Following the death of Sam Rivers, the founding bassist of Limp Bizkit who died on Oct. 18 at age 48, Thundercat says talking about it in an interview feels “necessary.” Rivers was just 19 when the band’s debut album, Three Dollar Bill, Y’all, was released in 1997, and was with the band during their most pivotal — and controversial — moments, including the massive success of their follow-up albums, Significant Other and Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water.
Considering all three records, Thundercat says there are no skips. “Every one of them that he played — every song that he played — those songs, for me, were special,” says the bassist, born Stephen Bruner. Thundercat’s own work spans hip-hop, R&B, electronic, jazz, and beyond. Following the musician’s early gig with Suicidal Tendencies, he’s gone on to collaborate with the likes of Kendrick Lamar, Flying Lotus, Erykah Badu, and more. But before there was It Is What It Is, Thundercat says he was a kid in high school, hearing Rivers’ thunderous bass line on “Nookie” for the first time.
“Limp Bizkit was groundbreaking, and it needed no proof,” he tells Rolling Stone. “You could see it in people’s reaction to it, and Sam was one of the mechanics of our childhood.”
Speaking via phone to Rolling Stone, Thundercat reflects on how Rivers and Limp Bizkit’s fearless approach to traversing genres shaped his own sound, Rivers’ uncanny ability to draw out the heaviest of emotions from his guitar, and how the band’s work inspired a generation to exist on their own terms.
When you said this interview felt needed, what were you thinking about specifically?
[Rivers’] work in Limp Bizkit is very defining to a number of generations, and for me personally, I am a kid that grew up listening to Limp Bizkit. I loved the first album. I loved the second album. Between him and [the band’s drummer] John Otto, it was a feeling to seek after as a musician. His music was defining to my early growing in music, too — From “Re-Arranged” to “My Generation.”
How would you define that “feeling” you chased?
I think that the line for pop music and rock — rock music growing up as a kid here in L.A., especially — there was not a lot of representation of live music that was allowed to touch pop culture, other than just rock. There’s definitely moments, but to be able to listen to live music growing up as an instrumentalist, the moments that I would have would stick to me. And it would always be rock. Bands we all loved growing up — Rage Against the Machine, Korn, Slipknot — it defined musicality and ability for us as a at a young age, even Linkin Park, Blink 182. This is the era that we grew up in. [People like] Sam gave us examples of how to play.
Limp Bizkit was a groundbreaking group. [They had] their own sound, their own entity. When it came to rapping and singing and screaming — and doing all of this — there was nobody doing that. No matter what anybody says, Limp Bizkit — they’re fucking amazing. Throughout the throes of pop culture, where you try to find places for things, just put it in a box — they were out of the box for everybody.
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True, they helped popularize the “nu metal” era. But after what we just talked about, I hesitate to say that.
There we go. There’s that box.
Even “pop-rock” sounds weird.
It’s weird that it exists in a manner like that, but it happens. It’s a sign of the success of it, to be honest. It’s the bittersweet reality of what comes with said pop culture and music and the selling of music. But like I said, Limp Bizkit was groundbreaking, and it needed no proof. You could see it in people’s reaction to [the music] and Sam was one of the mechanics of our childhood, to say the least. My middle school and the high school experience was me listening to Limp Bizkit, for sure.
Do you remember when you first heard Sam’s work?
I feel like everybody heard Sam at the same time. It was “Nookie.” We all heard that bass line. That was a combination of him and Wes. That was everybody’s first moment hearing Sam and Wes and it was that album art cover done by Mear One. It was such a statement. It was hip hop, rock, rap — all of that.
Did it evoke anything?
It reminded me of “Sly” by Herbie Hancock. [Mimics track’s instrumentals.] For me, that’s where it registered. And I’m pretty sure if you ask Wes, and if you asked Sam… They probably loved Herbie Hancock. The lines for me… there’s gaps in sound and time that when they show up it’s like, ‘Oh man, that feels like this,” but when Limp Bizkit came out, nothing felt like Limp Bizkit. So, there’s a special place in my heart for Sam.
As someone who blends genres and sounds, do you see any parallels between Sam’s work and your own?
It’s without a shadow of a doubt, influenced my music, for sure.
Limp Bizkit would often get a mixed response, but the band’s impact is undeniably pivotal. What do you think their work says about music in the Nineties and where music is today?
It felt like somebody cared about music. Sometimes it would be buried inside of rock, and they would hide the nutrition really well, so to speak. What their contribution to the music and culture said about us — and me at the time — was that everybody wanted to hear something different and new. That’s what Limp Bizkit represented — and Sam. You can’t have one without the other. Their influence. Sam’s influence. It needed no question.
Every few generations has those artists where when you get too old, you don’t get what it is. It happens to everybody. At one point it was jazz. Everybody thought jazz was the devil’s music. And then at one point it was rap; rap was the devil’s music. Every generation has their artists where people shit on them, or try to downplay their hard work. And I think that Limp Bizkit would show us what hard work was, too.
After Sam died, Limp Bizkit called him the “heartbeat” of the band. How do you interpret this idea of a bassist anchoring a group’s identity?
Said roles as bassist and drummer: we’re very locomotive parts of of music. When you think about it in terms of engines, you could have a V12 engine and you can cover a lot of ground really quickly with a big engine like that. The better your engine’s running, the better the car is. That’s what that represents. And again, Sam held it down. That’s proof that you couldn’t deny his contribution to the music, because he played the role of a bass player very musically. It would be like water, formless, and then crash, and then shape mountains. It takes a different type of musician to be able to do that, no matter what anybody says.
You can’t discredit it. You can’t overlook it. And this his death is a reminder of how great he was. And it’s unfortunate that sometimes you only see it in that. But what if we didn’t have Limp Bizkit? The world was better with him here. My best friends, all we do is scream Limp Bizkit lyrics at each other, like ironically and not ironically. It represents, my childhood, our childhood, my generation.
Can you drop an ironic and un-ironic line?
The first line of “Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water” — When things are getting a little too weird, you go “CHOCOLATE STARFISH.” From that to “Take ’em to the Matthews Bridge!” [from “My Generation”] — it’s something’s about to change for the better or worse.
So is that ironically or unironically?
See what I’m saying? It vacillates. It could be the best thing or the worst thing ever.
When a band or artist becomes part of friendship lore, that’s resonance.
The music is there for all of us. It’s a big world. When it comes to it, you can change what you want, and I think that that’s what Limp Bizkit represented to many people. Wes Borland would be out here, kicking ass. He was like Sonic the Hedgehog. And Sam, he held it down, he’s just a legend. He had a distinct sound. You knew who he was. I’m very blessed to have experienced Sam’s music and his creativity while he was here.
From Rolling Stone US
