When Rami Sharkey, a.k.a. Ballzack, asked me if he could interview Biff Rose, I wondered what shenanigans could’ve led him to discover someone with the name “Biff Rose.” In retrospect, it’s embarrassing that I didn’t already know the enigmatic nature of Rose, who was born in New Orleans and is attached to some of the biggest names in show business. The singer-songwriter got his start as a standup comedian in the early ‘60s (a road Ballzack would travel down over thirty years later) and wrote sketch comedy with the all-time-great comedian George Carlin. David Bowie recorded “Fill Your Heart,” a song Rose co-wrote with Paul Williams, on 1971’s Hunky Dory, after the song had already been released by another star of the day, Tiny Tim. Rose’s contributions to big-time musicians didn’t stop there (Pat Boone and John Denver both covered Rose-written songs) and he not only performed on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show but the classic Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour and American Bandstand.
After Rose recorded Roast Beef in 1978, little was heard from him publicly until his work was re-released in 2005, though he kept busy by creating several websites and multimedia work.
Rose’s website and current work is, to put it lightly, controversial. He’s incorporated spoken word and rap into his music and uses to racial stereotypes in his art. One of his websites, jewmanity.com, is but one of his projects that plays with words to make a point. Some have labeled him an anti-Semite and/or racist. Rose denies that. It’s hard to believe that someone featured on online videos teaching African American kids how to play piano is racist, but that’s the paradox of Biff Rose.
After agreeing to chat with Sharkey via e-mail, Rose suggested that we start the print version right then an there, so we’re going to bring you the entire conversation from start to finish and in a different format that our interviews are normally in. The bolded parts are Sharkey’s e-mails to Biff, the non-bolded Rose’s replies. It’s sparsely edited to keep intact Rose’s unique blend of stream of consciousness thinking and metaphorical speaking, so there are misspellings, jabs at other New Orleans publications and Rose’s frank anecdotes of New Orleans, New York and celebrity.

Interview by
By Jason Songe
Since it’s anniversary month here at AG, here’s another June blast from the past: our Keith Knight interview from June 2006. As I said in the post about this month’s cover, I felt like that issue was really worth celebrating since it was our first anniversary after Katrina and we asked Keith Knight to draw me and editors Noah Bonaparte and Patrick Strange into the mix, which he did brilliantly. Keith happened to be in New Orleans that month to promote The Beginner’s Guide To Community-Based Arts to the librarian’s conference, so we put together a slideshow for him at Handsome Willy’s.
Interview by Leo McGovern.
In a special artist-on-artist chat, The Junior League’s Joe Adragna talks with Sloan’s Jay Ferguson.
This interview first appeared in the October 2004 issue of ANTIGRAVITY and was conducted by former AG writer Miles Britton (who’s now an editor at
This interview originally appeared in the March 2007 issue of ANTIGRAVITY.
After a year and a few months at it, nine-piece local band Antenna Inn’s sleek, smart and superbly constructed suites of jazzy prog rock are starting to draw a large crowd. They’ve been headlining shows more frequently and are about to release their solid new album, Do/Work, with a party at Tipitina’s. Their’s is the sound of a band working through ideas together for the first time, as they realize their talent and range. As good as Do/Work is, you get the feeling that their next album is going be the one—it’s going to be crazy. For now, though, Do/Work and its highlights: the angelic and Beach Boys-ish back-up vocals and the jazz dirge breakdown at the end of “Ernest Borgnine,” the high frequency bass and bright keyboard on “Ink,” the disorienting horns on “Stockholm Syndrome,” and the swingin’ verses in “Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition.” Though the choruses are pretty catchy, there’s something sublime about each song’s instrumental stretches. The lyrics are dark, anxious, and purging, sometimes malevolent and sometimes self-help-like: “If you’re looking for love, stop, because you will never be happy, even when you are. You will always be lonely…c’mon, people, fall back out of love. Call your mother. Mothers, call your sons.” There’s also a rolling confidence throughout the band—one that could easily be perceived as arrogant, except that confidence is tempered with a clear love of not only New Orleans and its rock scene but the city’s traditional music, as well as a want, almost a need, to create a unifying force that makes it all more successful.

