The Song Rules: Guitar God John Platania
by Peter Aaron
Highland’s John Platania is a true musician’s musician,
a distinctive player called one of rock and roots music’s consummate
guitarists. You may not recognize his name, but odds are you’ve
heard him weave his magic many times, with his current and longtime
boss Van Morrison (that’s Platania on “Domino” and
the title smash of 1970’s Moondance) and with Randy Newman, Don
McLean, Bonnie Raitt, Judy Collins, Natalie Merchant, and longtime
buddy Chip Taylor, the composer of “Wild Thing” and “Angel
of the Morning.” And no doubt one of the main reasons Platania
repeatedly gets such plum side–man gigs is his firmly and vocally
held belief in playing to serve the song rather than simply showing
off his considerable instrumental prowess.
Blues, Waltzes and Badland Borders is Platania’s second solo
effort (after 2002’s Lucky Dog [Double Dog], which features lyrics
by cartoonist Elwood Smith) and his first for Taylor’s Train
Wreck label. A mostly instrumental set displaying Platania’s
inimitable blues–soaked, slide–riddled chops, the album
boasts 11 tracks interspersed with spoken passages by Taylor’s
brother, actor Jon Voigt, and musicians Alejandro Escovedo and Ruben
Ramos. A wide–screen workout that ably evokes the punishing,
tumbleweed–strewn Texas desert, the record also features guest
appearances by Lucinda Williams, Taylor cohort Carrie Rodriguez, and
drummer Anton Figg.
Just back from a European tour last month, Platania took time to answer
few questions.
You’re known as a world–class guitarist who has played
with so many great artists over the years. So why didn’t you
make a solo guitar album until now? Had you wanted to make one earlier?
I wanted a solo album up to about 15 years ago. But I eventually saw
where my career path lay so that’s where I kept walking. I figured
if somewhere along the line an opportunity for a solo thing came along,
fine. Of course, that’s exactly what happened—twice. Otherwise,
my goal was to make music. It didn’t matter how I was doing it:
back–up musician, producer, whatever. There are things where
I draw the line, but I’ve been lucky not to have to go there— i.e.,
the cover–band thing. There’s nothing wrong with that,
it’s just that I personally have a problem learning someone else’s
thing. Interpretaion, yes; musical stenography, no.
You’ve said that it was Van Morrison who taught you to focus
your musical approach on “serving the song,” and you’ve
certainly played with some fantastic songwriters during your career.
But the concept of playing for the song seems to be a foreign one to
far too many musicians. Why do you think that is, and why is it one
that you embrace?
I don’t know. Maybe they don’t know better. I didn’t
at first, either. It’s a simple concept and it’s something
you have to learn fast. It’s part of the craft: The song rules.
You have to learn to recognize what a song needs—or doesn’t
need. Don’t overplay, don’t step on the vocal, leave your
ego outside. There’s room for just one ego, and that one is usually
a pretty big one.
It’s not the only idea on the record, but the issue of immigration
and immigrant relations—obviously relating specifically to the
situation along the Texas–Mexico border—seems to be an
underlying theme of Blues, Waltzes and Badland Borders. Is this an
issue that’s close to your heart? If so, why?
The issue is close to my heart, like it is to everyone these days,
it seems. I don’t like to get political, but when I perform “In
Memory Of Zapata” I preface the song with some history of Zapata
and how he still resonates with the downtrodden of Mexico, i.e., the
Zapatista movement in Central Mexico. I knew and have read about Zapata,
as did Chip [Taylor]. We did some research about various aspects of
Tex–Mex history like the Mexican Revolution and its impact on
border culture. But the initial concept and inspiration for the record
is Texas in general, because Chip and I were spending so much time
there. Also, Mexican and Spanish music informs my playing because of
my background: My mother is from Costa Rica and my parents had that
stuff on the record player all the time.
You guys both came up as musicians at roughly the same time, but has
Ry Cooder been an influence on your music? Parts of Blues, Waltzes
and Badland Borders are reminiscent of Cooder’s soundtrack to
Paris, Texas.
No, but I’m a fan. I guess you’re referring to my slide
playing, which, like my guitar playing, is an amalgam of a lot of things.
Perhaps much of it is drawn from the same well as Ry might’ve
drawn from, I don’t know. The songs you’re probably thinking
of kind of wrote themselves—much of them were improvised, initially.
They’re standard open tunings but approached with my sensibility,
if you will.
You were born in and grew up in the Hudson Valley. Why do you choose
to still live here and not in L.A. or New York, where all of the lucrative
studio and soundtrack work is?
Mostly because I’m not cut out for the studio scene—the
play–on–demand part, anyway. I’m a stylist. People
hire me for my “voice,” my particular style and sound I’ve
developed. I’ve lived in L.A. and London, and New York is just
down the road, so to speak. So I’ve dealt with and still deal
with those places, but on my terms. The lucrative studio scene doesn’t
exist anymore, anyway. I’m an upstate country boy, this is my
home, and after all is said and done the Hudson Valley is where I’m
always drawn back to.
Your first instrument was the piano. What made you want to play the
guitar instead? Do you still play piano?
My family couldn’t afford a piano, but the guitar is a different
thing. I don’t play [piano] much—maybe to compose on. But
I love the piano. I listen to as much piano music as I do guitar. I
wish I could really play it. I guess I’m just a one–instrument
guy.
Which contemporary guitarists do you admire? Anyone local?
These days, mostly jazz players like Russell Malone or Pat Martino—don’t
know if Martino would be considered contemporary, but I find myself
listening to him a lot lately. Ditto for the late, great Michael Hedges.
There are players that catch my ear every so often, but I couldn’t
name them right now. Some Nashville guys like Brent Mason and Guthrie
Trapp. Local guys? Tony Di Paolo is a fine player. Bobby Lustgarten,
if he’d come out of hiding (ha ha), and Mike DiMicco is a great
jazz player. He covers rock pretty good as well.
You’ve also made a name for yourself as a producer of your own
records, and, quite successfully, of several by Guy Davis. Which production
credits are you most proud of? Anything new going on for you in that
area?
I’m in the middle of my sixth production for Guy. I’m
proud of all the stuff I’ve done with Guy. He’s a really
fine musician, an amazing bluesman. I’ve started pre–production
on my next solo CD. But that will take awhile; though I hope the gestation
period for this one won’t be as long as it was for Blues, Waltzes
and Badland Borders, which took years. At this point I don’t
have room for much else because of my involvement with Van Morrison.
I was just doing his stateside gigs for about a year but now it’s
escalated to Europe as well. I didn’t want to at first, but when
Van Morrison calls…
I own a white label promo of the first record you were on, a 1967
single by The Silver Bike on Bang Records. What was the story with
that band?
White label promo? I don’t even own one of those. The record
actually was released commercially. Then [Bang Records CEO] Bert Berns
died. Bert signed us and, ironically, was the guy who signed and produced
Van Morrison, as you probably know. Bert’s wife took over after
his death and that’s when it ended for us. And for Van, too,
though I think Van was out of there way before. It got pretty ugly
for Van. Eileen [Berns] ruled with an iron fist. No love lost there.
The Silver Bike continued for a year or so after that. Then I went
back to fronting my own band for a few months until Van’s tour
manager at the time arranged for me to audition for Van in Woodstock,
where he was living. The rest, as they say, is history.
You’ve frequently said that you’re happy to stay in the
background as a musician, which you’ve certainly made into a
solid and successful career. I know you made one album as the leader
of The Giants in 1976, but with the recent releases of Lucky Dog and
Blues, Waltzes and Badland Borders do you see yourself moving back
into the solo–artist spotlight again—or are these albums
enough of a fulfillment in that way? Any plans to play locally?
Yes, the albums are enough of a fulfillment in and of themselves.
Like I’ve said before, the solo–album thing wasn’t
something I was actively seeking. It just sort of happened. Therefore,
there wasn’t much motivation to go beyond that point once the
fun of the production was over. With Lucky Dog, there wasn’t
any kind of label support to go out and work the record. With BWBB,
it was just the opposite. It had the whole package: the label and good
radio and media people are working it. And that made all the difference
in the world. It got solid reviews all over, which motivated me to
work the record and I did. So I guess I would say yes, given the right
circumstances, I’d move back into the spotlight again. But I
don’t know if the solo thing is in the cards this year. I’m
committed to working with Van for the next few months, especially since
I’m on half of his new album (Keep it Simple [Polydor Records]).
After that, I think I’d like to stay in one place for a while,
though, the way things look, that probably won’t happen. But
I’m not complaining. I’m grateful that I’ve been
able to do what I believe I’m meant to do. You can’t ask
for much more than that.
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