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Last week, outspoken Durham rapper Jozeemo announced that his performance at tonight’s Wrath of the Godz hip-hop show at Casbah would be his last, after more than 10 years of wrangling with a promising music career that never quite took off. In the place of tough-guy street raps and outrageously obscene web videos, he’ll be concentrating on an something entirely different: a higher education.

At 36, Jozeemo—a.k.a. Joe Murdock III—is enrolled for the 2012-13 fall semester as a full-time student at Alamance Community College, where he’ll be pursuing an associate’s degree in Industrial Systems Technology. A Triangle hip-hop scene without Jozeemo will definitely be lacking in charm-harm, hardcore rhymes; his voice will be missed, and his antics will live on in infamy.

But before he bows out, we asked for some final thoughts about his rap career, his academic pursuits, and some of his lingering feelings about his relationship with the North Carolina rap scene.

Independent Weekly: We might as well address your announcement that you are officially retiring as one of Durham’s most notorious emcees. How do you feel about that?

Jozeemo: I had a good rap career and I’m getting older. I wasn’t actually able to accomplish everything that I wanted to in music. I can blame that on a lot of things and I’m not going to point any fingers right now, but it was time for something different. Like I said, I’m getting older and I have more kids and whatnot.

Maybe I’m reaching here, but this all sounds like the character Stringer Bell from The Wire, who also took classes at a community college. Both of you have infamous street reputations, but you also want a certain level of success in the classroom. Would you agree?

Yeah, I know The Wire. Streets smarts come in handy. It’s common sense. But it’s also about being careful and being cautious in your maneuvering.

Before you announced your retirement, you were working on producing and directing music videos for local rap artists. Will you continue to do that?

I’m falling back from all of that. Music, videos, everything. I’m concentrating 100 percent on school. That’s my only focus right now. Yes, I still have a record label, but I have other people in place to do what they need to do with that. But I’m going to get this degree. I’m going to always support good music. But as far as me being on stage or someone asking me for a feature or asking me to get down or rock with them—no. People are just going to have to understand that. If they respect me, then they’re going to have to respect my decision to better myself.

Tonight’s show will likely be your last show as a rap artist. Do you see this as a moment where you’ll be passing the torch to a younger generation of Durham rap artists, like Wreck-N-Crew?

I’m a fan of Wreck-N-Crew. But I hope people can take from my story that despite crazy impossible odds, I still did my thing. I had a pretty good run. I was on national tours, I rocked with Little Brother, I rocked with 9th Wonder. I’ve had ups and downs, and I can’t complain. It was a fun ride. I hope they see that it can be done. I did that for a decade and at the end of it, I own my house—free and clear, no mortgage—and I own my own car, title and all. I never made MTV, but I got my slice of American pie.

You’ve been through a lot over the past decade as far as relationships in the music industry and the ins and outs of the business. What advice would you offer some of the up-and-coming hip-hop artists?

Avoid bandwagons. Don’t try to ride someone else’s fame or think that somebody else’s name is going to get you on, because it’s not. If you don’t grind hard for yourself, you will not make it.

Looking back on the release of your last album, True Identity, it seems like it wasn’t promoted properly and it just kind of came and went. How do you feel about the way it was received, especially among this year’s NC hip-hop releases?

I wasn’t satisfied with it. The marketing wasn’t there, the promotion wasn’t there, and I have nobody to blame for it but myself. I’m a single entity doing my thing. When I recorded True Identity back in 2007, 2008—that’s how old it is—I had a machine behind me, or at least I thought I did. I recorded the project with Black Jeruz and I was told that it was going to get a push and a big buzz, but it didn’t happen like that. So, when the label I was signed to, Hall of Justus, fell apart, I decided to put it out myself. I knew I didn’t really have the backing to put it out majorly like I should have, but I did. I’m proud of myself because True Identity was the first album I dropped on my own label. I got it on iTunes, Amazon, CD Baby, everywhere you can digitally get something—it’s available. And I did that myself.

So, do you still stand by the album and would you consider re-releasing it?

I’m definitely proud of the music. There’s no questioning that. But I’m not bitter. I can’t be bitter. At least I did it. But if someone were to listen to it tomorrow and it picked up some steam again, yeah. I’d promote that. But I’m still not losing focus from this associate’s degree.

The last time you and I talked was a day or two after the so-called N.C. Hip-Hop Day (in fall 2011). Back then, you weren’t too happy with a few Triangle hip-hop artists. Has anything changed? Have you guys hashed anything out?

From my perspective, nothing has changed. I still don’t have any respect for those guys. I have my reasons and they don’t have any respect for N.C. hip-hop. They were selfish, they didn’t want anyone to shine brighter than them. I don’t see any of them flourishing like they want to. Karma is crazy. Karma is a bitch. It’s just my opinion and my perspective, but I felt like they stifled my career or tried to. They tried to shelve me. They didn’t want to be outshined. Still to this day, 9th Wonder is not a man. He won’t call me and talk to me like, ‘You know what Jozee, we could have did more. We didn’t even try to.’ 9th held back the co-sign. All I wanted was the co-sign. He wouldn’t do that. But he’s grown. He can do what he wants to do. But I called myself his friend and at one time I thought we were friends. Same with Phonte. Phonte was fake. He was funky. He ended our friendship over some words that he thought I said about somebody who he didn’t even like. I thought that that was just kind of weak. It is what it is. I don’t like them guys, and I probably never will again. I’m not interested in talking to them because I don’t do music anymore. I’m going to get this degree and nobody can take that from me. Nobody can stop my shine. They couldn’t stop my shine in the music because I still did what I set out to do. And now, once I get this degree, I’m going to still be doing what I want to do.

Why did you wait until now to choose to go back to school—rather than, say, five years ago?

Five years ago, I was fooled and I blindly put my faith in some people because they had a situation. When I chose to sign with Hall of Justus, Little Brother had a deal with Atlantic. All I saw was bright lights. I saw Chaundon getting his chance, I saw Joe Scudda getting his chance, L.E.G.A.C.Y. and all these other people and I was like, ‘Wow, the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my music career is a chance to be heard; now I’m about to be heard on a national scale from dealing with Little Brother.’ But I was fooled because they never had plans on giving me my shot like they gave them other guys their shot. I’m not knocking them other guys. I liked Scudda and I like Chaundon, but they don’t do the same kind of music I do. They don’t have the same kind of work ethic that I do. They don’t rhyme like me and they don’t have the street fans that I have. I never got that national exposure, and I still have fans. I felt like they squandered opportunities. If I would have had them, it would have been on. ...

All that the Hall of Justus did was put me on the shelf and put me on the back burner. When they used to do shows, they wouldn’t bring me on the road. I had songs on new albums with Little Brother. I might have done three or four shows with Little Brother doing one of my songs. Out of all of the times they did “Lovin’ It”—a song that was years old—they kept doing that and they never wanted to rock my jam. I never got that chance. It was Phonte because he was the one that always put the shows together. He was the one that controlled everything. It wasn’t Pooh. It wasn’t Big Dho. It was Phonte. Then I tried to go rock with 9th, but 9th only rocks with people that are going to do exactly what he says. ... I’m not going to do that. So I trusted people who let their egos get in the way, instead of just making music and trying to win.

But aside from all of that, what’s urging you to get a higher education?

Let’s be real, everybody knows I have a [criminal] record. Unfortunately, once you pay your debts to society, they say that you can get back and be a part of life, but your record will hold you hostage. This is my testimony; I’m testifying right now. My skill set is very high, but because of my record, there are a lot of jobs that I just can’t get. Yes, I’m a felon. Yes, I made some mistakes. So, it doesn’t matter if I atoned for those mistakes and paid my debts to society; people still look at me like, ‘That’s that felon’. When they see my record, they tell me that I’m overqualified for the job, but then they tell me no because I’m felon. So, in this field (Industrial Systems Technology), my record doesn’t matter. It’s in such high demand that they need people. I already personally know two felons in this field. They make great money and their record doesn’t matter.

Does the fact that you have seven children have anything to with you wanting to change career paths?

The kids are going to be taken care of regardless. I’m going to do what I’ve got to do to feed mine. But I just want a better life for all of them.

Cool. You’ve expressed some strong feelings. Are you sure you want to put this stuff out there?

Man, I don’t care. I’m not rapping anymore. I don’t care. And for the record , anybody who has any opinion of anything about me, they can kiss my ass. I did my thing. I’m done.

• Photo Courtesy of Drag City Records
• Big rocker: Dwarr

[Editor's note: Dwarr was set to play The Pinhook in Durham tonight, Wednesday, March 16. His entire tour has been canceled.]

ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, Durham bar The Pinhook will host the fourth and final gig of South Carolina outsider-metal outfit Dwarr’s first-ever tour. More than 25 years in the making, this show might never have happened without divine intervention.

Duane Warr, the band’s mastermind and sole consistent member, has maintained an on-and-off relationship with his musical alter ego for a quarter century. He self-produced two albums, 1984’s Starting Over and 1986’s Animals, and released them himself in small batches of about 1,100 and 2,200, respectively. Dwarr’s third album, 1993’s Crying Souls, was never released.

Two more albums, Holy One and Times of Terror, followed in 2000 and 2003. Drag City Records, the Chicago-based indie stalwart, reissued Animals in 2010 and Starting Over last year. With their urging, Warr had to decide whether or not to resurrect his music and take it on the road for the first time.

It wasn’t an easy decision: Touring brings significant expenses, including gas, merchandise, lodging and musicians’ pay, which relatively unknown bands booked in small rooms might or might not recoup. And Warr’s not the same man he was in the mid-’80s, when he’d jam Jimi Hendrix tunes at parties at the height of his wild-oats youth. Now, he’s a Lexington, S.C.-based real estate agent who, when asked his age, only says he’s “44 percent of what I want to live.” He’s also a born-again Christian.

“I fasted about this for 21 days at the beginning of the year, because I wasn’t sure about it,” Warr says. “I think it was around the seventh or eighth day, at a men’s meeting at church, another man was talking, and I heard the voice of God telling me to go.”

Even then, with the encouragement of the Almighty, Warr was reluctant at first. Finally, he decided to go for it. “I was like, ‘Whoa, the Lord told you to go, man. You need to make the best of this.’”

You will find few brothers who work together better than Jennings, Van and Lain Carney. You'll also find few bands that work as hard as Pontiak, the lead-heavy Virginia psych rock trio comprised of these siblings. In just five years of existence they've managed five full-lengths and an EP. The pace would suggest a workman-like approach, finding a groove and holding steadfastly to it. Such is not the case with Pontiak. Their output is striking diverse, continually finding new avenues to explore while retaining a core of muscular, Southern-tinged hooks. Where 2010's Living found then indulging in densely metallic sludge, the 2011 EP Comecrudos found them meandering into dark avant-garde detours. The recently released Echo Ono is yet another evolution, a resplendently catchy rock record painted with a restless, psychedelic brush.

The Independent caught up with bassist Jennings Carney before Pontiak's Wednesday show at Raleigh's Kings Barcade to discuss the new album as well as the trio's relentlessly shape-shifting approach.

Independent Weekly: I've read that Echo One was an attempt to make a more impressionistic record — a color project painted through music. Can you explain what you guys were trying to do with that?

Jennings Carney: Specifically Van, the guitar player, sees color in music. I don’t. I contextualize music in a completely different way, which is almost impossible for me to define. It’s almost like shapes. Van (guitar) — and Lain (drums) to a different degree — see music through color. When we started talking about what kind of album we wanted to write, Van said he wanted to make an album that represented or kind of helped to showcase the color that he sees when he plays. We kind of took that a step further.

We like to use specific kinds of media when we record, and we like to use our equipment in a certain way. For instance, not because I am a purist, but the way my bass sounds on this album — I didn’t use any pedals, nor did Van, so any distortion that you hear is a direct result of just using the amp itself. If you think of that in the terms of a painting, you know, an oil painting will have different characteristics than an acrylic or even — if you want to get commercial — like a latex. They all have different textures, and they kind of represent themselves in different ways that are very distinct. Some bands go out there — which is totally cool — and they record on the Pro Tools and it’s all digital and they use amplifiers with a lot of effects. And it will sound a very specific way. Not that we don’t like the way that that sounds, but we wanted to do it in our own very specific way.

So we said, ‘Here are the kinds of media we really like: We like tape. We really like analog. We have our analog board. We have our tube amps. Let’s use those and do it in a way that kind of helps to project this kind of overall image that we want to paint.’ But instead of using paint, it’s using music.

In not using pedals or effects on this record, was it more of a challenge, or were you looking to take the sound in some way out of your hands?

I think of it differently. What do you like to do? Generally, like cooking? Skiing? Hiking?

I like water skiing.

I’ve never done it before. I’ve been a life-long (snow) skier, but I can imagine if you got a new pair of skis that are a specific kind of skis. And you really connect with those skis, and all of a sudden you find that you can do a bunch of things. Or you can perform in a specific way that you hadn’t thought about before.

When we started out to make this album, I didn’t say, ‘I’m going to use just this amp and no pedals.’ Van had been looking through Craigslist and he found this Fender Bassman 100 head in West Virginia, and the guy was selling it with the original cab, like the whole thing for this incredible deal. So Van said, ‘Well, shit, I’m going to get this amp.' He went, and he bought it and brought it back. And we were playing it with the guitar, and it sounded cool. One day I was like, let me try this instead, and so we plugged it up and it sounded amazing. Those old Fender amps are all gain-figured, so your treble, your mid, your bass, your master volume are all volume boosts; they’re all gains. So if you turn them all up to 10 you get this really amazing distortion. So we said, ‘Well, why would I need a distortion pedal if I can just use this amp, and it sounds way better than this extensive but cheesy pedal.' And it opens up all these worlds. I can kind of change my tone just depending on how hard or how soft I hit the string and also I can use my volume on my bass itself. Then we also used different recording techniques to bring out different qualities of the sound. It was more that it just opened up a ton of possibilities than us just saying, ‘We’re just going to do it this way.’

There’s a lot of differences between your records. How much of that has to do with that kind of organic approach?

For this album, we were very specific about what we were doing. Not that we’re never not specific, but in a different way. There is an arch to all of our albums and to the greater creative process. I would say that starting with Sun on Son and on through Comecrudos, which was our EP that we released just before Echo Ono, those were all done with the idea of, ‘Let’s catch the immediacy of going into the studio with very little rehearsal time on the final product.’ Instead, we took a bunch of ideas and played around with them for a while, and then said, ‘Let’s record that.’ So you get this really intense, immediate, dynamic kind of ‘We don’t really know what’s going to happen, but we’re trusting in the process’ kind of thing. We worked through that until we got to a point where we felt that we were really able to grasp that mentally and physically in the studio with each other and then out on the stage. By the time it got on the stage, these things were formed in and of themselves. It became specific parts.

For Echo Ono, what we did is we wrote the songs out. There’s still room in the songs. Like, ‘OK, in this section, Van, you can go off,’ or, ‘In this section, Lain, you can throw in a drum fill,’ or something like that. Echo Ono was a very specific thing.

Why did you guys opt for that more structured approach?

We had been working on a certain approach to working on and recording an album. Once we kind of had internalized that approach, we decided that we were ready to start a new approach. Not that it’s really that new, but it’s still something that kind of is more a refined process. The ultimate goal — and I can’t speak for all musicians — but at least for us the ultimate goal is that there is this kind of dynamic interaction between the three of us when we’re playing. If we can capture that and at the same time capture something that’s relatable to other people, then I think that’s kind of where we want to go.

Pontiak plays Kings on Wednesday with Left Outlet. The show costs $8 and starts at 9:30 p.m.

click to enlarge

• "The Storm"

It's impossible to listen to The Storm (streaming here), the tight, well-produced psych-rock debut from Raleigh-based recording project Cocoon, without thinking of another band — one that no longer exists. Josh Pope, the man behind the Cocoon moniker, was once the frontman of The Light Pines, a band that rode a similar sound to the brink of national recognition before breaking up last summer.

The comparison is obvious: One, this record sounds an awful lot like The Light Pines. Two, Pope initially posted the EP to Bandcamp as the Pines before switching the name to Cocoon. The Independent caught up with Pope to ask him about his new project, the name change and his plans for the future.

Independent Weekly: Tell me about how Cocoon came about. When did you start working on these new songs?

Josh Pope: After The Light Pines broke up in July of last year, I took the rest of the year off from writing music. I got the urge to start writing again about a month and a half ago, and these songs are what I've done thus far.

You first posted the EP under the Light Pines moniker. Why did you change it?

When I initially posted the songs it hadn't even occurred to me to change the band name. Once they were posted there were some objections from former members of the band about me releasing new music as "The Light Pines." I was never that attached to the name, so I pulled the songs off Bandcamp, came up with another name and re-posted the songs.

Did you record these songs on your own? Tell me about the process.

Yes. These songs are me sitting in my house writing and recording. My songwriting process is best described as prompt-based. Just like a creative writer who may use a prompt as a starting point for a story, I'll take a drumbeat, a melody, a bass line, a lyric, a guitar hook, anything that has caught my imagination, and start writing from there.

The EP is layered much in the same way that the Light Pines' stuff was, but it's much more rhythmic, the appeal of each element coming more from the groove than the texture. Were you going for a more rhythmic sound here?

No. In fact, I was self-conscious about these new songs lacking a rhythmic feel! There was a definite plan with The Light Pines to make the music rhythm based. I think my lack of experience at the time with engineering and recording music ultimately obscured that rhythmic agenda. There was a tendency to compensate for poor sonic fidelity by just adding more and more shit on to the track and with all that information and texture, the rhythm and groove were often lost. These new songs have a lot more space in terms of arrangement — there is still some layering — but for the most part, the tracks are less dense. I think this allows for the rhythm to come across clearer. I'm a bass player. I'm always going for a rhythmic sound.

Your narratives on these songs are a bit more concrete than the ones you released with The Light Pines. Where is that coming from?

When I first started writing music, everything I wrote was love songs—very "heart on my sleeve," literal lyrics. I wrote this way until The Light Pines. The Light Pines was a deliberate attempt at abstraction, to get away from writing about my personal emotions and experiences. Lyrically, Cocoon seems to be falling somewhere in between the two.

You've said online that you have more music on the way. When and what should we expect?

I'm writing a lot and feel very inspired at the moment. As I finish new songs, I will post them on Bandcamp. I don't really have a goal or timeline for future releases, but I would say 3–4 songs a month seems like a reasonable projection.

Do you plan to turn Cocoon into a full band, or will it remain a recording project?

To be determined.

• Photo by Todd V. Wolfson
• "It still sounds like me, in the end." —Kathleen Edwards, on her new LP

“I’m moving to America,” Kathleen Edwards sings over and over in the chorus of “Empty Threat,” the lead track of her new album, Voyageur. Thing is, it wasn’t an empty threat: The Canadian singer-songwriter recently relocated to Wisconsin, leaving behind a marriage to a former bandmate and finding a new beginning both musically and personally with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon.

It’s an auspicious new direction. Voyageur, her fourth album, is brimming with exploration and confidence, perhaps the full bloom of an artist who first surfaced a decade ago with a self-released recording that became the little album that could (2002’s Failer). While Edwards was recognized primarily in Americana circles with her debut, she’s always had a steadfast indie streak, and so Voyageur—co-produced by Edwards and Vernon—sounds less like a departure than an arrival long in her sights.

“Some people have been saying, like, ‘This is a big departure for you,’” Edwards acknowledges, “‘but, well, no, not really. It still sounds like me. Although there are things I set out to achieve in making this record—a different style of production, a different approach to some songs—it still sounds like me, in the end.”

The record was indeed made in an entirely different manner than her last one, 2008’s Asking for Flowers. That was recorded in Los Angeles with ace producer Jim Scott and a first-rate cast of studio musicians; Voyageur was more homegrown. “This was the first time I’d done a significant amount of work in a home studio—Justin’s studio [in Fall Creek, Wis.]—which allowed for a certain amount of trial and error, without having to be careful that you didn’t waste time that you wouldn’t get back,” she says.

Working outside of the pro studio environment presented another opportunity for Edwards to push herself to be more involved in the process of actually making the record.

“It’s really hard when you show up in the studio and you’ve got Jim Scott, the best engineer, and [studio aces] Bob Glaub and Don Heffington and Greg Leisz,” she says. “You can’t help but just barely participate, because those guys are just so incredible. It was an amazing experience … but in retrospect, it didn’t push me to step out of my comfort zone in trying things.”

On Voyageur, though, Edwards is credited with playing 11 different instruments, more than twice as many as she’d handled on any previous record. Many were variations of keyboards—piano, organ, Wurlitzer, B3, Rhodes—and if her new record stands apart in some respects from her earlier work, it’s probably this shift away from guitar twang toward keyboard atmospherics. Part of the credit for that goes to Durham musician Phil Cook (of Megafaun and Vernon’s former bandmate in DeYarmond Edison), who contributed various piano and organ parts to seven of the album’s 10 songs.

“Phil played a huge role in the early stages of the record,” Edwards explains. “He came back to Eau Claire to work on it at Justin’s recommendation, and some of the things he did transformed the early direction of the record.”

The bedrock foundation of Edwards’ touring band—guitarist Gord Tough, bassist John Dinsmore, drummer Lyle Molzan and especially multi-instrumentalist Jim Bryson, whose ties with Edwards go back to before she even made her first record—complemented the newcomers. Bryson and Edwards co-wrote “Sidecar,” which is one of Voyageur’s standout tracks, even as its more straightforward rock ’n’ roll delivery contrasts with the broader sonic palette on most of the record.

If Vernon and Bryson bring different elements to the mix, Edwards says she’s often struck by their common ground. “There have been moments when Justin got credit for things Jim did, and vice versa,” she says. “It’s funny, because I really think they have a similar aesthetic and a similar ear. They’re the two people in my life the most willing to try things; they’re always thinking about new approaches and new treatments, and just throwing stuff up against the wall. And that’s so important.”

Kathleen Edwards performs Tuesday, Jan. 31, at Cat’s Cradle, with opening act Hannah Georgas. Tickets to the 8 p.m. show are $20 in advance—$23 day of show. Visit www.catscradle.com.

American Aquarium has a lot in store for their fans this year. One is a live CD recorded at The Pour House, which will be available February 11. We caught up with the band’s Bill Corbin in Muscle Shoals as he was recording their new album, which will be out later this year. And yeah, it’s being produced by some guy named Jason Isbell.

INDEPENDENT WEEKLY: What lead to the decision of doing a live album at this point in the band's history?
BILL CORBIN: We've always wanted to do a live record and people always ask us to put one out, but the timing was just never quite right. Finally, the stars kind of aligned for it. We've been playing really great and are tighter than we have ever been thanks to a lighter touring schedule that actually allows us time to rehearse.
Combine that with the fact that we haven't released anything in almost two years, and a live record seemed like a no-brainer. We play some of the songs a lot differently live and recently had worked out a new arrangement for an old song, “Anne Marie.” We wanted to capture these with the energy and intensity of our live show. Overall, I think AA fans will really dig it.

• Photo courtesy of the artist
• Kenny Roby, funded.

Early yesterday afternoon, I reached out to Raleigh singer-songwriter and former Six String Drag leader Kenny Roby with a few questions about his Kickstarter campaign, which he'd launched just a few hours before. I'm a proponent of artists funding projects through Kickstarter, but still, I sometimes get flustered by artists who ask for and promise the moon in exchange for a little financial boost. Roby's campaign was especially intriguing, then, as he was asking for a mere $2,000 and offering actually interesting content (like the download of an unheard song) for as little as $2. His most expensive offering, at $500, included a house concert. Going with Kickstarter and staying humble often don't go hand in hand, but Roby managed it.

The strategy worked, too: In less than 24 hours, fans had funded the recording of Roby's next album in full. With more than 13 days left on the clock, Roby and his new band are already $127 past their goal. And that's a good thing: The one finished track I've heard is a keeper, pairing Roby's familiar sense for strong images and his comfortably polished country tone with the more impressionistic side of current indie rock acts. Think The National, but more delicate. Below, Roby talks about his Kickstarter strategy and the shift required for a songwriter once funded by big labels to ask his fans for help.