It's Not Easy Being Green

FIRST IMPRESSIONS: "I wouldn't start a concert with that song," says Green of the bawdy "No Legs." "I think people need to understand a little bit more about where I'm coming from before they hear it."

Getting to the pit of a Moldy Peach.

by John Vettese

Adam Green doesn’t feel much like joking around today. This is a minor shock coming from a kid who, as part of N.Y.C.’s lovably loutish folk-punk troupe, The Moldy Peaches, kicked out such popular jams as "Who’s Got the Crack" and "Downloading Porn With Davo." A kid who, on his current solo album, Friends of Mine (Rough Trade), croons crude lyrical non sequiturs like "I don’t go out for brunch/ and I don’t go out for cunts/ and I don’t go out for months/ without my Barnes & Noble’s credit card."

Maybe it’s because he and his four-piece band just arrived in chilly Toronto on day two of a trek across northeast North America. Or because the cordless hotel phone he’s using has a frustrating penchant for dissolving into waves of static.

Whatever the cause, Green shows little trace of the smart aleck who likes singing about bodily functions, video games and incest. Today the 22-year-old troubadour is talking money and string sections.

"I thought about having a string quartet on my records in the past, but I never ever dreamed of actualizing it," Green says. "I guess things just changed with my preference for the kind of music I wanted to make, and also with the budgets."

It’s true, folks. Last summer’s Friends of Mine is Green’s first departure from DIY eight-track recording and first foray into a proper studio. So long to the clipped treble end and static hiss that trademarked the Peaches’ defiantly lo-fi albums (as well as Green’s 2002 debut, Garfield) and hello to violin, viola and cello arrangements by Jane Scarpantoni, a rock classicist whose résumé includes work with Kristin Hersh, Lou Reed and Bruce Springsteen.

The change came about because of increased support from Rough Trade. It gave Green a taste of the business end of professional musicianship.

"I never even had a budget for anything else I did, it was all homemade," he says. "For this record I was in a position to [create one]. I put a string quartet in there and my label approved it so I got to make a more elaborate album."

Green takes great pride in the scoring Scarpantoni put together with his bassist, Steven Mertins (also a former Moldy Peach), and justifiably so. Remove the caustic words from the mix and you’re left with a delightfully charming chamber-pop romp of Belle and Sebastian proportions.

Occasionally, even the words have their own charm. Currently a staple on MTV2, "Jessica" takes a few well-deserved jabs at a starlet of MTV proper.

"Jessica Simpson, where has your love gone/ it’s not in your music," Green deadpans like Lou Reed. "You’ve got it all wrong./ Your fraudulent smile, the way that you faked it the day that you died."

It seems to mock the diva’s superficiality -- he wrote it in 2002, well before Simpson’s fame achieved new heights with Newlyweds -- but a stately romantic melody almost makes it an endearing attempt to woo her away from hubby Nick Lachey. (Green says he has yet to receive any backlash from Simpson’s camp, but notes the video was the subject of an MTV News blurb hinting that the couple was less than happy with it.)

Equally elegant melodies proliferate throughout Friends. It’s a style of songwriting Green has gradually adjusted to since The Moldy Peaches went on indefinite hiatus in 2002. He says he tinkers with his material on a weekly basis, and his tour schedule accustomed him to writing in all manner of locations -- waiting for the subway, sitting in a coffee shop, even flying on an airplane. This flexibility is achieved through what is probably the biggest change in Green’s modus operandi: He no longer writes his songs on guitar.

"I haven’t in a few years," he says. "I just sort of sing them into a tape recorder when I’m walking around and figure out what the chords are later. It freed me up a lot."

Indeed, since a tune that pops into his head mid-transit or mid-meal can now be caught immediately, it’s easier to bridge the gap between tradeoff duets and singular vocal lines.

But on some songs, there’s no grandiose melody that can soften the harsh lyrics. Check out the opening verse to the ultra-bawdy "No Legs": "There’s no wrong way to fuck a girl with no legs/ just tell her you love her as she’s crawling away./ There’s no wrong way to fuck a bitch with no faith/ now you’ll never be sad again."

"Well, I wouldn’t start a concert with that song," he says in defense of his brashness. "I think people need to understand a little bit more about where I’m coming from before they hear it. They need to understand the nature of the songs -- that they, um, skip around a lot."

Green says it’s a rare thing that his lyrics ever catch concertgoers off-guard and create an ugly scene. Not a surprise if you’re talking about his headlining tours; somebody paying 10 bucks to see this guy knows what they’re in for. But what about his supporting jaunts, like when he did Europe with the Tindersticks in the fall?

Amusingly, the first thing that jumps to his mind is a gig opening for Ben Kweller at The TLA. It was a droll scene from the crowd that April night; Green stood confident onstage with an acoustic guitar playing over rumbling conversation from the bar (something he doesn’t miss at all now that he has the budget to take a band on the road), but one fellow on the floor didn’t seem to dig his style. He hollered out at every turn until, finally, Green interrupted a song and yelled, "I thought I told you to go choke on a dick!" to appreciative applause.

"No one’s ever done anything really crazy, though," he says.

Asked how he might react if that day were to come, Green maintains a staid composure and declines to hypothesize.

"I’ll have to see what happens," he says simply. "I’ll have to see what I do."

Adam Green plays Fri., Jan. 30, 9 p.m., $10, with Rifle Choir, Palomar and The A-Sides, The Khyber, 56 S. Second St., 215-238-5888.