The Emancipation of Patrick Stump
When Fall Out Boy front man Patrick Stump hit the stage to perform songs from his new solo album "Soul Punk" in Toronto earlier this month, it was immediately clear an emancipation had taken place.
As his band stoked the audience with the horn intro from Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up," the 26-year-old bounded toward the mic in a black cape, a matching bowtie and fingerless leather gloves. For the next hour, the audience barely stopped moving, wailing and dancing while Stump's rhythm section played heavy and loud, as if rocking an arena instead of a half-full El Mocambo on a Monday night.
The day after the show, Stump hunkered down on the upper level of the Rivoli to talk about his transformation from emo wallflower to James Brown-possessed showman.
Though he can't pinpoint a precise moment, Stump says Fall Out Boy drifted into an indefinite hiatus after their last gig together for the Latin American MTV Video Music Awards in 2008. The primary reason was musical differences. In particular, Stump and bassist Pete Wentz's increasing interest in hip-hop was alienating lead guitarist Joe Trohman.
"We stopped really interacting as a band and started having our own agendas," he says. "Pete and I really met up on the hip-hop thing. I think it really irked Joe. I don't think that was something he really was comfortable with. To be fair, swapping positions, I would've been just as uncomfortable if he brought in more and more hard rock -- Guns N' Roses and Metallica-influenced stuff. That's not really what speaks to me."
So, they took a break. Last year, Wentz ventured into electro-pop with his Black Cards project and Stump tapped into his long-standing love of American R&B and recorded the EP "Truant Wave" and the full-length "Soul Punk," which is due out October 18.
Where did this soulful persona come from? It's always existed, he says, but it was buried beneath the uniform he used to distance himself from his band mates and the fans.
"People talk to me a lot about how I look different now. I lost a lot of weight. I don't wear the glasses. I don't wear the hat," he says. "I carved out this niche for myself as someone who was terrified of confrontation, of being judged. So I hid behind all these things."
"The biggest thing for me is [this side] has always been there, I just haven't ever embraced it," he continues. "I was talking to my mom and I played her the record and she was like, 'Patrick you finally sound like yourself.'"
Asked if he channeled any of those insecurities into his songwriting and he pauses. "Not necessarily consciously, but when I think about it, I think it's probably a theme within a lot of the stuff," he says.
For example, "Soul Punk" track "Allie" is about the romantic and sexual awkwardness he felt when he was younger. Other songs have more overt political messages. "Greed" and "Dance Miserable" zero in on the shallowness of materialism while "Run Dry (x heart x fingers)" and "I In Lie" are direct narratives about drinking and cheating, respectively, and could also be read as metaphors for America's culture of consumption.
"We're in a uniquely materialistic time and it's really very frustrating," he says. "I keep thinking of that Curtis Mayfield quote in 'Freddie's Dead:' 'No one's serious and it makes me furious.' It just keeps playing over in my head."
That anger is one of the reasons he teamed up with fellow Chicagoan Lupe Fiasco for the single "This City" -- that and his label suggested he do a remix with a rapper. It's a common label request and one that could've sounded utterly contrived if the two weren't friends that share strong political convictions.
"The label had their list and I had my list and at the top of both was Lupe Fiasco," he says. "He was willing to do it but also I think he was very happy to have someone tell him to say whatever he wanted to say. He's like, 'How far should I go?' I said I don't want the bumper sticker version. I want the Lupe Fiasco one-two punch."
When the record comes out this fall he plans on touring extensively. It's too early to speculate about the future of Fall Out Boy, but he has thought about how the two sides of his musical ego will get along.
"Ultimately, the person I was in Fall Out Boy is still a huge part of me," he says. "I'm the guy who takes the lead, but in Fall Out Boy Pete was very much the person, and I was very comfortable to defer to him even though I was the singer. That's how we worked. It'll probably be the same. I might look a little different but it'll probably be the same."
(source)
As his band stoked the audience with the horn intro from Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up," the 26-year-old bounded toward the mic in a black cape, a matching bowtie and fingerless leather gloves. For the next hour, the audience barely stopped moving, wailing and dancing while Stump's rhythm section played heavy and loud, as if rocking an arena instead of a half-full El Mocambo on a Monday night.
The day after the show, Stump hunkered down on the upper level of the Rivoli to talk about his transformation from emo wallflower to James Brown-possessed showman.
Though he can't pinpoint a precise moment, Stump says Fall Out Boy drifted into an indefinite hiatus after their last gig together for the Latin American MTV Video Music Awards in 2008. The primary reason was musical differences. In particular, Stump and bassist Pete Wentz's increasing interest in hip-hop was alienating lead guitarist Joe Trohman.
"We stopped really interacting as a band and started having our own agendas," he says. "Pete and I really met up on the hip-hop thing. I think it really irked Joe. I don't think that was something he really was comfortable with. To be fair, swapping positions, I would've been just as uncomfortable if he brought in more and more hard rock -- Guns N' Roses and Metallica-influenced stuff. That's not really what speaks to me."
So, they took a break. Last year, Wentz ventured into electro-pop with his Black Cards project and Stump tapped into his long-standing love of American R&B and recorded the EP "Truant Wave" and the full-length "Soul Punk," which is due out October 18.
Where did this soulful persona come from? It's always existed, he says, but it was buried beneath the uniform he used to distance himself from his band mates and the fans.
"People talk to me a lot about how I look different now. I lost a lot of weight. I don't wear the glasses. I don't wear the hat," he says. "I carved out this niche for myself as someone who was terrified of confrontation, of being judged. So I hid behind all these things."
"The biggest thing for me is [this side] has always been there, I just haven't ever embraced it," he continues. "I was talking to my mom and I played her the record and she was like, 'Patrick you finally sound like yourself.'"
Asked if he channeled any of those insecurities into his songwriting and he pauses. "Not necessarily consciously, but when I think about it, I think it's probably a theme within a lot of the stuff," he says.
For example, "Soul Punk" track "Allie" is about the romantic and sexual awkwardness he felt when he was younger. Other songs have more overt political messages. "Greed" and "Dance Miserable" zero in on the shallowness of materialism while "Run Dry (x heart x fingers)" and "I In Lie" are direct narratives about drinking and cheating, respectively, and could also be read as metaphors for America's culture of consumption.
"We're in a uniquely materialistic time and it's really very frustrating," he says. "I keep thinking of that Curtis Mayfield quote in 'Freddie's Dead:' 'No one's serious and it makes me furious.' It just keeps playing over in my head."
That anger is one of the reasons he teamed up with fellow Chicagoan Lupe Fiasco for the single "This City" -- that and his label suggested he do a remix with a rapper. It's a common label request and one that could've sounded utterly contrived if the two weren't friends that share strong political convictions.
"The label had their list and I had my list and at the top of both was Lupe Fiasco," he says. "He was willing to do it but also I think he was very happy to have someone tell him to say whatever he wanted to say. He's like, 'How far should I go?' I said I don't want the bumper sticker version. I want the Lupe Fiasco one-two punch."
When the record comes out this fall he plans on touring extensively. It's too early to speculate about the future of Fall Out Boy, but he has thought about how the two sides of his musical ego will get along.
"Ultimately, the person I was in Fall Out Boy is still a huge part of me," he says. "I'm the guy who takes the lead, but in Fall Out Boy Pete was very much the person, and I was very comfortable to defer to him even though I was the singer. That's how we worked. It'll probably be the same. I might look a little different but it'll probably be the same."
(source)