Smart on the Inside: Jay Reatard

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NEVERLAND DOESN'T EXIST for punk rockers — but Memphis does.

Even though longtime garage-thrasher Jay Reatard may have been fighting the onslaught of maturity since he first took the stage at 15, Peter Pan never grew up in the depressing poverty of the heat-scorched South, never dropped out of high school, and never binge-drank himself to the point where planting a foot-longish flower in his lower extremities seemed like a good idea — onstage in front of 20,000 people.

Call it a punk-rock move, but the spectacle in Chicago at Pitchfork Fest '08 provided a retina-scarring onstage climax for the rocker from Tennessee, and another violent chapter in the legend of his live performances.

"I wasn't in the best condition that day," said Reatard. "A little bit of binge drinking going on. … These festivals are like a weird summer camp … it gets out of hand, and the next thing you know, you're sticking a flower up your [the word we were trying to avoid earlier]."

The drunken breakdown was no surprise. People had come to expect the whiplash insanity of the Jay Reatard live experience; it provided a logical counterpoint to the fuzz-layered garage punk screaming out in triple time from the speakers — no light show required — keeping that perpetually juvenile head of hair flying.

Trade high school textbooks for an electric guitar and a cheap microphone and there was plenty of time for Reatard (real name: Jay Lindsey) to start recording in 1995.

After a 14-year stream of EPs and LPs under countless bands and side projects, and a well-earned reputation for a frenetic live show, the 29-year-old managed to overcome a rough childhood and position himself as the youngest grandfather of modern punk rock.

"I can sit around as some broke-a-- kid in the hood eating off of food stamps, or I can take the guitar and try to turn nothing into something," said Reatard.

"For me, that's what punk rock is: It's somebody with a bad attitude, a chip on their shoulder and a guitar. … I was definitely not trying to inspire somebody to change their thought process or anything, I just want them to enjoy themselves for the 30 minutes they're watching me play — that's all I'm trying to do."

Talk to Reatard these days — even when he's doing an interview from the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant in the "middle of nowhere" — and there's a sense of tempered fury and reflective humor to his f-bomb dripped patter that might make his show at the Black Cat on Sunday less about the onstage antics and more about the music.

"I used to throw beer bottles as I was playing," said Reatard. "It takes a day to make your reputation and 10 years to live it down. I'm probably just paying for some of the [expletive] stuff I did when I was younger."

Regardless of what may break loose when Reatard takes the stage, the recorded music coming from his speakers these days represents a marked shift in texture and stylistic direction.

"There's a lot of crap coming out on certain record labels where their entire aesthetic is to put out [expletive meaning poor] garage," said Reatard. "'Garage band' used to mean that you recorded in your garage, not some [expletive meaning poor] computer program that comes on your Mac.

"I don't want to sound like an old man … but a lot of records are getting put out that never would have made it. The quantity and the simplicity of how easy it is to put everything out waters everything down. … But I don't think that anything I've done has really changed. It's a constant process of refining it and making it better."

That refining came out somewhat in his first solo album, 2006's "Blood Visions" — the hyper-literal cover artwork complete with a plasma-dripping Reatard stripped down to his skivvies — as his trademark relentless sloppy punk solidified into a brawny sort of coherence.

"Watch Me Fall," which will be released Aug. 18, finds Reatard wrestling with lyrical and musical maturity, expanding and filling out his sound with tight harmonies, echo-filled choruses, and lightening the tone and fill of the punk-rooted tracks.

"I'm a little less angry, but I guess that just comes with time," said Reatard. "I can write songs less about what people are doing and more about me. People call that more 'introspective songwriting,' but don't look for me to become a … singer-songwriter dude trying to re-create myself … I'm just growing up. I'm relatively immature for someone who is almost 30. … I've always tried to stay a kid for as long as I can."

Eternal childhood might not exist in this realm, but this Peter Pan of punk rock is still trying to preserve some type of spark for the live audience.

"I want them to walk out laughing and have fun," said Reatard.

"I just want people to feel like before they drank booze, did drugs and had sex and all the creepy stuff people do with their lives — putting on a really good rock record and bouncing around in their bedroom."

» Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW, Sun., July 5, 8 p.m., $12, 800-551-7328. (U St.-Cardozo)

Written by Express' Nathan Martin
Photos courtesy Matador