Enigk is a modern friar, sheltering the secrets of a forgiving adolescent. He smiles behind fiber optic-filled, gazing globe eyes that roll back and forth from a dark blind, watching everything. His public persona paints a pious impression of eccentric catharsis- an invention of Kafka and Thoreau’s words adapted for harpsichord perhaps. Though it may surprise the legions of obscurity fans with patches on the backs of their knees, Jeremy is unaware of many of the fight clubs that have sprouted up in his honor.

He is more concerned about the tolerance units and peace corps he is trying to establish through his beliefs and musical gift. The image that is modeled in the underground springs from imagination, and is not the least bit self-glorifying.

Sitting below a café light at a wooden table beneath the Double Door – as I couldn’t read my interview in the shady booth which probably made him feel in his nocturnal element - I try to get an idea what was in his ears over the ten years World Waits was being penned. The roster is to speak openly with the Seattle musician about his thoughts on music, his faith, his views on uplifting people and societal issues, his life at home, and his personal ambitions and trials – in no particular order and occasionally revisited, depending on his response. He’s been written to be brief. Little do I know, I will have to edit an exceptionally exiting, not to mention unforgettable hour and a half conversation. He leans over his lap with optimistic attention when I thought he was going to speak over his shoulder and shake due to an invasion of his notorious privacy. What a warm and calming bombshell.

“What do you think of the west coast oddball bands like Kind of like Spitting, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, or Band of Horses? Always wanted to know the recent stuff you were into,” I ask. Interlacing his fingers, he shakes his head like he’s just had a few golf balls bounced off it, “Well, I’ve only heard one Band of Horses song,:” he says in his mild, raspy voice - holding up his index finger, “the radio song,” he gives a quizzical nod. “What did you think?” His eyes look ready to spill onto the table now, “It blew,” he carefully enunciates, “my mind.” He motions how the explosion went, fanning his hands from his ears then returns them to his lap. So the idea is he isn’t terribly forthcoming. Let’s try something else.

“Any old time rock n’ roll you like besides the hardcore movement and your affinity for classical music? You know, besides The Beatles? The Searchers? Something from the sixties?” The golf ball reaction returns, and he shifts in his chair, “I don’t know any of the bands you’re naming. Really The Beatles were the big influence. I don’t dig too much for music. I don’t really know much outside the mainstream. I don’t stray too far from that. Bob Dylan. But that’s not exactly underground.” How many kids who love his projects do this to other people, I wonder. Have competitions. And it’s not his doing. The proof is in the pudding. “Are there musical interests that surprise you? Guilty pleasures?” I ask one last question on the matter. “Hm. Guilty pleasures. Okay well, this isn’t exactly a guilty pleasure. Actually, I’m quite proud of this one. I like Lionel Richie. I like the whole Dancing on the Ceiling Album. That’s what it’s called, right? Yeah,” he consults his mental playlist and drops his head affirmatively. Putting my interview aside, I start laughing, “What? I like Lionel Richie. Stop laughing!” he turns from an offended shriek to machine gun laughter in seven beats at a time. He can’t help being rhythmical. “I’m sorry. Every once in a while I have to roll up the car windows and put on Montego Bay or Wham!” I laugh. “Wow, Wham!” he smirks. Jeremy Enigk is no snob.

“What is the most inspiring story of your life that isn’t too personal?” I ask. Enigk’s eyes go upstairs to check the ledgers: “Hm. No, that’s too direct. Okay. No that’s too long. Most inspirational? Okay, I got it. This is the short version. I had a run-in with what I like to call God,” he smiles, “I, for a long time, have been trying to get rid of myself. Get rid of all the things that have to do with me. To be more giving. We are God, because that is what He said,” he smiles wider and more brightly, “So one night after a show, I see a clarinet player playing music for money. All I have is $85 to my name. So I give him all of it. And the guys in the band are like, “Jeremy, why didn’t you at least keep $20 for yourself so you could eat?” And I thought, “Yeah that would have been the smart thing to do.” But I had to give away all of it. I wasn’t going to get paid until the next show which was in three days. And then I thought, “Yeah, but God will provide.” And then you know what? I suffered for the next three days. For the next three days, I starved. Well, another time when I was at a show, I received a care package from some friends. It was the size of a shoebox. And I was starving. Worse than before. And I had no money. I opened it up and there was a loaf of bread. They did it as a joke, but it was food. They didn’t know. So I think it’s really important to take that leap. To test your faith. Because every time you test it, you’ll become that much more convinced it was the right thing to do.” “And it wasn’t just food. It was the parable food. It was bread.” “Yeah!” he sits up with joyous enthusiasm, “It was bread.”

“Do you have an ambition to do something other than music?” I wonder what he would be doing if not this. You know: minister, coast guard, astronomer. “Hm. Archeology. But the really unrealistic kind. Like Temple of Doom. Raiders of the Lost Ark-style. Yeah, I would like to be … an adventurer,” he widens his eyes and rolls his head as though that’s the perfect answer. “So if it’s in a movie and unfeasible, you want to try it as a job?” I ask, with my finger on my temple, getting the idea this is what it would be like to be a high school counselor. “Yep. I don’t know if that sounds strange.” “No, my father was born around the same time of the year as you, and he tells me stories of flipping bees while they were pollinating and shooting sewer rats along the creek with a bow and arrow when he was a kid. He was Davy Crockett….of the suburbs,” I reply in comprehensive preparation. “Ha ha, that’s funny,” he looks relieved - as though it’s been diagnosed.

“Closest people to you, you’ve met in your career?” “Closest people? Not too many. But I would have to say William. You know, from Sunny Day Real Estate? That goes deeper than friendship. At this point, we’re talking family now.” “Someone you would like to talk to or always wanted to get to know better?” “Are we talking dead or alive?” “Either or.” “Like heroes or idols: I think Bono. Be cool to know what he went through in his career.” “That’s a band who gave up a lot for their beliefs.” “Yeah, definitely.”

“Recent music or incidents driving your music?” “Oh, like George Bush being such a fucking maniac?” he raises his voice - defiant of even a Liberal Libertarian, Tom Hanks tone - and I almost hit the ceiling in shock at the sudden change, “The fact that there is this whole thing about using war as a veil to achieve love? All this hate, and for what? You hear it in U2’s song How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb,” he becomes flustered in the attempt to encapsulate his disagreement, and it’s apparent now Jeremy Enigk is a tougher and more powerful vindicator of humanity than even he may know. Although it probably wasn’t intended to speak so sharply, it gets across an important point. This is a timepiece of what many Americans of all creeds and backgrounds are feeling. He becomes unfortunately drowned out by the opener setting up. And now he softens: “That (love for war) just doesn’t make any sense,” he shakes his head at the shame of our nation’s state.

“What makes you happy now you’ve come to a balance and spiritual identity in life?” “I think that in itself is a great peace. To have release. To be free. And when something negative comes along, it’s like “Yeah, let’s beat it!” “Historical figures you would like to meet?” “Another tough one. Dr. King would be cool. Gandhi. I’d like to meet Gandhi. I would be terrified to meet Jesus,” he looks down his arm with bugged out eyes. “That’s what it says.” “Yeah, absolutely terrified,” he says still entranced with the thought. “Yeah, the whole falling down on your face in fear. Even if you don’t believe in religion, you can approach it logically. This is supposed to be the biggest thing in the universe that made a sacrifice for you when you were being the biggest jerk alive. Pressure.” “Yeah,” he smiles, returning his sporadic eye contact and laughs in fully-automatic succession again, “What do you wish to contribute to humanity musically and philanthropically? It’s a word; I spell-checked it.” “Oh okay,” he smirks and looks away to ponder, “You look at Beethoven’s work, and it’s outlasted his life. I mean it’s spanned, (Spreads hands apart, signifying a timeline), and he’s still inspiring people today. That’s what I hope to do. I hope someone in a hundred years picks up these albums and gets inspired. That it changes their lives in a good way.”

“Do you ever get stir crazy or do you see your alone time as a disciplined relief from noise and negative energy?” “I’ve spent most of my life shy and alone,” he places his hand on his heart, “I love my alone time, and it is a relief to get away from negative energy and create. There is peace in being alone for me. But the older I get, I find the more I want to be around people,” he smiles affably. “Is there an ambition on your mind on which you concentrate?” “Well,” he scratches the back of his head and stares off dazedly at the wall, “I guess the quest for love, you know?” he looks back to answer for a second then returns to the dream-like state, “True love. It’s something in the back of my mind each day,” he taps the back of his scalp and takes a deep breath, “I’m looking for a woman…who is a friend. She would have to be kind. Kind,” he looks back again, repeating the trait as if it is of utmost exigency. “True love. The real thing. But it’s not easy to find. And it would have to be romantic. Like a storybook,” he half whispers a hope that would elicit an appreciative grin from anyone hurt before, “Not the easiest thing in the world. I’m looking for love, but I’m okay alone,” he holds up his hands as though he’s content in not ordering the moon.

“Do you have any favorite films?” “Ah. Another tough one,” he says like Dennis the Menace when he has to go to Margaret’s house, “Now, that’s really tough. I don’t know. Amadeus. Love that one. So much history. Raiders of the Lost Ark probably.” “Things you wanted to say to people when they were in your life for a brief time?” “I think about my time on stage. I want to say something, but I never do.” “Stage is a different place,” I sympathize, “You feel like you’re at the talent show and you’re there to play tracks one through eight.” “Yeah!” he looks as though he suddenly knows why he’s quiet. “Any other hobbies besides music?” “No, not really. Although, when I’m not playing music – and I don’t know if you would so much call this a hobby – but I sit at home on my porch and philosophize. My friends and I argue. I mean we don’t fight. But we argue the points of life.” “And what do you find funny?” He leans across the table and raises his eyebrows, “Extreme sarcasm.”

“Advice to someone assembling an album or just starting out in the business?” “Do it, because you love it and no other reason. Not to let anyone stand in your way.” “What’s the biggest philosophical question you face?” “Okay. I think about this one a lot. The way I was raised,” places his hand on his heart again, “is there is only one way to get to Heaven, and that is the belief in Jesus Christ. If you don’t, you’re going to hell. That’s pretty harsh.” “Turn or burn mentality. Is that what turned you off to it when you were younger?” “No. It was people who felt that way. And you think of all these other religions and I guess I wonder: There is only one way to get to Heaven. Is that true?” he flutters his eyes.

“What do you do when posed with a challenge?” “Set it up logically, (wedges his hand on the table), look at my options, (taps in one spot as if selecting from a catalogue), pick the best one. Sometimes I have to emotionally detach to make a decision.” “To what do you think you owe your success?” “The way I was made; my vocal cords. And the fact I put forth an effort.” “And I’m sure you’re honing your gift.” “Oh, yes.” “Advice to people who have come from where you’ve been? Looking for answers and compassionate wisdom you’ve found?” “Am I speaking to someone younger?” “Anyone.” “Well, if I were speaking to someone younger, I’d say be open. I was closed and narrow when I was a young man. Because a lot of things are going to change and you have to be ready for the changes. Be prepared to go with that flow.” “Anything you would like to do more or better? Sort of a life project?” “I would take the opportunity to be kinder. I have a responsibility to be a good human being. We all do. To give more of ourselves. I look at kind people and what I don’t understand is how bad things always happen to them and bad people treat them cruelly, and they’re still kind. I don’t get it. I’m trying to be a kinder person myself.”

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