EW.com recently reported something about a possible appearance at the Matador 20th-anniversary party in 2009.
I could have said that. It’s true — they asked me to do that, and I guess I was just being loose-lipped. But that wouldn’t be a real show. We would show up there and not even rehearse. To really do a reunion, it just seems like so much organization and planning, and it’s just uncivilized in a way. The time might be right, but it just doesn’t feel right to me, personally. I haven’t talked to everyone about it. I could be in a room with everybody in the band and be like, “Yeah, that sounds awesome.” But we’re never together, and everyone’s doing different things. I’m just not in connection with what Pavement really means, either, so I don’t know how fun it would be now. I guess I’m in denial or something. I’m just into this — what we’re doing now means so much more to me than a Pavement reunion would. It’s hard for me to think about. But also, there’s a time later. Maybe there is a time for that. I don’t know myself well enough. I’m like being psychoanalyzed here. [Laughs.] I say I don’t want to talk about it and then I talk about it. It’s ridiculous.
Has fatherhood affected your songwriting?
I don’t think so. I mean, there’s a couple words that drop in there that I probably wouldn’t have thought of mentioning, but the overall tenor of the jams and the attitude of it is probably not what the average parent would have. I’m pretty oblivious to that part of my life when I’m making music. It’s really just the fantasy of rocking, you know? In every boy’s heart. And girl’s, in our case.
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