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"Why don't girls ever say what they want?" asks Swearing at Motorists' singer/songwriter Dave Doughman. It's a warm June afternoon and I'm sitting at a College Street patio in Toronto with the duo who hail from Philadelphia and Dayton, Ohio. Doughman couch-surfs in Dayton while drummer Joseph Siwinski refers to Philadelphia as home. The band and I are discussing lust and how it makes people act. Desire is something that the 31-year old Dave knows well, at least, that's how it seems from the band's sixth album, This Flag Signals Goodbye.
Released two days before our meeting, the album is just over 30 minutes yet has 14 tracks. They're not just little forgettable filler songs either; they're chock full of pretty melodies and intensely memorable and clever lyrics. Upon meeting Dave, I never assumed that this man with a moustache bigger than his waist would write such smart sentiments. He'll often take a cliché and manipulate it, leaving me wishing it were my idea.
We were across the street at a record/book shop when I learned that Dave's gift for words comes largely from the way he perceives the world. He became very excited to share various books with me, but when asked how much he reads, he reveals that he doesn't read very much at all. Quite frankly, this makes me surprised about his songwriting abilities. He is very modest when receiving kudos on his work. When we initially met one year ago, he told me, "I don't write songs. That might sound hoax-y, but I really do not; I try to write songs and I have written some songs, but the best songs I have just come to me. It's just like, BAM! I know there's a song that I'm doing tonight that came to me all at once, like "Hello kitty…" that was like BAM! It came right out…I think that if anything, I'm a song-crafter. I take inspiration where it comes from; it might be anything. I keep a notebook. If I hear somebody say something funny or interesting, I write it down. And I may or may not use it. When ideas aren't just pouring down, I will open the notebook and inspiration will just come down."
Back at the patio, I'm telling the men that it's a two-way street. If you want someone to tell you what she or he wants, you have to do the same. So I tell Dave that I would like to smoke a joint with him, in the hopes of getting some good rock and roll secrets. Because dog knows, I'm not getting any secrets at 3:00 p.m. on a sunny patio.
The men heed my wish and seem to appreciate the honesty. We pay the bill and go back to the house of the band's booking agent. Since drummer Joseph is a clean and healthy boy, he goes for a nap and leaves me to my duty of getting the dirt. It's fine with me that he goes for a sleep because I am really interested in getting to the bottom of this happily depressing album that isn't leaving my stereo anytime soon.
The aspect of removing the artist from the art is important to me in my perception of Dave. The lyrics of ultimate despair and loneliness just don't seem to gel with Dave's happy-go-lucky personality. Dave explains, "Unfortunately, the albums…have been about horrible things that have happened in my life, either with people dying, or bad relationships, or...but by no means do I think I'm a downer guy or we make downer music, it's just that the subject matter—the songs are snapshots of life. Our records are soundtracks to what's going on in my life and around it."
Speaking of snapshots, Dave is a rather photogenic male. Not only does he have enough hair on his head to make his male peers squint their eyes at him in the street, but he also has some great fashion sense. He's always looking quite stylish and camera-ready. He says, "You know how I buy clothes? I'll touch them." He explains that he closes his eyes and walks along a clothing rack, touching all of the various fabrics. When he finds something that is nice to touch, he grabs it. Admittedly, his petite size does cause some inconveniences in the world of fashion, but Dave has his own tailor. An elderly woman charges about $8 to tailor his clothes, being careful to feel his ass (in a completely non-sexual manner, of course) when it's a pair of pants. Dave suggests that it's probably a good idea for everyone to buy their clothing second-hand and then use the extra money to have it tailored. He is quite pleased with his clothing.
Dave and I smoke and listen to the new Múm album and then to Neil Young, one of Dave's favourite musicians. The sun streams in through the windows on a perfectly relaxed Friday afternoon when Dave leans over and confesses that he loves all aspects of rock and roll. That is, drugs, sex, and rock and roll! I love this talk of debauchery as though it's something exclusive to the touring band from America, but Dave quickly explains that yes, everyone really loves rock and roll. He's not saying that everyone can or will play rock and roll, but everyone wants a little of what rock and roll has to offer.
Although it may not seem as corrupt, I suspect that Dave's major passion for making music comes from the freedom it offers. It offers the freedom to be on the road for 80 percent of a year. It also offers him the freedom to place his self on a different plane.
Dave the performer and Dave the regular dude with big moustache are two different personas. Dave the performer is loud, in your face, exceptionally powerful, and fascinating in the fact that his mind is obviously in a completely different space than the spectator's. In person, Dave can be quite chatty but there is a sense of insecurity and wariness. Dave admits that "I think that my stage persona, my outwardness at times is…really making up for how I really feel, which is kind of meek."
Two nights later, the band is in Ottawa to play a rock and roll show, seemingly containing all of the elements that Dave loves about his job. Dave calls in for a radio interview where he is asked about the final track on the new album, (It came) Out of Nowhere. Dave responds, "That's pretty…I think it's interesting that it's the last song on the album because it's pretty much the first song of the album. Thematically it comes last because it wraps up the whole album by giving you the whole prequel, of telling you where this journey kind of started. A lot of people were like, 'How can you end this record on such a somber note?', but it's not really somber, there's a kind of hope there."
(It came) Out of Nowhere
Hello kitty/what a pity/your city is nine hours away
And I'll be trying to find a way/to find my way/back to you
And when I do/when I do/I can't think of a thing to do
Except to look at you/and smile the way I do/when you look at me
Now I'm heading to Philly alone/and I can't believe what I'm hearing on my phone
Upstairs to a note keys on top/right next to what's left of the pot
Sorry I'll call you
Groningen to Morgantown
We did our best to bring the house down
I lay sleeping in D.C. and you changed the plan
Rented a car/became full time family man
So hello kitty/I'm back in Philly
You know that's less than/three hours away
And I am trying to find a way/to find my way back to you/and when I do...
--melanie ferris
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