I’m supposed to remind you of who these two gals are before we get into Part II of the interview. For Part I, I called them little girls who could be dead five different ways before they’re 21 but (I believed) all this self-immolation is just misdirected genius (my opinion)
Photos of Melissa (left) and Pumpkin by Keith Newell
I’m supposed to remind you of who these two gals are before we get into Part II of the interview. For Part I, I called them little girls who could be dead five different ways before they’re 21 but (I believed) all this self-immolation is just misdirected genius (my opinion) and (I proclaimed) I believe in art, and the girls promised they’d put up a short film and song on SBTVC by the time Part II came out, and I believed them.
Then you guys laid into them for being not crazy enough and “yaaaaaaaawn”, and Mel laid into me for I guess (I don’t really understand what she’s saying, maybe I got it wrong) exploiting them for being degenerates while I make all this money and fame. Pumpkin still wanted to do stuff, but Mel has the equipment, and nothing happened. My idealism has been dealt a blow.
When I was young and a mess, like any decent young person, I enjoyed all fights. But there wasn’t much of an internet back then. There wasn’t this anonymous crowd to gang-rape people’s worth so easily and instantly, like a giant phantom foot coming down on a nest of loud baby birds. People had to write letters and pay for the stamp to insult you back then, or else say it to your face. I got in fights and stuff. Well, I’d take a swing, miss, and run away. These girls didn’t get that chance. They just got crushed. What a shame.
PUMPKIN: Did I show you this knife? I got this off a sketchy Moroccan. I love me a sketchy Moroccan. Double edged. Isn’t it cool?
LISA: That’s beautiful. And you know how to twirl it.
PUMPKIN: Kind of. Enough so I don’t end up slipping and stabbing you. That would be bad. You’d disembowel me and make too much of a mess in Mel’s room.
LISA: Do you have any diagnoses besides panic disorder?
PUMPKIN: Um… well, agoraphobia. Fear of the market place. I also have PTSD. I’ve never really gotten a clear diagnosis. I have depression, they don’t know what kind. I never really lived at home since I was 13.
LISA: And you guys want to make music and film.
PUMPKIN: I always want to.
MELISSA: Adam Ant had bipolar disorder, Amy Winehouse. Everyone who makes significant art, even if they’re not straight out of the DSM, they have some kind of fuck-up.
LISA: You were supposed to film yesterday, but you went to Taco Bell instead. What happened?
PUMPKIN: I hadn’t eaten in four days. But I was more interested in laying down tracks anyway. I sang at the wrong octave because I was drinking wine. I should have been drinking coffee. I’m lactose intolerant, so milk coats my throat. Skim milk would do it just enough that I could sing that song at the right octave.
LISA: How do you know about octaves?
PUMPKIN: I’ve been in piano since I was four.
MELISSA: Pumpkin does not like punk.
PUMPKIN: Hate punk.
MELISSA: And I have the encyclopedia of punk.
PUMPKIN: I like country. Cunt tree.
MELISSA: I sang in church choirs and school chorus. And I was always making up crazy songs. These scene kids at school with swooshy hair and tight pants would always make their songs and be like, “Radiohead is the best band that was ever invented.” Thom York scares the fuck out of me, with that one eye. He’s like, “I’m a creep.” I’m like, “Yeah, you are!” The scene kids like record and engineer their stuff, and I offered to pay them fifty bucks to record me and Pumpkin, but I guess they were too busy shopping at Urban Outfitters and growing ironic mustaches.
PUMPKIN: If I go to Allston, they’re there.
MELISSA: Yes. And they love their house parties.
PUMPKIN: I went to one once. I was all about the Ecstasy, man. I was 14. And this guy Steve told me that because vodka was clear, it would rehydrate me. Then the cops came and broke it up.
MELISSA: This German girl Charlotte in Somerville, her roommates had a hipster party and then the cops showed up. This was me trying to be polite: I swallowed my vomit down at least five times. I was in her bed, and I thought, ‘If I stay still enough, they’ll think I’m her girlfriend and won’t kick me out.’ And it worked. Everyone made a big deal of how drunk I was, calling me Rummy. Being drunk is not the worst thing in the world. It’s actually probably one of the best things.
LISA: You guys need to make more movies with your time.
PUMPKIN: I can’t remember my lines.
LISA: Make avante garde films.
PUMPKIN: What does avante garde mean?
LISA: Means don’t need to remember your lines.
PUMPKIN: Someday I want to be a model, but I’m not skinny enough.
LISA: You’re too short to be a regular model, but you could be a–
PUMPKIN: I couldn’t be a full-figured model either, because I got double-A’s.
MELISSA: Fetish model.
LISA: No. The ones with the cherries and the cars…
LISA: I could see you in cherries and cars, happy.
PUMPKIN: I want to get down to 87 pounds. I pretty much live off coffee and the occasional carrot. We go through three pots of coffee a day. Pretty disgusting. And I can’t even clean that area up in a day… the coffee area. I get too dizzy.
PUMPKIN: You’re skinny. Do you eat?
LISA: Like a monkey. You get a disgusting body if you don’t eat… poofy stomach, fur.
MELISSA: I have this friend Cat, she goes by the name Catherine Cheeks because she has a really big ass. It’s not like she’s huge and her ass is huge. It’s just her ass. It’s perfect. Well, she’s half hispanic.
PUMPKIN: Just this half.
MELISSA: But Cat says it’s from butt sex with her boyfriend. You know the cliche you’re gonna break the headboard? Well, they BROKE the headboard. Had to take apart her bed. My tattoo says Little One or Tiny Thing in yiddish. Because I LOVE JEWS. Seriously.
PUMPKIN: Jews can’t get tattoos. My best friend Emma, she’s Jewish, and she got a tattoo: Librex, which means books or whatever. Now she can’t be buried in a Jewish grave. I love Jews. Jews are my favorite.
MELISSA: I love Jews, but this one time I was off my meds and I threw orange peels at my psychiatrist and I called her a psy-kike-atrist.