13 QUESTION METHOD: MALCOLM WELBOURNE

Malcolm Welbourne’s personification "Papa Mali" is a salute to his home territory of north Louisiana. Malcolm was raised in Shrieveport, where absorbing the blues along Bayou Pierre was just as much a matter of course as chasing the mosquito fogging truck with friends — and equally intoxicating. He spent his summers with grandparents in New Orleans digging that city's rhythm (and blues), and after hearing the Wild Tchoupitoulas and the Meters on the streets of New Orleans at age eleven, he developed an early and ongoing attachment to Crescent City funk. Papa Mali's long-awaited second album, Do Your Thing, dropped in January 2007.

1. Which was the first record you bought with your own money?
Surfer Girl, by the Beach Boys. I still have it — in mono, of course. I was six years old and my older sister had just left home for college, which meant my brother got her room and I had a bedroom to myself! I would lie in the dark and play “In My Room” over and over and over. I thought they were singing directly to me.

2. Which was the last record you bought with your own money?
Eddie Bo’s The Hook and Sling. Highly recommended.

3. What was the first solo you learned from a record — and can you still play it?
“The Wind Cries Mary,” by Jimi Hendrix. Yes, I can still play it — as incorrectly as I did then!

4. Which recording of your own (or as a sideman) are you most proud of, and why?
“Honeybee,” from my forthcoming LP on Fog City Records. It features Robb Kidd, Henry Butler, and Kirk Joseph. I think it is my finest moment to date — as a songwriter, and as a significant, contributing member to the vast lexicon of recording artistry. One of those rare moments where I felt like a vessel for something beyond my realm of comprehension. Humbling, to say the least. We all played in the same room, live-in-the-studio to 2" analog tape.

5. What's the difference between playing live and playing in a studio?
One should always serve the song and the situation, and remember that music is not a competition. In a live context, this could mean using your instrument as a flamethrower to set the building on fire, if that is the desired result, or using your tone and finesse as a watercolor paintbrush, to enhance the lovely shade of violet in the singers plaintive aura. In the studio, your contribution should be approached with the knowledge that you are part of the overall composition and what you play will determine whether or not the piece works as a whole. There is always the option to overdub until you get it right — but beware! Belaboring an idea can suck the soul right out of the track, the singer, the band, the producer and the session — outlandishness versus politeness? Is my point made stronger by screaming or whispering? A quiet intensity or a primal wail? Just listen to the uniqueness of that particular moment and you will have your answer.

6. What's the difference between a good gig and a bad gig?
Hmmm — so many variables. But I would have to say that a good gig has to have at least three of the following things: good acoustics in the room, a quality soundperson, attentive audience (no matter how large or small), lively musical conversation, a living legend or personal hero on the bandstand or in the audience, good pay, a plane ticket, a nice hotel room, a great meal, a prestigious/historic venue, a scenic location, and/or finally — close proximity to home, a loved one, a vintage guitar shop or a vinyl shop.
A bad gig usually includes one of these three key catchphrases: “fraternity house” (the venue), “brick house” (the song), or the classic “it doesn't pay anything, but it will be great exposure” (it won't). Seriously, you should heed not what your booking agent says, but what meteorologists say about “exposure” — you can die from it. So remember kids, when you hear the word “exposure” (or “showcase” for that matter), know this to be true: it is the universal codeword for no money, impossible load-in, set-up in front of the headliner's gear in a space the size of a postage stamp, bad vibes and/or shrieking feedback from surly monitor guy, set-starts-before-the-label-reps-have-arrived-and-ends-as-they-are-showing-up and, overall, zero gratification. Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of there as fast as you can run. You will get more press and notoriety by doing this. if you or your band are truly buzzworthy, the right people will already know about it and seek you out.

7. What's the difference between a good guitar and a bad guitar?
There are no bad guitars — only misunderstood ones. Some people, my wife included, refer to my house as “The Home for Unwed Guitars.” I find the guitars that nobody wants or loves. I get them off the street, provide them with a hot meal, a change of underwear, and they are eternally beholden to my every whim. But don't call me a philanthropist. It is its own reward.

8. You play electric and acoustic. Do you approach the two differently?
To play acoustic is to seduce a goddess — slowly, gently, quietly, tenderly, steadily, until she vibrates in ecstatic tones, causing the streams and rivers, trees and flowers and creatures of the forest to tremble, quake and sing along. To play electric is to get wasted on lines and tequila shots with an Amazon she-devil — until she grabs your ass, puts her tongue down your throat, and drags you into the broom closet for hot, anonymous, freaky sex with a webcam on.

9. Do you sound more like yourself on acoustic or electric?
Yes, most definitely.

10. Do you sound like yourself on other people's guitars?
Yes, but only after I've had my filthy way with them.

11. Which living artist (music, or other arts) would you like to collaborate with?
Trombone Shorty (Troy Andrews) — though on any given day I might say Brian Wilson, Ry Cooder, Keith Richards, John Paul Jones, Eddie Bo, Burt Bacharach, James Black, Lee Perry, Derek Trucks, Van Dyke Parks, Claudine Longet, Mickie Most, Lee Hazelwood, Dusty Springfield, Henry Butler, Monk Boudreaux, Gurf Morlix, Robb Kidd, Kirk Joseph or Adam Levy.

12. What dead artist (music, or other arts) would you like to have collaborated with?
Curtis Mayfield, Pops Staples, Jelly Roll Morton, or Duke Ellington.

13. What's your latest project about?
It's about 57 minutes long. And the Benjamins, baby. And the love that I feel here today. And all my peeps. And God. And Satan. And Brigitte Bardot in 1966. But not necessarily in that order.

Web site: http://www.papamali.com