by Andy Langer “It’s not like I’m trying to win any popularity contests,” says Brannen
Temple. It’s a good thing too, because he’s not likely to win any blue ribbons
in the immediate future. To be popular, one must be known and liked, and,
perhaps undeservedly, Temple’s not much of either in this town. Yet at 25,
Temple may already be Austin’s finest across-the-board drummer, with a long
list of accomplishments, including stints with acts like Sheena Easton, Jody
Watley, and Chaka Kahn. Two years ago, he was even hired and fired by Janet
Jackson. In Austin, he’s involved himself with everyone from Chris Duarte,
Mitch Watkins, and Stephen Bruton to his own bands, the Uglies and Atomic Soul.
Still, for a guy that may hold Austin’s record for the most Vegas and network
late show appearances, Temple’s relatively unknown locally as anything other
than a drummer’s drummer. Political spin doctors might say Brannen Temple is a
musician much in need of a good public relations campaign. Temple probably
doesn’t give a fuck what the spin doctors say.
In fact, he says he doesn’t care if you read this story. To date, Temple’s
not even sure why he granted this interview. A few inches in the
Chronicle isn’t going to get him any better gigs or allow him to work
with a better caliber of players. If anything, Temple believes this story can
only provide annoying chit-chit ammunition for the people that insist on
stopping him in the grocery store for small talk. “Hey man, I saw the article,”
they’ll say. It’s an article Temple himself won’t likely see because he doesn’t
read the Chronicle. And in the worst-case scenario, he contends, he’ll
likely be misquoted or taken out of context. So why should anyone even bother
with Brannen Temple? Because he’s one of Austin’s native sons, and is the kind
of artist this town doesn’t typically breed, support, or glorify – though he continues to live and gig here perhaps to the detriment of his career
and sanity.
Temple’s drumming skills are such that it might not be arrogant for him to say
there’s virtually nobody in town that can inspire him. And he does indeed say
that. He also says he’d rather not spend his time bullshitting with fans or
other musicians he doesn’t know personally. Tough way to meet people and make
friends. But when you consider that Temple’s main territory is jazz – historically a genre of music that spawns notoriously difficult personalities
like Charles Mingus, Buddy Rich, and Miles Davis – it’s easy to believe that Temple may simply be motivated by pride, not ego, and
is perhaps more interested in balancing his art and commerce rather than making
superficial acquaintances or suffering fools gladly.
“I don’t like bullshit,” says Temple. “Anybody that found me difficult to work
with is putting out some bullshit themselves. Whether it’s their vibe, the
business aspects, or something else. I’ve never gone into a situation with my
nose turned up, because I’m too careful picking my situations. If I do go into
it with my nose turned up, it’s because of other reasons, perhaps financial. A
working musician is going to run into that. You may have to do some shit you
may not want to… And if I don’t feel cool about something I’m not going to
hold it back.”
Temple may be in the rare position of being able to speak his mind, and then
speak so casually about doing so, simply because he has the talent to back up
the attitude. Even if drumming isn’t a competitive sport, especially in Austin,
Temple’s grasp of both textbook and emotional drumming makes him a heavyweight;
so natural is his flow and so precise is his control that his abilities appear
almost robotic. And what ultimately makes Temple so attractive to so many
musicians in so many genres is that he’s a classical workhorse who’s able to
find style and grace in old-fashioned notes and harmony without becoming the
mastubatory star he’s easily got the chops to be. As a result, Temple’s been
able to apply his classical and jazz outlook to everything from blues and funk
to Top 40 schmaltz.
“I think I’m open-minded and a musical snob at the same time,” he says. “I can
definitely turn my nose up at some shit I don’t think is worth it. But I’m
neither a traditionalist nor avant-garde. People probably find it weird that
I’ll play one night with Mitch Watkins and the next with Atomic Soul, but I
like challenges and that’s what is going to round me out. I know jazz cats my
age and younger, and these jokers are like 19 and know the path they’re going
down and know the style and sound they’ll stick with for a career. How do they
know that? They don’t. It’s not necessarily healthy.”
Then again, who says keeping Austin as one’s home base is “healthy” either?
Although he says he’s usually called out to the road just before he reaches the
personal and musical depression that’ll have him permanently packing his bags
for either coast, Temple is frank in admitting that Austin doesn’t hold much in
the way of music inspiration or opportunities for him. Especially in the jazz
circles. “Not that many young people are into jazz here,” he says. “Last night
I played with Elias Haslanger, and he’s basically it in terms of people my age
that I’d want to play with. We had a good gig, but as much as I like playing
with him, it’s even limiting within that situation because he’s not getting the
input and inspiration from anyone around here either.”
Atomic Soul, a funky jazz quartet Temple dreamed up the last time he was a few
Samsonites from leaving, is his attempt at finding an inspirational solution
within Austin’s jazz scene. Not necessarily fusion but still a far
improvisational cry from either typical funk or jazz, Atomic Soul applies a
rock & roll ethic to swing – with Temple’s rhythmic lead unmistakably setting the tone. In a way, it takes
witnessing Temple’s forceful leads with Atomic Soul to be truly impressed by
the understated finesse he applies to a gig with somebody like Watkins or
Bruton. Nevertheless, Atomic Soul is the reminder to jazz and rock fans
alike that jazz drummers most often possess the nail-you-to-the-wall impact
that even rock drummers like John Bonham could only hint at.
“The idea was to find something I could feel creative in,” Temple says of
Atomic Soul. “It even has its limits, but in a place where I really don’t find
that many situations inspiring, it’s gratifying just in that I can assemble a
situation that has the vibe, chemistry, and energy that’ll make us all want to
work towards pushing past the points that hold us back here [Austin].”
While the original concept of Atomic Soul – now on hiatus as Temple tours with Sheena Easton – was in showing rock & roll fans that raw power is also a part of jazz, such
aspirations might not have been possible were it not for the fact that both
Temple and Atomic Soul bassist Yoggie Musgrove were in the drummer’s last
serious hometown project, the Uglies. Quickly attracting major-label interest
in late 1992 before an abrupt breakup, the Uglies masterfully mixed clever rock
hooks with groove-based R&B. Today, despite a nostalgic notion amongst the
Steamboat crowd that the Uglies were clearly a better band than crowd favorites
Joe Rockhead, Temple says the Uglies were an ill-conceived disaster originally
meant to briefly gig, seal a deal, and leave town.
“Is this story about the Uglies?” Temple asks, threatening to stop. The story
is not just about the Uglies, but threatens to be because Temple is so vague
about his pre-Uglies background. Other than a high school band or two, and a
year spent with Toulouse house (cover) band the Bizness, Temple’s personal
history is a closed book. What is known, however, is that by the time Temple
had formed the Uglies, he’d already bounced around the country in the sideman
role. And how did he make the jump from cover band to sideman for national
acts? He’ll only say that it happened when he “got better.” Faced with
reconstructing a resume, Temple decides the Uglies may not be such a bad thing
to talk about.
“That band was more about my personal life than my career,” says Temple. “It
was a time of personal development, but very much a musical disappointment in
that what we were doing wouldn’t let us grow, and was wrong from the beginning.
The biggest lessons came in continuing, because it was a band I never had fun
in. If people think we were better than Rockhead or something, let them think
that. To be honest, it actually makes me cringe when people say they saw me
with the Uglies.”
Temple also cringes at the mention of Janet Jackson, a touring gig that in
session circles is impressive simply for having been a possibility. Temple
admits to being excited when he and Uglies singer Ameerah Tatum were both hired
for Jackson’s 1993 tour, but says he quickly soured on the gig after a few
pre-tour rehearsals – a period he calls the longest five weeks of his life. Temple was fired just
before the tour’s launch, and says he signed a disclaimer stopping him from
talking about his experiences within the Jackson organization even before he
started rehearsals.
“To make a really long story short,” says Temple, “it was full of very
sensitive and very paranoid vibes. I could give a fuck about their words on the
disclaimer, but it’s my word and my honor that really stops me from talking
about the situation.” And yet, even with the Jackson failure, Temple’s national
work as a session player and mercenary tour drummer is a luxury that serves not
only to round out his musical experiences, but also provides him a perspective
from which to view his own scene and his own career plan.
“Aside from the Janet thing, the session and tour work is another whole level
of professionalism, which isn’t to say there’s not bullshit there as well.
There’s aspects of Cedar St. I like more than playing MGM with Sheena though,
’cause the club thing can be so much more spontaneous. But I couldn’t do either
Bruton or Easton alone. Or even my band for that matter. The need to get
inspiration from other places and outlets is what killed me about the Uglies
taking up so much of my energy. I just can’t do one thing, it doesn’t work.”
But while Temple’s rapidly expanding r�sum� provides little for
the casual local observer to grab onto and follow, Temple is clearly a hot
national commodity who, true-to-form, will not reveal anything about three
upcoming, high-profile gigs that will round out his year. Just leave Temple to
his playing, and don’t bother him if you see him in HEB. After that, let the
tongues wag as they may.
“I think a lot of the time people have misunderstood where I’m coming from
because I don’t have that regular shine of a smile or bullshit glaze that
people have in Austin,” says Temple. “People have misread that and think
something’s wrong or I’m a certain way. They don’t know me and can’t possibly
make that judgment. Those that I work with still don’t know me, and if they do
they should be sensitive enough to understand why I’m this way. I try to be as
open, supportive, and positive as I can, but I’m not going to support something
that ain’t right or doesn’t feel right. When I was younger I put up with a lot
more. A lot of people are that way until they figure out they’re point of
tolerance. I just don’t have time anymore for bullshit.” n
This article appears in July 21 • 1995 and July 21 • 1995 (Cover).