Fool's Gold are a ten-piece band from Los Angeles who draw heavy influence from West African pop music, and whose members come from American, Israeli, Brazilian, and Argentinean backgrounds. The brainchild of bassist/vocalist Luke Top and guitarist Lewis Pesacov (the latter of whom also plays in indie-pop outfit Foreign Born), Fool's Gold began jamming together in 2006, and released their debut self-titled LP in 2009.
Interview: 4 November 2009
Did you always have the idea of being a large, communal band?
"At the beginning there was no real firm idea of what we wanted. Lewis and I just wanted a musical place we could call home; somewhere where we could express ourselves, and filter out all these musical ideas we'd been having."
What kind of ideas?
"We both are big fans of international music, pop music, African music, new-wave. Lewis and I have been in bands our whole lives, sometimes together, that've run the gamut of different genres: Beach Boysy pop, guitar noise, shoegaze, surf-rock, country. So, I think we just wanted to let ourselves go free for a while. We both had a love for this music, and we decided 'why don't we just give it a shot, and let ourselves go?' We just supported each other from the start, and then our friends came along and saw that we were going somewhere with this. We just let our love of music filter through us into this new sound."
Did audiences respond really quickly to what you were doing?
"It depends what you mean. We were basically a local band for quite some time, and in that time we developed our sound and we developed our fans. Our earliest gigs were to very few people, but I think those few people always clicked with it, right from the very beginning. I don't think there was ever any question that something was going on, that people were connecting with the music. But it did take a while before it was more than a handful. We're certainly not an overnight success story. And there's still a lot of people we've never met."
Has the world-at-large been as supportive?
"Overall, I've been shocked. Who knew that this music that is so foreign and strange-sounding would be so supported? I feel like people are really opening up to us, and it's helping us to open up to them. I think it's become a great reciprocal relationship."
Have you been questioned by people in regards to so-called 'cultural authenticity'?
"Not really. People seem to latch onto the fact that everyone in this band is, themselves, very culturally diverse, so they accept that what we're expressing is natural. It's an honoring of music, not some sort of superficial cultural takeover. There hasn't been much backlash; I think people understand that there's that level of respect in our music. But, maybe some people really do hate us, and I just haven't come across them. I mean, have you?"
No, I think I've just read too many unfortunate 'virtuous defenders' criticizing Vampire Weekend for taking inspiration from African music. Which has the unfortunate implication that cultural exportation should only ever be from the first world down to the third world, never the other way around. Which is vaguely fascist; it's only natural that there's always a dialogue, this back-and-forth exchange.
"I think it's really important to understand that music is a conversation. People around the world, not just in Africa, have been influenced by American music, and have filtered this particular style through their own culture, their own world outlook, and, now, we're just picking it back up from there. There's a tradition of exchanging ideas, and it's more transparent that people think. You pick up a Mahmoud Ahmed record, and you can hear James Brown. You listen to Tinariwen, and you can hear Jimi Hendrix. For some reason, I'm drawn to world music that is effected by American and British pop music. Like Korean pop music, or tropicália. Every country has its own part of the conversation. It's amazing to be inspired by a culture from worlds away, and then funneling that through your own reality. There's something really powerful and beautiful in that."
Where does your decision to sing in Hebrew fit into these ideas?
"When we started jamming, the number one rule we had was that we wouldn't restrict ourselves. We wanted there to be a place where we could throw out these out-of-left-field ideas. The more we did that, the more comfortable we became with pushing ourselves, and not questioning it, and not making a joke out of it. Because it is a strange thing: we're LA kids trying to make something truthful. And it takes some courage, and it takes some support. And the Hebrew aspect was an extension of that mindset: it just started pouring out of me, and it sounded right, and it fit the music, and it seemed to add this emotional layer to it that was kind of special-sounding."
Given your band is defined by its cultural plurality, was it important to have your own culture in there?
"Well, I really don't have a deep cultural or political or religious stake in singing in Hebrew. It's more personal and aesthetic. To be honest, I don't know why I'm so drawn to it. Maybe I do have some deeper yearning in me, maybe there is some cultural resonance there that is deeply subconscious. I definitely have had an identity problem, you could say, since I was a kid, moving from Israel to the US, and not feeling anchored to one particular culture. I just know that the singing-in-Hebrew is doing something to me, and it's doing something to the way I make music. I know it's changed me as a person, changed the way I think about music, changed the way I sing."
How has it changed you?
"It's funny: when I started doing this, I felt a kind of security blanket. I don't feel about it that way now, but, at the beginning, when I was singing at these shows, it helped me open myself up in ways that had been rather concealed before that. I felt this freedom! It's given me this personal freedom that I don't think I had before, a freedom that's only getting bigger as we go along. I never would've thought, three or four years ago, that I would be standing in front of a crowd and grunting and screaming. I've really opened up. The security blanket has turned into a full means of expression."
