Crash-test smarty Five words with rowdy raconteur Bob Log III | Five Words with... | Indy Week
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Crash-test smarty Five words with rowdy raconteur Bob Log III 

A maniac, pyro- or no: Bob Log III

Photo courtesy of the artist

A maniac, pyro- or no: Bob Log III

Bob Log III is a one-man music wrecking machine. Like Evel Knievel's mutant, slide-guitarist twin, the helmet-wearing, jumpsuit-clad rock 'n' roller produces a wall of distortion-drenched blues. An unhinged showman, he even crowd-surfs—in a raft, from which he continues to play guitar as he's passed about the room.

Robert Logan Reynolds III's one-man show debuted when his two-piece, Doo Rag, imploded on tour while they opened for Ween 18 years ago. Rather than quit when his drummer left, Reynolds developed his own foot-operated drumkit and embraced a ridiculous self-aware persona. The centerpiece of his getup is a motorcycle helmet with a phone receiver glued to the front. He sings through it, rendering an effect like that of an old, poorly recorded blues 78.

He's got a song called "Boob Scotch" and an album called My Shit is Perfect. Bob Log III talked dirty details before a show in Austin, Texas.

GOOD TIMES

That's what I try to make everyday. I think, "What was the very first music that our great-great-great-greatest grandma and grandpa started to play outside the café?" I don't think it was a bunch of people banging on rocks going, "We don't like the government. Ooo-ooo-oo-ah." I think it was a party. Somebody started making noise. Somebody else started making noise. All of a sudden, everybody is having a good time. Then it got to be a better time. That's how I approach music.

JUMPSUIT FUNK

I'm dealing with that right now. I wear my suit, and when I take it off, it's beyond sweaty. It's wet as if you wore it into a pool. I have to put it on the back windowsill of the car; when I'm driving through Texas in the summer, it will dry out mostly in a day. If I'm driving in Europe and it's winter, what I do is put it on the floor of the car and crank the floor heater. If anyone's driving with me, it's on their side. They end up hating me after about three days.

In Europe, sometimes they have a washer and dryer together. I said [to my tour assistant there], "I don't dry the mirrored one," and the kid said, "No problem." But he did, and the mirrors didn't look like mirrors anymore, but like a chewed-up piece of gum someone stuck to my suit. I have, like, 50 pieces of gum stuck to my suit. I was pissed. That suit was looking so good. I had just put new mirrors on it. The kid said, "I'll take you to the craft store of Leeds." But the mirrors were too big and flimsy and were expensive. I said, "Let me see how much money I have." I started looking at my change, and I said, "Damn these nickels are shiny." I started gluing money to my suit instead. Everywhere I went, I was like, "Can I have shinier change?" They said, "Get the fuck out of here!"

BOOBS

To me, boobs are pretty fucking ridiculous. If you think about it, it's just a sack of fat with a nipple on it. And what's it for? It's for food! But somehow, it's turned into something that tries to control us and make us buy spaghetti, cars and cellphone plans. So I want to treat it more like a ridiculous thing and use it—to not be sexy with it but actually ridiculous with it. So I made it do something it probably shouldn't do, which is clap together and make a noise. [That noise is used as a percussion sound on 2003's Log Bomb.]

BUTTS

I've been doing these things called "Butt or Pet Songs," where people send me a picture of their butt or their pet. I have to make a song about that butt or pet. I've got up to 25 of them, and eventually there's going to be a Butt or Pet album. I got fascinated by the [moment in the '70s when] people could mail in lyrics. Some band was sitting in the studio: "Here's the mail. Today, we're going to do a song about Richard Nixon, a blind man's penis and here's 'I Like the Color Yellow.'" I want to do that, but I don't want anybody to tell me what to sing. I want them to send me a picture of their butt, and I'm going to make a song to make it move.

The old days of labels are pretty much over. Instead of me having three or four middle men, people are actually writing me and paying me to write a song about their butt. Songs however you want them: I got'em at the show or by pushing a button on your phone.

WIRELESS

I've got to be three-times wireless. My guitar has two outputs—a distortion pickup from an old Silvertone and a contact mic for the acoustic sound. The percussion of the acoustic is almost like another drummer, if you turn it up. I also have a new wireless in the helmet.

With rock 'n' roll, if it's a live show, it's a show. If you're just going to stand there and play, it might be fantastic playing, but that's no show. You have to turn it up, and wireless definitely helps with that. I personally love running into the girl's bathroom because it's really the only time in my life I'm allowed to do that. Everything I do, I'm like, "That was fun. How can I make it more fun?"

  • Good times, jumpsuit funk, boobs, butts, wireless-go!

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