1991 LA Times Interview

November 10, 1991
Richard Cromelin, Los Angeles Times

Rock star and grandfather, oil paint and electric guitar, proud and self-deprecating, cynical and idealistic. . . . At 40, John Mellencamp remains a feisty bundle of contradictions.

The Indiana native has been one of rock's top sellers since the early '80s, when he released such catchy, crunchy rock ditties as "Jack & Diane" and "Hurts So Good." Subsequently, his growing sense of mission and his adherence to rock's activist, '60s values linked him with Springsteenian idealism. A principal player in the Farm Aid movement, he has become typecast as an icon of "heartland rock" and a voice of the common man.

After 12 solid years on the recording-and-touring treadmill, Mellencamp took a break in 1989, defying convention by declining to support his album "Big Daddy" with a concert tour or extensive interviews. He plunged into his new pursuit of oil painting and spent time with the two young daughters his itinerant life had separated him from. He also wanted to learn more about himself.

But his hiatus was interrupted by the opportunity to direct and act in "Falling From Grace," a film he had been trying to make for almost a decade. The intimate drama, written by his friend Larry McMurtry and featuring Mariel Hemingway and Kay Lenz, will be released by Columbia Pictures in February. Mellencamp predicts that it will be pegged as a cross between "Tender Mercies" and "Terms of Endearment."

Now Mellencamp has released a new album, "Whenever We Wanted"--and the surprise is that after his period of reflection, he's returned to his early stance, with social-political content secondary to boy-girl themes. Musically, the Stones-flavored collection has a decidedly raucous spirit.

Said the singer: "There was a review of 'Big Daddy' that said, 'It's a pretty sad day when John Mellencamp isn't rock 'n' rollin' anymore. Has he mellowed?' I really detested that. Mellowed? Are you out of your mind? I'm more keyed up now than I've ever been."

Maybe more keyed up than he knew: Near the end of a 17-city promotional tour, Mellencamp collapsed from exhaustion during a performance at a Seattle radio station. (After a couple of weeks' rest, he was back at full speed, quickly completing three new videos and preparing for a concert tour to begin in January.)

The day before his collapse, he sat for an interview at Creative Artists Agency in Beverly Hills, where one of his paintings--of a man with an enigmatic expression standing with his arms folded--hung on a wall. The singer came off like a cornfield Cagney, impetuously plunging into topics and wrestling out his sometimes contradictory responses.

Question: Did you make a conscious decision to cut back on the social commentary in your music?

Answer: Yeah, kind of. You know, sometimes I feel like "to hell with that" and just quit singin' about that (stuff). But I'm still excited enough--almost like it's my job; nobody else is doin' it. Whether you think it's silly or not, it's like somebody's gotta be back here yellin'.

But there's other days it's kinda like, "Get a Leg Up," "Hurts So Good," that's good enough. Let's just try to get people to dance and forget about all this (stuff). But I personally can't forget about it, 'cause I'm mad about a lot of (stuff) in this country, so when I feel that way I feel compelled to write a song.

Q: What are you mad about?

A: I don't know, man. Corporate America--and I know people are tired of hearin' me harp on it: "Would you get off that (stuff), man, I mean all this integrity, we don't care about that (stuff)." I guess I'm just old-fashioned. I still want to believe in it, but. . . .

You know what hurts my feelings? I like Bob Seger. But watching football the other day, (Seger's) "Like a Rock" (was playing) behind a car (commercial). I guess he needed the money. But it hurt me. I almost called him. I don't know what his personal life is. I still admire Bob Seger and I still like his songs, but I didn't like that.

I had a conversation with Lou Reed, a very in-depth conversation with Lou about Honda motorcycles. And everybody's got a different take on it. Lou's rap was, "Look, I wanted to reach a lot of people, and my record company's just not gonna do that for me. So here was an opportunity for me to endorse something with one of my songs in front of millions of people and get paid for it. . . ."

My instincts tell me it's wrong. Every time you throw in with Goliath in hopes that you can ride on Goliath's slingshot, Goliath shoots you. You know, I came into this world in a very humble existence. Seymour, Ind., my old man makin' $3,000 a year. And that's the way I want to keep it as much as I can.

Q: You were quoted once saying you were afraid of making too much money.

A: Because I become the enemy. People don't understand that. I've already made too much money. . . . My parents think I'm a lunatic, 'cause I've turned down millions of dollars. All I had to do was let "Small Town" play behind a beer commercial, and I really could have said to hell with the music business.

But some things just aren't made for money. Like I used to say in my concerts, John Lennon did not write "Revolution" for tennis shoe commercials.

That song meant something to our generation. And for this generation it's just a bleepin' TV commercial, and that to me cheapens what we tried to do in the '60s. Now the music that brought our generation together is nothing more than a commercial for my kids today, which cheapens that part of my life. I don't like that.

Q: Can that kind of '60s unity happen again?

A: Yeah, oh yeah. I think history repeats itself. I don't know that you and I will live to see it, but it'll happen again. As long as there's people it'll happen again. I wrote a song once called "We Are the People and We Will Live Forever." Things will change. Eventually corporations will fall. It'll turn around.

Q: Why did you withdraw from the pop machinery after "Big Daddy"?

A: I was getting a divorce from a woman I didn't want to get a divorce from. I had made records since 1976--made records, gone on tour, made records . . . and all of a sudden it's 1989. I've got a daughter who's gettin' ready to go in college, is getting married. I don't know this kid. I got two other kids, little teeny kids, who I don't know.

And the worst part about it, I looked at myself and I didn't know who this was. 'Cause I had worked the last 12 years. Nonstop. Not even lookin' up. I thought life was about nothing but work.

I started to blame the music business. And in fact it really wasn't the business's fault. It was my fault. . . .

That's why I decided to quit for a while. . . . That meant no tour, that meant like two interviews to support "Big Daddy," and quite frankly it's got the best songs on it I've ever written, as far as I'm concerned.

But it didn't fit into any type of mainstream theme, and the record company didn't push the record--which at the moment pissed me off even more. It made me want to withdraw from the business even more. . . .

Q: Did you accomplish what you wanted during the withdrawal?

A: No, quite honestly I could really have used about three more years of withdrawal. I spent the best summer maybe of my entire life, with my 6-year-old and my 10-year-old daughters. You know, kids have personalities, they have thoughts--this was all news to me. And I really got involved in painting, which I absolutely love.

But I also made this film, right? Which kinda put a blemish on the painting. I directed the film, and it was just like being on tour. I mean it was exactly like being on tour. You have these artists--these musicians, these actors. You have this crew, this road crew. And they all have to ask questions. It was exactly like being the leader of a band.

Q: What made you think you could direct a film?

A: One thing about it is, I'm like a guy who runs real close to the edge of the cliff and doesn't know when he's about to fall off. That signal in my head doesn't work. I'm not afraid of what I'm supposed to be afraid of. . . .

I had directed a lot of videos. I wasn't surprised by anything. I couldn't say (making the film) was the greatest thing that ever happened to me, but it wasn't one of the worst things. . . .

Sometimes I watch the film and I think, "It's not too bad." Sometimes I watch it and can't stand to look at it.

Q: Why are you going back on the road now?

A: I still have a hard time with idle time. And people start calling saying, "You going to make another record? You're already like 18 months behind on your contract."

OK, I'm gonna make another bleepin' record. But I don't want to throw it to the wind like I did "Big Daddy." I'm a firm believer there's no reason to make records to be cool. (Forget) cool. Cool's for kids. I have nothin' to do with cool. . . . Bein' cool is a young man's game. I feel like if I'm gonna do it, let's do it. Let's don't do it like we did with bleepin' "Big Daddy." If we're gonna make a record, let's go out and do it the way it's supposed to be done.

Q: Well, you could have just told them you weren't going to make a record.

A: Yeah, I know. But there is reality. I do have a record contract. I am contractually committed to make so many records, and at this rate I won't be done making records till I'm 60.

Q: Many of your songs speak from the viewpoint of the common man. Do you have a problem relating to that perspective when your own situation is so different?

A: Yeah, I'm starting to deal with it a lot better than I used to. You know, I have become a cliche, and I can admit that to myself now. I am a rock cliche. I have fallen to every cliche a rock guy's supposed to do. I do have a Porsche. My girlfriend is a model. I couldn't admit that would ever happen to me, but guess what, it did. . . .

Some days I can't stand it, some days it's like, "Well John, you've seen too much, you've been too many places, you've had too much success, you're not that kid from Indiana anymore, you're 40 bleepin' years old, you've done a lot of (stuff), so yeah, you can afford a Porsche. Why drive around in the bleepin' Pinto you were drivin' when you got your first record deal when you don't have to? Nobody else in the world would. Whose cross are you hanging on?"