MESHELL NDEGEOCELLO

A notorious perfectionist tries her hand at keeping it simple

She’s sung with MadonnA and John Mellencamp, played bass with the Rolling Stones and Alanis Morissette, but Meshell Ndegeocello’s primary focus has always been her own solo work. Since getting her start playing in go-go bands in Washington, D.C., in the late ’80s, the singer, bassist and bandleader has rolled through pop, soul, funk, jazz and R&B. She made her national debut in the early ’90s with hits including “If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night)” and her duet with Mellencamp on a cover of Van Morrison’s “Wild Night,” but by decade’s end began pursuing an increasingly idiosyncratic path through her ever-expanding musical imagination.

Ndegeocello recently released her eighth studio album, the confident and understated Devil’s Halo. It’s a back-to-basics set that she and her band recorded live to analog tape at L.A’s Phantom Box studio. “We recorded all in a room together and just laid it down,” she says. “I wanted to slow it down and get back to music that came out of my hands.” We caught up with Ndegeocello at her home in upstate New York to discuss her new album, her philosophy about the bass and her history as a self-confessed nitpicker.

What prompted you to make an analog album this time?

I wanted to be able to play the songs and not have to trust in getting punched in to fix mistakes. Recording to tape was about the experience of getting something on the first or second take, before it became mechanical. For once I didn’t have some grandiose concept album or sonic idea in my head. We had already played a lot of this music on tour. During pre-production we tried to work out better song forms. Then we went in and recorded most all of the initial tracks in three days.

So you’ve tried a more detailed, modern approach?

My previous record, The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams [2007], was done on Pro Tools and had a lot of editing and tricks. And the first two records [1993’s Plantation Lullabies and 1996’s Peace Beyond Passion], took like two years each to make. I worked with [producer] David Gamson and we would nitpick and spend six months on one song. That’s fun, I love that—I love Steely Dan, and I guess that inspired me to think like that. But after a while, after spending all that time and energy, it wasn’t any more enjoyable. I made a jazz record [The Spirit Music Jamia: Dance of the Infidel, 2005] and I got to play bass for two years straight, no singing. I got into what I could generate from my hands, a more instant approach. The feeling of playing was more fun than trying to make someone’s idea of a perfectly crafted R&B song.

You’re also a songwriter. How do you know when you’ve written a good one?

I once worked with [producer] Craig Street, who said that a good song can have just a singer and a piano player or guitarist, and it translates. That’s how you know it’s a good song. That’s how I started with “Lola”—which just started out as a guitar part and the words—and “Crying in Your Beer.”

Who do you look to for inspiration for that kind of song?

I really like [Pogues frontman] Shane MacGowan. He is lyrically and melodically an incredible songwriter. In that genre of music, the history of the music he comes from, Irish folk tales, it’s not about the beat and the weird bass tone. It’s about the harmony working with the melody and hopefully transporting your mind to make you involved with the lyric. That’s what I was trying to do. I think I can get better at it. This was my first attempt but I’m really starting to enjoy that, just trying to write songs that are simple that you can play in a pub.

Tell us about your songwriting process.

I use a little 8-track box or a little Midi sequencing machine, and I usually sit at home and try to make beats, come up with guitar parts and bass lines. Sometimes I hear stuff all at once; I’ll have a really clear idea in my head. Other times I try to work out things that I’m hearing or feeling, and I keep demos until I write melodies and hear lyrics.

Do you still practice on bass?

I’m trying to think of how to say this, because it’s going to sound really Jungian and super-hippie: I have a gift. It’s a unique gift, and I guess it came from my father. I did all my practicing from 14 to 16. I can hear stuff, and play it. I can’t rip and run; I’ll never be like Pat Metheny or Jaco Pastorius. That’s not what I aspire to, but I can hear bass lines and I think I play them well. So I don’t practice that. What I practice is taking a bass line and transforming it 20 different ways or having 20 different feels or tempos. I like to take an Elvis song and make it sound reggae. I practice my imagination and styles, and that has to do with listening. I try to listen to a lot of different music, and try to hone my ear to play whatever I hear.

Do you have perfect pitch?

No, I have pretty good relative pitch, and I’m getting better. I have a bass player, and he has perfect pitch. He’s pretty much a genius.

Wait, you have a bass player?

I love my bass player. I’m not the best singer-slash-player, because I focus on the audience. Being up front is a little daunting sometimes, so I’d rather just focus on that and try to sing to the best of my ability.

He must be totally intimidated playing with you.

I’m totally intimidated by him! He’s incredible. Everyone has a different skill set. As a bandleader, I don’t want you to be intimidated by me. I want to make you feel like you can express yourself, and when you hear something in my music that excites you and you want to add something, come on. Music is not a competition. I like music: You get a bunch of people and you’re all concentrating on one idea, and I like that more than being competitive. I hated that about the jazz stuff. That was the most macho music I had ever played. It definitely led me to what I do now: just trying to write good songs.

–Eric R. Danton

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