WHAT's in a name? Some musicians place huge importance in choosing band names, as if the letters, words or numbers should properly reflect the band's music. Out of thousands, only a few get it right. For every Country Joe & The Fish and Echo And The Bunnymen, there is a Velvet Underground and a Joy
Division. And then there is Tarnation, a word not to be found in most dictionaries.
"Tarnation is American slang for `hell'," says Paula Frazer on a telephone line from London, still in a touring daze from European dates supporting Nick Cave. "People used to say it in place of `damnation' so that they didn't have to swear. I chose the name because it's comical and dark at the same time. Sometimes there can be humour in sadness."
Of course, bands can also be saddled with a stereotypical critical response. In describing Tarnation's music, words such as "brooding", "spooked", "perverse", and "haunted" are thrown into the air like black confetti. What does Paula think of such obvious characterisations?
"I guess there are a few songs that are ghost stories, and it's fairly dark music, so I reckon that's why. I certainly don't take it as insult. We have songs of lost love and yearning, that kind of thing. I've always enjoyed a more emotional type of music, romantic music, and that's what I try to write; I just hope our music doesn't make people too depressed.
Paula's musical background was provided by the religious hymns and gospel music that derived from her parents' involvement in church work. "A lot of gospel music expresses loneliness and suffering, worshipping this entity that isn't tangible." As she grew older, Paula sang in her father's church choir while her pianist mother opened up a brand-new musical world by introducing her to the likes of Billie Holiday, Hank Williams, Jimmie Rodgers, Patsy Cline, and Roy Orbison, five vocalists who personify the word "melancholy".
When she moved to San Francisco's Bay Area in her late teens, Paula's musical options included early Elvis Costello, hardcore punk bands (Dead Kennedys,
Butthole Surfers), and an Eastern European-influenced women's choir called Savina.
"My interests are quite varied," says Paula, "but I suppose the most direct influences would have to be my father and mother. That said, the village that I lived in had less than 300 inhabitants, so there wasn't a whole lot of options. I felt lucky to be someone who had been exposed to a lot of jazz and country. It's funny, but a lot of people didn't even like listening to music. Quite a number didn't even have a television. And this was in the Seventies. There was a lot of open space there."
A somewhat more popular cultural experience opened itself up to Paula whenever she visited her cousins in Knoxville, Tennessee. "Yeah, that was great! They had a television and a swimming pool. I remember watching The Brady Bunch, and thinking `Wow!' In retrospect, it's strange to think that I grew up so isolated."
Paula's childhood isolation quickly turned into the opposite when she moved to San Francisco. It was there that she began to define her identity and her creativity. "I began to experiment a lot with my voice through playing with different bands. As you can imagine, it opened up a whole new world to me. It was really fun. But I was very naive, looking back on it. After work I would go out to clubs at night, and not think anything of it. I guess when you're 18, you don't think of any danger."
Ironically, a sense of exactly that lies at the heart of Tarnation's music. It's a spurious notion to suggest that Paula's parochial naivete was tampered with during those formative Bay Area days and nights, but before we drift into Twin Peaks cliche's it's important to note that, irrespective of Tarnation's bruised world view, a definite if dark purity emerges from listening to both Mirador and its predecessor, Gentle Creatures.
"There's a clarity to what we do, yes, a certain dynamic and definition. It's certainly something that we think about and work on. My lyrics might not be the best in the world, but I try to write stories. The instrumentation is also very important. I currently live above the Mission area of San Francisco, which is rich in Spanish influence. Our guitarist, Alex Oropeza, reflects that.
What about the David Lynch ambience that seems to surround the band, the dichotomy of innocence in a corrupt world, and of romanticism brutalised by mindless thuggery? And what does Paula think of Tarnation being called "weird country"?
"I very much enjoy David Lynch films," responds Paula, "but I don't really like to be lumped in with the new or newish country thing. Most of those are modern, whereas Tarnation are retro-ish. I don't think we have anything in common with the likes of The Palace Brothers, Son Volt, or Wilco - that's not at all what we're doing. Not even Cowboy Junkies, who we are often compared with. They have a certain hippie edge. The only country that I'm really influenced by is that's partly jazz a la Patsy Cline, and rockabilly a la Roy Orbison. Past that, forget it, at least as far as country goes. These days I like Nick Cave and The Tindersticks."
As for Tarnation's Irish connection, that was established when Paula, an archaeologist prior to turning professional musician, met ex-Puppy Love Bomb bassist James Meagan, then working in San Francisco as a construction worker (American slang for "labourer", perhaps?).
"We worked on the same jobsite, in the Presidio area. He had left the band, and had come over to the States just to see what things would work out. We started going out, but it wasn't until a year after that he started playing with the band. As a couple, we were initially unsure how practical things would be within a band format, but it's worked out really well."
