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BIOGRAPH: Meet Chet Delcampo

by: Phawker

First things first: Just like there’s no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny, Virginia, there is no Chet Delcampo. It’s the name of the band or, more accurately, the name under which Chris Madl writes, records, releases, and occasionally performs his minimalist but richly idiosyncratic brand of whispery indie-pop. He also releases under Hong Kong Stingray aka. Originally, he just called the project ‘Chet’ — named after Steve Buscemi‘s cadaverous bellhop in the Coen Brothers‘ 1991 masterpiece, Barton Fink.

Later, thinking the name needed a few more syllables, he added the Delcampo, which he appropriated from Rocco Delcampo, a friend of Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet-diplomat-politician. Buscemi, Neruda, Coen Brothers, Santa Claus, Easter Bunny. If you think this first paragraph is name-droppy, watch your feet, because we are going to be dropping names left and right for the next few paragraphs. You see, Madl is something like the Zelig of 90s/early aughts indie-rock.

Born exactly 53 years ago on a midnight clear in a manger in Mt. Carmel — located midway between Shamokin and Frackville, in upper central Pennsyltucky — Madl started working in the business that is show right after high school. He ran sound for a band called Hybrid Ice that worked the backwater rock circuit back in the day, opening for the likes of Todd Rundgren, Joan Jett and Hall & Oates. He had no formal training in engineering concert sound, pretty much making it up as he went along, fortunately he was almost always right. “I don’t know, I was always good at mixing, I guess, just naturally,” he says. “I just kind of got behind the board and figured it out, yeah.”

After a few years he grew tired of amplifying other people’s noise and decided to starting making some noise of his own. So, naturally, he bought a drum kit and spent three months in his parent’s basement teaching himself the rudiments of beat-keeping, before going west, where, if all went according to plan, he would find untold riches and fame. Upon arriving in La La Land, he soon made the acquaintance of one Steve Jones, formerly guitar player for the Sex Pistols. Jones-y told him that his pal Billy Idol was looking for a drummer and Madl asked for an audition. He didn’t get the job, but he did become friends with Billy Idol, who is apparently a nicer guy than he plays in that “Dancing With Myself” video. “Don’t let the sneer fool you,” says Madl.

He also made the acquaintance of Motown legend Smokey Robinson who was immediately taken with the songs Madl had started writing and promptly took him down to Motown for an audition and…well, nothing much came of this, besides bragging rights. He also became fast friends with Larry Blackman from Cameo. I only mention this because it’s kinda funny and it gets funnier when you meet Madl and try to picture him as Cameo’s wingman. But I digress.

Eventually, Madl lands a drummer gig with Maurice & The Cliches, a Vancouver nouveau new wave band that had just moved to LA on the strength of on left field radio hit (“Softcore”) and were destined to disband in a year or two. The upshot is that Kelly Curtis was Maurice & The Cliche’s tour manager. Curtis would go on to manage a little band called Pearl Jam, but back then he was tour manager for Heart. Curtis passes the Cliche’s demo along to Nancy Wilson and the next thing you know they’re in the studio with the lead singer of Heart producing. As per usual, not much came out of it beyond bragging rights the sheer surrealism of the moment.

Sensing it was time for a change, Madl heads north to Seattle and in no time at all he’s scored himself a record deal with a little record label called Sub Pop. Long story short, he didn’t end up making a record for Sub Pop, but he did, not entirely coincidentally, make the acquaintance of a certain opiate that would, on and off, dog his days for the next decade or so. It probably didn’t help that he’d invited his friend Kid Congo Powers (The Cramps, Gun Club, The Bad Seeds, Congo-Norvell) to come up to Seattle and assist with the recording. You see, back then Kid was a well-known opiate enthusiast. Things got messy fast and Sub Pop balked.

Deciding he needed to clean up his act and get the fuck out of Seattle, Delcampo moves to London at the behest of Kid Congo, who was friends with a Londoner named Trevor who managed Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. That’s right, to get away from heroin he moves to London to hang out with Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, which is a little like moving to Liberia to get away from Ebola. But I digress.

Not much came of the London trip beyond a few gigs, and so he moved back to the states, taking up residence on Kid Congo’s couch in New York. Predictably, Madl finds himself reverting to his old ways, so he moves back to LA where he gets a job doing sound for some kid named Rufus Wainright. Around this time he becomes the sound guy for acclaimed producer/songwriter Jon Brion’s residency at Largo, which featured an endless string of cameos from the famous and the soon to be. It was there that he made the acquaintance of one Elliott Smith.

“He was just, like, all the rage at that moment in time — it was his moment,” says Madl. “Elliott kind of changed my life insofar as it was the first thing that I had heard in a long time that I thought was significant. He had a big impact on me thinking ‘Fucking hell, you can still do something of worth’.”

Soon after he decides to move to Philadelphia, for no good reason other than it was cheap and a two hour train ride from New York. But he soon fell in love with the City Of Brotherly Love and decided to finally put down some roots and enters into a very prolific and productive period. He buckles down and finally records his first full length Chet Delcampo LP, The Fountain (Record Cellar), with special guests Joel RL Phelps and Pixies drummer Dave Lovering, who was then in his magician phase. A second LP, Apartment Songs (K-9), soon follows. Inspired by the fact that the philosopher Spinoza was a lens grinder by day and philosophical titan at night, Madl decides to go to school to become an X-ray technician. More specifically, a mobile X-ray technician, meaning he drove around the city all night going wherever an emergency X-ray was needed — mostly prisons and nursing homes, as it turns out. Some nights it was less a job than an adventure. He wrote all about it in “He Drives Around The City,” the A-side of the 7-inch you are currently holding in your hand. The B-side, “Leading Her To Believe,” is even better — high plains drifting and haunted by the same offhand, ramshackle beauty Howe Gelb carved out of thin air with Chore Of Enchantment, his circa 2000 masterpiece.

He also got married at the ripe old age of 45 and it turns out that the great love of his life knows/cares little about music, and Madl likes it that way. “She grew up in Indonesia, so she knows little about American indie-rock — she likes Bryan Adams, not Ryan Adams,” he says with more than a little glee. “But despite all that, the ineffable significance and saving grace of my wife can’t be overstated. She co-wrote some lyrics for ‘Leading Her To Believe’ that were based on a dream of hers.”

ME: So you’re happy now?

HIM: That’s a stretch.

ME: Ok, so you’re the least unhappy you’ve ever been.

HIM: I’ll take that.

He also built himself a little recording studio in a carriage house on the edge of the city and filled it with all things warm and analog. It was there that Heyward Howkins recorded his magnificent Hale & Hearty album with Madl engineering, producing, co-arranging and laying down various instrumental tracks. “I think that I’m pretty decent at putting music together as a producer and I’d like to do that for some other people,” he says with typical understatement. “I’d like to do some of my own stuff, but I’m getting a little older, and honestly, It’s just about doing things. Things lead to things. That’s all I care about is doing things for other people because I was so isolated before doing my own thing.”

Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans, according to John Lennon and everyone who’s ever lived, and so, too, is the accidental career of Chet Delcampo. “Look, I’m not going to bullshit you, it would be nice to get an ounce of recognition after all these years that you’ve done something halfway work a fuck,” he says. “But I’m not even sure how much I’ve done worth a fuck.” The record you are holding in your hand says otherwise, both sides now.

BY JONATHAN VALANIA

Bio: By Dan Buskirk 

It's funny how many musicians I've met whose personal rhythms are so antithetical to their music. Chet Delcampo seems anxious tonight. "This has been a horrible day." He recounts the small injustices that life has presented him since this morning and the details do seem to add up to idea that maybe God has been pissed with him today. The list goes on until it ends with the discovery that one of the many gadgets in his living room studio has fried it's own circuits. Chet seems ready to follow suit. 

Chet Delcampo's music portrays a generous range of motions, although I can't say I remember much anxiousness. Foremost among the emotions is a sense of yearning that stretches out across the expanse of his first release, The Fountain (Record Cellar). Melancholy and regret also swirl around but The Navel Gazing Is Often Interrupted By The Hopeful Sounds Of Swelling Strings And Finally, Release; Transcendence. But not anxiousness. And yet Chet is anxious. He's been toiling around at the edges of the indie rock scene crafting his observations into delicate and detailed tunes that express the nuances of he little emotions that lurk between the big ones. 

Not that all his labor has gone unnoticed. Chet's music has gained the attentions of many musicians from coast-to-coast. Okay, maybe not Madonna or Beck, but sturdy and eccentric critical favorites like Mark Mulcahy, formerly of Miracle Legion and cult star F.M Cornog of East River Pipe. And if you really want big names, Smokey Robinson Himself Slipped Chet A Note asking to take a meeting with him, even if it didn't pan out to much. Such accolades mean a lot to someone trying to keep the dream alive, the dream of believing your music has something to say, a dream that hopes that someday your record will be gain some sort of stature in the river of releases that roll through the valley and out to sea. 

 
So the accolades keep you going. But geez, this trip was getting a little long. Chet started out playing as a kid and wound up out in L.A. in 1985, playing drums with a one semi-hit wonder of rock's New Wave era. Don't ask, he cringes hard before revealing it as a confidence he doesn't wish to share. While in L.A. he picks up a four-track and starts making demos, good ones. By 1992 Chet moved up to a Nirvana-permeated Seattle. He Cut Some Demos At Sub Pop's Request. They only seem to exist now in the form of a cassette Chet has recently unearthed, the victim of a cola spill. He yanked the tape out of it's shell and edited the sticky part with scissors and scotch tape and listens to the music for the first time in years. Here comes Chet's voice. The hooks are there, and it surges in all the right places, but it lacks a certain distinction. Finally the sounds begins to garble till suddenly the player shuts itself off. 

"It's kind of sad to say, but after Kurt (Cobain) died everything just seemed to feel depressing," Chet shyly confides. You talk to any rock musician from the Northwest who was there at the time and they all mention it. The little guy obviously held a lot on his shoulders. Chet alludes to his life taking a turn towards the dusk after his first release, CHET on Seattle's Y Records (made with Cleveland Grahm on drums and John Nevin, known for his work with Alcohol Funny Car and the tragedy stricken Gits.) During This Time Chet Recorded A Collaboration With Legendary Cramps And Nick Cave Sideman Kid Congo Powers. (The Hong Kong Stingray Album) It was a spirited mix and the music, melding the Kid's chalky black darkness and Chet's gift for sly and ingratiating melodies, conveys it's gothic spark. "We recorded it over a euphoric four days. It was an indulgent time and it feels somewhat dangerous to look back with nostalgia," he says cautiously. With ennui settling over the Northwest music scene, Chet left for London in 1995 on little more than a whim. 

 
London was a disaster. He spent some time in treatment at St. Mary's. He had a showcase set up by his connections with Nick Cave's manager but it didn't add up to much. Alone, away from home, Chet did what many of us do at low points; try to imagine some sort of future to include ourselves in. Chet moved back to States in late '95. Drifting around Boston, then the Chelsea district inNew York and then back to Los Angeles. 

This return to Los Angeles is where the second act of Chet Delcampo seems to have been crafted. After a low period that found Chet homeless and living in his car, he pushed aside his distractions and found steady work mixing live sound at L.A.'s Luna Park. And he found a mentor of sorts in legendary shadow character of L.A. pop, Fred Myrow. 

Fred Myrow was born into greatness. His father, Joseph Myrow, was a composer of musicals, counting "You Make me Feel So Young" among the songs he added to the American songbook. His grandfather was Irving Mills, the music publishing giant and one time manager of Duke Ellington. Fred Myrow made a name for himself early in the classical world, spending time as composer-in-residence for the New York Philharmonic under Leonard Bernstein and later ending up in Hollywood, working on soundtracks to many films, including cult favorites Soylent Green and Phantasm. Myrow also wrote orchestrations for Brian Wilson and Van Dyke Parks and served as a mentor for many musicians in Los Angeles, including jazz pianist Brad Meldahl and producer Daniel Lanois. 

"He was so warm and inviting. I knew all these great musicians looked up to him, and here he wanted to help me. I'd give him a call and he would say he didn't have time to talk and yet he'd talk for twenty minutes. I still remember his voice saying: "I really want to encourage you." 

It was during this time that Chet used the inspiration of Myrow to develop his own personal take on the sophisticated pop and soul sound that is affiliated with names like Burt Bacharach, the Delfonics and cult figure Scott Walker. The one element that has always been prevalent in Delcampo's music is the strength of his melodies. But Now They've Taken On An Assured Wisdom And Subtlety; and though Chet's new found skill at arranging is chock full of layered detail, it's never fussy or dense. And the songs themselves have a sense of self-discovery, of someone who has ran from something for years but has finally turned and made sense and peace with his life. 

The Fountain was begun in L.A. With producer Parthenon Huxley and features Pixies drummer David Lovering, Friend of Dean Martinez member Woody Jackson and former Silkworm and Downer Trio member Joel R. Phelps. The work continued through 1999 when Chet moved to Philadelphia, working an overnight shift at a Philly radio station and recording in his home studio during the day. "I was making real progress, not just sedating myself into a pleasant state. It brought not just a sense of fulfillment, but fulfillment that felt trustworthy." During this time Chet found a good friend in Neil Drucker (Record Cellar Records) and the sense of purpose to finish the set of recordings for release on his label. 

Despite the peace and maturity which has risen in songson The Fountain, that yearning is always tangible beneath the surface. The sense that comes with many people in their late thirties, the realization that wheels have been spinning and now's the time to gain traction and make some use of the experience you've gained and the time you might of lost. Perhaps that sense of urgency accounts for a bit of Chet's anxiousness. 

Chet's apartment is awfully sparse, right down to the inside of his fridge. A futon, a few shelves of books and a short stack of records (Chet Atkins, Marvin Gaye, Nilsson) give the tidy little apartment in the Olde City section of Philadelphia a monk-like senseof economy. Except of course for the living room, which is Chet's studio. Here amid the old and new-fangled equipment Chet plays me some of the songs he's polishing for the next record and they're gorgeous; Finely Etched Gems Worthy Of Standing With The Works Of Those He Admires. 

His latest composition "A Day In The Fall" wafts by, it's strings swelling like the tide and it's vibraphone ringing in a tangible sense of autumn that should not be so easily summoned given we're meeting in the middle of a summer heat wave. It's a truly breath-taking piece, delivered with a sense of ease and sleight-of-hand that's nothing short of masterful. With so many musicians swinging their knock-out blows early in their careers, It's Exciting To Hear The Rare Artist Who Simmers Quietly And Crafts Such Definitive Work After Losing A Few Battles. It's the richness in watching someone hit their stride after the first blush of adulthood, once one has become truly aware of the stakes. There is a quote from Albert Camus; "A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." Listening to the music Chet Delcampo is currently working on, one certainly has the feeling his slow trek is gaining momentum, and what joy the fruits of his arrival are going to bring. 

DAN BUSKIRK IS A FREELANCE WRITER AND DJ IN PHILADELPHIA.