Issue Twelve
Mr. Completely by lj diBernardo
Ask front man Terry Sullivan what he would be doing today had he not become a musician, and you’ll get one of two responses...
Ask front man Terry Sullivan what he would be doing today had he not become a musician, and you’ll get one of two responses. “An astronaut,” he tells me without any hint of mockery in his candid smile. Once too shy to speak out in a classroom, Sullivan then dreamed of exploring the galaxy: an isolated explorer soaring skyward while strapped within a protective, armored shell. However, his dream would be fractured by a moment he now recalls as pivotal.
Sullivan was transfigured by the bands he was exposed to on the Ed Sullivan Show, groups like The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, The Who, Stevie Wonder, and, most notably, The Beatles. “Motown and the whole British Invasion,” he summarizes, his face taking on the boyish awe that supposes the wallop of those influences. You could live a hundred years and never know a moment so clearly–the instant one thing becomes another–like when Space Man turned Front Man.
He is basically shy, so I find myself needing to prod my six-foot-four subject to recant some ancient legends surrounding his rise and stumbles through the 1970’s, 80’s, and even the 90’s, some of which he offers “off the record.” That Sullivan even responds off the record denotes his trustful nature. He much prefers to skip the usual road-trip hoopla in favor of more productive career highs, like appearing on MTV with his band “The Restless” in a video directed by Susan Seidelman (“Desperately Seeking Susan”, “She-Devil”, and “Smithereens”). Or like playing venus as venerable as New York City’s CBGB’s, where he opened for “The Patti Smith Group” and shared the same stage as “The Replacements,” “The B-52’s,” and “John Cale.” Or the time he performed at Max’s Kansas City to the New York Glitterati (New York Dolls, Ramones, Dictators).
Included in the signposts of his lengthy career are the various bands he formed and fronted: “Celibates,” “The Jumpers,” “The Restless” (Mercury Records), “Terry and The Headhunters” (Eureka Records), “Dollywatchers,” even his low-key “Low Lamp Sessions.” And in the end, he is not too proud to isolate the reason he gave up the road to replant his roots firmly in Buffalo, New York; namely, the demanding tour schedule that kept him from Danielle, his then brand-new bride, and without a doubt, the “high” of his highlights. Quitting the road is a sure-fire way to kabash any musician’s dream, but Sullivan’s peaceful, if not Quixotic, spirit quells any notion that he might not be doing exactly what he set out to do.
Raised Roman Catholic by Irish/Italian parents, his beliefs remain as firm and simple as “good and evil, right and wrong. I believe in Karma, in the right thing to do,” which isn’t to say that Terry Sullivan has always made the right choices, only that he believes he has dearly answered to some of his less-than-conscious moves and occasional misunderstandings. But that was then and this is now, and it’s now that he prefers to discuss–specifically the release of his new CD, THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN, produced by Robby Takac of the Goo Goo Dolls (Good Charamel Records). Takac is a respected recording producer with whom Sullivan had wanted to work for years. The album’s unusual title and typeface was created by another close inspiration, Max Sullivan, Terry and Danielle’s 11-year-old son.
THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN, (TEMATS) offers a cohesive smattering of melodies and moods that suggest where Sullivan has been. “It’s basically a consolidation of various parts of my career,” he explains. “A continuation of the work I’ve done in the past, though updated.” His explanation points to his preference for referring to his new release as a “microspective” rather than a retrospective, a term that implies that while he continues to look intimately and soulfully to his past, he has no need to return. Fortunately for Sullivan’s listeners, TEMATS is like revisionist history, a past that is remembered through variations, mutations, and interpretations of not only his early work, but the music of those who influenced him.
This is as good a time as any to introduce that I am not a music critic, and this is no attempt to start. My knowledge of music is what I’ve gleaned from album covers, and my references are admittedly limited; but I know a melancholy haunt when I hear one, and “Outside” and “Blue Star” tip their hats to the wistful nostalgia of the 1960’s. Both were written by Bob Kozak, a collaborator and friend of Sullivan’s. Likewise, David Kane had a hand in the edgy “Mr. Completely,” an instrumental so industrial, so guttural, you can almost see the gears cranking gears beneath Sullivan’s decidedly raw vocals. I dare you to not think of Bowie at first listen.
“Lorelei” delivers an emphatic sweetness that tempts you to sing along, though not to miss the closeness of Sullivan’s voice, especially his stark plea at the song’s finish. I don’t know which band or singer “Lorelei” first called to mind, just that it mocks my recall every time it plays, a process so blurred that my reference has become the song, and the song my reference. The only tune on TEMATS that is not original is Power World, Sullivan’s take on a Sam Phillips tune.
“Sam Phillips is one of my all-time favorite songwriters and the tune seemed apropos for our times,” is how Sullivan explains the one borrowed piece among TEMATS’ collaborated originals. But the way his voice wraps around, almost devours the lyrics, Power World becomes uniquely his own.
Sam Phillips is only one among a litany of Sullivan’s mentors. “Lucinda Williams, Scott Walker, Bobby Gentry...,” he starts before mentioning those he overlooked the first time around: Bob Dylan, Jimmy Reed, Fred Neil, Brian Wilson, Solomon Burke, Bettye LaVette, Jason Falkner. He stops for a moment and stares off at nothing, most likely an unrelated thought or errand passing through, and then this grateful save: “Harry Nilsson.” With a rush of obvious reverence, Sullivan rattles off these Nilsson favorites; “Pandemonium Shadow Show,” “Aerial Pandemonium Ballet,” “Aerial Ballet,” before resting back against his chair.
His posture is something you notice. It has something to do with Sullivan being yards tall, and something to do with his lanky swagger, startling black hair, and soft, boyish features. Like I said, he is basically shy, but combined with his magnanimous presence, it’s a quality that reads more “rock star” than “back off.” Especially when seated before a microphone at his Low Lamp Sessions, his languid repose is unexpectedly mesmerizing. His heels catch the lowest rung of his bar stool and his arms rest casually against each length of thigh, his hands folded loosely in the space between, more a boy awaiting communion. Yes, mesmerizing, because this gently-postured giant is, at the same time, letting loose sounds that are so heartbreakingly organic you will find yourself contorting with each escape. It’s only Sullivan’s face, his expressions, that intimate what his posture defies–how he embodies the breed of whichever song he visits. This chameleonic ability is what imbues THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN with a feeling both magnetic and rightfully unpredictable, proof that Sullivan is not just the singer, but the whole damned song.
The songs put forth on this new release were more necessary than desirous. “There was no way around it–basically, I needed to get this record out of my system,” the artist offers. It’s the album’s diversity, however, that makes it difficult to imagine where Sullivan intends to go from here, something he no longer worries about.
“Those days are over,” he tells me. “If anything has come full circle, it’s my intentions. Right now I just feel excited about playing, enjoying what I do as a singer and songwriter, instead of chasing the carrot,” a claim that makes me press for more; the truth of what makes Terry Sullivan get up in the morning. “Substance” is the word he offers. “I look for substance, or interesting angles on life situations. If something I write helps get someone out of a slump, or better yet, it inspires them in any way–let me put it this way–I’d rather use my art for healing than for politics,” he plainly sets his purpose.
Sullivan’s mission is far from accomplished. And while he may not have journeyed around the world, his thirty years of artistic and personal diligence are proof that the world has journeyed through him. He is doing what he has long dreamed–he is living a life without gravity. Lucky for for those of us stuck here on earth, Sullivan plans to continue showing us what it sounds like up there.
Sullivan was transfigured by the bands he was exposed to on the Ed Sullivan Show, groups like The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, The Who, Stevie Wonder, and, most notably, The Beatles. “Motown and the whole British Invasion,” he summarizes, his face taking on the boyish awe that supposes the wallop of those influences. You could live a hundred years and never know a moment so clearly–the instant one thing becomes another–like when Space Man turned Front Man.
He is basically shy, so I find myself needing to prod my six-foot-four subject to recant some ancient legends surrounding his rise and stumbles through the 1970’s, 80’s, and even the 90’s, some of which he offers “off the record.” That Sullivan even responds off the record denotes his trustful nature. He much prefers to skip the usual road-trip hoopla in favor of more productive career highs, like appearing on MTV with his band “The Restless” in a video directed by Susan Seidelman (“Desperately Seeking Susan”, “She-Devil”, and “Smithereens”). Or like playing venus as venerable as New York City’s CBGB’s, where he opened for “The Patti Smith Group” and shared the same stage as “The Replacements,” “The B-52’s,” and “John Cale.” Or the time he performed at Max’s Kansas City to the New York Glitterati (New York Dolls, Ramones, Dictators).
Included in the signposts of his lengthy career are the various bands he formed and fronted: “Celibates,” “The Jumpers,” “The Restless” (Mercury Records), “Terry and The Headhunters” (Eureka Records), “Dollywatchers,” even his low-key “Low Lamp Sessions.” And in the end, he is not too proud to isolate the reason he gave up the road to replant his roots firmly in Buffalo, New York; namely, the demanding tour schedule that kept him from Danielle, his then brand-new bride, and without a doubt, the “high” of his highlights. Quitting the road is a sure-fire way to kabash any musician’s dream, but Sullivan’s peaceful, if not Quixotic, spirit quells any notion that he might not be doing exactly what he set out to do.
Raised Roman Catholic by Irish/Italian parents, his beliefs remain as firm and simple as “good and evil, right and wrong. I believe in Karma, in the right thing to do,” which isn’t to say that Terry Sullivan has always made the right choices, only that he believes he has dearly answered to some of his less-than-conscious moves and occasional misunderstandings. But that was then and this is now, and it’s now that he prefers to discuss–specifically the release of his new CD, THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN, produced by Robby Takac of the Goo Goo Dolls (Good Charamel Records). Takac is a respected recording producer with whom Sullivan had wanted to work for years. The album’s unusual title and typeface was created by another close inspiration, Max Sullivan, Terry and Danielle’s 11-year-old son.
THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN, (TEMATS) offers a cohesive smattering of melodies and moods that suggest where Sullivan has been. “It’s basically a consolidation of various parts of my career,” he explains. “A continuation of the work I’ve done in the past, though updated.” His explanation points to his preference for referring to his new release as a “microspective” rather than a retrospective, a term that implies that while he continues to look intimately and soulfully to his past, he has no need to return. Fortunately for Sullivan’s listeners, TEMATS is like revisionist history, a past that is remembered through variations, mutations, and interpretations of not only his early work, but the music of those who influenced him.
This is as good a time as any to introduce that I am not a music critic, and this is no attempt to start. My knowledge of music is what I’ve gleaned from album covers, and my references are admittedly limited; but I know a melancholy haunt when I hear one, and “Outside” and “Blue Star” tip their hats to the wistful nostalgia of the 1960’s. Both were written by Bob Kozak, a collaborator and friend of Sullivan’s. Likewise, David Kane had a hand in the edgy “Mr. Completely,” an instrumental so industrial, so guttural, you can almost see the gears cranking gears beneath Sullivan’s decidedly raw vocals. I dare you to not think of Bowie at first listen.
“Lorelei” delivers an emphatic sweetness that tempts you to sing along, though not to miss the closeness of Sullivan’s voice, especially his stark plea at the song’s finish. I don’t know which band or singer “Lorelei” first called to mind, just that it mocks my recall every time it plays, a process so blurred that my reference has become the song, and the song my reference. The only tune on TEMATS that is not original is Power World, Sullivan’s take on a Sam Phillips tune.
“Sam Phillips is one of my all-time favorite songwriters and the tune seemed apropos for our times,” is how Sullivan explains the one borrowed piece among TEMATS’ collaborated originals. But the way his voice wraps around, almost devours the lyrics, Power World becomes uniquely his own.
Sam Phillips is only one among a litany of Sullivan’s mentors. “Lucinda Williams, Scott Walker, Bobby Gentry...,” he starts before mentioning those he overlooked the first time around: Bob Dylan, Jimmy Reed, Fred Neil, Brian Wilson, Solomon Burke, Bettye LaVette, Jason Falkner. He stops for a moment and stares off at nothing, most likely an unrelated thought or errand passing through, and then this grateful save: “Harry Nilsson.” With a rush of obvious reverence, Sullivan rattles off these Nilsson favorites; “Pandemonium Shadow Show,” “Aerial Pandemonium Ballet,” “Aerial Ballet,” before resting back against his chair.
His posture is something you notice. It has something to do with Sullivan being yards tall, and something to do with his lanky swagger, startling black hair, and soft, boyish features. Like I said, he is basically shy, but combined with his magnanimous presence, it’s a quality that reads more “rock star” than “back off.” Especially when seated before a microphone at his Low Lamp Sessions, his languid repose is unexpectedly mesmerizing. His heels catch the lowest rung of his bar stool and his arms rest casually against each length of thigh, his hands folded loosely in the space between, more a boy awaiting communion. Yes, mesmerizing, because this gently-postured giant is, at the same time, letting loose sounds that are so heartbreakingly organic you will find yourself contorting with each escape. It’s only Sullivan’s face, his expressions, that intimate what his posture defies–how he embodies the breed of whichever song he visits. This chameleonic ability is what imbues THEERTHMOOVSAROUNDTHESUN with a feeling both magnetic and rightfully unpredictable, proof that Sullivan is not just the singer, but the whole damned song.
The songs put forth on this new release were more necessary than desirous. “There was no way around it–basically, I needed to get this record out of my system,” the artist offers. It’s the album’s diversity, however, that makes it difficult to imagine where Sullivan intends to go from here, something he no longer worries about.
“Those days are over,” he tells me. “If anything has come full circle, it’s my intentions. Right now I just feel excited about playing, enjoying what I do as a singer and songwriter, instead of chasing the carrot,” a claim that makes me press for more; the truth of what makes Terry Sullivan get up in the morning. “Substance” is the word he offers. “I look for substance, or interesting angles on life situations. If something I write helps get someone out of a slump, or better yet, it inspires them in any way–let me put it this way–I’d rather use my art for healing than for politics,” he plainly sets his purpose.
Sullivan’s mission is far from accomplished. And while he may not have journeyed around the world, his thirty years of artistic and personal diligence are proof that the world has journeyed through him. He is doing what he has long dreamed–he is living a life without gravity. Lucky for for those of us stuck here on earth, Sullivan plans to continue showing us what it sounds like up there.