"Usurious Epitaph"

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I recently described anarcho-grind juggernaut Liberteer's compelling, strange, inspiring debut, Better to Die on Your Feet Than Live on Your Knees, as "Napalm Death clobbering John Philip Sousa"-- not a phrase I use everyday. And judging from his incendiary, "burn the system down!" lyrics and Facebook posts, I assumed Matthew Widener, the Santa Cruz-based multi-instrumentalist and scene veteran behind the project, would have plenty to say. In the following exchange, we discuss the record, anarchism, his time in the military (and grad school), and using a broken CD as a shiv.

Pitchfork: You've been in a number of bands, including Exhumed, Cretin, County Medical Examiners, and Citizen, which morphed into Liberteer. What brought about the shift?

Matthew Widener: I have a ton of ideas for projects and become distracted easily. I learned how to play death metal and grind when I was in Exhumed in the early 90s, then I did Cretin with my best friend Marissa-- that band is still together, but it went on hiatus while she finished transitioning genders. I always wanted to take the Carcass clone phenomenon to its extreme conclusion, so I formed the County Medical Examiners. Eventually my plan was to even start looking like them, then release their album with just one note changed from each riff. But that's a lot of people to piss off in the name of a weird experiment, so I never really followed through. Then I did Citizen because I wanted a political grind band, but I didn't have anything really sincere to say, just a lot of posturing; I think I wanted to dress up like a G.I. Joe. In the years since, my politics changed, and I realized it was best to completely rebrand everything and start from scratch. The other guys involved didn't agree with my stance, so I went it alone.

Pitchfork: Better to Die works best as a complete record-- things bleed together, motifs return-- how'd you go about composing it?

MW: I wanted a grind album that sounded different, and I'm in love with the album as art, so I went for one long song, an operatic scope. But I realized grind needs the between-song silence as a psychological resting point, so if I made the album one long song, I'd have to do something to prevent fatigue. I tried to include those thematic parts every couple of minutes so the listener could identify with something and reset their ears. I say "the listener," but I mean myself, mostly.

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Pitchfork: You played everything on the record, horns and all?

MW: No, the horns are samples. I wish I could play brass. One day I'll rent a trombone and give it a go. But the banjo stuff is similar to finger-style guitar, and mandolin is dead easy. Some of the woodwinds are samples, but I play flute; I learned flute back in the service, when I was stationed in Iceland for a year and couldn't bring my bass because of space concerns. I can play a bit of clarinet, too. Oboe? I sound like something breathlessly fucking or dying-- I wouldn't make anyone listen to that.

Pitchfork: I read that you were inspired, in part, by classical music and that you plan to record a classical record at some point.

MW: I've been studying classical composition for some years. I play double bass quite seriously, pieces from the late romantic era, Mahler, Bruckner, and the like, to contemporary stuff like Xenakis, Penderecki, Ligeti, Scelsi. I also play cello and, to a lesser extent, viola. I've been working on recording a string ensemble and recently have been combining a small ensemble, anywhere from eight to 18 strings, with doom.

Any time you introduce distorted guitar, though, you have to contend with metal's overwhelming idiom; the moment you hit a power chord on distorted guitar, it's metal. So the challenge is to keep it more of a hybrid so the listener can approach the music as pure sound. At any rate, it's slow going since I compose on paper first, then record each section piece by piece. A minute of music can take a week of recording. My house is 150 years old with high ceilings and hardwood floors, so it's great for recording strings, but there's the occasional street noise, and sometimes my dog will paw at my bow or bark during a take. It's not ideal. But the next album I'll put out is either going to be classical string ensemble, or a blend with doom, depending on what I finish first.

"Anarchy isn't about anger or alienation; it's an optimistic and humane idea, so using typical grindcore riffs didn't make sense."

Pitchfork: Is Liberteer something you plan to recreate in a live setting?

MW: Not really. I mean, it could be done; I'd need at minimum three horn players and another guitarist, so I could hop on banjo and flute at parts. But I don't care much for performing; it's not my thing. I play live with my band Cretin so I know how much effort and rehearsal it all takes. I'd also have to find other musicians who agree with the Liberteer message, and that's harder than you think.

Pitchfork: The album's flourishes of horns, martial drumming, and marching music signals its political aspect. It's war music, right?

MW: Right. Not many people are picking up on that. They're focusing too much on the early-Americana instrumentation and trying to find significance there, but that's not really my point. I'm not an ironic guy, I don't think in that mode much, so the instrumentation is really more about propaganda music. I studied a lot of early propaganda tunes, listened to hundreds of national anthems, picked up on the tropes and employed them for Liberteer. I wanted it to be both inspirational and aggressive. That's a fine balance, those two: They're the domain of propaganda.

Take the typical socio-political grindcore album, and what do you hear? Pure rage, heaps of alienation. At best, it can rally the young. I remember being a teenager and driven to mosh purely by brutal riffs. But to me anarchy isn't about anger or alienation; it's an optimistic and humane idea, so using typical grindcore riffs didn't make sense. That's why half the album is written in major keys, which are never used in grind. If you're describing an autopsy or dwelling on dire socio-political topics, you're trying to offend, shock. But when you're trying to rally, to inspire? I think it makes me realize that even the most political of grind bands don't have an answer to any of the problems they present. They're only trying to throttle people into awareness. Liberteer is poised to come afterward. Like: "Hey, there's hope, let's talk about how it might look if we chose a different way."

Pitchfork: I read a lot of anarchist theory when I was in my early 20s and found it inspiring. Can you talk a bit about your interest in anarchism?

MW: I find it inspiring, too. For a long time I refused to honestly look into anarchism because I was more emotionally invested in the awful stereotypes: chaos, greed, dystopia, all that garbage. I used to pour a lot of my fears into patriotism. It led to my enlistment. But I've worked on my issues, mostly in philosophical and therapeutic realms. And my need for national identification sort of fell away. I started reading Proudhon, Kropotkin, Chomsky, Goldman, the usuals. There are a few main branches of anarchism and I don't identify too strongly with one over the other since they all have valid points. I don't have the answers. No one does. But I'm willing to start asking the right questions now. Anarchism is a beautiful idea. Equality and kindness are, too. So that beauty finds itself in my everyday thinking. As does my love of literature and art. All the good things that give us cause to dream.

"I used to pour a lot of my fears into patriotism.

It led to my enlistment."

Pitchfork: It's interesting to me how often Yeats' "The Second Coming" surfaces these days, in a variety of places. How'd you decide to title the opening instrumental "The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer"?

MW: Credit to Yeats for writing such dense and evocative imagery that people can abuse it as they see fit. The poem is famous for using the word "anarchy" pejoratively, the lawlessness of the end of the world. But how great is that image of the falcon spiraling away from its master? It was too tempting to hijack that bit and imagine the situation from the falcon's point of view: rebellion, freedom.

Liberteer: Build No System

Pitchfork: In "Build N____o System" you sing: "If rifles might free us from this hierarchy then consider it your burden for anarchy/ Burn all our kings on a pyre." You get this in "We Are Not Afraid of Ruins", too. Are you a proponent of bloody revolution?

MW: In a general sense, yes. But I'm wary of professional revolutionaries, since there is always another fight to be had, you know? I'm also suspicious of people who give politics such all-consuming weight. It becomes a god to worship, a convenient essence to brand us. I'm really not that political, beyond knowing that we have to give effort to figuring out ways to ethically govern ourselves. It's funny, I was studying to become an existential psychotherapist before moving into the tech industry, so I tend to think in those terms, rather than politically. There's an idea that we build culture to ameliorate our fundamental fears of existential givens, that we use patriotism and religion to assuage our panic. Rebellion can be its own cause, rather than simply a method. And that's what I'm afraid of. Is it done legitimately? Or is it just another politic? That said, capitalism will eat us to save itself, make no mistake. No hierarchy will ever allow itself to be dismantled, especially when it comes to concentrations of resources. I hold to the theory that, in many instances, bloody revolution is the only catalyst for change.

Pitchfork: Part of my problem with the Occupy Movement was that I didn't see enough of that sort of thing. I'm not condoning violence for violence's sake, but I also don't think sitting in a park and chanting for months is going to do much. To me, the willingness to destroy one world to make way for the new feels very positive.

MW: That's a great point. My problem with the Occupy Movement is that it's an expression of dissatisfaction about a natural byproduct of capitalism yet still thinks capitalism is right. Besides the anarchist factions that operate marginally in these gatherings, there's no consideration to how capitalism creates inequality. They seem to want to stabilize capitalism. Stabilize for who? The poor? Certainly not. Capitalism isn't meant to support a middle class. And even if it was? What about the poor, should they suffer so the middle class can thrive? If the middle class has no solidarity with the working-class poor, then they're just as greedy as the rich but even more deluded. At least the rich are honest; they can barely hide their contempt for the rest of us.

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Pitchfork: With that in mind, can you talk a bit about "99 to 1"?

MW: The expression is sometimes used in anarchist writings to demonstrate the absurdity of such a small ruling class exploiting everyone, and the insanity of everyone putting up with such injustice. Those who hold the capital are great at playing us against each other. So much is predicated on and couched in emotional fantasies and propaganda. The promise of reward through hard work, social mobility, fairness. The reality is that all of it is designed to keep 99 people making one person rich.

Pitchfork: I don't see too much high-profile political metal right now.

MW: You're right, most political metal is crusty grind or powerviolence and way underground. I'm not sure why that is. You'd think the recent economic events would mean more high-profile political acts. Even the grindcore that is socio-political usually neuters its lyrics by making them vague, agnostic to commitment. I wonder if bands are worried about alienating potential fans with a political message that is developed and definitive.

Pitchfork: How serious is the album art, where you give instructions on how to use the CD as a bomb and a dagger? I understand it's tongue-in-cheek and metaphorical, but these things really would work.

MW: I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt because of any stupidity on my part, it just seemed like a cool design idea. The context for violence isn't right yet. I remember a cannibal killer arrested somewhere overseas; the cops had him in cuffs and he was wearing an Exhumed shirt. Stuff like that is depressing. Thing is, before a vanguard can engage in the hard, nasty business of revolt, they need the support of the people. Violence can't be legitimized, but culturally we can have a context for it. And even then I have issues, since you deny someone their freedom when you hurt them, which is a breach of the only real dictate we have as beings: Be culpable for your freedom and make no act that denies someone theirs.

Still though, when the people are ready for it, liberty cannot be granted, it has to be taken. The U.S. is nowhere near that point. Most freak out when they see anarchists vandalize corporate storefronts during protests. We worship products like holy artifacts. So if most cannot or are unwilling to make the connection that the things they buy are sustaining harsh working conditions, poverty, environmental destruction, wage slavery, and the like, then no one has any business stabbing anyone with a broken compact disc. This shit is all around us. Most push it from their mind because of cognitive dissonance. Then discredit people like me for being a hypocrite, but I say it's more authentic to carry the discomfort of awareness like a sack of rocks. If everyone did that, it would be a no-brainer, we'd change.

"In Norway, I took what's called an 'arctic shit,' which is when you squat outside in sub-zero conditions and try to squeeze one out while everyone throws snowballs at you."

Pitchfork: Can you talk a bit more about your time in the service in Iceland?

MW: Yes, I was stationed in Keflavik for a little over a year. I was in Marine Corps Security Force Battalion at the time, which is a fleet anti-terrorist unit, and we guarded sensitive things at the NATO base there. I fell in love with Iceland. What a beautiful country and a lovely people. I had a girlfriend out in Reykjavik, on the street over from the only McDonald's in downtown, and I'd rent a car for $80 each weekend to drive out to visit her and spend time away from the base. During the summer months it's mostly constant daylight, and because you can drink out in the street, a young guy like me could lose days at a time. I remember seeing a slap fight for the first time, these big Icelandic guys pawing each other with massive open-hand strikes. Someone told me later it was a cultural and legal no-no to use a fist in Iceland, though I'm not sure if that's true. But mostly people were friendly, to the point where they would come up and hug and kiss you. The stores are small so women left their babies in strollers lined up outside on the street unattended. The women have a look to their faces--something about their noses drove me wild. I'd go back to Iceland in a heartbeat.

I also went to northern Norway, above the Arctic Circle, to a remote area called Setermoen to crosstrain with the Norwegian special forces and do cold-weather survival training; snow so deep you'd fall through and disappear without snow shoes. They taught me to ski. I tried to show off and broke my foot on a jump, but I was so numb from the cold that I didn't realize until later in the night when my foot swelled and they had to cut my boot off. It was worth it to see the women in the small town there: gorgeous, angelic. Please let me wake up in Scandinavia tomorrow. I traded metal CDs with some of the Norwegian soldiers. I grew a dirty mustache. I took what's called an "arctic shit," which is when you squat outside in sub-zero conditions and try to squeeze one out while everyone throws snowballs at you. I remember a wild northern lights show in Iceland, laying drunk in the snow so the entire sky was swirling green, then falling asleep there. Some of the other guys found us before we froze to death.

I was mostly miserable after I rotated back into the fleet to serve the remainder of my enlistment in the infantry. Everyone was pissed off. There were suicides. Officers had palpable contempt for the troops, and the troops would turn on each other. We went to countries in Asia where we'd sweat and live in the wild and march until exhaustion. I grew really disillusioned. I turned into a what's called a "shitbird." I extended illness and injury as long as I could, I spread dissension in the platoon, sapped motivation, that sort of thing. But I was likable and funny. So people put up with it. I had a lot of friends.

I was very fortunate to serve during the Clinton era, so I never had to go to war. I'm pretty sure had I been sent, I'd be a deserter. At some point in the Marines I woke up and realized how dangerous everything was, what a stupid position I'd put myself in, all in the name of misplaced machismo, romantic notions of worldliness, and getting my teeth fixed. Out there in the field with a beat up Hemingway novel, who was I fucking fooling? I was a poor kid, I grew up in a cabin in the mountains, I had no insurance. Most of the guys I served with came from similar backgrounds.

Pitchfork: Are you still in graduate school now?

MW: I'm no longer in graduate school. I have my degree in English and was almost done with an MFA in Creative Writing when I became a student of the great Scottish author James Kelman. He's been called the Scottish Kafka or Beckett, and I'd hold him in just as high regard. I was his assistant and pretty much the only student there writing in the existential tradition, plus we both like to drink, so we got on really well. It was James that convinced me to quit the graduate program, and ever since he's read and edited my manuscripts. A rare honor, almost unbelievable.

Pitchfork: Manuscripts? What are you working on?

MW: I've been working on a novel for the past four years. There's a writing method that Kelman taught me, a certain rigor of creation as far as time, space, and perspective is concerned. The manuscript is about a homeless man and his brother.

I can't stress this enough: Politics is a futile and embarrassing focus when such poignant works as Beckett's The Unnamable and Kafka's The Metamorphosis exist. It's depressing that I should have to scream over a distorted guitar about living together in equality.

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Extra: Defunct Oakland crust quintet Stormcrow's 2005 full-length debut Enslaved in Darkness was recently reissued by Selfmadegod, and it still feels highly relevent. (They put out great splits between 2006 and 2010, but at their time of their breakup, this was the only LP.) In the spirit of California extremes, and folks associated with Exhumed, here it is in full:

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