I first saw X at a Bay Area club called Berkeley Square in August 1980, right after the release of the band’s initial Dangerhouse single (“Adult Books”/“We’re Desperate”), a real sign of things to come from this landmark L.A. punk combo. To those familiar with the Berkeley club scene of the day, this was before the Square knocked out a wall and expanded into the joint next door. In 1980 you had to walk in almost single-file to the stage area, capacity surely no more than 25. Like Alice Cooper and the New York Dolls before it (and Black Flag and Mudhoney yet to come), an aura of mystery and maybe even danger preceded X. Though not quite the earthshaking band it would soon become, the group didn’t disappoint. Guitarist Billy Zoom—the man with the nonstop grin—was a revelation after the legion of “I just started last week” guitarists encouraged by the new punk scene; and drummer D.J. Bonebrake was a flailing powerhouse. Needless to say, the John Doe/Exene Cervenka vocal tandem was as spellbinding as advertised. Here’s the director’s cut of a phone interview with Cervenka, detailing the debut album by her new band, the Original Sinners, and a look back at X. We spoke on the eve of a May 2002 West Coast tour with the Knitters, the outfit she sometimes shares with Doe and Blasters big cheese Dave Alvin.

What was the reason for forming the Original Sinners? Does it scratch some kind of itch for you?
It’s hard to say. Bands do have a reason they start, but you kinda lose track of that once you’re doing it. I just wanted to do love songs and I was in the mood to write those kinds of songs. I had the urge to write “song” songs.

How did you put the band together?
I started working with Sam (Soto) when I first wrote these songs. He contributed to some of the songs. I did all of the lyrics and he did some of the music. I’d known him since he was 21, when he was still a kid, and started working with him a few years ago. Jason (Edge) plays all the slide guitar. When I met him he was a drummer in an amazing surf-punk band in the Midwest called the Honkies. Then we started looking for a rhythm section. I was hoping we’d find a woman bass player who could sing and was really great—and a great drummer. We were looking and looking, and a couple of weeks after we put feelers out, someone called me and said, “Y’know, Kim (Chi) and Mat (Young) are free.” And I was like, ‘You’re kidding!” because I’d seen the Distillers play a bunch. They’d played with us. I called them right away, because I knew Kim. She’s a great singer. And Mat’s a monster, a really great drummer.

Did you have a specific sound in mind for the band?
If I wanted to go see a band I’d want it to have really catchy, fun songs that were exciting and wild. Not necessarily super-fast every time, but something you could jump around to.

It’s neat to hear you singing harmonies with Kim, definitely a change from your days with John. When did you first meet John Doe?
I met John in 1976. We had both just moved to L.A. and we met in Venice. I was working at this post-hippie, post-beatnik poetry foundation. I actually lived upstairs from the place. There was a workshop there that I went to, and both of us went on the same night. We met one night and started talking, went out and had some drinks. He started telling me about this band he was putting together. And we talked about music and who we liked and found out we had a lot in common. So we exchanged numbers, started hanging out and going to (seminal L.A. punk club) the Masque and seeing bands. We started a relationship and our band took off and all that. There were a lot of great bands here: The Gun Club was great; the Blasters were great.

How did you and John arrive at that distinctive harmonic blend? I thought maybe it was a spin-off from the Jefferson Airplane.
You know, a lot of people do think that. At the time, the only Jefferson Airplane I’d ever heard were the songs that were on the radio when I was a kid. And she’s got a fantastic voice, but I’d never heard a song of theirs with a male singing weird harmony. So, I couldn’t figure that out. It wasn’t until about 10 years ago that someone finally sat me down and said, “Listen to these Jefferson Airplane records and then you’ll find out.” Because we didn’t know. No, that’s just what I came up with. John was a much greater singer. You know, perfect pitch. I’d never sung before in my life, so I had that discordant, weird thing. My idea of harmony was just whatever I made up in my head that I thought went with it.

It’s a unique sound. I’ve never heard anything like it, before or since.
That’s because people don’t make up stuff themselves. They do listen to Jefferson Airplane and decide to copy that. Or they do learn vocal techniques and learn what fifths and thirds are. I remember when we first started doing interviews and these serious journalists would say, “So these thirds and the fifths and the sixths ... ” and I’d go, “What are you talking about?!” They thought that I knew what I was doing. It was completely insane. The thing about X that was good was John knew what he was doing, D.J. (Bonebrake) knew what he was doing, Billy (Zoom) knew what he was doing and I didn’t.

Yet you were the unique element that made it X—the X-factor, you could say. Did the L.A. punk scene feel like a community at the time?
Oh, of course. It was an incredible scene, a wonderful community of people of all ages, of all backgrounds, of all ethnicities, gay and straight. And really a caustic-witted, intelligent, perceptive, reckless, wild, exciting time where people would fit in just because they showed up. Runaways would come stay with us. You’d meet all these people and it really didn’t matter who was in a band or who wasn’t. Everyone hung out together. The Tony Alva-type people were there, the early skaters. Just a misfit conglomerate of people all looking for something post-hippie.

I pick up all the punk flyers from those days I can find, on eBay.
You know, I’ve just finished writing an essay for this book by a guy named Jim Jacoy. He was a photographer and I hadn’t talked to him in 20 years. They’re putting out a book of his photos of the Mabuhay Gardens, backstage, all in San Francisco, with Flipper and the Cramps and everybody from ‘77 to ‘80—all full-body shots. Three hundred photos and they’re all incredible. He’s never shown any of it. You’re gonna maybe even see yourself in there.

Wow, that would be embarrassing.
No, mine are somewhat embarrassing also. But it’s so refreshing because it’s so naive. And the kids and the older people—people who were like 24—the sense of fashion was just so completely wild and sometimes so silly, like the polka-dots and stuff. Sally Mutant (of S.F. punk band the Mutants), which is great because you never see pictures of Sally and she was just wonderful.

Why are you doing a Knitters tour right now instead of going out with the Original Sinners?
The reason we’re doing the Knitters is that Dave’s got time, Johnny’s got time. We’ve all got time. I’m just waiting for the (Original Sinners) record to come out and we’ll be playing as many shows as possible. I’m doing all three bands at the same time. And I’m doing spoken-word shows. And I did a book and I opened for Arthur Lee and Love, with Baby Lemonade backing him up. I’ve just got through with three Knitters rehearsals, two X shows and two Knitters shows within eight days. I was just like, “Ohhhhhhh.” I was overloaded on dynamics.

You sound like the kind of person who thrives on that kind of stuff.
You know how it is in music. If there’s work you want to take it when you have it, because someone like Dave Alvin could go on the road for a year. We have so much fun doing the Knitters. It’s crazy.

How was it working with (former Doors keyboardist and X producer) Ray Manzarek?
He was one of those people who really encouraged us. He came to see us play because he was looking for stuff to like. You go out and hope you’ll see something good that’ll blow your mind. He was really fun to work with and kind of like another band member, especially in the beginning. I remember one time—god only knows, it was four in the morning—and we were having a really hard time trying to sing a song. And we were wired out of our minds. To calm us down and make us not nervous he got on the studio mic and said, “Hey, John, Exene, remember: This is forever.” Which was the worst possible thing he could say. His way of saying, “Look the beast in the face and just do it.” And also it is forever, so come on, let’s go.

You’re a collector of knick-knacks and icons and stuff.
Yeah, I’ve been on the thrift-store thing since the early ‘70s. I mean, you walk into a thrift store in 1975 and see beaded dresses from the 1920s for a quarter, what else are you gonna do but start collecting? Depression glass, it’s yours for the taking at flea markets. Just anything that’s kind of graphic and Americana. I don’t have a particular fetish, like Betty Page photos, but I do like just about anything that’s old and country.

How does the whole trip feel 20 years down the highway?
I wish I could do it all again and really appreciate it a little bit more. Not that it wasn’t amazing and we didn’t appreciate it at the time. But sometimes you look back and go, “Wow, we were the luckiest kids.”