Editorial by Tina Houser
In a world obsessed with algorithm-fed music feeds and plastic pop choruses, Steve Conte is still chasing something real — something felt. The singer-songwriter, guitarist, and bona fide rock survivor dropped by Press Play Radio for a raw and winding conversation with The Don, diving deep into the anatomy of a song, the madness of the Dolls, and the unpredictable genius of collaborators like Andy Partridge and Michael Monroe. It wasn’t an interview. It was a living mixtape.
Conte’s newest record, The Concrete Jangle, feels like a vintage jukebox cracked open with a crowbar — power pop harmonies, AM radio ghosts, punk sneer, and a splash of Motown. And many of its standout tracks, including “Shoot Out the Stars,” “One Last Bell,” and “All Tied Up,” began not in studios but on Zoom calls with Partridge (of XTC fame), proving that modern technology doesn’t have to water down old-school magic.
Their process? Conte would pitch a title — “Shoot Out the Stars” being the winner that day — and Partridge would let the visuals flow. "He hears pictures," Steve said. "He played an F add9 chord and said, ‘Sounds like a bell.’" That’s how "One Last Bell" was born, a melancholic gem built on a haunting nursery rhyme cadence and layered with lyrics that swing between the gothic and the surreal. A bell. A walkabout. A final trip. Quasimodo even makes a cameo.
But Steve isn't just a sonic painter. He’s a craftsman of feeling. “All Tied Up” is an example. A deceptively upbeat jam with a Motown soul and Beatles-esque harmony, it’s a letter to all the men (including himself) who’ve kept love on life support out of fear or guilt. “Do the right thing,” he says, with zero preach and full humility. “Let her go.”
The chat veered beautifully into the past too. Conte reminisced on his long-standing run with Finnish rock outlaw Michael Monroe — frontman, circus act, soul brother. “He’s probably the best frontman I’ve ever worked with,” Steve said, eyes twinkling even through the audio. They’ve jammed with Slash, opened for Guns N’ Roses, toured with Alice Cooper, and yes, once had an amp blow up mid-song while Alice shoved a mic in Steve’s face.
And then there were the Dolls. New York Dolls, to be exact. Six chaotic years, one surreal start: Royal Festival Hall, Morrissey-curated Meltdown Festival, Chrissie Hynde backstage complimenting his playing (and maybe silently judging his leather pants). “It was trainwrecks all over the place,” Steve laughed. “David [Johansen] threw his arm around me and said, ‘What do you think?’ I said, ‘Lot of trainwrecks.’ He said, ‘Hey, it’s what they expect. It’s the Dolls.’”
It’s that ethos — that loose, untamed, perfectly imperfect energy — that Steve Conte continues to bottle, decades after CBGB’s locked its doors and mall rats started wearing Ramones shirts without knowing a single lyric. He’s a walking testament to rock ‘n’ roll’s emotional currency. Not nostalgia — presence. Not polish — pulse.
There’s new music on the way. He’s wrapping another record with Monroe. He’s sitting on three unfinished tracks with Partridge. He’s playing shows. He’s signing records at the merch stand, no matter how sweaty.
“I’m not one of those guys,” he said. “I’m always down to meet the fans. Make your own Michael Monroe memory.”
With artists like Steve Conte still writing with heart, playing with soul, and talking with honesty, maybe — just maybe — rock and roll isn’t dead. Maybe it just grew up, learned a few chords, and never stopped chasing the tension before the resolve.
Follow Steve Conte at steveconte.com, Bandcamp, or wherever you spin your vinyl heart out. And if he’s rolling through your town, get the ticket. Make your memory.
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