Interview: The Bitter Chills get raw and real on their latest album

With album lead-off “Pharmacy,” The Bitter Chills twist like a whirling dervish. The energy is propulsive, and the lyrics coarse and itchy. “There’s some modern magic waiting there for me,” avows singer/songwriter Matt Cheplic over a smattering of guitar and drums. As the ignition to the record, Young Time Rock ‘N Roll, it seemed pretty obvious it had to kickstart the album arc. “It has a rawness to it, and it felt like a good introduction for anyone unfamiliar with the band or unsure of what this new record might be like,” Cheplic tells B-Sides & Badlands.

Young Time Rock ‘N Roll serves as the third release on Mint 400 Records but the first one they’ve ever self-produced. While not a “radical departure” from their previous work, it did allot them room to tinker and toy with structures and vibes. Typically, Cheplic would enlist Neil Sabatino, record label head. But this time, the group were jonesing for something different. “Neil is great, but we just wanted to experiment and try a few different approaches,” adds Cheplic, “and so it was a different experience in that regard. There was a kind of pressure knowing that we could only blame ourselves if we didn’t love the end results.”

From their fingertips, Young Time Rock ‘N Roll fuses earnest, nerve-exposed lyrics with charming and goofy humor. It’s that delicate balance that makes the band. Without this tangy elixir, the record would simply fall apart. “What Do You Two Talk About When I’m Not Around” dries beneath a rustic sun, while the tender inquiry “Do Be a Stranger” slices into the skin. It all serves a purpose, provoking the band to shift on its axis in the process.

Below, Cheplic discusses songwriting, the album’s common thread, and musical agility.

The name “An Asshole or Two” made me laugh. Can you tell me about that song?

This band has always been about keeping a sense of humor. Most of my favorite songwriters display that quality to an extent, and this is the most overtly humorous song on the record. And possibly because the song makes a relatively simple point, there was no need to develop it beyond its short length of less than 90 seconds. Oh, and it begins with ukulele, which I think generally puts people in a good mood.

“Hoodies and Ties” features a lengthy guitar solo. How do you know what a song requires?

That emerged very naturally from a rehearsal session we did a little while back. The song was new, and we were running through it. Tim started playing a solo, which wound up running for a little while, and when I was listening back to the recording of that rehearsal session, I just grew attached to what he had done, so we decided to preserve the spirit of that. In a larger sense, it can be very tricky deciding what a particular song needs — or doesn’t need. And I certainly will listen back to older songs occasionally and wonder if the arrangement could have worked differently.

In the writing process, when did it become clear that an album was taking shape?

Right away. It was very deliberate. I had been writing, and I was very conscious of the fact that I was gathering songs for this album. We had been playing some shows, doing rehearsals, and I was writing at the same time, focused on the idea that I was writing, finishing lyrics, recording tracks with the guys, all at the same time.

With your snappy, cheeky lyrics, has that been something that took time to fine-tune?

Yes, definitely. When I was new to songwriting, I had this sort of unconscious belief that it wasn’t cool to show a sense of humor. I guess maybe I was worried that people wouldn’t take the songs seriously if they didn’t FEEL serious — if that makes any sense. But over time — and this should have been obvious from the start — it dawned on me that so many colossally influential artists managed to play with language in humorous ways: The Beatles. Bob Dylan. Tom Waits. Elvis Costello. All those great Tin Pan Alley songwriters. And then, more recently, I started to realize how much great hip-hop — even if it’s not overtly “funny,” per se — involves a playful freedom with language, which I’ve found pretty inspiring, too.

“What Do You Two Talk About When I’m Not Around” is a standout track. What sparked your writing this one?

The lyrics for that song were living in my head for a while before I figured out exactly what the music direction would be. It was originally inspired by watching a mom and her young son on the beach. It struck me that maybe that kid’s father was somewhere else, and he would never know exactly what the dynamic was between the two of them in those private moments. Certainly, it wasn’t long before I realized that a similar set of questions could live in the head of a friend … a lover … a sibling … really, anyone left out of someone else’s private conversations. As far as the track itself goes, we allowed that one to really breathe. It’s the longest song on the album. And Tim plays a lot of really nice keyboard on that.

How do all the songs fit together into a common thread?

I’d be lying if I said there was a coherent theme or concept that governed the whole record. After all, we have a Guns n’ Roses song — plus the song “Everybody,” which was written and sung by Tim. So I’m not the only writer whose ideas you’re hearing. But that said, I’d say there’s a fair amount of anxiety expressed in the core ideas of these songs. Even though I try to be playful with the language and see the humor in situations — there’s a certain pessimism and unease about personal relationships and about broader, societal realities. It’s often about feeling estranged in some way and not knowing where to put that frustration.

What is your favorite part about fusing genres?

This might sound like just a question of semantics, but I prefer to think of it as loving the neighborhoods where different genres border each other and cross-pollinate. Often, I think musical genres, or film genres for that matter, are more psychological or more a convenience of marketing than they are about the material itself. There are times when old-school Texas swing artists sound a lot like Django Reinhart or other European gypsy jazz or cafe jazz artists. There are times when “blues” and “country” are essentially indistinguishable. Or when a bluegrass song veers off into gospel, just because one ingredient changes. Sometimes, all it takes is slowing a song down to start evoking another genre. I think that’s the fun part for me — tapping into those musical areas that basically defy you to neatly label what you’re hearing.

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