As Lagwagon's frontman, Joey Cape has been instrumental in crafting the band's catchy blend of punk
music. Lagwagon continues their endless and tireless touring, continuing to craft rhythmic punk that
has inspired and influenced many. As a musician, Cape has never been shy to try new things, including
a turn as the guitarist and lead singer for Bad Astronaut.
Cape continues to keep himself busy with a
variety of current side projects, including Me First and the Gimme Gimmes and The Playing Favorites.
Tell us a little about your personal songwriting process. Do you approach writing songs differently now versus seventeen years
ago?
The process is more refined maybe, but it's basically the same. I always have a melody in my head and I pick
up an instrument to give it a bed. Hey that's not a bad line. Wait, yes it is.

Are there any other musical avenues or areas you are interested in exploring?
I would really love to score. I am always hoping someone will approach me to score an indie. I would do it for
free just to have the opportunity. That is a competitive business.

Being a part of so many and diverse projects (like Bad Astronaut, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, and The Playing
Favorites), are you compelled to always try something new?
Yes. I am a musician and I don't have that gang mentality. I make music and life is short. I want to create as
much as possible before I lose my muse.

When writing a song, does this new acoustic/solo approach differ from the collaborative aspect of
working in a band?
Definitely. It is pure art. I don't think collaboration is at all the same as one person's effort. The outcome is a
collective, sometimes convoluted sound. There is something to be said for collaboration and its benefits, but
sitting alone in a room for hours on end brings out true expression. Either that, or insanity.

There seems to be a "raw" quality to both punk music and the idea of doing a stripped-down acoustic album. How are these
are related both emotionally and musically?
I guess they both share certain intensity and integrity. Dynamically, they are very different but a
stripped-down version of a song can be more dynamic and way more intense to my ears. They are similar in
that both punk and acoustic are very honest approaches.

Of singer-singwriter Liz Pappademas, a music critic once hailed the "tawny-port richness" of her voice.
Another compared her to (all at once) Fiona Apple, Aimee Mann, and Randy Newman. Pappademas,
the former lead of the now-defunct band Hurts to Purr, strips both music and truth down to their
scaffolds. Relocating to Los Angeles, she has released the album Eleven Songs, a spare, clever, and
occasionally haunting collection of her piano-driven tunes. Pappademas is a genuine craftswoman:
she pays close attention to the construction of a song yet manages to never lose sight of its emotional
foundation. Her voice recalls much more than a Randy Newman or a Fiona Apple in the same way
her "richness" speaks to a unique ability to weave narratives with honesty.

How do you craft a song? Can you describe your personal creative process?
Most of the time, it starts with a first line, which is usually the idea for the song. From that comes the
framework for the form, usually with a melody and chords, and then a filling in, making sure I'm saying
what I want to say with the right words. I write the bulk of the song and then re-work the lazy rhymes or
verses. If the song's giving me trouble, I'll work at it for a while, but if it's not hitting me, I'll throw it out
and start over completely, keeping the initial idea but writing it with a totally different spin. Simplifying,
usually.

From where do you draw inspiration?
Mainly from situations in my life that seem to need further examination. And time alone. That's a big
one. But also just anything that strikes me--movies, things I see on TV, stories I come across in the
paper. And living in L.A . . . wanting to continue to do that.

When your band Hurts to Purr disbanded, you moved back to San Francisco, then settled in Los
Angeles. How important are surroundings and environment to your creativity?
For years, people kept telling me that it doesn't matter where you live--that you can make music
anywhere, send files over the Internet, record in your bedroom, have people come to you,
et cetera. This
may work for some, and if you can do what you want to do in Anytown, USA, then that's fine. And
you're lucky because living in New York or L.A. is hard and expensive.

But driving around on the same streets Tom Waits did, picturing Randy Newman writing alone in one of
those office buildings on Wilshire, being able to go see Jon Brion and Aimee Mann at Largo, playing Mr.
T's like Beck did … that means a lot to me. Maybe it shouldn't. But to me, it feels like the talent this
city has hosted is in the air, as is the challenge to rise to that level.

In Austin and San Francisco, I was a snake in a terrarium. Safe, warm, fed, no predators, half-awake too
often. It was good to be in this incubator of sorts and I'm glad I lived in both cities. But in L.A., I'm the
same snake in this enormous desert. It's scary and dangerous and I might die sooner, but I'm growing
and learning a hell of a lot more and enjoying myself in the process.