EYE - February 19, 1998 Big, new, improved by Cindy McGlynn You've got to know where you're coming from to know where you're going. I know that sounds like some cornball philosophy from some two-bit country song, and, well, that may be exactly what it is. But that's not all it is, brother. That cornball philosophy speaks of the wisdom of the ages. In the case of music, it's about listening to those with faces lined with years of hard livin', fast wimmin, heartbreakin' and fingers blistered and callused like knotty old tree roots with bugs and moss. It's about knowing your blood, dude. Knowing that before Pearl Jam there was Bros and before them The Alarm and Asia before them. It's also true, to a certain degree, anyway -- more on that later. Anyway, the philosophy ain't mine, it belongs to Boston band Big Wreck. Led by Torontonian guitarist and vocalist Ian Thornley, Big Wreck are happy to tip a hat to their influences, but quick to point out that there's a difference between being inspired by someone and copying their oeuvre. I defy you not to hear Led Zeppelin's big, curvy guitar riffs or Bruce Springsteen's wide-open sound on their debut CD, In Loving Memory of... (Warner). It's a strong record that cries out for a car stereo and a two-four, and I mean that in the best possible way. (It's also cleverly named, so you can have fun guessing the band's influences and they can have fun telling you you're full of shit when you do.) When I asked if people tell him Big Wreck sound a lot like Zep or generally dwell a lot on their influences, Thornley said: "If you're an ultra-jaded prick you might say that. But I don't think you're gonna sit down and say, 'Hey, this is just like Led Zeppelin,' because it absolutely is not." Thornley enlightened me further. "None of it is formula or conscious. I was raised listening to a lot of folk music. When you're a kid, you don't attach any stigmas stylistically. Supertramp. Bruce Springsteen. I'm turned on by it all. I've never ripped off anything in my life -- you just ingest what you like." (Where I'm concerned, BTW, you should always feel free, any time, to tell me how my work fills you with the simple joie de vivre of a Colette novel or reminds you of the rough 'n' ready prose of Hunter Thompson. I promise I won't freak on you. You can also tell me I'm the spitting image of Brigitte Bardot and that my voice is just like Lauren Bacall's.) Anyhoo, like I said, the band is based in Boston because that's where they met, at Berklee College of Music -- in the jazz department. Thornley used it as a means to escape a much meaner fate at, say, Queens or McGill, and to study music, because, like, "What else was I going to do?" Lest the band be stigmatized as a bunch of jazzbos, Thornley immediately points out that "none of us ever went to class and none of us graduated. "I think a stigma gets attached, if you're a schooled musician, that you think before you feel. And if you're really schooled, you don't feel at all." More of their education came from clubs -- Thornley says spending a year or so back in Toronto in 1995 was great, but Boston has never been a supportive town -- and their own love of music. We riffed on for a while, talking more about knowing where you're coming from. "If you rip off a Pearl Jam record, which seems to be another trend that's starting and I don't know why, then you don't know where you're coming from -- you only know where you're going. You're going onstage to shake your head and be a rock star. Knowing where you're coming from is a much more important thing. What's the original vibe that turned you on when you heard a record? What gave you chills up your spine?" It's an OK generalization, but I have to say I don't completely agree -- wishing to leave room for kids who do freaky, brilliant things, inspired only by a bowl of Sugar Smacks and too many Saturday morning cartoons. And maybe the one song on the radio that they love. They don't know where they're coming from or where they're going, and probably only have a vague idea of where they're at. But when the creative spirit writes something on the tabula rasa, man, it can be pure magic. Winning attitude aside, Thornley is an unlikely frontman for the band, mostly because of his predilection for thinking singers are "candy asses." He got over it, and is now quite happy to have his own candy ass gracing the stage, explaining, "Once I accepted the role, I surrendered to it." click here for the original article