SELECTED FEATURES & INTERVIEWS
NY Press (NYC)
CMJ New Music Report (USA)
The Guardian (London)
CMJ Monthly (USA)
Uncut (UK)
NME (UK)
Flux (UK)
Sky (UK)
IJamming (Web)
Playlouder (Web)
Spittingglass Stars (Fanzine)
NY Press (NYC)
Music / Laptop
October, 2001
By
J.R. Taylor
"So you’re the R.J. we’ve heard so much about," says Jesse Hartman’s
mother. She offers me her hand, and I smile politely. I don’t want to correct
her. After all, I’m on Hartman’s turf. We’re in the Two Boots pizzeria owned by
his brother, and I’m being mistaken for the respected documentarian whom Jesse
will meet later on that night. It’s all very glamorous in an almost-famous East
Village kind of way.
As
a member of the band Sammy, Hartman became part of a parade of NYC big nothings
in the mid-90s. He’s since stepped away from Sammy’s generic rock and
repackaged himself as a computer whiz working under the name of Laptop. Hartman
began releasing a series of clever tunes written with a sick sincerity that
triumphed over the electro-pop beats. "End Credits" was one
particularly great brooding pop song, dwelling on the slow death of a childish
relationship. The adulation began overseas, and MCA eventually released the
domestic User’s Guide EP in 1999. It went nowhere, and only sheer force of will
has given us subsequent Laptop releases.
Last year’s Opening Credits and this year’s
The Old Me vs. The New You have both been released on Trust Me Records, with
fitful distribution and little attention. Hartman’s still the best band in New
York, though, and he’s even making a rare live appearance for CMJ Oct. 13 at
the Village Underground. As we go though plenty of free wine, Hartman discusses
being a semi-hit act in a hitless town.
I’ve always thought of you as an anonymous figure, so it was surprising to
see that you recently made the cover of CMJ.
It was the most anonymous cover of CMJ in
history. I didn’t get a single call from anyone telling me they had seen it.
You’d think it had come out on Sept. 11.
That’s the Laptop spirit I was hoping to
hear. You’ve had a weird career for a guy who’s recorded a legendary single
like "End Credits"–I know it was legendary because the press releases
said so.
To be fair, the British press was calling
the song "legendary" the day after it came out. That kind of got in
the way. Your first hit connects you to people, and then you can’t get past
that. It’s kind of plagued me in that way...but a lot of songwriters would like
to have a song plaguing them that way. My song "Nothing to Declare"
was actually more of a hit single. Island released it right before my deal with
them fell apart. It went to number 62 on the UK charts. I thought that was
great, but they were disappointed.
"End Credits" is definitive of
the Laptop attitude toward relationships, which seems to center on mutual
self-destruction.
That was literally what I was going through.
I was trying to call someone to break up with them, but she refused to call me
back. It was like a game of chicken. "End Credits" was sort of the
only honest song on the first Laptop demo tape. It kind of became a model from
there.
When your first EP came out on MCA, there
was already a lot of overseas hype behind it.
I’d already had several releases in the UK
on very small one-man labels. But in England, that can actually work. Sammy had
a little bit of that same benefit over there. People cared about us. At one
point, Sammy played this huge variety show in England with four million
viewers. My career has always had that dichotomy between the U.S. and the UK.
About "I’m So Happy You
Failed": You wrote a song relishing another musician’s failure, it debuted
on the MCA EP, and then the label dropped you.
I knew that was going to happen. The whole
second verse is about me getting dropped by a label. At least I had the
foresight to predict my demise. It wasn’t even a demise–you have to start from
higher up to have a demise.
Who did you have in mind when you wrote
the song?
There were probably about four or five
musicians and filmmakers that I was thinking about. Recently I was doing some
shows in England and I dedicated it to those Swiss boarding-school chums in the
Strokes. That went over pretty good.
I notice that after years of being
faceless, you show up on the new album looking like Marky Mark.
Yeah, I began with that mock-New Order
style, doing that whole mystery of "who’s behind the music?" I don’t
know why I decided to put myself on the cover of the new album. You’ve got to
be crazy to pull your yearbook photo out and stick it on a fake boxer’s body.
Talk about your worst album covers of all time.
I’d still guess that being Laptop gets
you laid.
Well, I’m not sure how to describe it. Do
you ever really believe that Woody Allen is the big loser you see in his films?
Nope.
He finally dropped the mask in Stardust
Memories, and we saw how comfortable he is with women.
Right.
Chuck Eddy in the Voice described me as a
sad sack who couldn’t get any action, which is a very literal reading. I don’t
even think the songs read that way. I don’t quite have the problems in love
that the songs represent.
At least not once you’re out of the USA.
But didn’t you mention that you have to meet up with your fiancee later?
Yeah, I’m in a healthy relationship now.
That’s a pretty lame way to describe
something that’s leading to marriage.
I guess so. It certainly hasn’t made the
songs more positive. I prematurely named the next album Accentuate the
Positive. I actually thought things would get more upbeat, but now the title’s
just laced with irony.
But you’re an international music figure,
so at least you could lay a big rock of an engagement ring on her.
I do travel a lot. I just became a gold
frequent flier on American Airlines, which I’m very proud of. That could be the
secret to a healthy relationship. But I’m not doing well financially.
I thought there were, like, 800 different
remixes of "End Credits."
Yes, but I had to do them all myself. Do you
think remixes represent some kind of financial success?
What’s up with your singing voice? I
can’t decide if it’s a fake British accent or a Snagglepus imitation.
Some people have accused me of things like
using a vocoder, but I don’t. It’s a funny thing. I’ve sort of reinvented
myself to the point where I now sing that way naturally. And it hasn’t helped
that I don’t play live all that much. This CMJ show is kind of my coming-out
party. The band is great, with the rhythm section from Girls Against Boys. I
went to college with some of the guys, so I cheated by wrangling them into it.
It’s kind of an indie-rock supergroup.
Shouldn’t you just be alone onstage with some
reel-to-reel tape players?
I’ve actually played in England with just
the laptop computer running sequences and using projections. To be honest, I
hate the way it feels doing that. There’s no energy, and I get depressed. But
we’re camping it up with the live band. I’ve got the drummer playing a
miniature drum kit, but he sounds great on it. I’ve got an obsession with the
feel of Talking Heads on the Remain in Light album. But I hope that nobody
thinks I’m saying that I like being in a band. You’ve got to play live, and
this particular band has been a good experience, but I’d much rather be alone
in the studio. I grew up playing different instruments, and it’s fun being able
to do it all yourself. It’s funny how my career has followed this trajectory. I
remember when Gang of Four went from being a guitar band to two guys doing
electronic funk, and I hated it. Now here I am doing the same thing.
Do you like the new album better than
Opening Credits?
It’s not as good as Opening Credits, but
there are still lots of good songs.
I ask because there’s been a bit of a
ruse perpetuated by myself.
I recorded 24 songs with Island Records,
because the UK market demands a lot of B-sides. What I’ve done is taken the
songs and divided them up into two albums. Now the press is complaining about
how I’ve changed since the first album, but there’s really been no chance for a
change.
The only song I really hate on the new
album is the closing track with the detached voiceover. It sounds too much like
Ultravox.
I just read a review from England where the
writer hated the album except for that track.
They like Ultravox in England. They even liked Sammy. You know, Sammy put me in
an entire universe that I didn’t really like. We kept being lumped in with this
Pavement kind of sound that really had nothing to do with me. That’s why I had
to do something that was the complete opposite. There were a lot of people who were
baffled and disillusioned by that. And then there are people like you, who are
very happy to see me turning away from that.
Well, I wish you’d been rewarded better.
I’d hate to see you reform Sammy.
I’ve managed to put together my own studio
now. That’s one of the good things that came from my own major label deal. But
I don’t think I’ve ever received a royalty check in my life.
That’s brilliant. Your rock ’n’ roll dream
is of a first royalty check.
Does that sound too pathetic? This whole
loser thing is kind of tongue-in-cheek, isn’t it? I’m really hoping the fourth
album will be positive. You know, some of my relationships have been quite
good. Is it possible to do this interview over as a more positive person?
Laptop plays Sat., Oct. 13, at the Village
Underground, 130 W. 3rd St. (betw. 6th Ave. & MacDougal St.), 777-7745
(also see cmj.com).
CMJ New Music Report (USA)
Cover Story: LAPTOP - He's So Happy
You Failed
Inside: KARMA CHAMELEON - From Sammy to Laptop: Jesse Hartman's Maniacal Metamorphosis
March 12, 2001:
By M. Tye Comer
When Jesse
Hartman first strolled into the CMJ offices, he was a typically wide-eyed,
hungry-for-success East Village hipster with a guitar, eager to impress our
comfortably captive editorial staff with his smart charmingly quirky,
Pavement-inspired tunes. Of course, that was back in 1996 when the CMJ offices
were still stationed Hartman's home town of Great Neck. Long Island, and Sammy
- the indie-rock outfit made up of he and college pal Luke Wood - seemed on the
verge of something big with their first major label album, Tales Of Great
Neck Glory.
A lot can change in five years. As it turns out, the biggest thing in store for
Sammy was a bout of creative and career-oriented differences that caused the
duo to break up shortly after Great Neck Glory's release. After Sammy's demise,
Hartman underwent a musical metamorphosis so drastic that we almost didn't
recognize him as the same artist when his next recording, 1999's User's
Guide EP, showed up on our desks. Without warning, the cheeky,
too-intelligent butterfly-pop he embraced in Sammy had been replaced by the
sardonic, laughably morose Laptop, a new wave-influenced project that lyrically
rips through ex-lovers, musical contemporaries and Hartman's own ego with the
veracity of a gypsy moth tearing through a ripe forest.
"When I was really young, I toured with [NYC punk legend] Richard Hell
briefly," Hartman says as he sips Merlot in a trendy East Village pizzeria
while the rest of the patrons suck down beer, pepperoni and extra cheese.
"And I always kept what he stood for, which is that rock 'n' roll is
supposed to be about reinventing yourself. So it felt okay to completely
change, be a chameleon and enter into this more theatrical world."
"I got to the point where I wanted to take my music more seriously and I
got tired of being part of the indie-rock movement," he confesses. "I
got really kind of disgusted by the whole thing, being lumped in with Pavement
and Sebadoh and Built To Spill and all this stuff that I just felt was treading
water. I didn't want to be associated with anything. I wanted to do something
people didn't completely understand, and something that allowed my sick and
twisted personality to come out a little bit more. I think that Luke is
generally a nicer person than I am. Being on my own, in a vacuum, actually
helped me be funny and understand the kind of things I wanted to say."
In person, the 30-year old Hartman (who also produces films in his spare time)
carries himself like the shy, polite, endearing neighborhood boy you'd expect
to find weeping in the shadows during a Sunny Day Real Estate gig. But on the
grandiose full-length as Laptop, he transforms into a jet-setting,
bile-swallowing bastard child of Bowie and Human League that juxtaposes
percolating synth-pop flourishing and new-wave guitar riffs with biting lyrics
that attack all who've dared cross him in the past.
On
one level, the album pulls no punches. There's "Nothing To Declare,"
a self-effacing slice of electro-funk about looking for love in all the wrong
places ("I've got nothing to declare/Except my loneliness," he croons
on the chorus). "Another Song" is an almost tender new wave ballad
about struggling in vain to forget a lost love ("I can't write another
song/ 'Bout how you left and now I'm all alone…") But the most venomous
selection has to be "I'm So Happy You Failed," a gleeful tale
inspired by an acquaintance's poor record sales, driven home by a chorus of
taunting children ("Word on the street says/Your second record's dead
and/You're not doing very well/Can't say that I'm depressed/Still I could never
guess/Just how good that makes me feel").
"The song is about a fellow band, but ironically, I now want the drummer
from that band to play on my next record," he laughs. "So if I name
them, then I might screw everything up."
But Opening Credits succeeds not only because of its exquisite
production and punchy songwriting, but also because of the tongue-in-cheek
humor that underlies every cut. Hartman's emotional reflections are so brazenly
absurd, you can't help but chuckle at the earnestness and razor-sharp wit with
which they are delivered. Were he really as bitter and twisted as he came
across on record, he'd easily drown in the same mire of self-absorbed melodrama
that consumed new wave acts like Sisters Of Mercy. Instead, he simply sets a
stage where his wry and highly intentional theatrics play out like black comedy
rather than tragedy. (And if you're not convinced he gets his own joke, just
check the computer-pop cover of Billy Joel's "It's Still Rock 'N' Roll To
Me,": the best bit of musical sarcasm since Travis covered "Baby…One
More Time.")
"This isn't going to be good for my image, but I feel like I've really had
some great relationships," he confesses. "I've tried to write some
positive songs as Laptop, but it didn't work. There's a line from Woody Allen's
Crimes & Misdemeanors that comedy is tragedy plus time. Maybe I'm just
romantic at heart and the reality that good things go wrong is so upsetting to
me, I have to make these jokey songs about it. When I play my records for
people, if I don't get a laugh, then I get bummed out. I think I really just
wanted to be a stand up comic at heart."
The genius of Hartman's earliest Laptop recordings found immediate favor with
the British press, including the credulous Melody Maker, who praised "End
Credits" as "…the best single of the 20th Century." The
hyperbole was enough to attract the interest of Island Records in the U.K.,
which signed Laptop to its first major label deal (MCA would end up handling
Laptop's stateside releases). Yet, like many artists, Hartman was strangled by
the political red tape that followed the Polygram/Universal merger of 1999, and
the deal went kaput shortly after the release of User's Guide. Independent
label Trust Me Records, is distributed by Parasol in the states, ended up
releasing Opening Credits and is slated to release another Laptop album before
the year's end.
"Because I got held up with a corporate label situation, my next album is
all ready to go," he says. "It's not as one-on-one as Opening
Credits; it's a little bit more societal. And we're looking for a fall release.
So if you hate Laptop already, you're in for a really annoying year."
The Guardian (London)
Rock, pop & jazz: Laptop
Monday September 20 1999
By
John Robinson
You don’t really get much more New York than Jesse Hartman. The Laptop frontman
has a long and rich association with some of the city’s most important cultural
touchstones. He – obviously – worked for years in his brother’s pizza
restaurant. He – equally obviously – attended film school, and ahs a history
with a former band, Sammy, who sounded like Pavement and therefore, Lou Reed.
But a certain dissatisfaction with NYC orthodoxy evidently crept into Hartman’s
mind, and this is the thinking behind the impressively multi-media Laptop:
disappointed with the staid New York indie guitar scene, he decided to use his
antiquated computer to make some slightly more modern music. The path ahs not
run entirely smoothly: Hartman’s first single End Credits featured the sound of
an ex-girlfriend’s answer machine clicking in as she refuses to return his call
– on stage he sings the song into a telephone – for which she summarily, this
being America, sued. Though greatness of any musical kind has yet to be
debuted, from such an impressively lively mind – Hartman has, after all,
produced and directed a number of respected films – a twist in the tale is
certainly not out of the question. Wag Club, 35 Wardour Street, W1, 7:30pm.
CMJ Monthly (USA)
On The Verge: Laptop
June,
2001
By Michael White
Eddie Murphy albums and Madonna movies prove that the worlds of music and film
should never cross-pollinate. Yet former Sammy lynch-pin Jesse Hartman merges
the two almost seamlessly on his debut album as Laptop, OPENING CREDITS (Trust
Me). "I'd always tried to make movies and music," says the native New
Yorker, who's also a filmmaker and actor. "A lot of the songs have
dialogue created for the song, and I'll literally cast it. If the song is about
two people in a bar, I'll find two actors who are friends of mine, and we'll
perform a little scene." Hartman casts himself as the protagonist in
OPENING CREDITS, a 12-part tragicomedy about failed relationships (romantic and
professional) and their resonating emotional damage. Set against a musical
backdrop that updates new wave's synthesized, romantic sweep (the Human
League's Dare! springs to mind), its well-oiled irony stings and tickles.
"I'm So Happy You Failed" sticks pins in a rival musician's already
deflating career ("Word on the street says/Your second record's
dead"), while "End Credits" tells a soon-to-be-ex-lover's
answering machine to "Stop this teenage movie we've been in."
"They're not hate songs," Hartman chuckles. "They're always meant
to be ironic and funny. It's almost a concept album: A User's Guide To Your
20's -- maybe what not to do."
Uncut (UK)
The Man From Laptop
Laptop mainman Jesse Hartman jetted over from America for a long weekend and
somewhere between cigarettes talked to Brendan Patterson about how he’s not as
sad as he may sound.
Laptop is the brainchild of Jesse Hartman, a man whose CV you could describe as
a little more than eclectic. An appearance on The Word with John Wayne Bobbit,
baby sitting for punk icon Richard Hell and bartending with Page Hamilton from
Helmet are all previous experiences to his name. It’s safe to say that Jesse
has had his share of strange and bizarre incidents; either through his past
incarnation in the indie group Sammy or by growing up in an artist’s village in
New York. In the light of his ‘colourful’ pas, it’s not too surprising that the
lyrics on Laptop’s debut album “Whole Wide World” are structured like a type of
personal odyssey, albeit one that has played out through the same sort of
synth-pop as electronica’s most famous light aircraft pilot, Gary Numan.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, I was just having a cigarette. I still havan’t got
used to British laws about smoking; apparently they’re concerned with this
thing called cancer?” he says.
Unfamiliarity and alienation are already established feelings for Jesse if his
lyrics are anything to go by. In the current single ‘Nothing To Declare’ he
describes himself as a “Don Quixote with jet lag,” an impression reinforced by
his current stay in London.
“London’s a very different city than what I’m used to,” says Jesse. “It’s kind
of sprawling like LA but it’s got the grit of New York, which was where I grew
up. I like just outside of Manhattan, then I moved on to the East Village where
there’s a lot more happening with clubs like CBGB’s. Fortunately back then I
had my older brother who would look out for me. He was kind of my guardian
angel.”
“With regards to the single, basically it’s the conclusion to my story of
traveling the world to find the right girl. I looked for love and all I got was
this lousy t-shirt. However, I must stress that I’m not quite as sad as I make
out on the record.”
Laptop’s sound combines the attitude of ‘the blank generation’ with synth pop’s
minimalism and a morass of electronic samples from sources as diverse as
airport tannoys and answering machines, a result influenced in part by Jesse’s
film school education and time spent as an award winning independent film maker
no less.
“It sounds pretentious when I say this, but really my stuff is the music of a
frustrated director. I suppose my despair for American radio is the other main
influence; seriously, there is way too much stuff like Hootie and the Blowfish
out there,” he laments. “With Laptop what I wanted to do was something damn different
from my former guitar rock training. Something more like Eno or Talking Heads,
even though I didn’t understand the technology, which was a problem at first.”
“The album has taken such a long time to complete as I have had to do all the
parts myself. Mark Saunders came in and helped with some stuff. If it wasn’t
for him I’d still be sealed away in the recording studio now,” he concludes.
Overall, Jesse is a bit of a clever sod, but by all accounts his memories of
Terry Christian and The Word shall forever remain a humbling experience. “When
we went on we were there with that guy who had his dick cut off and Ricki Lake.
I remember playing our music and all these girls in bikinis stood around in the
crowd staring at us. As for Terry Christian, well putting it diplomatically, he
was as you’d expect.”
And who says Americans don’t have taste?
Nothing to Declare is out now. Whole Wide World is released later this year.
NME (UK)
On Band 2: Laptop
January
24, 1998
By Simon Williams
Some
People have all the luck. As a 20 year-old musical whippersnapper, one Jesse
Hartman, aka Laptop, went on tour with none other than rock
type/novelist/all-round shady American dud Richard Hell. The experience was
unforgettable, to say the least.
“He taught me a lot about reinvention,” explains Jesse. “He had this whole
philosophy about changing your name, changing your religion, changing your
personality, and I guess it kinda affected me.”
It certainly bally well did. Last year, Jesse was in a band called Sammy;
post-Pavement surfers to a man, their plans for global domination were only
slightly scuppered by the fact that while Jesse resides in New York, his
partner, Luke, was an inhabitant of Los Angeles.
“We loved doing it, but it was high time that I had people around that I could
work with without having to e-mail them. It’s very hard to write a song by fax.
And even harder to rehearse. Ha ha!
“I was also getting a bit tired of doing the jangly guitar lo-fi pop thing,” he
continues, complicatedly. “Plus, my voice dropped about 12 notes on the scale
for whatever reason. Too much drinking and smoking, I guess. One morning I just
woke up with an arch crooner’s voice.”
He did, as well. And Jesse has put said croon to fantastically good use on ‘End
Credits’. Laptop’s grand debut single. A luscious slice of pop melodrama pie
(and a spiritual cousin of the wondrous ‘Found A Little Baby’ by Plush, to
boot), it has sent drooling British DJ’s in a right old spin. A jangly guitar
lo-fi pop thing it most certainly isn’t.
“I was kinda scared,” admits Jesse on the transatlantic phoneline, “because
it’s definitely a new sound for me. It’s something I grew up listening to and
it kinda seeped in I guess, and came out 16 years later or something.”
Uh-huh. What about the reference points, Jesse? Experts claim they hear traces
of Bowie in your soothsome sounds.
“People offer all kinds of stuff. Half of it I’ve never heard of, a quarter of
it I hated and the last 25 per cent I can kinda identify with. Someone said it
was like Soft Cell and I didn’t know how to take that – I was stunned and
confused!”
Not as much as us, obviously, but that’s not the point. The point is that “End
Credits” is a sneakily romantic blighter, a tattered red rose for lovers past,
and the best single of ’98 released at the close of ’97. So all Jesse needs
right now is a big proper deal.
“It would be nice to have backing so I can eat again,” he muses. “I had to
cancel my tennis appointment for this actually.” Laptop? Tennis? “My English
record company called me a yuppie this morning. And then I had to explain that
I played tennis in an abandoned chemical factory so I could get some cred back
from them.”
Mmmm! Sulphur-tastic! And when can we expect the next chemically-crazed
reinvention, Jesse?
“Oh, I think this has got a few years in it. Unless I hate the name and decide
to change it. Ha ha!
Flux (UK)
Famous Edition: Laptop
June/July
2001
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes! Jesse Hartman, 30 year old brainiac behind the sardonic ,
brand new retro pop of Laptop, knows a thing or two about the power of
reinvention, as the title of his latest album – ‘The Old Me vs. The New You’ –
might suggest. Having reached a creative impasse with fellow members of
erstwhile project, mid ‘90’s Pavement-alikes Sammy. Hartman had to break up the
band in search of something new. “Metamorphosing into Laptop after Sammy was a
genius move on my behalf,” he confesses with a wry smile. “I’d been a ‘Rock
Rules, Disco Sucks’ kind of kid. Suddenly it was liberating to fool around with
instruments that had previously been taboo to me and I ended up sounding like a
lot of the stuff I’d hated when I was growing up.” Indeed much like Laptop’s
first long playing effort (last year’s criminally underexposed ‘Opening
Credits’), ‘The Old Me vs. The New You’ is distinguished by the prevalence of
new wavey guitar riffs and early eighties-inspired electronica. But where once
any critical citation of that decade was accompanied by a sneer, from TV
nostalgia series to style mag fashion spreads, it now seems we can’t get enough
of the era. Surely it must be irksome to witness such a blatantly shallow about
face? “I suppose I did anticipate some kind of eightees revival when Laptop
began,” he sighs. “It’s only the in the last year that people like Madonna have
got a hold on it. I mean that’s the ultimate irony, right? That Madonna, who
was once part of it, has now taken to reviving it.”
Any thoughts of Laptop as wacky kitsch revivalists though, should be dispensed
with immediately, as can the idea of them as noodling electro-purists. This is
pop music at its bitter and twisted best. Arguably, Laptop’s greatest appeal is
Hartman’s skewed lyricism. The new album’s very title is evocative of Sparks
flying (that’s Ron and Russ , by the way) in a showdown between Bowie and and Morrissey.
And just like the aforementioned luminaries at their best ‘The Old
Me’…possesses an immense humour along with vicious sarcasm that treads a
wonderous path between the absurdly self-deprecating and the flagrantly
egotistical. Take the deliciously comic confection ‘Back Together’- the vain
plea of a reluctantly remorseful ex-lover eager to rebuild the bridges he’s
burned: “I couldn’t find anything better/So I’m crawling back to say/I think it
might be time to get back together” or ‘Can’t Say Hi’ in which Hartman dourly
refuses to acknowledge a casual, but common acquaintance: “It don’t matter,
we’re not gonna meet/’Cos when I saw you coming, I just crossed the street” –
you’re left laughing and wondering how Hartman ever manages to cross that
street with the number of crosses he seems to bear. “I do get myself into some
pretty sticky personal situations. I call them merger problems.” He laments.
“Whatever the subject though, I feel this compulsion to be funny in the lyrics.
Maybe I was a stand-up comic in a past life, ‘cos when I play my music to
people and they’re not laughing then I think there’s something wrong with what
I’ve done.”
The genius of Jesse Hartman. Funny ha ha. Funny peculiar.
Laptop’s new album ‘The Old Me vs. The New You’ is released June on Trust Me
Records.
Sky Magazine (UK)
Laptop: Get With The Program
October,
1999
The
revolving restaurant at the Marriot, Times Square, New York, Sixty stories up,
Jesse Hartman is introducing Sky to Laptop, his acid tongued synth pop war
against the shallowness of the city below. He sips a frozen margarita. “This
whole place is so Laptop,” he explains in his dry boho tones. “It’s like we’re
poking fun at the city, yet carrying on like we’re both absurdly stylish.” He
laughs a dismissive laugh. With his dyed cherry-hair and light red synthetic
shirt, Jesse is a man at odds with pretty much everyone. From debut tune End
Credits to harky forthcoming single, I’m So Happy You Failed, in which he mocks
fellow New York artists over a grimy robot beat (“Everybody says your second
record’s dead and you’re not doing very well”), Hartman has already written a
bunch of hilariously miserable synth pop songs set around the poncey
back-biting world of the East Village. Sounding like a depressed Divine Comedy
with a pinch of 80s Smiths and Soft Cell, Hartman is far removed from the
current crop of spikey-haired MTV punk-lites (“It’s exciting being out on a
limb like that.”) Forthcoming album Guilt is intended to be a lesson for
misguided youth. “Some of it sounds like Human League and some like 80s
Stones,” he says. “I’m not sure the public are going to get it, but I’m just
reveling in the fact that none of it makes sense.” He pauses. “That’s going to
be your closing quote, isn’t it?” Yep. I’m So Happy You Failed is released
on 20 September.
iJamming (Web)
July 22 2001
By Tony Fletcher
As
the review I posted back in March made abundantly clear, I consider Laptop's
debut album Opening Credits no small a work of genius. (You can read the review
here.) Jesse Hartman's acerbic lyrics suggest a man of considerable literary
merit and sharp wit, and given his subject matter (failed relationships) and
career trajectory (failed major label deals), he seemed an ideal candidate for
an iJamming! interview. Instinct led me to make it an e-mail Q&A; I thought
he might enjoy my occasionally biting and not infrequently sarcastic questions
a little more if he had a chance to compose replies as per lyrics, rather than
being forced to deliver them off the cuff. Hartman proved a good sport, and
responded with an essay's worth of responses within a week or two.
Talking
of sport, during the very week of posting this interview (mid-June 2001)
Hartman celebrated the UK release of his second album, The Old Me Vs. The New
You, by performing in London in full boxing regalia. (Images of the Monty
Python sketch in which Graham Chapman boxed against himself immediately pop
into the head.) I've yet to hear much of this album and don't feel the need to
post a review so rapidly on the heels of Opening Credits. In fact, while I
understand Hartman's desire to press on with his career after the years lost to
the Universal-Seagrams merger, I would hate to see Opening Credits passed over.
Neither would he, which is one reason The Old Me Vs. The New You is not
released in the U.S. until August. Laptop links follow at the end; if ever
there's an artist who merits an internet following, it's this post-modern,
computer-savvy master of what he himself contentedly calls "ironica."
How
are you today, Jesse?
5:00am -- I was awoken by two of my apartment building neighbors having a loud
discussion. I told them to shut up and now they think it was me who called the
police last night to complain about a domestic squabble they were having. (The
man is quite large and tattooed.)
9:15am
-- While driving my dirty little Honda from Brooklyn to the East Village, I
flipped on shock jock Howard Stern (like not being able to avert your eyes from
a car wreck) and had to endure an interview with a rock star who I know
personally and dislike heavily. Quote: "Nobody understands that music is
my life, man. You know, the band is my family."
11:00am
-- A friend called me and told me Lou Reed died which turned out later to be
just an internet hoax.
I ask because at least one magazine that listened to Opening Credits
concluded that you must be a "miserable bastard." Well, are you?
Not as much as I should be given some of the material. A few more days like
this one and I'll get there.
Are Laptop and Jesse Hartman one and the same character, or is Laptop merely
your alter ego? If so, does that make you any more easy going in person than
you are in song?
On a scale from 1-10, is Jesse as ________ as he is in Laptop songs?
Paranoid - 10
Funny - 8 (how can he be?)
Mean - 5
Romantic - 0 (I'm more so in person)
Competitive - 0
Well-adjusted - 3 (I'm more so in person)
You grew up around the New York rock'n'roll scene, I gather. Do you recall
your first gig? How old were you? Did it make you want to become a rock'n'roll
star?
Pet Clams From Outer Space at CBGB's in 1978. I was 6 and my older sister
thought I should see the inside of that famous club. Made me want to hold my
ears more than be a rock star. Seeing the Talking Head's Remain In Light tour a
couple years later made me want to be rock star.
You toured with Richard Hell at a very young age? How old were you then? Did
THAT make you want to become a rock'n'roll star?
I was 19 or 20 when I went to Japan as the guitarist on a punk rock Spinal
Tap-esque Richard Hell tour. THAT made me want to sell all my gear (which I did
upon return), swear off rock stardom (Richard told me repeatedly that the rock
biz is a "world of pain" - he was right), and become a filmmaker.
You've performed with many other musicians and several bands. What's the
closest you've ever come to being a rock'n'roll star?
I am a rock 'n' roll star.
Your last real band, Sammy, released an album on Geffen, back when that
label could do no wrong. How comes you didn't sell a million?
I beg to differ with the "do no wrong" bit. Geffen was on a serious
losing streak in the post-Nirvana era which was strangely one of the reasons we
signed with them. We figured they NEEDED to break a band and therefore might
pay attention to us more than they would have during the Guns 'N' Roses era for
example. Geffen actually got folded into Interscope not long after we left the
label which would have been a disaster for us as it has been for bands like
Girls Against Boys.
So after Sammy broke up, you developed an alternative career as a
film-maker. How cool is that?
Actually, I started making films at age 21 at Wesleyan University before Sammy
even started. My first film was a short about my experiences as a bartender
that won Best Short Film in Berlin 1993. A feature followed that I co-wrote the
story for and co-produced called "River Of Grass" which was a
Sundance hit back in 1995. There's been many other since (as many as I can do
while keeping up musical appearances).
What's the greatest thing you've ever done with a camera?
I once filmed a heartbreaking portrait (of staggering genius) of my good friend
Slimma Williams (poet, Two Boots dishwasher, self-titled "mutant from
outer space") for MSNBC. There's a sad song about him on Sammy's Tales Of
Great Neck Glory called "Slim Style".
If you had to choose between making films and making music, which would it
be?
I can't decide. That's my fatal flaw. At least Laptop is "cinematic"
enough to satisfy both impulses.
You used film metaphors in 'End Credits,' the song that introduced Laptop to
the world. What do they call that: multi-tasking? Cross-platforming? What do
YOU call it?
I call it being a frustrated filmmaker.
Was your re-entry into the music world as Laptop a calculated endeavor or a
happy accident? (Please elaborate.)
Both. After Sammy broke-up, I knew I wanted to continue making music. I knew I
needed to basically go at it alone. I knew it had to be something completely
different...I wanted to explore artifice and a kind of musical theater of the
absurd, get away from the guitar rock I had grown up with, be mean and honest,
be funny, use samples, include cinematic elements...I knew I never wanted to be
lumped in with bands like Pavement. I knew I didn't want it to be a band....I
think Laptop accomplished all that -- accidentally/consciously.
Laptop appears to have been launched from the UK. How comes? Weren't you
living in New York all this time?
Yes, it definitely appears that way. Much like Les Rhythm Digitales appeared to
launch from France. In Laptop's case, this appearance is due to a number of
factors:
--Sammy had always done well in the UK. There was immediate interest in what I
was doing in London.
--A dude with "smart ears" in London named Dave Barker wanted to
(exclusively) put out the "End Credits" single.
--I didn't see any point in releasing anything in America til there was
something going on in London (a la Nirvana, Pretenders, Hendrix, and countless
others that used London as a shop window for their material)...In my opinion,
American indies have little power these days, American radio is a joke and the
place is just too fucking big to make an impact without a lot of $. London is
just the opposite. That first single got on BBC 1 with no plugger, no $, no
manager, nothing. That's what I love about London. They'll take a chance on
anything.
--Laptop was just too weird for America in 1998. Maybe/hopefully not now.
--My music sounds British so why not let people think it is?
You then had the fun of being released by an American major label again (MCA
I believe). How great was that?
Well, after a few singles got that unexpected airplay on English national
radio, I fatefully signed with Island Records. Which was bought by Universal
(practically the next day) and I suddenly found myself back on a Uni company in
the States (I had already been on Geffen with Sammy). I was devastated as they
are truly the evil empire but they assured me with expensive lunches that they
loved, got, lurved, whatever else Laptop. I even got a Christmas gift from the
President of MCA with a note: Look forward to breaking Laptop huge in 2000. He
was right. They did break Laptop: my momentum, my sanity, my desire to be on a
major ever again.
On Laptop's introductory EP User's Guide you gave us 'I'm Happy You Failed,'
the most spiteful anthem written about a fellow musician since John Lennon
dissed Paul McCartney on 'How Do You Sleep.' Come on, which band is about?
Now that I think about it -- it was probably about the President I was just
discussing. Or maybe it was my manager or my ex or The Strokes in advance of
their existence.
How often are you asked that question? Do other bands accost you in New York
clubs and demand to know if it's about them?
Girls Against Boys threw a drink in my face.
In fact, do other bands in New York even talk to you?
I usually cross the street if I see any.
So anyway, the User's Guide Ep came out on a major label as a taster of an
album that was never released. What happened? Were you dropped?
I don't know if dropped is the right word. Island UK was basically dissolved in
the merger. I think they moved some band called U2 (apparently they make the
label a lot of money) over to Universal and that was it. They stuck my record
on a shelf, refusing to let me put out the record elsewhere. That was nice of
them. After 200 angry phone calls, from me and my radio DJ friend in Norway,
Marit Karlsen, they finally decided they'd let us put it out ourselves (Uni
keeps all the profits -- nice!) so we'd stop annoying them.
'I'm So Happy You Failed' includes the line "I'm setting myself up for
the same song to be sung back to me." Did you allow yourself a wry smile
at that line when you departed the major label before even releasing an album?
Guess I'm psychic.
Did other New York bands start accosting you in clubs and singing the song
back to you?
No, because every New York band knows the meaning of "failure" (a
musician's ups and downs) as much as I do -- see Helmet, Girls Vs. Boys, The
Strokes (soon enough), D Generation... Besides Sonic Youth (barely) name a band
from New York that's had an easy go of it since Madonna in the early 80's.
Finally, you've come out with your debut album, Opening Credits. It's been very
well received - as it should be. It's superb. Does it feel worth the wait?
Sure. It's kind of fun to be starting a new band at my ripe old age. Now, I'm
like the wizened "long-in-the-tooth" pub rockers from the Stiff era:
Nick Lowe, Wreckless Eric, Ian Dury. I'm a fucking rock 'n' roll veteran and
it's all because I've been in legal battles with my record label the last two
years!
The album has been released across the globe on Trustmerecords, a Norwegian
record label. I'm confused. Norway? Can you explain.
Kind of explained already above. I wanted my label to be located about as far
away from me as possible. I'm looking into a label in Saipan for my 4th album.
Opening Credits seems to have done particularly well in the UK. Why? Do they
see something special in you that Americans don't notice?
I guess, to them, I'm a bit of an exotic character. Plus, they get the 'ironica'
threads through Laptop's songs more than Americans do. When I play in London,
people laugh between lines like I'm doing stand-up or something. Jonathan
Richman would be proud.
You've even toured the UK, but you don't seem to play your home city. Why?
Are you worried that New York bands will accost you in the clubs and demand to
know if 'I'm SO Happy You Failed' is about them?
I'm more afraid of ex-girlfriends hurling tomatoes.
Many of the reviews of your music call you an 80s revivalist. Is that fair?
Ah, the press. What can I say except that they seem to need a tag line for
every band. Sure there are references in my music-- tons, actually (I dare say,
like a musical Goddard). But are they all 80's? These writers ought to take a
listen to some 70's Eno, some 60's Stax, some 90's...well, maybe not the 90's.
What do the 80s mean to you then?
It means a lot of music I kind of hated at the time but love now.
What does the 21st century mean to you (so far)?
Commercialism rules.
Of all the descriptions afforded you, which is your favorite, or perhaps the
most appropriate? I like the one that compares you to "Gary Numan alone
with a bottle of vodka."
There are two. "Laptop is Leonard Cohen remixed by Devo" and
"Hartman is like a Japanese robotic young Mick Jagger mixed with a
computer literate Woody Allen".
Most of the album Opening Credits concerns your apparently unsuccessful love
life. What I want to know is, are the songs all about one particular girl or is
this a whole series of failures you're writing about?
A whole series. At least 50. Should have been a triple album.
Have you thought of trying therapy?
I tried it for years. Then I went to Jim Jarmusch's therapist who hypnotized
me...Now, I'm cured! The third album is tentatively entitled Accentuate The
Positive.
Even if you've managed to keep the rival band in 'I'm So Happy You Failed' a
secret, the girls you address in songs like 'End Credits' and 'The Reason' must
know who they are. Have they sent you hate mail yet? Or better still, have they
left messages on your answering machine that you can sample for future songs?
You want to know the truth? And you might find this bizarre, but they are
actually flattered when they appear in these songs.
You have a song called 'The Wedding Band.' There was an 80s revival movie
called The Wedding Singer. Are they related?
Yes. Radio DJ Steve Lamacq wrote in the British press that I should have
starred in that movie instead of Adam Sandler. That thought (and an ex trying
to hire me as her wedding band) inspired the song.
Are you living proof that great art only comes out of misery?
As Woody writes in Crimes and Misdemeanors, "Comedy is tragedy plus
time." That's my mantra for making art.
The girls in your songs tend to be real basket cases, or at least 'Bad
News,' as you call them. Doesn't that reflect as badly on your choice of
partner as on the girls in question?
More like extremely intelligent, artistic and interesting with difficult pasts.
Sometimes that combination produces bouts of basket case-icity.
Have you thought of trying Prozac?
Don't think depression's my problem. Anxiety maybe. I've tried Buspar and
plenty of non-pharmaceuticals.
Trustmerecords has announced release dates not just for your second album
The Old Me versus the New You but your third one Accentuate the Positive as
well. Is this in reaction to the perpetual 'tba's of major labels?
Trustme Records and I like having the control to make plans ahead of time. We
don't need to see if my next single charts before scheduling the releases (like
majors do). That's the whole point here.
Are both these albums "in the can," as they say in the music biz?
Old Me is...It's out in June in the UK and out here in the fall 2001.
Accentuate will be recorded this summer in NYC.
How do they differ from Opening Credits?
It's interesting. Opening Credits and The Old Me Vs. The New You almost
parallel each other -- like two concept albums make by the same artist living
on two similar but different planets. Shit, that sounds like Star Trek...Here's
a comparison track by track:
1. 'End Credits' - about closure /The New You - about rebirth and reinvention
2. 'Greatest Hits' - about a guy pissing off a girl, she leaves him/Back
Together - about a guy wanting to repair things with a girl
3. 'I'm So Happy You Failed' - about hatred/I Can't Say Hi - about hatred
4. 'Nothing To Declare' - coming home from world travels hopelessly/Whole Wide
World - wanting to travel the world hopefully
5. 'Another Song' - guy hurt by girl/Not The Right Time - guy hurts girl
6. 'Bad News' - love patterns/Generational Pattern - family patterns
7. 'A Little Guilt' - guilt about one-night stands/Gimme The Nite - one night
stands And so on...
Could you be happy being happy?
Gotta be...my third album's supposed to be about that. Fat chance though - is
what I'm thinking.
If there's one couplet you wrote that you could take on a desert island with
you, what would it be?
From "Fountain Of Youth"...'cause it's a song sung to explorer Ponce
de Leon as he leaves me ashore in his ship - seems appropriate for a desert
island... "Do you have an idea what a plastic surgeon costs these days? Do
you know what pain that is is to exercise? Ponce de Leon, please don't say no.
Take me with you I could use that Fountain Of Youth."
If there's one that you could Command-z on your laptop (assuming it's a
Mac), what would it be?
Something I could "undo"? Not a lyric. Maybe a couple of select
moments, years, friendships...
So far you've covered Wreckless Eric's 'Whole Wide World' and Billy Joel's
'It's Still rock'n'roll to Me,' two extremely diverse songs. What's the next
gem you're going to dig up from the great treasure trove of rock and polish for
us?
Two candidates out of many: Richard Hell's 'Time' & Ben E. King's
'Supernatural Thing (Part 1)'
Finally, have you thought of trying stand-up comedy?
I think I've been trying it for years.
Playlouder (Web)
The experimental top band
June
25 2001
By Carl Hopper
It's the night before the interview and everything is as it should be. Jesse
Hartman, aka Laptop, is stood in front of a giant projection of a computer
monitor at Notting Hill Arts Club. In front of him his fans crowd with the kind
of warm glow that comes from knowing exactly what to expect. The tunes will
sound like Gary Numan covering Lou Reed, the lyrics will splice Woody Allen
humour with Morrissey self-obsession and the jokes are always served up
utterly, fantastically dry.
"This song is dedicated to The Strokes in two years time", he'll
deadpan, before, inevitably, launching into the exquisitely cruel and true,
'I'm So Happy You Failed'. The fact that we knew what was coming doesn't make
it any less funny.
After only two albums Laptop's already become an institution and, while he can
still press the right buttons, a small but select crowd of us will always be
there to sing along. It seems, though, that the New Yorker is starting to crave
something more than that.
"It's getting so they (the audience) enjoy it but maybe I don't so much
anymore," he says the next day. "I'm bored with playing with Moogs -
I'm bored with the constraints of the laptop."
Does that mean you're bored with being Laptop?
"No. I'm just getting fed up of having to rely on HAL," he laughs.
"In the end it'll just send a hologram up on-stage and I won't even have
to be there! I don't want to stop being Laptop - I just want Laptop to be a
little less literal."
Things are going full circle. When Jesse first appeared on the scene it was as
part of Sammy - a "real" band with "real" instruments and a
loathing of the computerized world he'd later embrace. Then with Laptop's debut
album 'Opening Credits' he gave us what one magazine described as a
"user's guide to being in your twenties". Now with new album 'The Old
Me Vs. The New You' things are just as tuneful, just as funny, but that bit
darker, that bit more serious. Now he's talking about going back to playing
with a band. So can we expect rock anthems like U2 or something next time?
"Yes," he answers, alarmingly, only half-joking. "Some of them
are kind of emo in that way. Some of them are quite sad. I've called the next
album 'Accentuate The Positive' but that's starting to seem more and more like
a joke in itself. Maybe I'm worn out on the straight comedy."
Have you achieved the kind of success you expected?
"Being an American artist releasing albums in the UK is the ultimate
rollercoaster," he laughs. "Just when you've decided that you don't
care about being famous and all that junk you get press like, 'this is the
single that's going to break Hartman's career!' and it's hard not to get caught
up in it."
And that kind of hype is happening to The Strokes now. What have you got
against them?
"Ha! A friend e-mailed me their first single and said 'this is the hot new
thing in England' and whenever I hear that something's the hot new thing in
England my first feeling is 'uh, give me a f***ing break'," he sighs
melodramatically. "This is going to disappear in a second. They'll be on
the cover of NME and then everyone will forget about it. I've been there! It's the
most shameless Velvet Underground rip-off that I've ever heard. It just blew my
mind that this is the next big thing. And," he grins wickedly. "I
think it's funny to start a war-of-words New York battle of the bands. I just
wanted to get the ball rolling."
We love all that kind of thing over here.
"I figured that," he smiles to himself. Not quite ready to turn into
Bono just yet, then.
Laptop's new album 'The Old Me Vs. The New You' is out now on Trust Me
Records.
SPITTINGGLASS STARS (Fanzine)
Who are you and what do you want?
I'm
Jesse Hartman from Laptop and...I want to get some dinner cause I'm hungry
I want to smash the windows of a van that's parked on my East Village street
that happens to be owned by a guy that's suing me (America). I want to change
everything about what is on the radio at present.
What's the plan?
To change everything about what is on the radio at present with Laptop.
Is
it working?
No. Well, a little. Tough task. Slow burn. Eventually it will.
Are we required to take any precautions?
Yes, each Laptop track is as vicious (comedically vicious) as the next. They
can cut you like a flower, as Lou Reed once sung.
If you were given the opportunity to write a 15,000 word critique of any
individual which would be a permanent fixture of all nations' school curriculum
who would it be about and what would the conclusion be?
Myself (I'm quite self-centered). Don't know what the conclusion will be. Tell
you from the after-life.
How do you know when a song is as good as its going to get?
When the engineer refuses to continue or threatens to start charging overtime.
I keep going unless someone makes me stop. Big problem.
What makes you mutter at its memory?
World War II.
What's on your hi-fi?
"The Old Me vs. The New You," the next Laptop album, which was just
completed and mastered.
How
far do you trust computers?
I trust them all except for Hal from "2001: A Space Odyssey."
Would you rather burn all synthesizers or all guitars?
All cymbals, but if I had to choose between those two, guitars.
How did the recent UK tour go?
Wonderfully, it was the first time I drove on the left side of the road and I
loved it! I've tried in New York a few times but it wasn't as fun.
If it was necessary for you to set up your own charity what would the cause
be?
Autistic children.
What's the main cause of arguments for you?
Incompetence in others.
What, apart from songs, are important in good music?
Looks, clothes, attitude, timing, a great manager (impossible to find),
money...all unfortunately.
What bands should the world be taking more notice of?
Radiohead...just kidding. They seem to be getting plenty of attention.
Please complete this sentence. Laptop is good because.....
it makes me and lots of other people laugh.
Is there anything else we need to know?
www.trustmerecords.com