Tales of a Broken Bone
St. Paul and the Broken Bones co-founder and bassist Jesse Phillips talks Charles Bradley and never getting around to becoming a band director.
Jesse Phillips performs around the world as a Broken Bone, but he found his footing in a Birmingham, Alabama, concert venue.
The Bottletree Cafe looks like a Vietnamese restaurant these days because the defunct venue closed in 2015 and was remodeled into the Saigon Noodle House.
“I still have trigger points when I walk through the door,” Phillips told The Oklahoman. “It’s very different inside. There’s a soda machine where the stage used to be. It’s super surreal, man. It’s disorienting sometimes when I have tiny flashbacks.”
Long before Phillips met St. Paul and the Broken Bones lead singer Paul Janeway or he could imagine opening for the Rolling Stones with an eight-piece act, his favorite concert spot was just a place to belong. In 2012, Phillips was new in town. He was a music teacher, but his forte was performing live.
Eventually, St. Paul and the Broken Bones formed, and the band envisioned a day when they’d maybe be able to pull a couple hundred people to see their soul band at the Bottletree.
“That day came more quickly than we imagined,” Phillips said on the phone. “They were instrumental in helping us find our footing. Being a forgiving listening room to try material out early on. I’m sure some of those gigs were pretty messy, but we did some fun things.”
Like covering an entire Otis Redding record one night and coming back the next evening to cover Wilson Pickett with as many as four backup singers. By early 2013, they were playing there so often that they jokingly called themselves the Bottletree’s house band.
“By the end of it, we were selling it out,” Phillips said. “It’s a confidence booster when people start showing up prior to any big publicity. It was just word of mouth and people bringing their friends out.”
Today, Phillips gets Christmas cards from Otis Redding’s family. He says a lot of heavy hitters have gone out of their way to encourage St. Paul and Co.’s brand of retro soul. The band definitely borrows from the past. Just look at the suits and listen to the heartbroken ballads bursting with inviting hooks and horns.
Those comforting soul trademarks sorta made frontman Janeway question even following up 2013’s debut, “Halt the City.” Call it a sophomore scare.
Book it
Phillips often keeps late hours when he’s not touring with the Broken Bones. There’s an adjustment period where you have to get used to your bed not moving on a highway.
On a restless night trying to recover from touring, Phillips and Janeway were texting about the early mixes of what would become “Sea of Noise,” the bands second fulllength LP.
Janeway had read “Just Mercy” by the social activist Bryan Stevenson, and it made him question what he was doing with his life. He confided his uncertainty in Phillips. Was the band contributing anything good to humanity?
“The answer he eventually arrived at was yes. What we’re doing brings joyous positivity into the word,” Phillips said. “People come to our shows and smile for a majority of 90 minutes.”
But you can still hear that world-weariness in “Sea of Noise,” especially when Janeway focuses his lyricism on the impact of gun violence in America. The record doesn’t aim for answers. There’s mostly questions about personal exploration.
“He didn’t want to write albums full of songs that are stereotypical, heartbreak pop songs,”
Phillips said. “He wanted to do something more meaningful and weighty. I think he did a pretty good job lyrically and making it both listenable and poetic but also tackling a couple of issues and asking some real questions. I was really proud of him for the progress he made.”
Screaming Eagle of Soul
And there’s more new music on the horizon.
“I was actually just talking to Paul before you called and we were discussing plans for our next set of recordings,” Phillips said.
But at that moment, Phillips was more interested in some time off and finding a routine at home. Going to bed at a normal hour had become the equivalent of performing a headlining set.
“When you come home, it’s important to make a conscious effort to divorce yourself from (the band) a little bit,” he said.
So I figured it’d be worth talking about another musician. Singer Charles Bradley passed away a few days before our interview, and I wondered if the like-minded Screaming Eagle of Soul had crossed paths with the Broken Bones crew. A couple of summers back, the bands shared a stage in New York City and jumped on the same European music festival circuit.
One morning, both bands had to be up at 4 a.m. for an early call time after a late-night performance. Bradley and the Broken Bones made it into the hotel lobby.
“I felt super busted because of the short turnaround,” Phillips said. “I remember coming downstairs and Charles was there. He was in his 60s. He was feeling pretty rough, but he was kind enough to say hello. Being up that early always sucks, especially when you’re used to rock ‘n’ roll hours. You’re just grumpy and tired.”
Bradley’s good attitude was contagious, Phillips said.
“He was an inspiration. An infinite well of positivity and light,” Phillips said. “I never saw him say an ugly word or be grouchy to anyone. He probably would’ve liked to have been left alone, but he always took time for people.
“Being nice to people, sharing even just a little bit of your time, can go such a long way. People will remember you and be loyal. All you gotta do is say hello and say you appreciate them.”
Oklahoma, you’ve got two chances to say hi this weekend.