighter pilots. Actually, I had one old crazy, Cajun great-great Aunt that played fiddle. She ended up a spinster and lost her mind.
How do you define good work?
Good work is not defined by records sales. 3 Doors Down can testify to that under oath. So can a lot of other bands that shall remain nameless. Good work is defined by following your own aesthetic vision, regardless of whether or not it succeeds financially. History has a poor record of doing great artists wrong during their time.
You guys are from Louisiana. Do you have a favorite local place to play shows?
The venues are unimportant. We’ve played in barns. Actually barns and swamps are the best. It’s the vibe and energy that people bring to a particular show that makes it memorable in a surrealistic way.
The album is called “Year of the Knife.” Why?
It sounded cool and conveyed a sense of what was going on with the rest of the album. Kind of like an intensity that mirrors where things are going in the world. This slow-rolling turn into the darkness of greed and corruption and selfishness paired up with each individual’s frustration with it.
One of my favorite songs is "Can You Dream?" Do you have a favorite song on the record? Why?
They’re all like my kids. I want them all grow up and lead interesting, successful lives…and inspire great things from other people. But not all of them make it. Some flunk out of school and end up in an alley. Some unexpectedly climb mountains. Some are problematic and never turn out the way you’d hope. But this record is pretty satisfying in that respect. “House of the Dying Sun” is like our “Amazing Grace.” “Mexico” is like our version of an old western movie, starring drug smugglers and Neal Cassidy + aging beatniks. “Year of the Knife” is like a post-apocalyptic, middle-eastern spaghetti western, Anunnaki hoedown with FEMA camps and Babylon/New Orleans burning with pillars of salt rising out of the floodwaters.
What was the overall tone you were going for on this record?
Just a balanced album…like an old Stones or a Beatles record. Even though we sound nothing like them, we dig the balance of tunes—light and dark, rockers, barnburners, acoustic songs, a sense or humor backed with heavy-dark brooding tunes and old world delta blues-inspired things. As well as some experimental songs that even we don’t really understand. We dig it all and we don’t like to censor ourselves, as in, “Maybe this isn’t right for the record.” No, the only quality control is whether or not it is a good song.
Are you happy with the final recording?
Yes. Tony Daigle and Primo did a great job of twiddling the knobs and we all sort of co-produced it. After the fact, there are always things you would change, but we can live with this one.
Were you inspired by anything specific while you were making this record?
Everything around us is fodder. Our job is just to assign our own meaning to those things rather than co-opt others’ expressions. All of Louisiana is very inspiring. The people, the land, the rednecks, the junkyards, the swamps, Cajun folks. All of it. It’s like a European ghetto with tons of soul, hidden away at the bottom of America. The Deep South is like the haunted subconscious of America. And we try to tap into that.
What was the most challenging part of this project?
Financing it. We’re not rich kids, so paying for it was a challenge. We put this stuff out ourselves. No label. No hype. No bullshit. We’ve inherited nothing but our wits, which is as it should be in creative persons. Anything to the contrary that preferentially succeeds ends up being a well-rehearsed exercise in craft.
Where did you do the recording?
Basic tracking was done in a junkyard that borders on a notorious haunted swamp where people disappear. We tracked it ourselves and had a good time doing it. Mixing was done at Tony Daigle’s studio where in between fielding distasteful questions from him about our sex lives, we mixed the record.
What is the studio space like – is it big?
The junkyard-studio was huge. Probably a football field in length. God could park a fleet of Cadillacs in there.
Why did you go with producer Tony Daigle?
He’s an old friend and he kind of inherited us in 2001. It was a match made in weirdness. We’ve been stuck with each other ever since. He’s the best game in town. I mean, what more could you ask for? 4x Grammy winner—not that that makes any difference but in a small town like Lafayette it does. It means you’ve done something. Rather than nothing. And he’s worked with some greats: Sonny Landreth, Dr. John, Gatemouth Brown, B.B. King. Etc. Although, we’re a rock & roll band, we respect the roots, because those are our roots as well. We’re not pretenders to the throne. We don’t distance ourselves from our roots and pretend we are something we are not.
How have people been reacting to the record so far?
So far there have been no negative reviews or feedback. It’s all been overwhelmingly positive. Which is strange, because you usually get a couple naysayers. In our case, it’s usually nerds who think we’re not wimpy enough or metal heads who think we’re not macho enough. Both are right in a way. We embrace both sides of our souls, which is not usually the case with most bands. Either they portray themselves as “sensitive souls” who wouldn’t hurt a fly (but secretly they are totally Nazis) or cinder block pounding meatheads who never smell the flowers (but are totally worms). Both are lies that serve to segregate emotions and compartmentalize souls into little boxes that serve them no good in the long run.
I believe this is your fourth record on your GolarWash Labs label. Do you have any plans on working with another label at any point? Have any big labels expressed interest in working with you guys?
We get major labels calling everyday. They call my cell phone. They call my mom’s phone. They even call my sister. I tell them all to fuck off, until they can show us that they have true soul. Not the plastic-fantastic speedboat Miami Vice variety. I don’t want to own the world. I don’t want to tell anyone what to do. I just want some land and few cool books to read while the mushroom clouds pop like cotton candy overhead. A label is nothing more than a bank that lends money to bands at a bad interest rate. I’m not totally against big record labels, but they would have to have faith in our creative vision. Bean counters don’t make great art…unless it’s like, origami or something. I can deal with producers. And even bean counters. And labels. But only if they let us do what we do. This music will find an audience. It already has…on its own terms.
