Burmese Days
Mission of Burma’s Peter Prescott talks with Mark Asch
The L Magazine: I guess the preamble to this is that I was born in 1984, a year after Mission of Burma ended the first time, and so for me, and I think for a lot of other people my age, Mission of Burma was sort of this mythic thing and gradually became this template and trailblazer for so much of the music that we listen to now and the culture that supports it. What does it mean for you to now have as your peers people who would call you an influence? And are there contemporary bands that you see your influence in?
Peter Prescott: I love the Fiery Furnaces, and I love them because I can relate to the mindset, not because the music is the same as anything I’ve ever done. And I think that’s what the other guys would say too. I love the Soundtrack of Our Lives, which is kind of like, almost revisionist 70s rock. But there’s different things I like for different reasons but rarely would you say, “oh, that’s even similar musically.”
The L: In your dealings with Matador and the indie scene, are you conscious of the differences between the way that apparatus is constructed now and how it was your first time around?
PP: Yeah, I’m pretty conscious of it because for the past 15 years, in one place or another, I’ve worked in record stores, and I think I’ve always kept my ear a little bit closer to the ground than probably Roger and Clint have. And, yeah, it’s interesting to see what a cemented-in-place kind of giant [indie rock] is now, and how it was this skeletal creature scuttling along trying to exist back in ’83, ’84. Yeah, post-Burma I think was when that first started to get in place, that apparatus. In general, sometimes it’s a little disturbing to see a buzz-band that becomes super, super desired and famous in the course of a week and then they’re sort of forgotten for the next week’s buzz-band thing, and it gets to seem a little bit like a modern consumerist way of just sort of eating and shitting things out rather than actually really loving a band because they’re doing something that’s so unique that you can’t ignore it.
The L: It seems that the internet is one of the things that’s a lot different, and I’m curious if you have any strong opinions on the role it plays in the independent music scene.
PP: Any kind of digital thing that’s happened is a completely double-edged sword, because it’s made it much easier for people to sell music without huge corporations behind them, and it’s also made it easier for really bad music to get popular fast, too. I mean, even in terms of where I work, record stores sort of hover in this area where you wonder if they’re gonna survive for another year or just go under, because they’re selling stuff that nobody needs anymore. You don’t even need CDs to transport music, so why does this store exist? And perversely, the only reason it does exist is sort of because of the internet.
The L: As far as audience reception for you guys, how has it compared, in terms of age, in terms of receptiveness, between now and the first time around?
PP: Well, it’s night and day. There’s a preconception built in for most people who are gonna go now, whether they’re my age or half my age, it doesn’t matter, it’s a thing cemented in the mind if you’re gonna bother to pay the money to see the band this time around. And I think that’s healthy for us because we have our own standards, and we’ve been aware of, over the years, bands that reformed and didn’t shame what legacy they had, and I think we’ve always been terrified of doing that. In a way, it’s a good fire to have in your tail to know that every crappy show you would do is gonna hurt any good thing you’ve done from now or before, so I think it’s a good way to keep the standards high. But I think generally we’re all happier when we do it now — that can be a problem too if you’re too happy, because we’re a band that’s built on tension and conflict, and you don’t want to be too overall happy if you’re trying to make music that’s full of tension — you know, it has to be tense. So, I think what we’re trying to retain is the attack of it, while in some ways we’re slightly mellowed old men.
The L: There’s this interesting dichotomy, whether it’s true or not, between “unknown band plays challenging music to apathetic crowd,” which is the generally received myth about your first run, and “now-beloved influential band gets back together and plays to adoring throngs who’ve been waiting for decades to see them,” and I was going to ask about how that has effected your attitude, but you seem to think that it’s motivation to keep you on the edge rather than to pull you off.
PP: It is. I mean, it’s just too easy to go slack, and I think it’s always been cemented in our heads that if we’re gonna bother to do this at all, there’s just no reason to do it unless you’re finding something new to sculpt out of it. And I think from the first gig there was really no future for it at that time, but even [at] the first two gigs we added a new song a piece, and we really wanted to make it a living, breathing thing rather than just some presentation of some kind of past glory — which wasn’t much of a glory at the time anyway [laughs]. And also, if someone’s paying to see us or buying a record that we put out, they’re not going ‘oh this is good for old guys’, you know, no one judges anything that way.
Peter Prescott: I love the Fiery Furnaces, and I love them because I can relate to the mindset, not because the music is the same as anything I’ve ever done. And I think that’s what the other guys would say too. I love the Soundtrack of Our Lives, which is kind of like, almost revisionist 70s rock. But there’s different things I like for different reasons but rarely would you say, “oh, that’s even similar musically.”
The L: In your dealings with Matador and the indie scene, are you conscious of the differences between the way that apparatus is constructed now and how it was your first time around?
PP: Yeah, I’m pretty conscious of it because for the past 15 years, in one place or another, I’ve worked in record stores, and I think I’ve always kept my ear a little bit closer to the ground than probably Roger and Clint have. And, yeah, it’s interesting to see what a cemented-in-place kind of giant [indie rock] is now, and how it was this skeletal creature scuttling along trying to exist back in ’83, ’84. Yeah, post-Burma I think was when that first started to get in place, that apparatus. In general, sometimes it’s a little disturbing to see a buzz-band that becomes super, super desired and famous in the course of a week and then they’re sort of forgotten for the next week’s buzz-band thing, and it gets to seem a little bit like a modern consumerist way of just sort of eating and shitting things out rather than actually really loving a band because they’re doing something that’s so unique that you can’t ignore it.
The L: It seems that the internet is one of the things that’s a lot different, and I’m curious if you have any strong opinions on the role it plays in the independent music scene.
PP: Any kind of digital thing that’s happened is a completely double-edged sword, because it’s made it much easier for people to sell music without huge corporations behind them, and it’s also made it easier for really bad music to get popular fast, too. I mean, even in terms of where I work, record stores sort of hover in this area where you wonder if they’re gonna survive for another year or just go under, because they’re selling stuff that nobody needs anymore. You don’t even need CDs to transport music, so why does this store exist? And perversely, the only reason it does exist is sort of because of the internet.
The L: As far as audience reception for you guys, how has it compared, in terms of age, in terms of receptiveness, between now and the first time around?
PP: Well, it’s night and day. There’s a preconception built in for most people who are gonna go now, whether they’re my age or half my age, it doesn’t matter, it’s a thing cemented in the mind if you’re gonna bother to pay the money to see the band this time around. And I think that’s healthy for us because we have our own standards, and we’ve been aware of, over the years, bands that reformed and didn’t shame what legacy they had, and I think we’ve always been terrified of doing that. In a way, it’s a good fire to have in your tail to know that every crappy show you would do is gonna hurt any good thing you’ve done from now or before, so I think it’s a good way to keep the standards high. But I think generally we’re all happier when we do it now — that can be a problem too if you’re too happy, because we’re a band that’s built on tension and conflict, and you don’t want to be too overall happy if you’re trying to make music that’s full of tension — you know, it has to be tense. So, I think what we’re trying to retain is the attack of it, while in some ways we’re slightly mellowed old men.
The L: There’s this interesting dichotomy, whether it’s true or not, between “unknown band plays challenging music to apathetic crowd,” which is the generally received myth about your first run, and “now-beloved influential band gets back together and plays to adoring throngs who’ve been waiting for decades to see them,” and I was going to ask about how that has effected your attitude, but you seem to think that it’s motivation to keep you on the edge rather than to pull you off.
PP: It is. I mean, it’s just too easy to go slack, and I think it’s always been cemented in our heads that if we’re gonna bother to do this at all, there’s just no reason to do it unless you’re finding something new to sculpt out of it. And I think from the first gig there was really no future for it at that time, but even [at] the first two gigs we added a new song a piece, and we really wanted to make it a living, breathing thing rather than just some presentation of some kind of past glory — which wasn’t much of a glory at the time anyway [laughs]. And also, if someone’s paying to see us or buying a record that we put out, they’re not going ‘oh this is good for old guys’, you know, no one judges anything that way.
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