Barrett's dressed in a variation on the signature ska-revivalist uniform -- thin tie, thin-lapeled jacket, yellow pinstriped shirt -- and his craving for smokes seems like just about the only thing he's got to be bummed about right now. (Well, romance, too, but you'll hear about that on the album.) Things are aces for the Bosstones. Barrett and his seven compadres are more popular than ever, and will tour California and Hawaii this fall. They'll finish their album in a commercial environment that's the healthiest it's ever been for Barrett's other addictions -- ska and punk rock.
"I never thought this would happen, although I thought it should," he says about the industry's swing toward promoting rawer music. "I remember when I used to go to Bim Skala Bim shows in 1985 and think, `The whole world should know about this!' I couldn't imagine anyone with a voice like [Green Day's] Billie Joe's -- and his voice is way better than mine -- ever getting on the radio. Hey, if the radio's force-feeding us something right now, at least it tastes good. It's a lot easier than when they were force-feeding us Ratt and Mötley Crüe."
Inside Ft. Apache's control room on this late August afternoon, producers Sean Slade and Paul Kolderie -- dressed atypically in Bosstones-style jackets and ties -- are firing up a tape of sharp-as-scalpels rough mixes of some of the 17 songs the Bosstones have been recording since the beginning of summer. There's "Royal Oil," an anti-drug ditty; "That Bug," a natty rocker with plenty of the Bosstones trademark growl and humor; "Rascal," which Boston-booster Dickie explains is about Beantown's notorious mayoral legend James Michael Curley; and "The Impression That I Get," a heartfelt song imagining the impact of losing a loved one in a horrid, unexpected way.
The latter, appropriately, will appear on the Safe & Sound CD, which will come out on the Bosstones' Big Rig label (distributed via the label they're signed to, Mercury) on October 23. Safe & Sound is a benefit prompted by the murders at two Brookline women's health clinics last year, geared to raise money for women's-safety education.
What these songs all have in common is a fresh musical approach for the Bosstones that puts their emphasis on Dickie's singing -- not toasting, not boasting, not gravel-throated gargling, but outright singing. He just about croons "The Impression That I Get."
"I know, I know, I know," he says, practically flustered. "I'm singing on this record, and I'm self-conscious about it. I don't think I am a great singer; `vocalist' is maybe a better word. I think I write very well, and the sentiment of the Bosstones' lyrics require whatever it is I do. I mean, I've sung on our other records; it's buried in there. But this is different."
Such overt vocal melody lines put the Bosstones' catchy rhymes in a new context: possible hits. But Barrett explains that this isn't a conscious attempt to win more fans or sell more records -- the proverbial "sellout" that would betray the band's well-known punk aesthetic.
"We've explored hard guitars, we've explored catchy horn lines. Have we properly explored melodies and harmonies and things like that before?" Barrett quizzes in his buzzy nicotine-stained voice. "No. So that's what we're doing with this album. And we're doing it because it sounds good to us, and because our work -- which is doing the best Bosstones songs we can in the best way we can possibly do them -- is never done.
"It's not like somebody from the record company came to me and said, `Hey, if you want your records to sell more copies or to get more radio airplay, start singin', kid.' If they did, I'd do the opposite anyway -- 'cause that's the way we are.
"Besides," he continues, "we want as many people to come to the party as possible. It's not like we're a big snob club. And you can see that at our shows now; the high-school football teams will be rocking out with the biggest punk rockers you've ever seen. And that's fine with me."