John Doe

The energy in the cramped, sweaty, sold-out San Francisco nightclub is positively kinetic, just waiting for a spark to set it off. Punk rockers—young teen and 20-somethings ricocheting off each other up front; fans in their 30s and 40s standing stoically, arms folded, at the back—all quickly crackle to life when the nearly 30-year-old band ?nally hits the stage. Instantly, the whole rollicking hall is singing and pogo-ing along to classics like “We’re Desperate,” “White Girl” and “The Hungry Wolf,” while the band’s original 1977 lineup sledgehammers through the hyperactive material like its existence depends on it. At one point, bassist/vocalist John Doe brushes the long brown bangs from his drenched forehead, surveys his rabid following, then looks at singing partner Exene Cervenka and smiles. Like he almost can’t believe the full-tilt renaissance of his legendary L.A. out?t X, occurring right before his eyes.

Afterward, the merch booth—which offers a dozen different T-shirts, a limited-edition embroidered tour jacket, and collectible lighters emblazoned with each member’s mug—is swarmed by so many X acolytes that the vendor looks overwhelmed. His hands dart like eels, snatching money, handing out Tees, coats … and lighters. “Hey, ya gotta light your crack pipe … errr, I mean cigarette with something!” deadpans Doe the next morning over brunch at a tiny sidewalk cafe. Song titles from last night’s crowd-wowing encore are still magic-markered on his wrist, and the X-man is still giddy from the rush of regaling punks from every age group. Maybe whippersnappers have discovered the newly reunited group (which includes drummer D.J. Bonebrake and eternally smiling guitarist Billy Zoom) from the recent Rhino remasters of its ?rst six albums, or perhaps the DVD release of concert ?ick X—The Unheard Music. Then again, muses Doe, 51, “I think there’s so much virtual this and virtual that, retro this and retro that, that when somebody actually gets to see a real item these days, they’re impressed. And that just might be the reason why young people go to X shows, or re-discover Blondie and The Ramones. And hats off to The White Stripes for getting those kids back into the blues.”

But punk rock has been remarkably good to John Doe. It’s sustained his on-again/off-again life with X (which today only includes golden-oldie concerts; Zoom doesn’t want to write or record new material); a parallel career with alt.country band The Knitters; an impressive roster of TV/?lm gigs such as a recurring role on The WB’s Roswell series, and cameos in major movies like Torque and The Good Girl. Of late, he’s just taped appearances for HBO’s creepy Carnivale and CBS’s C.S.I.: Miami (“I’m just some bum hotel owner,” Doe shrugs), and an upcoming Winona Ryder picture tentatively titled The Darwin Awards. And somehow, amid all this bustle, he’s found the time to track a new solo set for Yep Roc, Forever Hasn’t Happened Yet, which sounds like Gothic blues echoing from some tinny car speakers and features guest shots from Dave Alvin, Neko Case, Kristin Hersh, Grant Lee Phillips, Cindy Lee Berryhill and Doe’s own 16-year-old daughter, Veronica Jane. Dad’s reasoning? He chortles. “I ?gure this way, the music business will be totally demysti?ed for her and she won’t wanna go into it.”

Folks familiar with X—and the unique off-kilter harmonies patented by Doe and Cervenka—were probably shocked by the lazy, loping drawl Doe assumed on his Meet John Doe debut back in ’90 (Geffen). He’s even more back-porch rustic this time around, on the Dylan-wheezed, steel-guitared suicide study “Ready” (an elegy for both Elliott Smith and Jeffrey Lee Pierce) and the softly strummed duet with Phillips, “Twin Brother,” a twisted reminiscence about “some really sad neighbors I used to have—the mom would scream and yell at these poor kids, and she was an air-traf?c controller.” These are the dark details of everyday life that interest Doe as a songwriter. “When you can’t control your kids, you can’t control your temper, but you’re controlling airplanes.” And he’s pleased that the compression in the mix only adds to the tracks’ tension. “That’s what we were going for,” he explains. “If you move the microphone farther away from stuff, you get a really different sound. And I didn’t really understand what I was doing when I started writing songs for this album—I just wanted to do something simple. But they just all came out being blues songs.”

Some of the cuts, Doe admits, might’ve sat well on an X album—if X was still writing/recording together. But at least the band’s periodic performances are keeping him in great shape—he’s muscular, whip-thin, with only a few streaks of gray at his temples, and sporting a promotional Roswell Puma jacket, one of the many perks of his moonlighting. And yes, he says, it can get pretty schizophrenic at times. He’s had to cancel an occasional gig, due to TV demands. And a few years ago, touring bookstores to back his Freedom Is … album, he was ?attered to be approached by a group of teenage girls. But they weren’t curious about him, his album, or even X, Doe sighs. “Of course, all they wanted to know was ‘How good does [Roswell heartthrob] Jason Behr kiss?’ That was one of the strangest moments for me, ever.

“But I guess people knowing what you’ve done or haven’t done doesn’t really matter,” is Doe’s sagelike take on the situation. “I just want listeners to get to some deeper level in a song or two of mine. And if they hear a coupla songs that take ’em to another level of understanding? Well, that’s what writing a blues song is really all about.”