"Hey, Fred!" Bonus Watershed Feature

Interview with Colin Gawel on Watershed's Blow It Up Before It Breaks album and release show at Rumba Cafe

Originally, this was a feature/lead interview at the front of “Hey, Fred!” this week. It’s too long for that, but I like that we dug into the new record and the joy of getting older in a way I don’t hear many rock bands talk about. So this is a preview, and it’ll be linked to the show listing in tomorrow’s “Hey, Fred.” Still working on how I integrate this kind of work but unless I monetize it, these interviews would have to be with someone I actively like talking to for an hour enough to do this transcription and editing for free (above the couple hours I think of as a “donation” that is a normal “Hey, Fred!”).

I sat down with my friend Colin Gawel, co-lead singer/songwriter and guitarist of Columbus institution Watershed, about the band’s new record, Blow It Up Before It Breaks, before the two-night release show at Rumba Cafe on June 14 and 15 (tickets are available here). Over 45 minutes and a fistful of beers at another institution, the Bier Stube, digging into the new record, we touched on the history of the band and what it means to be a rock band putting out a new full-length in 2024.

The text below has been edited for clarity and length.

Watershed playing at Rumba in October 2023

RS: It’s been 12 years since [the last record] Brick and Mortar—get us up to speed. Why did it take that long, and what does it mean to put out a rock record in 2024?

CG: We didn’t have any deadlines, obviously; we [waited] until we had something we really felt good about. The project took a bunch of different shapes - we released some singles along the way - changing schedules and studios. We ended up working with Tim Patalan [producer of the band’s earlier The More It Hurts, The More It Works and The Fifth of July] in Michigan. Once we got up there, we basically started from scratch.

RS: Tell me a little about the path getting there.

CG: [First,] we went to Myrtle Beach to demo. We do what they’d call pre-production back in the day: go in eight hours a day. We have to physically get in the room as a band playing together. [We email demos] a little, but GarageBand only takes us so far, right?

[We worked with] Mike Landolt [producer of Brick and Mortar] here [in Columbus], who’s great with bands [for] basic tracks. A year later, we'd add some keyboards, but Mike ended up leaving town. Meanwhile, Joe [Oestreich, singer, songwriter, and bassist] lives in Myrtle Beach, and Herb [Schupp’s, drummer] is out in California. So it's hard to get any kind of groundswell.

Brick and Mortar is a cool album and I'm really proud to have pulled that off, but that's the only album we've done in town because I think it's really hard to focus when you’re here. Someone said, “When you're recording at home, you're not making a record. You're just going to work, right?” You unwittingly make compromises. Maybe you don't follow through all the way because you've got other pressures. We had Joe Peppercorn to play on it which was huge, and then we said, we're going to take eight days and we're gonna cut the whole thing, like, Dylan style. We're gonna just sit here and knock it out, and not question anything. And we caught lightning in a bottle with that record to kind of keep that vibe, right?

[For this one,] we went up and recorded some stuff with Tim just because we loved him and hadn't seen him for a while; that was the Bleeding on the Blank Page EP that led to [saying,] “What if we just take all this stuff up to Tim?” We've never done that before. We took basic tracks up and said, “What are we gonna do with this?”

He went through [the material] and, because Tim's very particular about his production style, kind of tore it all down to the studs and built it back up. There are all these moving parts, [but] now, we're back traveling. So it depends on when we can get up there; who can be there. Schedules and Tim has a very specific working style that’s challenging, but he's good. We had to start over and make [the tracks] fresh again. It definitely sounds like a Tim Patalan production.

RS: I noticed most of the songs here are credited to you, Joe, and Tim, which also felt like a departure. Could you talk about that?

CG: We have such a weird band, you know? We started too young and did this and that: we had Willie Phoenix produce us, then we were on Epic Records and Jim Steinman and Frank Aversa. Most bands are smart and they quit. When we got with Tim [for our third record], it was weird: It's like finding your perfect love when you're 30.

We have a really good working relationship. He's instrumental in a lot of the things we do, even if just telling us, “Don't do this song,” or “Go home.” Back in the day, he wouldn't take songwriting credit on things - Joe and I would say, “You know, I think you probably deserve it. You add these ideas that are really valuable.” [His response was,] “Hey, my name's on the back.” Nowadays, the reality of the music business is no one's selling any records, right? Believe me, no one cares less about money than Tim Patalan, but if a song does well, we want to make sure his name was on there so he gets publishing and royalties.

RS: It sounds more cohesive to me than Brick and Mortar did; more of a piece.

CG: You know, it’s funny, people say that, but it’s like your own kid… [we] don’t hear it. [In basic tracks] we [decided] we’re gonna go with the flow really hardcore. The downside [of that approach] is maybe you don't have time to sit with things. “Self-Motivated” is a song [where] Tim came back, the first time we played him stuff, like, “That song sucks.” Later, he's like, “You know what song's kind of good? That ‘Self-Motivated.’”

Once you have some idea [where the record’s headed], we have a lot of songs, and we kind of go back and say, what's the album need? We wanted to be sure it was really done. A great example: this record was done 18 months ago, with 11 songs. Me being a dumbass, didn’t like that; I thought we should have 12, so there are six on each side. We’d never covered a Cheap Trick song; it’d be fun to do, [that led to] “Reach Out.”

RS: You’ve covered a wide range of songs live, but they rarely make records, right?

CG: No [just “Born to Run” tacked onto the end of More It Hurts, the More It Works]. We know a million Cheap Trick songs between [projects] Why Isn’t Cheap Trick in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Cheap Trick for Charity. Everyone loves to play Cheap Trick from the first four albums, right? Being Cheap Trick nerds. We thought we'd one-up everybody by hitting the Heavy Metal soundtrack. [This] seemed like a fun one, it isn’t written by Rick Nielsen; it’s Pete Comita [and Bob James from Montrose], who was only in the band for a year. Also, it's a keyboard-heavy 80s thing, so we do it more like they do it live, with electric guitars.

RS: Talk to me about the songs that are back to the original trio of Herb, Joe, and you [“Bleeding on the Blank Page”, “Self-Motivated”, “Resonate”, “Sensational Things,” the latter enhanced by harmonies from Ellie Oestreich]. Was it fun getting back into that headspace? Was it challenging? In particular, “Bleeding on the Blank Page” feels like Joe’s writing a new take on a Watershed-circa-1997 song.

CG: There's certain songs that just work as a band. Herb and Dave [Masica, drummer on the later Watershed records and in Gawel’s side projects Colin and the Bowlers and CG2] are both playing drums on the record. Herb has a very specific kind of style, it's a little heavier. Joe [brought in] “Bleeding on the Blank Page” [as] such a heavy right-handed rhythm rock song. “Self-Motivated,” that's just kind of a fun thing, you know?

Tim likes to have it be us; unfortunately, he doesn't let me off the hook. [I’ll say] “We can get a way better guitar player who can cut all this shit in a day,” but Tim [says] “No, people will notice. Even if it’s not as good, it’s you and we’re gonna do it.” He's always been pretty hardcore about that philosophy [and] we've had people put some nice tracks on Watershed things. He’ll go and just erase things.

I’m really proud of how all the players on this record are organic. Like, Greg Rice…

RS: I want to ask you about that: I know the band is tight with Terry Anderson and the Olympic Ass-Kicking team, but it was a delightful surprise to see their keyboard player all over this record.

CG: It's huge. In fact, the last time I was with him was here at the Bier Stube because where do you take a self-respecting Southern rock and roller in Columbus, Ohio, right? We played that show with Terry at Ace of Cups; Greg's a monster keyboard player, and we're out having a beer, and [he says,] “Man, I want to come up and play on this.” He flew up here when we had all those basic tracks; he threw keys on everything because we're friends and we're huge fans, why not?

When we took this up to Patalan, he said, “What are all these keyboards?” We wanted to use it and had to work around it a bit because it’s very vibey. [In contrast to] the Epic record days [when] we're paying, guys we don't even know, like 10 grand to play fucking keyboards. We're such dumbasses; back then, our good friend, Pete Linzell's, right around the corner. Why did it never occur to us to invite friends to play on it or something?

You can hear it throughout the whole record; obviously on the fun keys on “Another Night in the Ruts.”

RS: I also keyed on them during the title track - that big anthemic organ and then those haunting couple of piano chords dangling at the end helped make that song for me.

CG: I can't say there was a lot of thought [beforehand]; he just went through it and just put down a bunch of shit. We started listening back to what we had, we cut a lot more things and switched it up, but the keys stayed. They were taking up space, and I had to go back and think about the guitars differently than I probably would have added them because we’re working around that.

The best example would be a song like “Just Let Go,” which has a lot of acoustics and words. When we originally played that song, it sounded more like a Sugar song. [The final track] is more nuanced; you hear those keyboards, and then we kind of switch the drums, and then the bass gets switched. It became a totally fresh approach because we were trying to keep those keyboards in there.

RS: The other thing that struck me about that song is until I really went to the liner notes prepping for this, I was sure that was Dave [Masica] drumming, it’s so different from the propulsive drumming Herb’s known for.

CG: That’s a good observation, based on the tone and the sound of it. I wish I could speak more on drums; that’s Herb’s thing, but like anything, as bands get old like that, you get better.

Every track is Joe and I, sometimes with Herb, sometimes Dave, and Rick Kinsinger [guitars, engineering]. One of the reasons Rick doesn't get on [as many of] the tracks is because a lot of times he's stuck on the board. He'll be the technical guy if Tim's running around; you don't really need two guys playing D chords in three-chord rock and roll.

RS: And Rick had done engineering and behind the scenes stuff with you before he ever played with you, right?

CG: Oh yeah. The first League Bowlers record [Some Balls] was done in his basement. The first Dead Schembechlers was done in his basement. That was our playroom. He was there for all the demos [of this record]; everything, every part.

RS: That title track, “Blow It Up Before It Breaks,” that opens the record: were you intentionally trying to write a statement of purpose? It sets the tone for some of the looking back, the easter eggs with that line about “Maybe it’s all romantic noise” and the burst of static/crowd noise at the beginning that felt like a callback to “Black Concert T-Shirt.”

CG: No. I think, obviously, “Blow it up before it breaks,” we knew it was a good line. We definitely liked the idea as an older band. It makes a lot of sense for guys who are, you know, 53 or 50 or whatever, playing rock and roll. The lyrics were written pretty much before I had to cut vocals, I wrote them going downstairs to record the demo.

When we played Tim all these songs - he can be particular right away - he's like, nope, nope, nope. [Until this one,] he was like, “Oh, we need to work on that.” And it's a non-pop arrangement, you know what I mean? It's on that kind of darker Watershed, Cheap Tricky side. It came easily and it sounded good. Every album we do has a couple of tracks that people don’t really pay attention to, except a few die-hard fans. Typically we would not open an album with something that's maybe a little more eclectic. We would have lost our nerve like we should. I think the fact that it’s the lead-off track is striking.

[We considered leading with] “Sensational Things,” which is [also] about a band and has an opening line [nodding at Warren Zevon’s “Lawyers, Guns, and Money,” with a self-deprecating twist] where we said, “That’d be a great opening.” But we decided it was too safe. [We thought about] if we’d opened The More it Hurts with “Romantic Noise” instead of “Black Concert T-Shirt,” the record would feel totally different.

RS: That Zevon riff pricked my ears up in “Sensational Things” and its callback line to “Over Too Soon.” I caught an echo of this in Joe’s “Just Let Go,” another favorite of mine from the record. In both of these—and a few other songs here—I caught a sense of hope, of optimism you’re letting creep into these songs, maybe you both didn’t allow yourself in the older Watershed material.

CG: I think when you're older you're just so excited to be with your friends. We've always been a friend band, first. I don't really have anything to compare it to. Every band I'm in? My whole point is hanging out, you know, to the detriment maybe of musicianship sometimes. The fact that we're even alive and can play, people are still functioning? That's really special; you don't take that kind of thing for granted. We know we're lucky to still be playing music together and having fun.

RS: Talk to me a little about [Detroit singer/guitarist/bandleader] Jeremy Porter’s guitar work here - I know Jeremy a little bit from working with him from a distance on [your website] Pencil Storm and I really liked what I think he’s adding on “Hey Lydia” and “Best Worst Night.”

CG: Here's the funny part: I didn't know Jeremy when he played those tracks. He was friends with Tim; he worked in the studio up there with his band [Jeremy Porter and the Tucos]. We wanted to get a single out, and Tim [asked,] “Do you mind if I just add some stuff on here, to finish it up? This guy will get the vibe.” “Sure, we trust you.”

Later on, I said to Jeremy, “You should write for Pencil Storm,” and he’s basically been carrying that website with Ricki C for like two years.

RS: “Best Worst Night” also has that great voicemail coda from the much-missed friend of the band Dave Cook. That was the moment Anne [my partner, who’s known everyone in Watershed much longer than I have] walked into the room and said, “Did you hear this yet?!?” I think this is your first - forgive the term - press cycle since we lost Dave. Could you talk a little bit about what he brought to the band?

CG: It’s funny, we got in a fight with Spotify about whether that song’s explicit. Even I was like, “It’s not explicit… oh shit, right, the phone call.” [Mike “Biggie” McDermott] had the presence of mind to add that. It’s obviously a nice tribute to a friend, but it’s also the most rock and roll moment on the album.

He lived two houses down from Joe Oestreich in Worthington; we practiced in everyone's parents’ basements, but mostly Joe's. His Mom was the most accepting. He's a few years older, and his brother had special needs; Joe's Mom would always walk the dog with [Dave’s brother] every night.

He’s one of those guys who was there before you knew it; he was always there. Maybe the funniest guy ever. Not only helping us with band stuff and fixing our van, but you know, philosophically and his spin on the world, the way he looked at things definitely influenced the way we looked at things. You can’t really feel sorry for yourself when the guy that’s hanging around has chronic health issues his whole life [but is] always happy to be alive and always went out of his way to be really thoughtful about people. He wanted to listen to metal and party, and if we saw someone broken down on the side of the road, Dave would pull the van over and help.

Joe wrote the essay that got him into the OSU Creative Writing program about Dave Cook [“The Bodyman”]; capturing a character you can’t capture.

RS: He’s less of a secret weapon since [Joe Oestreich’s book] Hitless Wonder, but as with much of your work I’m stunned by the artwork and packaging, the cassingle included made me laugh out loud. Could you talk a little about the man behind the scenes, Mike “Biggie” McDermott?

CG: I guess he’s our Arturo Vega [the Ramones’ artistic director] but we always wanted Mike to be the lead singer when we were in high school. He was outgoing, he’d go to High School football games and get hammered and have a jam box, but he didn't want to sing.

[Still,] he’s literally on the contract we signed with Epic Records. But he doesn't play in the band. It gives us an extra incentive - instead of having, like, a hot shot, shredder guitar, or keyboard player, we have Biggie, and his domain is artwork, cool stuff, flyers, tour manager, and everything else. And yeah, he's you know, He's as important as everyone in the band; having someone [doing these things] who’s been with the band for so long.

[With artwork], I just see it. He shows us an idea and if he’s excited, I’m excited. I wouldn’t trust me. His flyers are brilliant - the shit is unbelievable. He doesn’t get his due. Someone needs to do a coffee table book [of the flyers and ephemera of Watershed]. He’s always a step ahead; I don’t know how he does it.

I just sit in the van. The artwork, concepts, “Let Biggie run with it” and it’s great.

RS: I also remember a couple of jubilant, high concept Comfests: one where the band pretended to be sponsored by McDonald’s, one where you were playing “Commiefest.” I didn’t care much for the music at the time but I was bowled over by the audacity and wit of those shows.

CG: That shit was crazy. [The McDonald’s year] started because we practiced in a McDonald’s-owned Storage Shed [at the time]. We also wrote the fake newsletter. It’s funny because it was one of [Mark “Poochie” Borror]’s first gigs in the band and agents were coming to see us that night. He thought we were going to haze him, and 24 hours before [the show, we said,] “What if we’ve now been sponsored by McDonald’s, the big yellow “M” is a “W” and we’re throwing french fries in the crowd, eating the whole time?” We’re not trying to be mean, it’s just fun.

The Commiefest stuff was Biggie’s call, one of his best flyers. [We got] a classic phone call from Dan Dougan [legendary venue owner, promoter, and organizer] saying “You’re going to be in big trouble in this city.” The next year, we did “Freedom Fest,” where we were wearing suits in front of a big flag and started playing Lee Greenwood.

RS: As your various kids are getting older and schedules might be a little more flexible, do you have any plans to hit the road?

CG: We’re hoping to do some shows in the fall. We’ve been asking around—hey, ICP, reunion? We work cheap—and we hope to get to some cities we haven’t been to in years, like Minneapolis, even if it’s just to see our ten really good friends there. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we like to do it. Because it’s fun.