Drinking with Cass McCombs

What did Cass McCombs just say? You've been drinking with the man for the better part of an hour (he came with the friend of a friend) and the conversation's been strictly on the lighter side – you just moved back to Detroit, he just moved to Chicago; you just quit your job, he just signed to Domino Records. That kind of thing. And though, with all the noise, it's hard to hear anything clearly in this bar, you're pretty sure he just said, "Stick a needle in my eye. I'm middle class 'till the day I die."

"I'm sorry," you say, "it sounded like you said–" He starts to get up.

"Be right back," he mumbles. "I'm going to put something on the jukebox." He says it so casually. Actually, Cass McCombs says everything casually. You've only just met, but already this guy has to be one of the most laid-back people you've ever come across. He moves and speaks without urgency, confidently but lazily. Yet, there's an intellectual aggressiveness behind his sleepy manner, like an intensity he's keeping in check. And now you're pretty sure he just spoke to you in couplet.

Cass is walking back from the jukebox and over the speakers you hear what could be the new Midlake – warm-bottomed, tissue-soft indie rock. The vocals are tissue-soft, too, but with added aloe. Swells of rich harmonies come and go. The singer's got a good tenor, without drama.

"This is nice," you say as he slides back into his seat. "What is it?"

"My new album," he replies, cleaning his teeth with a car key. "Dropping the Writ."

"But I thought–" He cuts you off shaking his head.

"I know. It hasn't come out yet. But old playthings are all laid to waste. Thrown out to make a better space," he says by way of explanation, then notices you blinking your eyes and adds, "Well, you know what I mean."

"Cass, I don't think I–" you start, but before you can continue your waitress has arrived and is taking a new round of orders. Cass's eyes are half closed as he scans the menu absentmindedly. His record is still playing in the background and has gotten softer. Cass is singing The world is so vain and uncertain/A death in the family and I'm in love again over dark fairytale folk. "I'll have the porter," he decides and then, as if remembering something, takes you by the writst. "Do you ever get the feeling," he asks, eyes wider, "that you're being followed by a van? Yesterdays yet to come?"

"Dude," you say, "how much have you had to drink?"

He thinks about it for a second. "Not much. But, you know, as one memory eludes me another consumes me." You look around the table. Nobody – not your friends, not the waitress – seems to have noticed the strange things coming out of Cass McComb's mouth tonight and you start to wonder if it's you who needs to slow down, maybe order a soda. Cass is staring at you.

"Nothing is impossible," he says, smiling. "A double negative is a positive, is it not?"

Near squirming, you try to change the subject. Try to get the conversation back onto a superficial course. "Hey Cass," you say, "you were telling me about your new apartment in Chicago."

"Yeah," he says, fond distance in his eyes. "I miss my old place in California though. In my small room without a window I was grateful enough just to be alone." You nod, pretending to understand, pretending things have gone back to normal. Cass is listening to his record now. It's rocking again, a low-rolling echo of full-band thunder over which Cass sings lyrics that are nothing less than his life story, beginning with his freaking birth. "This one's called Lionkiller," he says. "I think I'm going to start the album with it."

"That sounds like a good idea. I was just going to–" But Cass is on his feet.

"Excuse me," he says. "But I should go. I don't know what's come over me – the full moon or infinity." Then before you can react he slips a bar napkin into your hand and he's gone. You look around, embarrassed, sure everybody's watching. But nobody's watching. You open the napkin and see some messy chicken scratch. You make out the words Buzz across the universe to the mind's hive. Beyond a shadow of a doubt you're lucky to be alive. It's beautiful and you are, in fact, buzzed so you just lean back and stop fighting it. Cass is still whispering lullabies over the loud speakers and you close your eyes, listening as a harmonica drifts in and out and Cass sings something about ex-lovers and pregnant pauses.

Cass McCombs - Petrified Forest [From Dropping the Writ - Domino Records]

Cass McCombs - Petrified Forest [From Dropping the Writ - Domino Records]