Nothing 'Psycho' about Perkins' musical career

0 Comments | Oakland Tribune, Dec 29, 2006 | by Tom Lanham

MOST artists possess one or two distinctive traits, striking singular aspects that set them apart from all others. At last count, neo-folkie Elvis Perkins can claim at least four.

First, that standout first name -- yes, Perkins says, it was actually given to him at birth by his hipster parents. Then there are his gentle, feathery vocals and painfully personal lyrics, reminiscent of early Leonard Cohen, on his upcoming XL debut, "Ash Wednesday."

And last but not least: His uncanny resemblance to his late father, "Psycho" star Anthony Perkins.

Meeting Perkins is downright eerie. With the long aquiline nose, the sharply chiseled cheekbones and piercing hawk-like gaze, Perkins is definitely his father's son, with a few modern flourishes like mutton-chop whiskers, owlish spectacles and rock-star-style foppery of flowing scarf, skinny jeans and black velvet smoking jacket.

His brother Osgood --who also drums on "Ash Wednesday" -- followed in his father's thespian footsteps. So how did this Perkins apple fall so far from the Bates Motel tree?

No great mystery, says the 30-year-old, who'll open for My Morning Jacket at San Francisco's Fillmore on Saturday. Instead of acting lessons, he took up piano as a Hollywood-reared kid.

"My dad played (piano) very well, so we always had one around the house. But he made records, too," he said. "Records of standards, Cole Porter and Tin Pan Alley-type stuff that were put out on Epic in the'60s. With big string arrangements, too. And my dad sounded great, with a sort of crooning Chet Baker-y voice. He did a lot of musical theater on Broadway, and was apparently this huge hit with all the teenage French girls.

"Which," he chortles, lowering his glasses, "is certainly not a bad thing."

This Perkins didn't last long on piano. He soon switched to saxophone, then to his current instrument, acoustic guitar, taking lessons from Knack alum Prescott Niles. Along the way, he was introduced to the visual arts by his mother, famed photographer Berry Berenson (whose life ended tragically on Sept. 11, 2001, when her American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the World Trade Center; Anthony Perkins had passed away on Sept. 12, nine years earlier).

Secretly, Junior was always acutely aware that his folks were different. As a child, he'd bump into Chevy Chase or Don Henley around the house.

"But they start out as your parents and they end up as your parents, and what they do in between is sort of like ... everybody's got to do something," he says. "So they just seemed like more or less normal people to me. Although I do remember being on set for 'Psycho 3,' 'Psycho 4' as well. And a thing that my dad was in that never made it to theaters called 'My Christmas Dinner.' It was about cannibalism, and Donna Dixon was in it."

These days, Perkins and his backing trio Dearland call Massachusetts home. He left Hollywood for a reason, he says, with his first way station, Santa Fe, N.M., in mind.

"I went down there on my way to some greater clarity than I was experiencing before, because it's a place of spiritual energy."

Through two menial jobs -- ski-lift operator and hemp-store clerk -- he managed to find himself and focus on his craft, a breakthrough carefully documented on "Ash"'s jangly "May Day!"

The album often describes the world via Catholic imagery, Perkins says, even though he was raised Episcopalian.

The set is cathartic as well, dealing with the enduring grief of losing both parents at such a young age.

"Everything is different now," Perkins sighs, staring off into the distance. "And sometimes I find it harder to muster the will -- or the care -- to be creative these days. I definitely walk around a lot wondering, 'What's it all for?' I maybe now know what I'm doing here in a career sense, or now know how to busy myself. But I don't know if that's enough to fill the greater emptiness, the greater void."

But Perkins' questioning, his dark sense of uncertainty, is exactly what makes his work so special. Leonard Cohen never claimed to have any answers, either -- and he literally had to be cajoled into singing his moody, pensive poetry for the very first time. Perkins, however, has found a life philosophy that keeps him going, no matter what.

"We're all heading for the grave," he says. "So you should make the most of it while you're still walking around."