When did you write your first song, and what prompted it? I think my first real song was called "Psychopath." I wrote it when I was into punk rock in the early '80s. I was just trying to write a stupid song that sounded like Fear or the Adolescents: "I am a psychopath! I'm fucking weird! Better stay away, man!" It sounded a little like Flipper, too. I was probably fourteen.

What records do you love that no one would expect? I like Rush, and I have an appreciation for early Def Leppard before they became an arena band. I like classical music, too, Bach and Beethoven and Chopin and Wagner. People probably don't expect me to like that stuff.

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What's the most you've ever paid for a record? I was close to paying 250 pounds for a record, but it wasn't available. It was this band named Bran. I wasn't even sure they were that good. It was sort of this eBay thing, or like going to a sale at a fancy clothing store, where you buy something that you don't really want but it's on sale. I still don't think I've paid $100 yet for a record on eBay. I would have no problem paying $50 or lower for anything I want. Sometimes when you're really bored, you're doing your email and then you go to eBay and look at psych-folk records, and go, "Hmmm, it's going for that much?" I can get sucked into that, but I'll do it for a week and then I won't go back for a month.

Let's talk about the record. It's looser than anything you've done, even more so than Terror Twilight. Was that something you went into the studio with the idea to do? Yeah. I think, as a band, we were into that kind of music, the stuff we've been playing on CDs at my house — not really new stuff, but it's new because you've never heard it before: reissues of obscure bands like High Tide and the Groundhogs. They don't really sound like the Beatles and the Stones — maybe a little like Led Zeppelin.

I wanted to break the record up to have more long guitar passages and not as much singing, but I knew it needed a few short, straight-ahead songs so it wouldn't get too self-indulgent. We had some kind of new wave-y songs, too, that we decided to drop in the end because it was sort of, "This is kinda '80s." I tried different tunings, and it became a little more English-folky — scales that people aren't really using. The worry is that you don't want to sound totally retro, even if you like those things.

Like, say, the Black Crowes or something? Yeah. They're a pretty good band — I really like their second album. But we didn't want to be like, "We're into the '60s. This is really Sgt. Pepper's-y, and here's the psychedelic part with the harpsichords."

Has living in the Pacific Northwest seeped into what you're doing? I lived up there for awhile, and it's pretty strong Deadhead country. There's a lot of that. In the summer, you see kids in vans eating yogurt and sharing a Fruitopia beverage, something semi-organic. The kids don't really know about organic food; they only know mainstream products, but they're seventeen, and they've got no money. I haven't seen as much as you might think. With Phish, you can't even tell who's who; they could be Deadheads or they could be bankers.

I do like the early Grateful Dead, though — the first three or four records, and [live] tapes from that time. I've never really figured out the guitar playing style, how to use that. We have that idea. But we're a total Portland band, which is a good thing. Every rehearsal has been in Portland. We try to have this really organic feel, to steer it toward the kind of woodsy pine scent of that town. We want to be communal about the feel — and about venereal diseases.

So have you ever had a venereal disease? No.

What do you dislike about your own records? My voice droning on and on for forty-five minutes. It gets to be a bit much. So I try to mix it up; that's why I'm having more guitar passages [on Pig Lib]. Usually, I can just come back again: "Look, there he is again, blah-blah-blah." I don't want to be an instrumental band. I could have somebody else sing them, but it's hard for someone else to sing my songs.

What three things would you say you're a perpetual sucker for? Great legs, ice cream, and vacations.

In 1995, you wrote a piece about Eddie Vedder for a book called Idle Worship. Did you ever get any feedback from the band on that? He borrowed a guitar from me when we played the Tibetan Freedom Concert in New York City [in 1997], but he didn't say anything about it. He played at All Tomorrow's Parties on the same bill as us last year [in Los Angeles], too; he played solo acoustic, and he did a great job. Maybe he's avoiding me. I took a kind of ironic voice in Idle Worship, which made it sort of safe: it was kind of a joke.

Do you ever find yourself doing that in your songs as well? Like "Range Life," from Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain (1994), where you're making fun of the Smashing Pumpkins? Yeah, that kind of thing. I don't have any kind of personal animus toward the Smashing Pumpkins; I thought they were an average rock band, but they weren't keeping me awake at night. I just felt the need to shoot myself in the foot and just be a little provocative.

What did you get your family for Christmas? I gave my sister the Norah Jones album. I got my mom these French plates that she really wanted that were really nice, and some mountain-wear socks. I got my dad a case of wine from Washington and Oregon vineyards; he's not insanely into that, but he likes it. I also got my mom the Annie Proulx book because I read a review of it and thought she might like that.

How about your girlfriend? I don't have one, officially, right now, but I got my ex these table settings, made in San Juan Capistrano, for her house. She got me a cookbook called How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman; it's a really good cookbook.

Was it a bad breakup, or amicable? It's never that great, but it was amicable. It was pretty sad. Definitely don't want to go into detail about it.