It’s a drizzly Friday night, April 16, and Exene Cervenka–singer for L.A. punk icons X, solo performer, artist, and poet–is playing an acoustic set at the Queen Anne Easy Street Records to an excited crowd.

The store aisles are jammed with everyone from eight-year-olds to AARP-eligible warhorse punks, and they all devour Cervenka’s mostly new material from her first solo record proper in sixteen years, Somewhere Gone. She sings her songs in a plaintive voice that sounds like an Appalachian mountain woman, and provides ragged-but-right accompaniment to herself on acoustic guitar. With her music and offhandedly humorous between-song anecdotes bolstered by the genial vibe (and the smuggled-in cans of Rainier circulating amongst audience members), one of punk rock’s most influential and enduring figures has the whole room eating out of her hand.

Cervenka finishes her set and begins meeting, greeting, and signing autographs for fans. Much love is thrown her way, and she seems to genuinely cherish and appreciate it. She’s done this free in-store for them on her dime, and she’ll continue touring independent record stores in the same gypsy fashion for the next several days to promote National Record Store Day and independent music merchants in general. The phrase “changed my life” is uttered more than once by people in the line, and I find out from Cervenka’s assistant Andrea that one admirer–a tall, sleepy-eyed guy in a baseball cap–plans on having the singer design a tattoo for him.

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I bump into Exene’s human canvas near the doorway as he smokes a cigarette outside. He’s stoked, he tells me, despite the fact that he’s nursing four broken ribs and has yet to feel the morphine intended to block his pain. “Saved damn near my whole arm for this,” he says as he hooks one hand underneath his T-shirt sleeve to show me the bare space intended for the body art. “I’m gonna get Rick Nielsen and Bun E. Carlos to do the other arm,” he adds, beaming.

Once the crowd drifts away Exene pulls out paper and a Sharpie and begins sketching an elaborate pattern that looks like punked-up Maori adornment. She hands the drawing to her fan/tattoo canvas upon completion and imparts pointers on how to have the tattoo artist finish the work. Then she emerges from behind the counter. We can do the interview in the back, she tells me as we head to the store’s rear and past the “Employees Only” door.

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Clad in black except for a well-worn fringe jacket and lace apron, she trots ahead of me and looks back once or twice as I lag behind. That singular, nigh-iconic streaked mop of hair, her vermillion lips, and that wonderful wardrobe make her look like some country-punk Lewis Carroll character as we pass walls of overstock, odd promo posters, and amps. I noticer her acoustic guitar case sitting amidst the clutter, adorned with a sprig of yellow flowers, when she gestures towards the small doorway to the Den at the back of the store. I know it’s the Den, because there’s a sign with red letters saying so.

One small lamp lights the room faintly; white Christmas lights form a scattershot constellation of illumination in the corner. Several different shaped-and-sized Elvis Costellos stare from behind Cervenka as she sits on a folding chair and offers me something to drink from a nearby Coleman cooler. Then she grabs a few M&Ms from a dish to her left, offering me some of those as well.

The evening’s already felt a little surreal, what with audience members passing around beers during the set, prepubescent kids packing the front of the makeshift stage, and the sight of Cervenka drawing patterns for a morphined-up fan’s arm tattoo: Sitting in this odd little room (which looks like the interior of an extra-cool kid’s clubhouse), drinking bottled water and eating M&Ms with Exene Cervenka officially pushes the surrealism meter off the chart. “Thanks for waiting for me,” she says between sips of Red Bull as I haul out my ancient tape recorder and we begin.

Exene Cervenka is, I quickly discover, not full of shit. She answers all of my questions with unvarnished honesty and refreshing directness, without ever coming off as off-putting or pompous. She’s followed her muse–be it punk rock, art, spoken-word recordings, or roots music–to the hilt over the years, so she’s one of those dream subjects; ready and eager to talk about her present and future, but confident (and patient) enough to acknowledge and discuss her storied past.

I was wondering why it’s taken so long–it’s been sixteen years, I think–since you cut a solo record…

Well, I did two solo records in the early nineties, then I had a band called Auntie Christ; then I had the band Original Sinners, so I’ve done five albums since then; a spoken word record, a couple of books and a bunch of art shows, toured with X and the Knitters all during that time. So, yeah, I did solo stuff, but this is the first folky kind of solo record I’ve done in a long time.

The production on Somewhere Gone is really spare and stripped down, but within those boundaries it’s a varied and versatile record. “Surface of the Sun” almost sounds like a lost Beatles ballad, there’s some boogie-woogie piano on “Walk Me Across the Night.”

Yeah, Joe Terry–the best piano player in the country.

…But there’s a lot of variety there.

Yeah, there are a lot of different elements. I brought in people that I liked to play on it, that I knew would be–stylistically–really interesting; and that wouldn’t have to be told what to play, they’d just know what to play.

How did you get involved with Record Store Day, and this tour in general?

Well, I just decided after my last tour that it would be a really great idea if you just play record stores, and not play clubs. …People’s money is really tight; and then you add babysitting, parking. and drinks to that, and it’s 11:00 at night, and most people have to be at work the next morning. I have an audience that ranges from twelve to fifty years old, you know? I don’t…have an audience of just 25-year olds that want to go out at night and party until three in the morning. I wanted kids to be able to come. And I wanted to help record stores to some extent. As a venue, why not just do a show there? So it just made sense for me, because it’s easy to do. It’s fun. So everybody wins, as for as I’m concerned.

X was one of the few bands from the LA punk scene that really had the versatility to branch off and do things differently. You were really key in the development of the whole alt-country/roots movement. Did that evolution in sound arise out of frustration with the one-note nature of much of the music that came out of that movement?

No, not really. When we started out, my musical background was listening to the radio as a kid in the fifties and sixties. John, DJ, and Billy all had trained musical backgrounds, and–ever since they were young–they were all very talented musicians; they listened to every kind of music. So when I started playing with Billy [Zoom, X guitarist] and John [Doe, X bass player/co-lead singer] before we found DJ [Bonebrake, X’s drummer], they were doing Carl Perkins songs in the garage. And that was kind of unheard of in the late seventies. That [style of] music was considered pretty dead. So American roots music was always something that X played. John taught me how to sing by pulling out an acoustic guitar, and we’d sing Hank Williams songs. That’s how he was trying to teach me how to sing.

How do you feel you’ve progressed lyrically over the years? X was never your stereotypical angry young punk band–there was always a lot more nuance in your lyrics–but a lot of your new work is basically love songs.

Well, that’s what I always wrote. A lot of my songs that I wrote the lyrics for were love songs, except for “I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts,” “New World”…those lyrics were more political. I have some political songs, but right now I’m focusing on love. Emotional landscapes interest me, and those are the songs that first compelled me when I was five years old; the love songs. They were all love songs–Ray Charles, the Shangri-Las, Johnny Cash…all love songs. That’s what I grew up listening to, and that’s what made the biggest impact on me and still does.

Tell me a little about your relationship with Bloodshot Records. They’re very akin spiritually to the vibe you’ve always been on.

That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a record label being accused of spirituality–they’re usually considered heartless bastards that everyone hates [laughs]. But not in the case of Bloodshot. Spirituality, indeed. They asked me to do a record, and I was thrilled to death, because I love Bloodshot Records, and they’ve been nothing but good to me. They really have worked hard. Everyone who works there is smart, intuitive, caring. I’ve done a couple of South-by-Southwests since I’ve been on Bloodshot. They just work their asses off to get this music out. They really believe in what they’re doing, and they’re awesome. Best label I’ve ever been on.

What are you listening to right now?

Mostly, I’m listening to a lot of girl-group music; a lot of reggae girl music. A little bit of Albert Ammons, Meade Lux Lewis. I’ve been listening to some Leadbelly…. What else? A lot of jazz. As usual, a lot of stuff from the past. I don’t listen to new music at all. Every once in awhile someone’ll turn me on to something new, and it’s OK–I like it. But I still go back to Ray Price, and Roger Miller. It’s just the way I am.

Any dream collaborations for you–artists that you’d like to work with?

I’d like to work with so many people–you have no idea. You know who I’d really like to work with on a record? Moby. I would love to have him produce a record of mine. I like PJ Harvey a lot. I like Bjork a lot.

There are some people I’ve gotten to work with that I’m really excited about. I’m gonna do a show in New York at the Lincoln Center, with Yo La Tengo as the backup band, singing songs with the Blind Boys of Alabama. It’s a tribute to them. It’s a gospel, spiritual event. I’ve already picked out the songs, and they’re going to sing at least one song as my backup vocal group…

How close-knit were things back in the halcyon days of the L.A. scene? Did you forge a lot of friendships among the other bands, and did you maintain them?

Absolutely. I see people occasionally. A lot of the people that I was closest to are dead. But Dave Alvin, Phil Alvin…obviously John, Billy, DJ…I still see Margot [Olaverria], who used to be in the Go-Go’s before they kicked her out; she was the original bass player. She’s in New York. I still see Keith Morris [of Circle Jerks] occasionally. Henry Rollins I consider a friend. I don’t get to see him very much, but when I do, it’s always great. Any of those people I see, it’s always a thrill to see them again.

Looking back at a lot of the music that sprang forth from the scene, what bands stood out for you?

The Plugz. They did two excellent records. Tito Larriva was probably the most all-around talented person from the punk scene. He could play guitar like a motherfucker, he could sing fantastically, he wrote great songs; and he was a great, electrifying performer. He was awesome. Tito and the Plugz were always on, and always great. I think the Cramps, when they had Brian [Gregory], were the scariest band on the planet. They were incredible, and the nicest people. I’d say the Plugz, though, were my favorite band on record [from that time].

Speaking of favorite bands, what would you consider your top five Desert Island records?

That’d be really hard to pick. I’d say, Glen Campbell’s Greatest Hits…I know I’d have to have a Kay Starr record; a Nat King Cole record; and ‘Stardust’ would have to be on both the Kay Starr and the Nat King Cole record…The Doors’ Strange Days, maybe. I’d probably throw Los Angeles on there, just to remind myself of who I am on a desert Island, and how I got there, because that’s probably where I’ll end up someday. I think it’d be fun to have your own record on a desert island, but I’d probably get really sick of it after awhile. But Ray Manzarek’s on there, so that’s cool.

What was Ray Manzarek like to work with as a producer?

As a producer, he was extremely encouraging, reassuring, a cheerleader, a tough taskmaster, a great guy to party with, and really smart and funny. He made us feel like part of a legacy; like he was passing the torch on to us on some level, and that was awesome.

Back then, it seemed like a very interesting choice for a punk band to work with him…

It was a very controversial choice, as you can imagine. A lot of people got really angry at us, because he was a hippie, and they were The Doors. But the thing is, from 1969 to 1976 was only seven years. So the punk thing and the hippie thing were very intertwined.

…And there are all these layers of darkness in the Doors’ sound.

Oh god, they were the darkest band. What’s the difference between The Doors and X? Not very much, if you think about it. So, yeah, it was controversial, but it makes so much sense now, looking back at it. Yeah, I’m a Doors fan.

You’re accompanying yourself on this tour. How long have you been playing guitar?

Since the late eighties.

Were you self-taught?

Dave Alvin taught me. He taught me the main chords–D, G, A and E. And then I just picked it up from there. That was in the late eighties. We were on tour with the Knitters. He said, “I’ll show you some chords,” and he set me on my way.

It sounds to me like you’re a fan of the “less is more” school of composition.

Absolutely. You can throw 35 chords into a song, but it doesn’t make it a better song. Just makes it fancy. It doesn’t make it smarter, or more direct, or more soulful. It just makes it fancy–“Look what I can do!” I don’t really play that well. I play well enough to play by myself and write songs, but I’m not really into guitar bands right now. I’m not really into a bunch of guys bashing around on guitars and drums. I’m just not. I’m over it.

There seems to be a lot of artifice to rock music these days.

The artifice of the music business started when black people got looked over, and Elvis Presley and Pat Boone and all those people came up…. Then the British Invasion kind of did away with all of those American bands. Artifice in the arts is always going to be there. Our culture is extremely superficial. But I don’t really care what other people do. I can’t really speak to it. I only care what I do.

So which of the X records is the best, in your mind?

I think it’s a tie between Los Angeles and Under the Big Black Sun. Los Angeles, because of Ray’s organ and stuff; and Big Black Sun because it’s the most realized X record. I think the first three, altogether, are really good. But Under the Big Black Sun is probably my favorite.

Are there any of the X records that you weren’t so fond of?

Ain’t Love Grand is a terrible record, but it’s got a great fucking song on it: “Burning House of Love,” which is one of my favorite X songs. We still play it live. There are always some good songs on each record, no matter what.

People love the old X records, and they love The Decline of Western Civilization, and who am I to say? But I’m a much better singer, a much better writer now…than I was then, so I look at the old stuff and go, “I was a kid.” I was one step away from the streets, totally uneducated, didn’t know anything; came to California. Lived in a big city for the first time, ran smack-dab into John Doe right off the bat, and got involved in this crazy life. I just kind of went for it; didn’t have any idea where it was headed or anything, you know?

You seem like a very grounded person, which is not very common for someone who’s come from a punk background…

If I wasn’t [grounded], I wouldn’t be here.

There was a time in the ’80s where X seemed on the verge of becoming gigantic, arena-filling stars. Why do you figure that didn’t happen?

What happened was, we did a cover of “Wild Thing.” Elektra Records put it in a white sleeve with nothing on it, no label. Then they hired guys to go to major radio stations around the country to play [the record] for them; at which point, the radio stations would go, “We love this. Who is this?” And the label guy would say, “X,” and then they’d say, “Oh, we can’t play them.” So it never happened, because radio was still locked into the classic rock thing. Led Zeppelin was still being played on the radio…Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles were still being played on the radio, and they didn’t want any punk bands mixed in with that. They let Tom Petty in, and the occasional Blondie song, but not the Ramones, not X, not the Clash. Then eventually those bands kind of got added in slightly. Around the time U2 got big, it was OK to throw a Clash song in…but basically, we all [punk rock bands] got cheated out of that.

I want to tell you a funny story: I was on American Bandstand a few times, and Dick Clark had a question for me. He didn’t understand why, in the rock and roll era of the ’50s, and the British Invasion, and the Hippie movement of the ’60s, all those bands were on the radio and on his show; why was there so much resistance to punk, if there wasn’t resistance to all these other cultural movements? Why was punk so hard to get on the radio, to get commercialized? And I just thought, well, if you’re Dick Clark and you don’t know, how do you expect me to know or understand? I’m only 23 years old, what do I know? I told him, “You’re Dick Clark, you tell me!” The only explanation that I can think of [was] that people were frightened by punk rock. They just didn’t like it, it was too scary.

How does it feel to be (for want of a better term) a pioneer among women playing rock and roll?

I don’t really think about it. I didn’t think about it when I was twenty, I don’t think about it now. I think that I meet so many strong, amazing, talented women who are juggling kids and career, husband and boyfriends, life and death, women and men, you know–gay, straight, whatever. I’m in awe of all women. I think we’re all very strong and have a lot going against us from society –domestic violence, just being afraid to walk down the street, being intimidated by men, and the glass ceiling; not making the same money as men. There’s so much bullshit in our society directed against women still, that it’s unbelievable. So I don’t feel different from any other woman. I don’t feel like a pioneer. Every woman is a pioneer: You’re holding down the fort, you’re fighting for yourself all the time.

You talked during your set about not having a lot of political material, but you strike me as a very socially-aware person. How do you feel about the separation between political views and art?

Well, I think that when they overlap that’s fine, and when they don’t, that’s fine. There are plenty of people covering that ground. If I want to watch Jon Stewart or Rachel Maddow, listen to NPR, or hang out with my ex-husband Viggo [Mortensen] and be inspired by politically-aware people, I can do that tomorrow, anytime I want. But not every waking moment. Some people I know who are extremely far to the Left, their identity is totally wrapped up in their political views.They’re strident about it sometimes, and adamant, and look down on people who [they feel] aren’t as smart: It’s like, “Everyone in the Midwest is an idiot!” Actually, no, everyone in the Midwest is not an idiot. It’s a balance…

Just being here for me is political, because I am a woman. Unfortunately, that’s still a political statement.

Were there any idols of yours besides Ray Manzarek, who came to X’s shows or offered you advice?

No. No one ever came to see us. No one ever asked us to open for them, no one ever wrote us, except for Allen Ginsberg, who was a really cool guy that I hung out with a little bit. He would call and say, “Come over to the McCabe’s and play.” Pearl Jam are my heroes, because they got X to open seven shows for them when we’d gotten back together with Billy. That was one of the highlights of my career. I love those guys, I think they’re awesome. But other than that, not really.

Do you have any opinions on the Northwest music explosion of the ’90s that brought Pearl Jam to prominence?

I wasn’t very familiar with it, because I was living in Idaho part of that time. It was kind of close geographically, but in reality it couldn’t have been more isolated. Then I moved back to California, and I was raising a kid and stuff. So, except for hanging out with L7 and Babes in Toyland, who were sort of in that scene to some extent even though they weren’t Seattle [bands], I wasn’t that exposed to it. I saw Nirvana and a lot of those bands play. There were a lot of great bands that came out of the scene, but there’s that slight taint of drugs that’s, unfortunately, still in the shadows of some of the music. I’m not sure if that was such a good thing. But it was a great time musically.

There were a lot of very young kids in the audience for your in-store.

That’s what happens when you don’t play at 11:00 at night and charge ten bucks. The people who want to come see you, can. I want kids to come see me.

Have you gotten a lot of feedback from kids?

Yeah, there are a lot of kids in bands who I hear from. There’s a really cool band from Oklahoma City called sKating Polly; these two girls who write these awesome songs. They’re ten and fourteen–sisters–and they’re awesome. A lot of bands come [to my shows], a lot of kids, and I think that’s great.

I wish I could’ve done that when I was a kid; it would’ve changed my life. But I wasn’t allowed to go see anybody. The only bands playing–Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Beatles, Bob Dylan–played in Chicago. I was in rural Illinois, and my parents were not going to take me to see the Beatles.

Has the influx of technology helped you in making music?

It hasn’t really helped me, but I think it’s really good that kids know what’s going on. They can go on the internet and find out anything in the world about anything in the world. My feeling is: People under the age of 25 are going to save the world, because they have to–they don’t have a choice. They don’t have the same kind of apathy that we could’ve had when we were young, because they can’t afford to be apathetic.

Do you think record stores are going extinct?

No. There’ll always be record stores, and there will always be book stores. It’s just that the strong will survive, unfortunately. A lot of really good people who had a lot of really good intentions aren’t going to make it. But the old established stores are, and a lot of the new stores are.

You’ve managed to keep your dignity as a musician over the years: Could you address maturing gracefully as an artist?

Longevity is a reward that I had no idea existed. I think my best work is still ahead of me. My next record’s going to be my best record, and I’ll continue to play and write and make art and stuff until I die. I think artists should get better as they age, and I think it’s a shame that people have a concept that your first record is always your best record. That may be, but look at someone like Elvis Costello…Tom Waits…. A lot of musicians get kind of corny and weird and watered-down, but people that are in control of their art, that aren’t corporate artists, should get better.