When Concrete Blonde founders Johnette Napolitano and Jim Mankey sat down for lunch with their former drummer, Harry Rushakoff, last spring, the seminal L.A. postpunk band had been split up for about seven years. While Napolitano and Mankey had collaborated on various projects throughout the intervening years, the three hadn't been together since 1994. But Napolitano, for one, had more in mind than catching up. "It wasn't for old time's sake, it was because something needed to happen. It was deliberate," says the singer, bassist and primary songwriter. "We wouldn't have gotten together if there wasn't a record there."
That record is the new Group Therapy, Concrete Blonde's first album since 1993's Mexican Moon. And, remarkably, their best since Bloodletting, the 1990 full-length that spawned "Joey," the trio's biggest hit. Recorded in 10 days and financed by the band members themselves, Group Therapy reintroduces the impassioned poetry, inimitable guitar style and punk-roots delivery that make Concrete Blonde one of Los Angeles' most revered and influential cult icons. That it's very good is something of a bonus in itself; that these three players got into a room together and made it is all the more remarkable.
"It's changed a lot," says Napolitano of the group's dynamic. "We had a lot more respect for each other when we came back in to play. We'd all had enough time apart to respect the uniqueness of the combination."
Even from its inception as punky, arty duo Dream 6, the band fostered a maverick reputation in its dealings with the industry. Mankey and Napolitano rebuked any and all major-label offers for five years, until growing pains basically forced the pair to sign with the edgy, credible IRS label in 1987 (it was then-labelmate Michael Stipe of R.E.M. who gave them their new name). Rushakoff joined halfway through the recording of Concrete Blonde's debut, which ushered in eight years of critically lauded releases, endless touring and one Top 20 single. Industry insiders pegged the band as volatile and generally disagreeable, a somewhat biased opinion nonetheless bolstered by their infighting and refusal to give an inch on matters of creative control.
"We're not deliberately difficult or eccentric — this is who we are, this is what we do," Napolitano says. "You can't take an orchid and try to make it bloom in the desert."
The rigors of the road pushed tensions within and without to the breaking point, and in 1994, after touring in support of Mexican Moon, the trio parted ways. Napolitano went on to take part in a number of one-shot endeavors, from the David Byrne-less Talking Heads album Heads and Pretty & Twisted (with Wall of Voodoo principal Marc Moreland) to writing music for indie films. Mankey made several on-tape guest appearances; he and Napolitano produced a number of acts together, and appeared on an album with Latino-rawk outfit Los Illegals. While the pair kept working, Rushakoff was battling addiction and eventually headed into rehab.
All the while, however, Napolitano struggled with the disheartening sense that something was out of place. After a bit of therapy, and a trip to see the newly reunited British icons Roxy Music play at L.A.'s Greek Theatre, she decided what was missing was Concrete Blonde (the new album's lead track, "Roxy," was inspired by the legends); the fated lunch and rehearsals ensued, and the aptly named Group Therapy was recorded before the group sought a deal.
"It's very innocent, very raw, and I like that very much," Napolitano says of the album and its sessions. "The pressure not only didn't come from outside, it didn't come from within. We didn't set ourselves up in a situation where we would pressure ourselves.
"We knew if we started even trying to put any identity on it, or if we brought other people in and asked what they thought, we would screw it up."
They didn't screw it up. Their first re-appearance occurred shortly after the tragedies of Sept. 11, as the headliner of an L.A. benefit for its victims. The disc completed, Concrete Blonde secured a deal with Manifesto Records that would ensure creative freedom. Group Therapy was released in January, and the formerly estranged trio hit the road eagerly, on a staggered tour schedule that allowed enough downtime to keep tensions at bay.
Unfortunately, some former tensions resurfaced nonetheless, in the form of Rushakoff's behavior. Napolitano doesn't care to speculate about old habits dying hard; in her online tour diary, she writes that the drummer simply didn't show up for a Kansas City gig a couple of weeks ago.
"It's quite harrowing to have a club full of people, and not know what you're gonna do. It's a real drag," she says offhandedly.
Fortunately, CB's lighting director, Matt Devitt, is a capable drummer. Devitt played the show and filled the stool for the rest of the jaunt. Upon returning home for a 10-day break, Mankey and Napolitano were inundated with requests for auditions, but quickly settled on longtime friend Gabriel Ramirez, a veteran and founding member of Los Angeles rock en Espanol pioneers Maria Fatal.
"We kind of new it was going to happen," says Napolitano. "(Rushakoff) started flipping out, and Jim and I were the ones who had to carry on, take care of things. So when he left, it was almost a relief to get it over with."
What once might have crippled Concrete Blonde's momentum is today greeted with a "half-full" philosophy — Napolitano says she's too energized and too glad to be where she is to let Rushakoff's perplexing departure weigh her down. A great new album and a wide-open future helps, but does it also have something to do with the perspective that a few more years of living tends to bring?
"Age is nothing but a number, for one thing," says the 44-year-old Napolitano. "Life is always a searching process."
The songwriter pauses a moment.
"But yeah," she adds, "there is a peace."
Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or at scott.harrell@weekly planet.com.
This article appears in Apr 10-16, 2002.