By the time Art Alexakis finally got around to playing the Whisky a Go Go, it had been 45 years of "doing bad things backstage" and precisely zero shows on its stage. “I grew up in L.A.,” he says, incredulously. “Been to the Whisky hundreds of times. Played hot rod rallies and flower shows. But the Whisky? Never.” Of course, when he finally did, he recorded the whole thing, slapped it onto wax, and called it Live at the Whisky a Go Go, a live record that doesn’t just feel like a victory lap — it feels like Everclear might be quietly running the damn race again.
“A live album can just be a stopgap,” he admits. “But this one? I’ve already listened to it a dozen times. That’s not ego. That’s just truth.”
There’s a roughness to the record that feels intentional. “It’s a little sloppy,” Alexakis says proudly. “Not Pro Tool-ed and auto-tuned beyond recognition. There’s some not-perfect notes in there. It sounds like a rock band.”
That rock band is still largely anchored in its golden decade — the setlist reads like a tribute to the first ten years of Everclear — but that’s not to say Alexakis is stuck in the past. He’s just more interested in one-offs these days. “I’ve done 11 albums with Everclear, two with one band before that, and one with the band before that,” he says. “I’m done. Doesn’t mean I’m not writing. We’ll put out a song or two every year. Maybe an EP. Maybe a cover. A couple of new songs — that sounds fun to me. A full album? That sounds like ten root canals.”
And yet, for a guy who won’t make albums, he sure seems to be living inside one long concept record. “Some of my favorite writers — Whitman, Kerouac — they call back to their own lines,” he says. “I feel like I’ve got a license to plagiarize myself.”
If Everclear lyrics live in a shared universe, Fire Maple Song is the origin story. “That’s where we get ‘Now I can’t smile,’” Alexakis points out. “That’s where we meet summer, and later on, the fall. Local God. Everything to Everyone. The stupid dance. It’s all connected.”
That doesn’t mean there’s no future. There’s talk of an EP. Maybe a remastered Sparkle and Fade for its 30th. Maybe even a few unreleased live tracks sitting in Capitol’s vaults — if they ever let him near them. “Would I make any money off it? No. But it’d be cool.”
He might not be recording full albums, but he’s still writing songs — or rather, visiting the same emotional time zones he’s always haunted. “When I write Father of Mine or Wonderful, I put myself back there. Because I still am there,” he says. “Those childhood traumas freeze you in place. You grow up, sure. But the eight-year-old? He’s unresolved.”
Even his daughter, who stars in the video for “Sing Away,” is starting to catch the bug. “She’s into musicals, which I hate. But she’s good. She nailed her monologue for Mean Girls. She’s trying out for Karen. You know, the dumb blonde.” He beams like a dad who still can’t believe he’s here — especially after everything he’s lived through. “My damage, my adversity — that was the fire in my belly. ‘F--- you, world. Here I come.’ I don’t rely on that as much now. It scares people.”
Still, there’s no denying the man’s impact. “Tens of thousands of people have told me Father of Mine was their story,” he says. “And I’m like, ‘No it’s not. But yeah, it is.’”
One song in particular — Local God, originally written for Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet soundtrack — holds a special place in his heart. “I was in Macy’s in New York. Drum and bass was on the speakers. I thought, what if I made that, but rock? So I did. Nellee Hooper hated it. Baz Luhrmann loved it. Guess who won?”
That one soundtrack song ended up earning them more royalties than Sparkle and Fade. “We made three times as much off Local God. One song. Soundtracks, man. Lawyers can be your friends. Sometimes.”
And then there’s Nervous and Weird, still in the setlist, still a favorite. “Swagger. That’s what that song has. I was coming off drugs. Anxiety attacks. Electricity in my soul. But that riff? That groove? It swings. That’s rock and roll. Gut, balls, and heart. Very little brain.”
In the end, that’s what Everclear still is. Not nostalgia. Not denial. Just the truth, raw and unfussed. As Alexakis puts it: “I’m a spiritual punk rocker. Not a hippie. But I believe in energy. Sometimes, you just have to put something out into the universe — and wait for it to come back.”
Watch the interview above and then check out the video below.
