Bob Makes It Big

Early in December, Maker reader Claire McCann from Glasgow sent us a letter demanding a Magnapop feature. She pointed out that, since our first piece in June, 1992, The Maker has run several yards of effusive praise from a diverse bunch of writers who've all come away from a Magnapop show utterly smitten. To prove her case, she included a hyped-up quotation from each review - which suggests she cherishes every word written about them.

Claire is clearly a serious fan.

She is not alone. Among the swelling ranks of serious Magnapop fans is Michael Stipe, who produced their first demos, one of which was issued as their debut single, the excellent "Merry". Then there's Juliana Hatfield, who gushed about them in Sassy magazine and even wrote a song, "Ruthless", as an eulogy to guitarist Ruthie Morris ("We're all suckers for a girl who really plays guitar...We're all pining for Ruthie...We all wish we were Ruthie...We're all dying for Ruthie"). Then there are several thousand inhabitants of Holland - who granted the band overnight stardom in Benelux after a festival appearance.

And then, of course, there's Bob Mould - who turned down dozens of lucrative production gigs in the wake of Sugar's success but gladly took the helm on Magnapop's modestly budgeted album because he rated them so highly.

Why all the fuss? Well, I, for one, have never fallen for four people so intantaneously. I don't mean as a hack who gets to hang out with bands, but as a member of an audience. I knew nothing about Magnapop except that "Merry" was a fine single. Within minutes of them first bursting onto a stage, I was a fan.

I loved their wild kinetic energy and the way the four personalities fought for our attention; Shannon Mulvaney's released-into-the-community bass-wielding, drummer David McNair's kit-flattening rumble, Ruthie's cool'n'fierce relationship with her guitar and Linda Hopper's eerily benign prescence, rocking on her heels, singing strange words about fear and self-loathing, grinning all the while. ("Fear. That's one of my great motivators," she tells me. "And my own restlessness eating away at me.")

Magnapop reek of Ingredient X. And danger and humour and warmth and sex and a set full of brief, exciting, abrasive pop songs. This was 18 months before Elastica were born, by the way.

Since then, Magnapop have released two singles and a mini-album of those first demos (primarily to satisfy the demand in Belgium and Holland), toured extensively, and prepared for the moment when the world would listen.

Deal-signing, management headaches and false starts in the studio all took their time. Stipe's pleasant but thin-sounding demos scarcely prepared you for the force, thrust and bloody volume of their live shows. The "Kiss My Mouth" EP (produced by Ted Nicely) missed the subtleties of Linda's voice, especially on the plaintive "Texas". So, when they stepped into a studio in Atlanta, Georgia to start work on their debut album, it felt like the real beginning. There was a lot riding on it.

Bob's done 'em proud.

Here's a tip. Don't go for a curry in Georgia. Over a dubious biryani in Atlanta's only tandoori house, Linda says, "I think I love Bob." I'm so busy trying to identify the peculiar bits in my pilau rice, her statement doesn't sink in. Waitasecond! Linda Hopper has just professed love for Bob Mould.

She elaborates.

"I know I love Bob. He has such warmth. He inspires us not to be negative and to stand up for ourselves. He's a good person."

She admires the gentle way Bob coaxed the best performances from them.

Ruthie admits she was scared stiff of hitting those first chords in the presence of one of her idols.

"It was like working with Jimi Hendrix for me," she says, months later, in a surprisingly good Italian restaurant in London, as Magnapop reflect on the making of an album they've entitled "Hot Boxing". "Bob is the guitar god. It was intimidating, but I learned a lot. Even just in my approach to playing. He helped me see what's best for me."

"Ruthie's a very instinctive player," Bob Mould told me in his quiet drawl, when we spoke during the mixes. "She came up with her best performances without us getting too analytical. But part of the process has been getting her not to worry what other people will think of it. Like, 'F*** the record company or whoever, Ruthie, you're the one that's got to live with it.'"

Bob loves Magnapop's simplicity.

"It's not a grunge thing or a riot grrrl thing or whatever; they just rock. Just going out and having a good time, rather than giving sermons, has become unfashionable. Things have skewed so far in the opposite direction that suddenly this simple thing they do has become a really interesting proposition.

"It's going to take them longer than someone who has an angle or an easy story, but they enjoy what they're doing and it won't wear out - unlike bands who get together to be famous, have one idea and implode if it doesn't work. There's a real positive energy coming off Magnapop."

I ask when he first saw their potential.

"Every band has a turning point. I was lucky enough to witness theirs. It was at this small festival in Rotterdam. There was a small stage where I was playing solo - Frank Black and Nirvana were there, too - and a big stage where Sonic Youth played.

Magnapop played the small stage and just blew people away. So the promoter decided to put them on the big stage the next night.

"The place went nuts. I'd seen them before at CBGBs and was, like, "Hmm, there's a long way to go", but this was watching their fortunes turn round in a weekend.

"It was really interesting to be in the dressing room with them. It was one of those with a divider in it. Nirvana are on the other side throwing shit around (Shannon recalls: "It was right before 'Nevermind' came out. Nirvana had trashed the whole back-line, ruined it, and the promoter was saying, 'They'll never play in my club again'. Oh yeah, right. Not if you beg them.") and Magnapop are sitting there going, 'Wow, people liked us!' They were totally wide-eyed. They could feel something had arrived. They'd been playing in front of 20 people in Athens."

Ruthie, Linda and David live in Watkinsville, a tiny town just outside Athens, Georgia, home of R.E.M. But they think of themselves as an Atlanta band, for that's where they've focused their attention. And that's where they're recording.

"The Athen's scene has lost what made it special," Linda declares, in the lounge of the studio (owned by Bobby Brown, trivially enough). "Originally, it just embraced people's enthusiasm for music without making it a popularity contest. Now it has stifled itself. It's become an economics thing. It used to be a dollar-to-get-in-and-anybody-can-play thing."

Linda met Michael Stipe at art college at the beginning of the Eighties. He persuaded her to form a band with his sister (another Linda), called Oh-OK, which lasted three years and briefly included David McNair on drums. She quit Athens in 1985, moving to Washington and then Atlanta. Mutual friends introduced her to Ruthie in 1988. They became solid friends and started writing songs together.

"But there were so many setbacks," Linda recalls. "We couldn't find good people to play with. Maybe there's something about two girls trying to get a band together, but we had to beg people to come and play with us. And the people who did want to play with us were sick. It was, 'Don't answer the phone, I think it's them!'"

Finally, David left another band and Ruthie recruited Shannon in a record store. The line-up clicked from the first rehearsal.

"It rocked," sighs Ruthie.

"We love what we do," says Linda. "The worm in the tequila is having to play the game that allows you to do what you love to do."

Ah, business bull.

"Warner Brothers said to us, 'We've already got Babes In Toyland and The Muffs. We've got enough female bands, filled our quotient, thank you,'" says Ruthie, still amazed by the story.

Do you think the public feel that way about women in bands?

"No-o," says Shannon, emphatically.

"Though if someone meets me and Linda and we tell them we're in a band, they always say, 'Where are the other girls?'" says Ruthie, shaking her head. "Like, because I'm a girl, I have to play with girls."

"At that horrible club in Greenville, North Carolina, the sound man came up and asked, 'Where's your guitar player?'" recounts Linda. "I pointed to Ruthie, and he couldn't contain his amazement. 'It's a girl?!' I'm like, 'Yeah. Get out much?'"

"Ruthie has had guys come up and say, 'Gee. I wish I had a girlfriend who could play guitar.'"

"They wanna trade licks, I suppose."

This reminds Ruthie of a moment after the previous night's gig. "This guy was all excited about you, Linda. He said, 'She's got something warm and naked that's very attractive'!"

They hoot with laughter.

"Hey! What did he look like?" asks Linda.

"He had a moustache."

"Strike number one," says Shannon.

Jim Arundel
January 29, 1994