The Sweet Science of Interviewing Chris Isaak

The Georgia Straight (Vancouver)
December 1998
By Debbie
[This information may be incorrect]

He has the look of a thin, weary boxer being led to yet another fight in yet another town. There is even an entourage. Band members, a sound man, a record company rep? Whoever they are, they are all men and they surround Chris Isaak as he walks toward his next interview.

The local record company promoter tells me to keep it short, the band is hungry. I nod and look up, most of the entourage seems to fall away.

We are doing this interview on a step in the lobby of a theatre he will be playing only a few hours from now. The cameraman fiddles with lights and microphones. Isaak sits down on my left side and smiles. Its a lazy, sexy smile. I smile back. His drummer sits down on my other side. Both men are dressed in black. I'm wearing an ivory jacket. I suddenly feel like the icing inside an oreo cookie.

As we wait for the cameraman to give the go ahead the three of us make the standard pre-interview small talk. Guitar perched on his knee Isaak is shaking his head in amazement over an article he's recently read. Statistics have just come out citing the number one fear of most Americans is public speaking. He shakes his head again. With all the things out there to be afraid of he just doesn't get that one.

Glancing up it's obvious the cameraman still isn't ready but Isaak begins strumming his guitar anyway. He sings me a lonely sounding love song. Suddenly I am very aware of how close his knee is to mine. The interview hasn't even begun and he's already in control. He knows it and I know it. I start thinking about boxing again. Maybe its because I've read that he got his start as a boxer. Maybe it's because I feel like he's not fighting fair. Whatever the reason I realize early on, this is one interviewee who's not going to give me anything real if I don't fight for it. Joe Frazier once said, "I don't want to knock my opponent out. I want to hit him, step away and watch him hurt. I want his heart."

Now a good interview also goes for the heart and every reporter knows a strong question packs the mightiest punch, but I am about to find out that the former boxing-champion-turned-singer from Stockton, California knows how to defend himself. Not only that he has some mighty fine moves of his own.

Finally the cameraman gives the thumbs up, he's ready, the camera is rolling. Isaak and his drummer sing a little more, tease a little. I find myself captivated by the beauty of the man's voice. Almost a decade ago he had huge success with the song "Wicked Game", but seven CD's later and there still hasn't been another really big hit. That seems odd, especially as he sells out almost every venue he plays.

Finally it is my turn to ask the questions, to take control. He finishes singing, smiles at me and throws the challenge "Go ahead and ask the questions, I know that's how you want to be remembered."

And so the sparring begins. I throw my first punch, does he ever worry that people know too much about him when they listen to his music?

"No," he returns softly, "because uh, number one I figure they probably don't care that much and the second thing is even if they do care they usually get it wrong." His voice is quiet with an accent I can't quite place. He looks at me and he certainly seems sincere as he continues, "I mean I get it wrong when I listen to other people's music and I imagine who they are by their music. "It's just," he stumbles over his words, "it doesnt, it still doesn't let you inside."

I get the impression Chris Isaak doesn't let many people inside. He may be a savvy performer but there is also the aura of loner about him.

We talk about his new CD. The interview dance we are doing seems to have found it's own rhythm. He is very funny and very much the performer, often including the absent TV audience in his answers.

When asked if one of his songs is implying women are more analytical than men, he adresses the camera, "No your honour, she's trying to put words in my mouth." He looks back at me and grins, "I think guys can be easily as analytical as women." He locks his eyes onto mine. Flirting seems to come naturally to Chris Isaak. It is his secret punch. He spars, he jabs and he dances his way around questions but go to far and he will knock you out. When I ask for the second time, does he thinks it's better not to ask too many questions in a relationship he glances over at his drummer, "Let me answer that in a musical sense."

He never does answer the question.

Instead he moves his body even closer to mine. I am about to go down for the count.

He clears his throat and says, "Me,they."

Is that some obscure reference to the philosopher Martin Buber and his theory about bridging the 'I thou' relationship or is it just some kind of signal between two musicians on who's going to speak to the camera when they stop singing?

I have no idea. I lower my gaze and hear him say, "Ok now look her right in the eyes, it makes all the difference." I'm dead. I know it, they know it.

He sings an old Dean Martin song, never takes his eyes off me and tells me I smell good. It is a classic Isaak manouvere. A few days later I watch as supermodel Tyra Banks also gets flustered when he unexpectedly tells her she too smells good as they banter together before handing out some fashion award on TV.

But who cares if the wicked punch is a much practiced one. This is not a fighter who thinks like Mike Tyson when he said, "I try to catch my opponent on the tip of his nose because I try to punch the bone into his brain." When Chris Isaak sees an opening he may take it, but it's a sweet punch. He sings about his broken heart. There is no fight left in me.

Then a curious thing happens. Just when he has all the control, just as any ref would call the fight and declare the forty two year old crooner from California the undisputed winner he brings me back into the ring, lets me ask more questions. Not an easy thing to do, might I add, after you've just been musically "solo tu, solo tu, solo tu'ed."

"Do you think your attitude towards women has changed over the years and if it has, has it changed your music?" I manage to croak out.

He seems to get very serious, "Yeah I think mine's changed over time. Probably you know when I had my first relationship I had no idea how wonderful my first girlfriend was because I had no one to compare it to, I just figured every girl was going to be wonderful like her. She was pretty unique. Then after probably the middle part of having several relationships in life, I started to think maybe I was going out with the the wrong people or meeting the wrong people. Now I've come to the conclusion maybe it's me," he shakes his head and laughs, "just possibly it could be me."

Still he is vehement that his latest CD, "Speak of the Devil" is about looking for real love and becomes almost defensive when I say some of the songs could be interpreted as refering to one night stands.

"No," definitely not he says, "just the opposite. I think there's, 'Talking about a Home' it says exactly that...'I'm not talking about a one night stand. I want to be your man. I want a wedding ring and the whole thing.'"

Actually in the song he says, the whole "damn" thing but I don't correct him. I do however point out that some of his lyrics suggest he's having an awfully good time being single.

He tilts his head and looks down, "I've never been comfortable singing songs that were I thought all about sex. Usually I see that in rap groups. I see a lot of black performers that have that sexy straight ahead--Baby I want to do you--that kind of stuff. Actually Barry White used to do it, so it's nothing new. But I've always been..." he stops mid sentence, gives me a self deprecating smile and continues, "I like that stuff but I personally don't think I can pull it off and do that. You know? I have no believability when I do that stuff." I raise a disbelieving eyebrow. I'm getting my strength back. We're sparring again. Still as Joyce Carol Oates says in her book, 'On Boxing,' "One of the primary things boxing is about is lying. It's about systematically cultivating a double personality: the self in society, the self in the ring....Boxers, like chess players, must think on their feet--must be able to improvise in mid fight, so to speak...the man who wins is the man who controls the action of the circle."

As we continue the interview it is usually Isaak who controls the action. "There's another song that says uh, I met a girl half out of her mind and we get together but it's talking about the guy going to her and saying listen, you know I want to make this a permanent thing, and she's saying it might be quick, it might be casual. So I like the idea that people are trying to to get something..." He pauses and seems to change direction mid-thought, "Having a committment is an important thing, because so many people after thirty or forty minutes into a relationship, they begin to cry out in pain and say, Chris your sequins are chaffing me."

I laugh, he gives me that lethal little boy grin again and adds, "but a little ointment and everything's ok." Now what do you say after somebody says something like that to you? Me - I ask him if he has any advice for people when it comes to seduction? Without missing a beat he turns to the camera, "Lock the doors, you don't want people walking in on you ok? I can't say much more until the court case is settled."

I laugh again, and just when I think I'm getting a well rehearsed performance he changes course one more time. Looking almost uncomfortable he starts rubbing his neck and tells me, "I've had a lot of people come up to me and say that they met their husband or wife or that they fell in love listening to one of my songs and well that's fantastic. I hear this quite a bit. That it helped them get through some hard times." He sounds bashful as he speaks and I think to myself, if this is an act it's a darn good one. He continues, "Well it got me through some hard times too, you know, so that makes me feel good." He looks down. He seems embarrassed.

I retaliate with a weak come back, "Do you ever get a swelled head? He looks at me strangely and I refer to the adoration of fans, especially on the internet. Deflecting the question he tells a humorous story about getting on line by making a perfect circle with his etcha-sketch. I keep jabbing away and ask if he ever reads articles about himself. "Nope," he says. "I'd like to say it's because I'm not interested in myself but the actual fact is I don't watch myself on TV or read articles because in my mind I'm a much wittier, better looking guy and when I see the actual proof it's very disappointing, and I say, Oh man that was rough. So this way I keep the myth alive." I turn to his drummer Kenney Dale JOhnson and ask, "Is he telling me the truth?"

"Yes," he says, "That's very sound advice for someone like him."

"In my mind," Isaak continues "in my mind I'm Tony Curtis with Tony Randall's wit, see what I mean?" He laughs, "Kind of scary isn't it?"

Now, I would have said he was more Andy of Mayberry crossed with David Letterman, and maybe a little Dennis Quaid thrown in for good looks, but I don't say that. Instead I turn to his drummer again and ask, "How did the two of you end up together?"

Johnson: "It was part of a prison without walls program. He hired me out of prison and gave me a chance."

Isaak: "And I think Kenney has been a sign that it can work for a lot of other people and that it's a positive thing." I look at one, then the other, shake my head and say, "I haven't got the vaguest idea whether or not you are telling me the truth?"

Isaak: "She's laughing at you Kenney."

Johnson: "I'm used to it."

Isaak: Don't cut her Kenney, you're a new man."

Johnson: "I'm used to it."

Isaak: "Leave the violence behind you. Remember, step one, leave the violence behind."

Johnson: "It's ok, I've paid my price."

Isaak: (laughing) "Don't turn Mr. Hand into Mr. Fist."

Johnson: "I won't."

Now you'd figure when somebody says, "Don't turn Mr. Hand into Mr. Fist" there's really nowhere else for an interview to go. But not this one. "Lets finish with a song," says Isaak. "Is there anything you'd like to hear? One of ours hopefully," he adds. "Preferably," says Johnson. I ask for "Please." I am a reporter after all and it is a reporter's kind of song.

Changing the words slightly he sings:

"I keep listening very patiently. There's a long list of what's wrong with me. And you go on asking questions of me. What's wrong with you Debbie?"

As he strums the last chord, he glances over at me, wondering perhaps if I've taken offence. He puts his hand up to the side of his nose. Might he be protecting it? It's been broken before. Does he think I'm going to punch him? I laugh. His hand comes down. The interview ends. I feel like I've just gone fifteen rounds with Mohammad Ali in his prime.

When the camera goes off he tells me it's been a very busy year. He's made a movie, toured North America and done a lot of interviews. The pace has caused him to lose thirty pounds. I look at him and think, how amazing to perform like that and not even be at your fighting weight. He tells me he's on a high fat diet, gives me a funny little grin and says goodbye. I ask myself...after half an hour, am I any the wiser about who the real Chris Isaak is? I don't think so. And that, I assume, is exactly the way he likes it.

Back to Articles