Bleed American

Musically and personally, the group seems to have picked up right where it left off. There are no catty stories about how certain members just couldn't stand others, nor were there any great fights that led to the group's extended break. Consequently, Eitzel is extremely upbeat and optimistic about his ability to play with the Club again.

"I've changed a lot," he insists. "I've been going to the gym a lot lately. I've been trying to rewrite and change what I do. I don't know what's inspired it."

These changes are readily apparent in Eitzel's relaxed demeanor and his willingness to joke and answer impertinent questions. But with the release of another American Music Club record and two of his own solo albums, he's back to busking, forced to whore his wares to make a living. Eitzel is often distressed by the necessity of selling merchandise at his shows. At a 2002 show at the Lion's Lair, he angrily threw a stack of his CDs into a trashcan after Tim Easton -- the Columbus, Ohio, singer-songwriter with whom he was sharing the stage -- tried to sell them.

"I wanted to ignore the fact that I ever had to sell CDs," Eitzel grouses now, recalling the episode. "I just wanted to hang and talk with people. I really dislike the whole game of it. I don't like to see bands try to sell T-shirts from the stage. I'm like ŒFuck you. You're not here to sell T-shirts; you're here to play music.' But you are there to sell T-shirts -- that's the thing. I'm just in denial of it. In fact, I think it's a little fascistic. It's part of the game, and I usually do it. But for me, the real game has always been writing music and having something to say."

A 1996 tour with Everything but the Girl pushed Eitzel's disdain for the commercial side of his chosen profession over the edge. "Before I toured with Everything but the Girl, I used to really believe in performance," he explains before letting his bile flow. "But after that experience, I kinda lost that belief. Their audiences were very Urban Outfitters, and I really despised them. I fucking hated them, and I'd never hated the crowd before. It was my 'Nam, man!"

Eitzel's disgust is most likely rooted in the fact that American Music Club approaches its concerts and fans with a very different attitude and philosophy.

"We've honestly always wanted to make it harder for the audience," Eitzel admits. "We want to challenge people because we respect them. When I go out of an evening, I want somebody to make me laugh, or I want to feel like, 'Fuck, he's singing about my fucking life.'"

For more than two decades, American Music Club has consistently accomplished both of those goals, with a balance of musical daring, humor and relentless self-examination. Eitzel would have it no other way.

"Anything else," he deadpans, "is a mediocre bore."