60 Songs That Explain the '90s - TV On The Radio — “Wolf Like Me”

Episode Date: April 8, 2026

This week, Rob takes a trip down memory lane, a.k.a. 2000s Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Now that we are in the dark ages of social media and virality, there is a set-in-stone Mount Rushmore of late-night TV band performances, including the high-energy TV On The Radio debut of “Wolf Like Me.” Rob discusses how TV On The Radio was affected by post-9/11 New York, giving us the iconic opening album line, “I was a lover before this war.” Later, he is joined by musician and top-10 TV On The Radio fan Bartees Strange to discuss covering a monolith of a song like “Wolf Like Me” and how TV On The Radio paved the road for artists like Bartees. Host: Rob Harvilla Producers: Justin Sayles and Olivia Crerie Additional Video Editing: Kevin Pooler, Julianna Ress, and Chris Sutton Guest: Bartees Strange Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I did just absolutely the weirdest thing the other day. I used to do it all the time, but it had been forever, and I felt so awkward, man. It was just the most unnatural, foreign, archaic action to me. I felt like I was dialing a rotary phone or popping in an eight-track or chasing a hoop down the street with a stick. And what I did, what I'd almost forgotten how to do, I just sat. there? And I watched a hot young rock band play a song on national television, and I didn't do anything else. Here we have the hot, newish, Brooklyn rock band, Geese, performing a song called Trinidad on Saturday Night Live, very recently in January, 26. Are the fake boarded up windows behind geese

on stage here is supposed to look like your average Brooklyn rock band's grody abandoned warehouse practice space? Or is this just what people assume a Brooklyn rock band's practice space looks like? Either way, I dig it when the dude from

Geese yells, there's a bomb in my car a whole bunch of times. I dig this band, geese, but I really dig how much other people seem to really, really dig them. A critically acclaimed the youngish rock band.

Talk about archaic. The geese hype is so rare and refreshing to me that I even dig the geese haters. I dig the backlash and the backlash to the backlash. Tiresome as it might be, I dig the discourse, man. I dig that this band seems to matter, maybe. But yeah, I sat and I watched geese play Saturday Night Live on my laptop the following.

morning, but it still counts. Two songs, in full, no distractions. And it's a huge drag to me, how unnatural and novel and retro that felt to me, that experience. I'm not closing the tab halfway through. I'm not thinking about or reading about 30 other things. No scrolling, no multitasking. No second screens. Full concentration. Who does that anymore? Who is physically capable of doing that anymore? When you're reading a book now and you finish a chapter, do you think I should reward myself by checking Instagram? Because I think that sometimes, and it sucks.

I would tell you that I can't remember the last time I just sat and super intently watched a hot, newish rock band perform on a late-night TV show with absolutely zero distractions. But as a matter of fact, I do remember. Here we have Future Islands, a hot, newish rock band from Baltimore by way of Greenville, North Carolina, performing their bonkers hit song, Seasons, parentheses, waiting on you, close parenthesis, on The Late Show with David Letterman in 2014. Surprise, you're not surprised.

Future Islands on Letterman is a justifiable. famous mega viral musical event. I blogged it at the time, back in another lifetime, and it sure feels to me anyway, like it still reigns as the best late-night talk show performance of the last 15 years. Just a masterclass in ludicrously rad frontman melodrama from future island singer Samuel T. Herring, who is really named that. metal growls, the suave Simeon lope of his mesmerizing dancing. When he slaps his chest for emphasis and you can hear it through his microphone, a star is born. I am totally serious.

In my own blog about this performance at the time in 2014, I blogged this for Deadspin, Deadspin classic, not zombie, Deadspin. And referring to Future Islands frontman Samuel T. Herring, I wrote, quote, quote, you want him to take you on a date in a Venetian red Subaru outback to the macaroni grill, end quote. Respectfully, what the fuck am I talking about? None of that matters. What matters is David Letterman's reaction to future islands. Dave's immediate, unambiguous joy and enthusiasm. He is praising this band to the skies, before his microphones even turned back on. I will never forget him yelling,

I'll take all of that you got, but I had forgotten, and I don't think I've ever heard David Letterman happier than when he says, that was wonderful, like he's saying it and meaning it for the first time in his whole life. Come on.

Nice going. How about that? I'll take all of that you got. Future Island. That was wonderful. And we've talked before, in much darker circumstances, about the emotional evolution of David Letterman. In the 80s and 90s, as a younger man and a celebrated late-night talk show insurgent, David Letterman's whole thing was he was a dick. He was sardonic and sarcastic and outright contemptuous of his own guests. Cher called him an asshole on national television in 1986.

And in his asshole era, which lasted, what, 20 years minimum, David Letterman introduced, what, hundreds, thousands of musical acts, and you just know he outright despised at least 30% of them. And so, as blogged out as this performance might be, Dave flipping out on camera over future islands in 2014 is still a sincerely lovely and legitimately moving sight to me. And it harkens back to a vanishing era when we had way more cool new rock bands and way fewer distractions. We're happy to have them making their national television debut with us tonight.

Please welcome REM. Here we have REM playing late night with David Letterman in 1983, making their television debut playing Radio Free Europe. I vividly remember being so startled by the glorious intensity of REM here, the ferocity of the double Rickenbacker action transpiring here between bassist Mike Mills, coolest person alive, and guitarist Peter Buck, top 50, coolest person alive, especially on the Radio Free Europe pre-chorus, where Mike Mills asserts his status as the coolest person alive.

Ludacrously phenomenal bass line. And what you have to imagine, and it's hard to imagine, it's hard for even me to imagine, and I lived through it. You have to imagine somebody watching TV at what, 1245 a.m. because they decided to stay up way too late because they wanted to watch Letterman be an asshole to somebody. And they just happened to catch this cool unknown rock band, REM, and it changes their life. Pretty much every late night talk show ever has the word late, right there in the title. I had a big thing for a while, starting in the late 2000s, with The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. That's too late. I love that guy.

And he was on at like four in the morning. In 1983, you had to be watching television super late. You had to be still awake at an unsavory hour to catch REM on Letterman, or you simply did not get to see R.E.M. on Letterman. It was gone. I was five years old when REM played Radio Free Europe on Letterman. and I was not awake this late unless I had the flu, so you better believe I was truly startled by the glorious intensity of R.E.M. on Letterman, like several decades later when I watched it on YouTube.

We are all aware that late night talk shows now are just generating potential viral clips everyone watches on the internet the following morning. Shout out the roots. By far the best thing about late night with Jimmy Fallon is that the roots are his houseband. and sometimes the ruse get to play with De La Sol or whoever and it goes semi-viral, it's awesome. But when you go back now and you watch famous 80s and 90s and even early 2000s late night clips and performances, at least try to imagine the real life universe in which you had to watch this in real time on television at an unreasonable hour of the early morning. Maybe a cool new rock band will change your life.

But if you stay up that late, definitely the whole next day, you're going to be hell-tired and grumpy. Forgive me. There was one other option. And that was to get your cool Uncle Nick to tape your favorite band playing Johnny Carson's Tonight Show on his VCR and then let you watch it later. As a teenager, one of my most prized possessions was a VHS tape. my cool Uncle Nick gave me and my brother, full of late night and or obscure TV appearances by They Might Be Giants, my favorite band.

This fabled VHS tape had the Anna Ang and Don't Let Start videos and interview clips from 120 minutes and whatnot, but it also included the time They Might Be Giants played Birdhouse in Your Soul on The Tonight Show in 1990 with Doc Severinson and the Tonight Show band. And even as a teenager,

subconsciously, I understood how rad this moment was, this conferral of institutional authority. Doc Severinson and his horn section, etc., are all in suits, and they are taking Birdhouse in your soul absolutely seriously, as though Duke Ellington wrote it or something. Subconsciously, I thought, man, they might be giants have made it.

They're famous. And that's what pre-internet late-night shows felt like, to me, like a coronation. Here tonight from Boston to perform a song from Cure for Pain is morphine. And for me it worked in reverse, too. A cool new band could confer authority

onto a cool new late-night host. In the early 90s, I distinctly remember reading in Rolling Stone that embattled upstart rookie late-night host Conan O'Brien booked super cool bands, including morphine. A band I absolutely loved, And I thought, well, I guess this Conan guy is rad as hell.

And then, of course, I raced out to watch Morphine play their rad hit song Buena off their 1993 album, Cure for Pain, on Conan, on the internet, several decades later, because I did not happen to be watching Conan live in 1993 when this aired on television. Mark Sandman, lead singer of Morphine, top 10 coolest. person of all time. Mark Sandman died in 1999 and I never got to see morphine live and I'm still mad. But I am so weirdly heartened by the idea of some little kid with the flu in 1993, sitting up with his parents past midnight, randomly watching Conan and suddenly they're a morphine fan for life. Now they're sick little kids really into two-string bass and sweet dude poetry.

This is how music discovery worked before some yuts on the internet deigned to invent the term music discovery. You stared at the television until some hot new rock band randomly appeared on screen. And maybe if you're really lucky or unlucky, that hot new rock band will be led by this guy. Here we have hot new Australian rock band The Vines, playing their breakout hit Get Free on Letterman in 2002. Surprise, devoted scholars of famous late-night talk show musical performances may be aware that I just played you basically the only remotely normal and palatable and non-atonal portion of this song, as performed on this stage on this particular evening, because the Vine's lead singer guy is about to go ham.

And then the Vine's lead singer guy trashes the stage while as bandmates look on in dismay and or disgust. That's rock and roll for you. I will accept the argument that this is the greatest late-night rock band appearance of all time, or the argument that it's the worst. Both arguments are essentially the same argument. Though, as always, what makes the vines on Letterman truly legendary is Letterman himself. Is he all right, Paul? Can't say. Can't say for sure. to be the West Nile. Could be the West Nile. Fantastic improvised topical joke there.

That's why Dave's the best. My new favorite part of the Vines on Letterman, though, is that Dave is still sitting behind his desk when this song ends. One might describe Dave as casually barricaded behind his desk for reasons of safety. Dave is clearly terrified, and he will not be walking over and shaking hands with the vines, as is customary. Meanwhile, that Conan guy is still also rad as hell. Here we have the exceedingly cool Louisville, Kentucky rock band My Morning Jacket, playing their breakout hit One Big Holiday on Conan in 2003. Dude, this is on anybody's list of

best late-night talk show performances of the last 25 years. One big holiday. This My Morning Jacket song has words, beautifully resonantly sung words, honestly, but the words ain't important here. Shout out Patrick Hallahan on drums here. And sheesh, shout out the guitars. This is an all-time great late-night musical performance, primarily for the guitars and the hair. The guitar is going and just majestic hair flying everywhere. This is the most robust and voluminous and intelligent headbanging you will ever see on any screen ever. Meanwhile, shout out this drummer as well. Here we have the Walkman, a cool rock band from New York City,

performing their breakout hit called The Rat on Conan in 2004. Two legit candidates for coolest person of the 21st century on stage right now. The singer, Walkman frontman, Hamilton, Leithauser, is bellowing, you've got enough to be asking a favor, but there is a malign physical stillness to him, a tightly coiled ferocity. Hamilton is not sprinting back and forth across the stage and scaling the walls like Spider-Man

and throwing furniture into the audience, as you might expect, given the terrifying vigor of his bellowing. Instead, for the first 35 seconds of this song before the singing starts, he just stands there. He stares down the crowd. And even when he does start bellowing, you've got a nerve.

Hamilton is just strolling around, as though he is grimly touring a potential East Village apartment rental that is not to his liking. Meanwhile, he bellows the word name so violently that he almost lists himself off his own feet. But really it's the drummer here, isn't it? For safety reasons, I do not listen to the rat while I'm driving because the truly

gargantuan drums on this song will make me drive 45 miles over the speed limit. Though I can't help but notice that real-life Walkman drummer Matt Barrick does not play the real drums as violently as I personally play air drums while listening to the rat. What I also love about this song is that it doesn't have a bridge. From a musical, structural standpoint, what you're about to hear is not the bridge to the rat. No, what you're about to hear is officially, technically, musically known as the part of the song where the drummer rests. The drummer is resting during that part of the rat. That is what is occurring structurally. You can hear and you can feel the drummer resting. Shout out Walkman guitarist Paul Maroon, who doesn't really get to rest at any point during this song,

but nonetheless, Paul also looks impressively, deceptively casual on stage. Great band, the Walkman. We're moving into the mid-2000s, and YouTube will emerge in 2005 and quickly put an end to the era when you had to watch late-night talk shows late at night. But all that means is that a hot new rock band, playing a late-night talk show can change your life the following morning. Our next guest, a wonderful rock and roll band from Brooklyn, and their acclaimed new CD, look, I got a copyright there is entitled Return to Cookie Mountain. Please welcome TV on the radio. My name is Rob Harvilla.

This is the 40th episode of 60 songs that explained the 90s, colon the 2000s, and this week we are discussing Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio. from, as Dave mentioned, their 2006 album Return to Cookie Mountain. In the chorus to Wolf Like Me, each individual word TV on the radio frontman Tunday adibimpe sings, lifts him off his own feet. And I think that's beautiful. Maybe I shouldn't drive while listening to this song either. As Dave or Conan or Johnny or Jimmy might say, we'll be right back.

Do you have any idea what I possibly meant when I blogged about the Future Islands guy and I wrote the sentence, you want him to take you on a date in a Venetian red Subaru Outback to the macaroni grill? Any idea what I was going for there? Yeah, me neither. Forget it. Though I will say it's very funny to me that clearly I went to Subaru.com and I looked up the possible colors for a Subaru Outback, and then I picked Venetian Red

because I thought it sounded the funniest. I guarantee you that is what happened there. Back when I was a blogger, I totally mastered blogging. I don't mind telling you. I have now totally mastered two journalistic mediums. However, please do not invent any more journalistic mediums. I don't have time to master a third medium.

I ain't got the bandwidth. I am tired. Podcasting is the other journalistic medium I have mastered. Just to clarify, okay, I want you to imagine that you are shopping in a furniture store in Brooklyn in the year 2002, and you randomly find a CD hidden in a desk drawer or something. The guys also randomly left CDs and cafes

and record stores in more obvious places, but they apparently hit furniture stores too, And the incongruity of that is very amusing to me. Per the CD cover, the band is called TV on the radio. You got no idea who that is. TV on the radio, that band name combines two increasingly archaic forms of mass communication. Interesting. And this CD is called OK calculator.

You're pretty sure you get that reference. This CD is 18 tracks in an hour and 15 minutes long, but because of the first 20 are enormously important when you're playing a CD you found at random in a furniture store. The first 20 seconds of OK calculator are as follows. Depressed hot sex, fuck more, and love less. TV on the radio form in 2001, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York City, in that order. Initially, they are a duo consisting of Tunday adi Bimpe,

the front man, the primary voice, and Dave Setech, the soon-to-be hot shot producer. I get the impression everyone in this band is playing a bunch of different instruments constantly, so traditional band roles are pretty fluid here. Generally, OK Calculator is a demo, a four-track goof-off CD-Berner situation. But what you get in that first 20 seconds, that song is called Freeway, most importantly, you get the Acapella Beatbox type action, right?

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. Truly incredibly weird and cool stuff happening with the human voice in this band immediately and always. With OK Calculator, speaking as a fundamentalist. unmentally immature person, forgive me if I am drawn to the more immature songs here, which are, in my defense, numerous. Once I said, I wouldn't touch your shit with Hitler's dick, but now your body's changed my mind because those thighs is thick.

Though you packed in the back like you was hiding twin midgets, counterband, booty shaker, girl, give me the digits. That song's called Buffalo Girls, and it gets substantially more pornographic as it goes on. We start from Hitler's Dick and then we escalate. This song is called Robots and Flight of the Concords, the New Zealand comedy duo with the HBO show. I love those guys. Flight of the Concords are not famous yet in 2002,

but this song is still very Flight of the Concords coded to me. Robots fucking in the middle of the White House. Robots fucking in the middle of the subway. Robots fucking in the middle of the Jay-Z video. That's track 16 out of 18 on this CD. You've got to be pretty engrossed in this demo you found in a furniture store to get all the way to the robots fucking in the Jay-Z video. This song is called Neti Fritti and ah, all right, it's an Italian.

This is much more sophisticated and mature. Of course I'm just kidding, the second half of this song consists of Tunday speaking in a fake NPR voice and translating those lyrics into English, and it turns out they're pornographic. If you heard the word necrophilia in there somewhere, maybe just pretend you didn't. Very Monty Python coded. Lest you think I am over-emphasizing the immature aspect. aspects of this demo CD, OK calculator. Here's a lovely, melancholy, semi-experimental 16-minute-long ambient jam called On a Train.

It goes on. The high voice there, Tunday's falsetto, will be especially important going forward. Incredibly weird and cool stuff happening here with the highest possible reaches of the male human voice. TV on the radio first achieve any sort of prominence outside of Williamsburg-Slaug slash Brooklyn slash New York City with their debut EP released in 2003 and called Young Liars. And it's faint and modest at first on the song called Young Liars, but that apocalyptic doo-wop vocal riff is enormously important. Do do-do do do do do do do do. Over the next half decade or so, as this band adds members and gets increasingly famous and critically acclaimed, the Young Liar's riff will still audibly vibrate in the background for me.

As a sort of rousing battle hymn for a band that has to pick itself up off the ground first, dig itself out of the dirt first. It's a battle hymn for a band that would rather make love than war, if you don't mind my saying. And if it's quiet and goblestone Golden here fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again And if you don't mind my saying, that line is enormously important And permanently resonance as well

Fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again. Both F words are vital here. Four is also an F word technically, yes, But you know what I mean. The first prominent F word, as we have already observed, TV on the radio from the beginning have a pronounced carnal aspect, a blunt libidinousness on which I will not elaborate. You're welcome.

I can point you to quite blunt and lascivious lines and images throughout this band's excellent catalog. Though on second thought, how about I don't? This is not a prude band. All right? All right. The second prominent F word in that line is fear, which is just as vital and just as prominent in animating force in TV on the radio. And alas, fear is in plentiful supply in the world, in America especially, and in New York

City especially, after September 11, 2001. Tunday adi Bimpe, quoted in the book, Meet Me in the Bathroom, the journalist Lizzie Goodman's Essential 2017 Oral History, Meet Me Me in a while. in the bathroom, rebirth and rock and roll in New York City, 2001, 2011. In that book, Tunday says, quote, after 9-11, we basically decided there's no reason for being here besides to make the things we like to make and share them or not share them. Because who's keeping score now? Try to find some kind of joy or meaning in your own life because it's so suddenly really

fucked up outside. Dave and I just said, you know what we should do? Since the world might end, we should just stay inside and work. If we're going to die, we should probably just make a ton of shit that we like first. End quote. The Young Liars EP is animated by this terror and fear and joy and meaning. Here at the terrible dawn of the 21st century, even the word freedom has taken on multiple new fraught, terrible dimension. Freedom has become its own sort of F word. The jumble of my head is at half. I'm searching the clouds for the score. My lady avails herself of marked down freedom

forever can't stop to no bone. The jumble of images there is so striking. My head at half-mast, marked down freedom, searching the clouds, Even the cover of the Young Liars EP, this weirdly somber and eerie photograph of presumably a Brooklyn Street at night, the oversaturated bright white walk sign that looks like a guy suspended in midair, I'm overreaching. I'm getting super melodramatic. Though in my defense, there was a lot of overreaching super melodrama happening at the time. Here we have staring at the sun. Another instantly and permanently striking song on the Young Liars EP.

Both prominent F-words represented there lyrically, I think. TV on the radio really do it for me on both a micro and a macro level. Staring at the sun has a huge enveloping grimly anthemic chorus, as befits a hot new rock band. But the micro level is consistently even more important. The details, the textures, the skeletal, but also. somehow gargantuan feel to the production. These insinuating microscopic loops of voices and drum machines and soothingly gnarly distortion. Here, like this. Like that. There's a couple different versions of staring at the sun, but always, in essence, this is how the song starts with this collision

of earth and sky. This spectral chorus of falsetto voices joined to teeth rattling, blown-out fuzz bass. TV on the radio are a hot new rock band with a classic feeling, recognizable shape, a familiar rock star fog machine silhouette. But speaking for myself, I might have thought I was hot shit as a young rock critic in the early to mid-2000s, but I had never heard anything like this band in my life. And I, for one, was extremely psyched about it. The first full-length TV on the radio album is released in 2004 and is called Desperate Youth Blood Thirsty Babes. Even if you bought it or downloaded it on purpose, even if you don't find it at random in a furniture store, the first 15 seconds of a CD are still tremendously important.

A pleasingly jarring scrunkiness to the first 15 seconds of the first full TV on the radio album. And still my favorite. We have added scrawny horns to the teeth rattling blown out fuzz bass. This song is called The Wrong Way. That's Desperate Youth, comma, Bloodthirsty Babes, and Bloodthirsty is two words. I bet that means something. We've added an important third permanent member to TV on the radio, Kip Malone, a singer and songwriter and multi-instrumentalist with an even higher angelic male voice.

Also in this debut album, all the horns and flutes and whatnot are played by Martine Perna, founder of the incredible Brooklyn Afrobeat band Antibalas. Martine is more of a guest star here than a permanent member, but the horns and whatnot are enormously important. Lately, I'm really digging this song near the end of the album called Wear You Out. I believe that's a song about the original F word, F word classic, in which Martin Perna really throws down on the flute. Dig the flute there, man. Dig the sax.

Dig the organ. Dig the drums, the depth and the homemade clatter of those drums. You may be aware that New York City rock bands are hot shit now, starting in the early 2000s. The strokes, Interpol, the Walkman, etc. But those are Manhattan bands. And TV on the radio,

crucially, is a Brooklyn band, a Williamsburg. band, which, broadly speaking, Williamsburg bands tend to be a little scrappier. There's more hustling. There's more day jobs. There's more of an abandoned warehouse DIY ethos. In the book, Meet Me in the Bathroom, talking about Williamsburg, Dave Satek says, quote, it was so cheap. That's why it attracted so many creative people. And it wasn't just music. All these really incredible painters and artists of all kinds wound up in Williamsburg because you could get a warehouse and you could make as much noise as you wanted and no one complained. End quote. Here in 2004,

Dave has begun to emerge as a low-key superstar superstar Brooklyn bands. He worked with the yeah-ye-ye-yes on their 2003 Super Breakout album, Fever to Tell, and he worked with the band Liars, on their rad, but somewhat less accessible 2004 album, They Were Wrong, So We Dound. And one might summarize Dave Satek's gracefully, rough, and defiantly chaotic, house style as, he's making as much noise as he wants, and nobody's around to complain.

With TV on the radio, I get the weirdest, tiniest little moments from this first album stuck in my head for hours at a time to this day. Like this part in the song King Eternal, where it sounds like two drum machines interlock violently, but somehow perfectly. I just walk around my house some days going and I'm barely conscious of it. There is also a mesmerizing five minutes totally a cappella song called Ambulance, in which Tunday Adibimpe and Kit Malone build an entire, lovely,

enerving apocalyptic choir out of themselves. Because I will be your ambulance, if you will be my accident, and I will be your screeching crash, if you will be my crushing cast, and I will be your one more time. But for me, and possibly for you, the real monster song on the first full TV on the radio album is called Dreams. And here, for one thing, this is where the new guy in the band,

Kip Malone, really makes his presence felt. I believe that's Kip Malone there in the upper upper stratosphere. That's Kip going, Oh, your dreams are over now. And that, too, is a huge enveloping, grimly anthemic chorus. But again, what kills me with this song is the mid-air collision between the macro and the micro, between the hugest and the tiniest gestures. The part of dreams that still loops in my head every few weeks is this part right here,

this explosion, this lovely airborne toxic event of distortion and dissonance over a stark little drum machine and a sleek and ominous little baseline. In Tunday's quite startling line, you were my favorite moment from our dead sentencing. That's my favorite 10 seconds in the TV on the radio catalog. Favorite is an odd word for it, I suppose. That's my favorite moment from our dead century. That song Dreams has a distinctly, exquisitely, awful 2004 feel to me,

what with the dread and the noisy defiance despite the dread. The U.S. were bombing other countries now. Desperate youth also includes a pointed and unfortunately, Originally, once again, quite timely song called Bomb Yourself. Aspiring hot new rock bands right now are making wartime albums, whether they like it or not. In that book, Meet Me in the Bathroom, Dave Satek describes the singularly awful experience of living in a city that's under attack in a country hell-bent on starting multiple forever wars in response. Dave says, quote, for better or worse, TV on the radio was addressing that it happened.

We just couldn't avoid talking about it. I was a lover before this war. I was thinking about getting laid, and now I'm thinking about dying in the fucking eternity, end quote. He might have meant dying in the fucking apocalypse, but fucking eternity works great too. And also, wow, that other thing he said is truly a monster opening line to a new album.

The second full-length TV on the radio album comes out in 2006. It is called Returned Cookie Mountain, and it starts with a song called I Was a Lover, and I Was a Lover Before This War is a Justly Famous Album Opening Line. Briefly, I ought to mention, there's a great new book called Us V Them, The Age of Indy Music and a decade in New York, 2004, 2014, by the author and wordless music show promoter, Ronan Givonee. Meet Me in the bathroom is the definitive account of this era of New York superstar bands. The Strokes, LCD sound system, TV on the radio, vampire weekend a little later, etc.

But if you're less familiar with and inclined to dig deeper into the 2000s Brooklyn Rock Renaissance, this Us V Them book will provide you with a dozen new favorite bands and artists. Anida, Parts in Labor, Wise Blood, and also Dress, Dragons of Zinth, a wild young psychedelic rock band who talk fondly and gratefully about being extensively mentored by TV on the radio. In 2007, one year after Cookie Mountain, the Dragons of Zinth will release their debut album, produced by Dave Satek, and called Coronation Thieves. It starts with a song called War Lover. There is a mild frustration expressed by the Dragons of Zinthes. in this great Us v. Them book, on the topic of whether the Dragons of Zinth song,

War Lover, helped inspire the TV on the radio song, I Was a Lover, or the other way around, or neither, or somehow both. It doesn't matter a whole lot, I don't think. But let's say this. There were tons of wild, new, awesome rock bands roaming the Brooklyn countryside, starting in this decade. And unfortunately, most of those bands didn't become superstar. But thankfully, TV on the radio did.

On Return to Cookie Mountain, the band have added two more crucial members, Jaliel Bunton on drums primarily, for now, and Gerard Smith playing a lot of different stuff, including bass. Everybody's playing a lot of stuff all the time. Return to Cookie Mountain is a remarkably critically acclaimed album. It finishes second in the 2006-year-end village voice Pazzenjop critics, beaten out only by Bob Dylan's Modern Times. And I love Cookie Mountain, too, but primarily I love this record on a super micro level.

When I put this record on now, I'm not waiting to hear individual songs, so much as I'm waiting for individual moments of dissonance and distortion and fear and ecstasy. Here's a song called Providence, and David Bowie sings Back Up on this song, The David Bowie has joined the Apocalyptic Choir, and yet my favorite part of province is still the octave-leaping piano riff, hammering away beneath the choir. Elsewhere, on return to Cookie Mountain, speaking as a young hot-hit rock critic and future superstar blogger,

I feel qualified to say that there is metric tons of, cool weird drum shit happening here. Like so. That song is called A Method you know. That song is called A Method, and I get that loop stuck in my head once a week or so. Do do, do, do, do do do do do do do do. If you want cool drum shit with more handclaps

in a dizzying sort of surround sound feel and also a rad, menacing dub reggae bassline, I recommend a song called Let the Devil In. And it's not that these aren't great full songs, but I hear return to Cookie Mountain primarily as a deep listening headphone record, as a scruffy super producer record, as a barrage of exquisite details. The parts matter far more than the whole. This is not an album that requires or is even designed to accommodate anything so gauche and retro as a hit song. There is, however, one notable exception, and that is the song called Wolf Like Me. Speaking of one

notable exceptions, there is exactly one way in which I prefer the Cookie Mountain version, the recorded version of Wolf Like Me. And that's the intro, the rising tide of distortion and dissonance before that baseline kicks in. Wolf like me on record is life-changing on headphones for that moment alone. But not every life-changing on headphones band can kick ass live as well and kick ass on television as well. And that is why the kicking ass on television version of Wolf Like Me is super. to the record in every other way.

Please welcome TV on the radio. It is September 12th, 2006, and right off the rip, I really dig that TV on the radio do not start playing immediately after David Letterman says their name. Nobody's counting, of course, but yeah, six seconds elapse between when Dave says TV on the radio

and when the drums kick in and Wolf Like Me starts. The polite, TV audience applause almost fades entirely. Six seconds of relative inaction is a small eternity on television. And in 2006, you are very possibly still watching this on television in the dead of night. I imagine that if you're in a rock band, the bonkers adrenaline of this moment, you're on TV, you're on a letterman, your grandmother might see this, you've been sitting in a green room for hours in the middle

of the day just to play one song, the heightened circumstances might compel you to start rocking out at maximum velocity before Dave's even finished saying your band's name. Ladies and gentlemen, I imagine this happening, basically. Our next guests are a wonderful rock and roll band who's acclaimed debut CD is entitled Funeral. Please welcome Arcade Fire. That's Arcade Fire doing Rebell Parenthesis lies, close parenthesis, on Letterman a year earlier in 2005. You have never seen a French horn played more boisterously and indeed pornographically in your whole life.

You can't show that on TV. That's still rock and roll to me. Yes, I dig the immediate chaos approach to late-night performances as well. But no, TV on the radio waits six seconds before the chaos starts. And maybe that brief pause doesn't matter at all, but if Wolf like me on Letterman radicalized you, then every part of this performance means something, and suddenly nothing else does.

So here we have the once again expanded lineup that made the return to Cookie Mountain album. Tunday and Dave and Kip are now joined by Jaliel Bunton on drums, etc. And Gerard Smith on bass, etc. I dig the Gerard on bass here keeps his back to to the audience pretty much the whole time. We got some fascinating band dynamics happening. We got a gloriously combustible mix

of super introverts and super extroverts on stage. The distorted gnarly guitars are gonna kick in now. Hit the deck. Wolf like me on Letterman is magnificent blunt force trauma in the best and most retro-feeling way. 2006, we are in the Twilight, a really long past the Twilight, twilight of the random great band appears on your television era.

And perhaps this era ended because TV on the radio smashed all the way through your television and you never got around to replacing it. Given the blunt force trauma of this song, I'd never really focused on the lyrics before. And the last full line gets cut short there for dramatic purposes. But got a curse I cannot lift, shines when the sunset shifts, when the moon is round in full, got to bust that box, got to gut that fish, is a primo combination of F words. Notably, necessarily, Wolf Like Me is another song that does not have a bridge, but instead has a part of the song where the drummer gets to rest at least a little bit.

The drummer is not resting very much, is he? The drummer is jogging in place at a stoplight. And holy moly, there's an awful lot going on. even then. You got Dave thrashing even harder on guitar. You got Kip hitting an especially ferocious and ethereal vocal high note. And you got Tunday bellowing the words, feeding on fever, down on all fours, got to show me what all the howling is for. So hard, I'm genuinely impressed he didn't pass out. Not a prude band, TV on the radio. I love this moment in that book, meet me in the bathroom, where Jaliel Bunton, the TV on the radio drummer, primarily,

Jaliel complains that his band is inaccurately regarded as a prude band. Jaliel says, quote, when yeah, yeah, yeah is played, it was like a fucking party man, and when the strokes played, it was a fucking party. When we played, it was me and my girlfriend, love your band. It was a lot of that kind of vibe. Music for cats, music for couples. You know, if I had a nickel for every time some girl came up to me and said, my husband and I love your band, do you guys want to go get a coffee after?

It's like, what a rock fucking nightmare. Like, really, this is what I get? I'm on the poster and that's what I get. Coffee with you and your fucking husband? Man, give me a break. End quote. Yo, does this sound like music? for cats and or couples

to you? Does this sound like a band that wants to get coffee with you and your fucking husband? I love the closing chant of We Are Howling Forever here, in part because the we there is so elastic.

We could refer to Tunday and whoever he is addressing. We Are Howling Forever could refer to the band or to Williamsburg or to Brooklyn or to New York City, or to the whole country, or to the whole world. But on this particular evening, We Are Howling Forever certainly encompasses the entire David Letterman viewing audience,

and we certainly includes Dave himself, who is duly and sincerely impressed. Oh, that was great. TV on the radio, that's all you're looking for. Nice going. Our things in Brooklyn. How are Things in Brooklyn is both a very funny and an awesome, complicated question always. TV on the radio have made five full-length albums total. Their last record is called Seeds and it came out in 2014. It's been a while. The band still tours.

Bassist, et cetera, Gerard Smith, the relative introvert on Wolf Like Me, on Letterman. TV on the radio bassist Gerard Smith died of lung cancer on April 20th, 2011. He was 36. Gerard had left the band received treatment just a month or so beforehand. Also in April 2011, TV on the radio hooked up with David Letterman once again, playing an extended set for the web series Live on Letterman, a set that included a definitive and colossal and mournful and profoundly cathartic version of the song Young Liars. And there's our old friend, that old apocalyptic doo-wop riff. do do do do do now blown up and blown out enough that it sounds like both the beginning of and the end of the world and what else is there to say really but i'll take all of that you got we are so thrilled and honored to be joined by bartese strange the phenomenal and critically acclaimed singer and songwriter he's put out three incredible full-length albums the most recent is called horror his new e-preece is called Shy Barron's Get Nout. That is Welsh. I did the best I could. Bartis, thank you so much for being here.

Yeah, thanks for having me. I really appreciate it, Rob. Of course. You've talked so much in interviews about how inspiring it was to watch TV on the radio do Wolf Like Me on David Letterman. This is a famous performance. And I think you called it like a cheat code at one point for what you wanted to do musically yourself. Like, what is it about this one song, performed on this one stage that affects so many people. You know, for me, I grew up in a pretty, you know, white area in Oklahoma, southern Oklahoma, and I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life or anything, but I remember seeing them play on Letterman Live coming home from football practice,

and I was like, oh, I think that's like exactly what I want to be when I grow up, you know. And I fell in love with them, you know, Tune Day. like I've followed his career since then, you know, and I think he's like an amazing person and he's turning to like a good friend. So I'm a big fan of the band. I used to say I'm their biggest fan, but I've been to their shows and they have some extremely big fans. So yeah, I'm one of the many. Yeah. Big competition for that role, yes, but you're up there. Wolf like me feels like a different song to me, like the live version versus the record. Like when I listen to the Cookie Mountain version, it's like the headphone.

like the subtleties, like all the cool production things. On Letterman, it's like a punk rock song. It's just pure velocity. Like, for you, is this song more about the subtleties or the unsubtleties? Honestly, I mean, it's a sledgehammer. I mean, I think that's the point of the song. Like, the song just comes out and just beats you up. And I think it's just sick.

Like, you know, from first jump, it's just like, wake up, you know? Right. You know, say, say my playmate, won't you lay hands on me? You know, just like, what? You know, like, there's so much about this song. Like, from the first words, you're just like, what is he doing? You know, so, yeah, that's what grabbed me. And so when you say you watch this and you're like, this is what I want to do with my life,

like you wanted to do, you wanted to grab people. You wanted to write, create, sing, sledgehammers yourself, I guess. Well, I mean, I felt like what they did for me was they showed me a different way of living. You know, like they showed me like, yo, fuck everything. Like, honestly fuck everything. Like, just do you, do your thing. And I always kept coming back to that. I had a lot of chapters in my life.

And I was, I never liked any of them. You know, like I kind of just, I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do. And, you know, I had to shape shift and become all these different people. And then, but when it came to music, like, that was the only thing. thing I loved. And they kind of showed me like, you know, you always have this thing and you can always do this. And eventually that's what I ended up doing.

I said, fuck everything. And kept doing it. Yeah. So growing up in Oklahoma, I think you were living in D.C. for a while, all these different phases you're not enjoying. Like when you're reading or hearing a lot about Brooklyn, about Williamsburg, about this famous scene that TV on the radio. out of with the yeah, yeah, yeah, yes, and then the strokes and everybody else in Manhattan

and beyond. Like, how did you picture Brooklyn in your head? And when you actually moved to Brooklyn later, like, did it look or feel anything like what you had imagined? It was what I imagined. I mean, in a way, and in other ways it wasn't. Like, I lived in Brooklyn for about five years after I lived in D.C. And I moved there mainly because I, you know, I was kind of sick of the D.C. thing,

like the work thing, and I wanted to play music again. and I wanted to play a lot. And I had no trouble finding a million people to play with. And that was a gift. I felt like I went to music school, kind of, basically. But the thing that kind of blew me was it was like I saw freedom in a new way. Like, I met a lot of black people and brown people who just weren't afraid of anything. And we're living a life that I never really saw people that looked like me live where I lived.

in Oklahoma or like in the south, right? And so when I kind of got around that, I was like, wow, TV on the radio, like freedom, you know, like grabbing people, making people look at you even if they don't want to. It's like I felt like New York also, it kind of force feeds you experiences. You know, it's like no matter how much money you make,

everybody's gotta take the two train, you know? It's like we're all here. And so I feel like that really changed my musical perspective and my perspective on life. You know, it was like, it was an amazing experience for me. Yeah. So it was kind of what I hoped it would be and more. And sort of the story of TV on the radio is the arc of Brooklyn, you know,

like they get started in the early 2000s. It's just after 9-11. Like, nobody's paying any attention to Brooklyn, like, musically or really otherwise. And by the end of the decade, you know, they're playing McCarran pool parties, right? Like, there's the Brooklyn Rock Renaissance. Like, Brooklyn is a cultural idea.

become an entirely new thing from when they started. Like, did Brooklyn change dramatically for you during your time there? Hmm. Maybe. I mean, I feel like when I moved to Brooklyn, there's just so much music happening. I don't know. And I don't know what it's like now. I mean, I left like a year before COVID, basically.

And I remember, yeah. I mean, I was there in five years-ish. And then right before COVID, 2019, I moved back to D.C. And I remember going there, actually, right when my first EP came out to play at the Sultan Room. And it was like March 7th, like two days before they shut the city down. And I remember being like, oh, wow, it's the same. I miss this place. I love Brooklyn.

And I mean, I feel like, you know, obviously cost is always a thing in Brooklyn. Sure. You know, but I feel like I lived in Crown Heights. on like right off eastern parkway no stern and eastern parkway basically um and um you know it's a great neighborhood i love that neighborhood um i feel like gentrification has made its way down that street i feel like utica utica is probably a place where people are like happily moving to versus a place where i felt like people were like oh you live in utica interesting so things are obviously always changing in new york but i feel like new york will always kind of have

something special. And it's like the people that are from there, like, they're like nobody else on planet Earth. Yes, absolutely. You've done a beautiful cover of Wolf Like Me, you know, is that an intimidating song to cover? Like, was there an essence of the song you were trying to preserve? And then things you were definitely looking to change about the song. Like, was it intimidating to approach this song that sort of helps lead you on your path? Yeah. I mean, I didn't want to do it. I was like not, I didn't, I had no aspirations of ever covering a TV on the radio song out of like ultimate respect and like, you know, I'm just like they did it perfect.

But I think, you know, it was kind of the crew that was put together around the song that made it fun. I mean, on Gemile and Kara Jackson, you know, I was like, okay. And then, like, you know, it was for Transa, which I was like, okay, this is cool because, you know, something that I've always felt in that song is like wolf like me. And when I was a kid, I felt like people saw me as a beast or something less than human. And I don't know if that was ever the meaning behind why they wrote that song. But being a black person singing a song called Wolf Like Me, it means. made me feel connected to the sense of like otherness that sometimes put on me. And I felt like trans people definitely probably go through that too, where they get thrown

into this bucket of like other or monstrous or something not human. And I was like, cool. Okay. We got like a, we got a black woman. We've got me. We've got Jimmy who's trans. Like, let's try and make something that is like 3D. and like multi just like you know something that can feel like bigger than the song but in a completely

different context so yeah it was a fun challenge now that's really beautiful because as you say like it's a sledgehammer of a song but it's a sledgehammer lyrically as well and of course you doing a quieter version sort of emphasizes you know the words like what do you make of wolf like me lyrically and what strikes you about tv on the radio is lyrics in general. The thing that, like, I think stands out about this song and that I've always felt is, like, it's kind of, like, raunchy. Very.

And it's like, I don't know if I realize that until, like, when I was recording my version of the song, I was like, whoa, chill, chill, chill. This is like crazy town, like, charge me your day rate. I'll turn you out in kind. like when the moon is round and full of cheat you tricks that'll blow your mind like okay like tricking like are we talking about tricking and like we might be sex working

I mean I was like this is sick but it's also like so black you know I was like I was like these niggas like this is a fucking three six mafia song now you know like out of nowhere and that shit was so inspiring because I feel like in my rock songs I think a lot of people approach my music was like

oh it's like this indie rock kid I'm like bro Like my favorite artist is fucking future. Like I like March Madness. Like I like, you know, it's like I idolize these like figures in black music. And when I heard that, I was like, these people are coming from the same place. I'm coming from. And so anyways, I love their lyrics because they walk this line of like, we know white people are watching us. But if you're not, this is for you too.

There's like this layer that hits everybody, which is why I think they were so successful. Like, we were all there and connecting with each other, not even realizing that they had, like, tricked us into the room, you know? Right. No, absolutely. And even, like, the famous opening line of Cookie Mountain, I was a lover before this war. Like, that's become pretty famous. And you can, you can read that a bunch of different ways. Like, you can read it very politically.

Did they strike you as, like, a political or a topical band? Or is this another line that maybe has different meanings depending on who's hearing it? Oh, I think it has so many meanings based on who's hearing it. But that's what makes them political, I think. Right, right. Because I don't think that being political is necessarily being like, oh, wow, wow, like I'm the loudest person in the room, like making a stance. I think being political is being sly stone.

It's like, I can get all of you in a room together, no matter what you believe, and show you a new way to live your life. You know? And I feel like that's what TV on the radio accomplished so freaking beautifully with those kind of lyrics. Like, I was a lover before this war. Like, you could be like a Maga-Republican, a Bernie Sanders bro, a queer person. You're going to hear that line and you might, and you're all going to agree. Right. You know, like there's nothing more political than that, in my opinion. Totally. Yeah. I don't feel like people knew what to make of TV on the radio at first, like just musically.

Like, they're a rock band, but there's all these electronics, there's drum machines. They're doing like doo-wop, acapella, there's a lot of noise. Like, you've been so adventurous and unpredictable yourself.

Like, when you were starting out, was it important that you not let people pin you down to one sound or genre or thing? You know,

I don't know. I feel like TV on the radio definitely, like, knocked a door down so that I could exist, you know? But I never went into it

trying to, to not be contained, I went into it because I just wanted to be myself. You know, like in my mind, there's really no difference within the music I make. It's just music. Like, it's like, I don't think people listen to Prince Records and say, oh, my God, all the songs sound different. You know, it's Prince. They're just like, yeah, they're like, Prince, wow. You know, and that's kind of how I felt about TV on the radio.

Like, I was like, wow, these people really love music. and that's kind of always been my goal is to make music that brings people together because I love music, you know. So I appreciate that they did that so I can do it. And I don't think that people ever really fully understood them, you know. I think people feared them, loved them, idolized them. But I don't think the industry or the world really was ready for that. And they still aren't, I don't think. But I think that, like, it's a perfect band, you know, they're perfect.

It really is. And I love it vocally, too. Like, you went from not wanting to cover them at all. Like, you've also covered province, you know, another Cookie Mountain song. And that's a, I imagine a really hard song to sing. Like, I'm so struck always by just the vocals on TV on the radio, like all the a cappella stuff, just how high they're singing. Like, what did you make of them just as pure singers?

great singers great tone and a lot of range I feel like you know Tunday he's a rock star and I think that like between him and

oh my God Kip Malone yeah Kip has like crazy vocal range he does and it's also just so cool watching him do it because he's just like covered in hair and then it's like right it's a great it's a great visual image it is

yeah but i mean it's like just another example of them just doing things and you're like oh i didn't expect that to come out of people that look like this and it's like well why not like where do you think it came from yeah they they're like a great reminder of like so many like little musical schools that have passed through the american you know songbook and like they encapsulate so much of it and the vocals are like such a wonderful throwback to like junie morrison or like the ohio players and you know gap band and you know all these you know the the wildness and of like funkadelic with the synthesizers and all that shit you know and then it's like but with like the downhill running of radio head and you know silver sun pickups you know which is you know obviously coming from other

influences in the band you know so it's just like it's it's incredible like it's one thing to love all that music, but it's another thing to synthesize it and express it in so many ways. Right. And to something that sounds new, like even if you know all the component parts, you know,

what comes out does not sound like they're imitating any of those things. It's that they're taking all those things and coming up with something that you've never heard before, even if you've heard, you know, everything that went into them.

That's an amazing kind of thing. Yeah. Masters. Yes. And like the band's evolution, you know, they've made five incredible records over 20 plus years.

Like for you, is Cookie Mountain their best album? Is Wolf Like Me their best song? Like, what do you think of their arc overall? Yeah. I mean, personally, Cookie Mountain is my favorite record and Wolf Like Me is my favorite song. But there are so many

incredible songs. EPs. You know, like, I don't think you can go wrong anywhere you start. But if there was, if someone's like, oh, like, what should I start with with TV on the I'd be like, watch this Letterman performance and then listen to Return to Cooking Mountain. That's right.

From there, you can go anywhere you want. It gives so much context to that band. Yeah. You've done so many incredible covers. You know, you did a whole EP of covers of the National, of course, you know, another foundational Brooklyn band. Do you like the National and TV on the radio for any of the same reasons? Or are they two different entities entirely?

Is there more connective tissue between them for you, or are they pretty separate in your head? I actually love them for very different reasons. Hmm. Because the national, it's like, I feel like that is a band that against every odd would never give up. Like they were just like, no, we're going to do this. We don't care. Fuck everything. Right.

We're going, we're putting everything in. to it and we will never stop. Like, just like, relentless. Relentless pursuit. That's what I think of when I think of the national, which is this a lesson that I think that most musicians could learn a lot from. It's just like, especially now when things are so fraught and like to talk and like just bullshit.

Like music isn't the most important thing to the music anymore. Like this band like made music the most important thing. And their fans are so, so. deeply in love with them. And then when I think of like TV on the radio, it reminds me of just like, it's electricity in a bottle. It's like, this is something that everyone will want a piece of, and it blows up so quick before you even know you have it. It like dissipates in a way. And it's, but it's like everyone remembers the boom. You know, it's like when you talk to people about TV on the radio, it's like talking to someone about like Joe Montana and the 49ers or like,

remember Franco Harris and the Immaculate Reception, Pittsburgh Steelers? You know, it's like, remember when Michael Jordan came back and like da-da-da-da-da. Like that's how people talk about TV on the radio. Like we didn't know that we were watching the greatest band of all time. Right. I mean, and like they're back and like they sound fucking amazing. Yeah. But when I think about them, it's like there was this moment.

where anything it was like anything goes and they were the hardest going you know they owned it and like i feel like there's something to be said about that it's like for musicians now it's like sometimes the thing it's happening like right now and you have got to like take advantage of it right now because i don't think anyone did that better than tv on the radio only other band i'd say that did was like at the drive-in like i put them in like similar buckets it's like right now we might be seeing the greatest thing that has ever happened right now. There's a one-arm-s-sizzer performance that's that's sort of a twin to wolf like me. I forget if it's common or Letterman or whatever it is.

It's insane. It's also Letterman. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Okay. All right. Yes. That, oh my God, blew me apart.

Yes. You know, like blew me apart. And then the Future Islands Letterman performance. Of course. Those are like Mount Rushmore. That's a beautiful trio right there. Yes. The dancing man.

Oh, no. Peak weird. Peak weird. Amazing. Amazing. Yeah. Just to wrap up, you sort of mentioned, like, you've opened for TV on the radio. You've become friends with them.

I'm very glad to hear that, like, they're nice, right? Like, just seeing them up close, playing with them, like, hang out with them a little bit. Like, what have you learned about them being that close to them? Oh, man. It's something that I've learned when I hang out with, like, Aaron Dessner and the National and with Sam, from future islands. It's like you idolize these people and then you realize they're just like you. Right.

You know? And you're like, oh my God, I thought it was like a fucking weirdo my entire life. But I'm actually, I have a lot in common with these people that I've always idolized. And maybe there was a reason why I looked up to them, you know, like because there was something in them that I wanted in my life and that eventually became more a part of my life. And I mean, dude, like TV on the radio, they are the, well. chill, kind, generous, thoughtful fans of art and music and culture. And they fully understand that like the place they hold and they use it for good, which not everybody does.

Shout out to them. Those are the best of the best for sure. Bartiz, this has been so wonderful. Thank you so much for your time. This has been great. Yeah, my pleasure. Thanks for having me. Thanks so much to our guest this week, Bartiz Strange.

Thanks for our producers, Olivia Creary, Justin Sales, and Chris Sutton. Additional production by Kevin Pooler. Animations and graphics by Chris Callaton. Additional art by Matt James. Special thanks to Cole Kushna. And thanks so much to you for listening and watching. And now, let's all go listen to TV on the radios Wolf Like Me. We'll see you next week.