No Alternative

Two guitars, one bass, and a drumkit. No iPods, nothing programmed or precorded. It’s good old-fashioned rock n’ roll, except that HEALTH sounds like noise rock from another dimension. Singer/guitarist Jake Duzsik says, “We always wanted to sound new, like a modern band that didn’t sound like other bands.” The consensus among the foursome was that if they started out really weird, they would “kind of figure out what kind of band we are.” Guess what? It worked.

Duzsik met guitarist Jupiter Keyes in college, and the two decided to move to LA with the hope of starting a band. While holding down a job at Guitar Center, Duzsik met bassist and fellow coworker John Famiglietti; “Oddly enough, every guy [there] was like voting for Bush. John and I bonded on like, ‘We’re not total douche bags, hey you like Dead Kennedys, we should start a band!’” Next came the classic “we need a drummer” moment that many bands face, and thus BJ Miller was added to the line up. 

Working at Guitar Center certainly paid off…not only did it kick start the entire band, but they also purchased a lot of new gear. While some may assume that HEALTH’s sound requires elaborate, rare instruments, the band asserts that it’s all stock. It’s what they do with the ordinary gear and pedals that matters. The same is true when it comes to their musical influences, which they stress are the same as most rock bands (Zeppelin!). Again, it’s how they manipulate and utilize such material.

HEALTH employs a “rare vocal style, very breathy” and barely discernable lyrics to create an ever-evolving glazy noise. On their first, self-titled album, they intentionally kept things low and textured. Duzsik says, “Now it’s massively more vocal, but you still can’t really understand [the lyrics].” Famiglietti adds, “Trial and error, evolution,” to explain how they have grown as a modern noise band, and as songwriters. Their first album was more “evil,” while GET COLOR (recorded at LA’s The Smell) is darker, sad and even a tad melodic. “As it got more melodic, [it got] more normal, catchy, not atonal….we like to write dark music.” But in their live shows, the music is still as abrasive as ever.

With a third record, they might take an even more melodic route, but fans can also anticipate an ambient track, at some point. “What we want to do with our third record is to take what we’ve figured out as a band and deal with certain dimensional things in a song.” Aside from the usual touring and recording that bands tend to do, HEALTH also plan to debut an internet television show entitled HEALTHvision, as well as a clothing line of hand-sewn, one-of-a-kind designer clothes. They’re also known for putting out remixes and singles with such bands as The Crystal Castles, and they even opened up for Nine Inch Nails on their Wave Goodbye tour. It’s easy to understand why the guys in HEALTH say they need to find a balance.    

(photo by Kyle Timlin)

Grandchildren are old friends and new based around Philadelphia and their West Philly DIY space, Danger Danger Gallery. What was once Danger Danger House, hosting local and touring bands, has become a larger Gallery that continues to host bands (such as Growing, Calvin Johnson, and The Slits) while also featuring visual artists. This perfectly compliments Grandchildren’s artistic scope, as many of the members are artists and painters themselves.

Although most of the guys have been playing with one another in some form or another, such as in the band Rad Racket, for the better part of the decade, it’s only been recently that these six musicians formed Grandchildren. The band began as a side project, with Aleks Martray as the driving writing force. At first trombone heavy, the guys rerecorded and rearranged songs until they worked out the eccentric sound they wanted to create.

Borrowing from the contemporary sound and neo-tribal nature pioneered by Animal Collective as well as Latin American music (due to Martray’s stay in Nicaragua for an art program), Grandchildren’s songs feel worldly, indie, and psychedelic. Tris Palazzolo attempts to explain, “For the most part, it’s this mélange of stuff that we’re constantly experimenting with, playing to precorded stuff and getting more organic with things and also getting more electronic and doing both at the same time…we started out building lush landscapes of music with the help of looping, and the loop pedal gave way to more prerecorded sample beats.” All the while, the band never forgets what a song really is: that three or four minute pop gem that someone can move to.

The guys have been doing a hefty amount of touring, driving their van all across the continental U.S.A., from The Smell in L.A. to Tipsy Teapot in North Carolina. They just signed with the label Green Owl, on which they will soon release their debut album, Cold Warrior. Though their well-practiced live shows are absolutely flawless, it may seem strange that they can even pull off playing such multilayered songs out of the studio.

Palazzolo explains, “The album itself had thirty separate tracks on each song…we wanted to have as many of those layers live [because] we don’t want it to be glorified karaoke, we want it to move people but at the same time we want to be moving around too. When it comes to the horn parts, you can either omit them or you can try to play them live, but if you’re playing that live, you can’t also play the drums or the bass when you’re doing that. The horn parts are only in one part of the song so you want to just go back to what you’re playing; I think it lends itself to an engaging live show. All the instruments on the album were played by us, so we might as well play as much as we can live. It’s definitely fun!”

On stage, the guys sprint between instruments. Their performances are an undulating string of songs that hit epic highs and lows, and the members always look like they’re having the time of their lives, no matter how big or small the show. Placing organic, live performances on top of their prerecorded, electronic sounds offers “a lot of depth and a lot of malleability.”

In addition to playing guitar, bass, and other instruments, mostly everyone participates in the choral singing, and four of the members (Palazzolo, Russell Brodie, Adam Katz, and Roman Salcic) take turns drumming, sometimes two at the same time, in perfect sync. Martray, as the primary singer, mans the acoustic guitar, and John Vogel takes to the keys. As Palazzolo points out, “We’re the six-man band trying to be a thirty-man band.” Who says ambition never gets you anywhere?

(photo by Tiffany Yoon)

Drew and the Medicinal Pen began as Drew Henkels’ solo project, but eventually evolved into a full band; first when he lived with bassist Anna Morsett on McKibbin in Brooklyn, and then with the addition of Missy Liu on violin and a host of instruments, and drummer Zach Arlan. Combining their diverse musical backgrounds as well as an overlapping love of punk rock and Neutral Milk Hotel, they began creating organic, uplifting songs with darker undertones.

Of this dichotomy, Drew explains, “They’re melodic and hopefully enjoyable to listen to, but they’re not typical pop songs because they’re full of some harder things to talk about and some smarter things to think about and that’s what gives it its real content, its real grit; the poppy fun sound is an optimism embedded inside all of us, which has come out more playing with Anna and Missy.” He continues, “That kind of makes this pill a little more swallowable and digestible, it’s good because the content hopefully gets through to people later. You listen to the song and you’re bobbing your head but then you pause and say, ‘Wait, what did he just say?’ Stop and think about the lyrics twice.” Anna adds that the lyrics are “rooted in something you really care about.”

The band released their album, dream, dream, fail, repeat, on their own label, which is stationed in Drew’s cluttered, art-covered bedroom in Brooklyn. The epitome of DIY, the album was recorded in a homemade space (“The Sex Dungeon”) in a warehouse in West Philly. They camped out there during the dead of winter, with no heat or hot water, cooking on a hot plate, and going back and forth from New York to Philly for several days at a time. Discomfort aside, Drew assures, “This just felt like where this record needed to come out of.” A creatively rich environment, they smashed 200 glass bottles during the end of “Sleepy Don’t Cry,” sang through a heating vent for “Hey Chanae,” and also shot off fireworks for sound effects.

The DIY ethos extends to making posters, stickers, buttons, t-shirts, album cover art, and even films that add to the thrill of performances. Drew explains, “It’s all just kind of in between reality and dream world; there’s this whole plateau I’ve been building of images and thoughts and fragments of sentences and films and dream logs, and often these show up in lyrics.” The ultimate dream is to quit their day jobs, live off the music, tour full-time (“The van can only go so far,” says Missy), and share their songs with as many listeners as possible, but they’re also content to continue playing house shows and hanging letters from fans in their “office.” However, for a little extra cash, they do have a plan to sell raffle tickets for fans to see Anna’s boobs; “you’ll need to buy two to see both boobs!”

All kidding aside, the band loves where they are right now. While it would be wonderful to be rock stars, Drew assures that they’re perfectly happy playing house shows, art shows and basements, sharing the music on a personal level. “If you make something you want someone to hear it. But at the same time, I have a lot of issues with commercialism. I do like that we have build up and momentum.” Anna adds that the goal is to sustain themselves from the output of creativity, as well as to “rise above where we’ve been and try to jump over it.”

It doesn’t hurt to make some friends along the way, like Brent Green, who puts the band up on his farm whenever they come through Pennsylvania. Drew says, “He's a filmmaker, but also one of my absolute favorite lyricists.” They’ve also been inspired by bands they’ve shared a bill with, such as Endless Mike and the Beagle Club. The four voices of Drew and the Medicinal Pen will continue to sing and maybe even scream their way around the country, state by state and house by house, bringing their own talents and emotions to every chord strummed. “That’s when it’s really transcendent,” Drew says, “and really worthwhile.”

(photos by a.dupcak)

Ogre stands with his back to the stage and arms spread wide, as the crowd goes wild. Although minimalist compared to Skinny Puppy theatrics (ohGr shows lack blood or cow guts), hypnotic film projections play upon a screen as the band launches into the first song of their new, conceptual album, Devils in My Details. Recent ohGr shows are simplified, and Ogre has been playing “Blair Witch basements” and smaller clubs: “You keep that one foot in the gutter, that Bukowski sensibility to things.”

But Nivek Ogre, who has hidden behind masks, makeup, props and even animal carcasses, still boasts theatrical bravado and animalistic movements. He is more confident today than ever before: sober and brutally honest, with or without the masks. He says, “The person I am now went back there and saved that person then, and had I known then what I know now…but you never do.”

Between fronting seminal industrial band Skinny Puppy since 1982, to writing three albums for his successful side project (ohGr) with Mark Walk, to acting in the bizarre musical Repo! The Genetic Opera alongside Bill Moseley and Paris Hilton—“Who wouldn’t want to play a narcissistic, serial-killer rapist who’s a face-stealer?”—Ogre is always hard at work, and he’s taken his half-blind dog, BatBat, along for the ride. When it comes to his many undertakings, pure artistry and innovation meet political and poetical inspiration, which is evident in Devils in My Details. The album deals with the “centrist” American government and how privacy is an illusion or “dead concept,” and while this is his blackest record, it is also his favorite and the one he was most in control of making. He explains, “You leave a piece of art and, at that point, it becomes everyone else’s, so it becomes yours to decide if it is a maker point in my career or not.”

While Ogre notes that he was labeled as “the first industrial rock star by one of the New York papers in the ’80s,” he says that there were many bands before Skinny Puppy, such as Portion Control, P-Orridge and Throbbing Gristle. Skinny Puppy then influenced more recent artists, like Marilyn Manson, who actually took Ogre’s stilts and made them “his own,” long after the band helped introduce America to the industrial genre. When it comes to “style over substance” acts like Manson, Ogre says that they “become an archetype of nothingness and that’s what culture does, unfortunately: it takes people, embraces them, gives them a lot of money, and assimilates them. I’ve never had that. I’m a garbage can, I’m a raccoon. You can kick me in the face, you can shit on me, and it doesn’t matter, I’ll still be here.”

Devils in My Details, which involves samples, loops, lots of bass, layering, and one-take vocals rather than synths, is all about Ogre being comfortable enough to take chances and run with them, especially on songs like “Feelin’ Chicken,” which is about “the idea of Syd Barrett cooking eggs on stage at the end of his career with Pink Floyd...the idea of fear and being exposed, being plucked, being feathered. The idea of nursing off this chicken’s tit for your fear.”

Ogre avoids the trappings of traditional industrial—it tended to be “kind of narrow in its own vision by creating a fashion, an aesthetic”—and approached the new album from a more personal standpoint, with the intention of revisiting industrial’s true origins. “Whatever you use is an opportune instrument,” he says, “whether it’s a cat killing a mouse in your house or a spoon in your cupboard, or a tuba or something—there are no rules.” And by way of his political and activist agenda (such as animal rights), and inclination for dissent and rebellion, he admits that the biggest conflict in his life is trying to answer, “What is my purpose?” yet assures that all one can do is “really look at yourself and make some clearly defined decisions about how you want to be seen by the world.”

 *

Essential Ogre Moments

Last Rights – Skinny Puppy; 1992 
“It allowed me to work through something in my life that I needed to…that was the most amazing thing for me.” 

            *

Doom Generation; 1995 
“I was this guy at the beginning that bangs on the car window and says, ‘Wake up cocksucker it’s time to die!’”

                          *

Sunny PsyOp – ohGr; 2003 
“It’s about the idea of psychological operations…there’s a governing body that we don’t see that acts above all laws and has no morals; a shadow government exists.”  

The cover of Moby’s new album, Wait For Me—an expansive and delicate exploration of loneliness—features a drawing he drew and can replicate in less than 5 seconds. Beyond Race spoke with Moby about this new record, his buddy David Lynch, and his affinity for junkies.

How is Moby of today different from Moby of the past, when you first began playing music and DJing in clubs, or when you first achieved mainstream success? 

The cover of Moby’s new album, Wait For Me—an expansive and delicate exploration of loneliness—features a lonely alien that he drew and can replicate in less than 5 seconds. Beyond Race spoke with Moby about this new record, his buddy David Lynch, and his affinity for junkies and New York City.

  

Although your new album is more personal and you didn’t use digital effects when mixing, it would seem that you have an interest in technology and multimedia projects. Can you talk about this? Your connection to technology in music seems to have really impacted your work.

Not to be too general, but the history of music goes in lockstep with the evolution of technology. Something as simple as a guitar, or a piano, or Les Paul inventing mutlitrack technology, I mean Les Paul invented everything, the first electric guitar pick-up, and for me, because I’m a solo artist, if it were the mid-70s the records I would be making would sound completely different from what I make now because technology is what, for better or worse, enables me to make my records. I have a small studio here and to make the records that I make thirty years ago, forty yeas ago, I would have needed a huge studio with tons of people around and now, one of the nicest things about technology is its lowered the cost of making records. It costs me next to nothing to make a record, and it’s also taken off some of the pressure because I do everything at home and if you’re working in a big studio the clock is always ticking, so there’s constant pressure to create, and if you’re not creating you’re wasting money. Whereas at home, if I spend a week working in the studio and nothing good comes from it, I’ve lost some time but I haven’t lost tens of thousands of dollars. Autonomy comes from technology…I now can do everything myself. I go into my studio and I mean, it gets a little lonely at times because it’s sort of monastic and there’s an ascetic quality to it.

And you’re a solo artist.

Yeah, I do occasionally envy people in bands who make music in a more social way because that’s fun. It’s kind of more fun making a record with a band but I can better make the kind of records I want to make by myself.  

Can you tell me about the storyline of the video for “Shot in the Back of the Head,” and your collaboration with David Lynch on this? It’s really beautiful and minimalist and I was wondering about the process of working on this project and the symbolism of both the song and the video.

The way the title came about was I was talking to some friends and we were talking about the way in which we wanted to die, and most people say they want to die in their sleep or they want to die surrounded by loved ones, but my friend Alex, her answer is she wants to be walking down 34th street and have a complete stranger come up and shoot her in the back of the head. That’s how she wants to die, with no advance warning and no awareness of what’s happening. And I thought that was a very interesting way to want to die and when you make an instrumental song you can name it anything. If I write a song with lyrics, usually the title comes from the lyrics, but if there are no lyrics you just have to think of these arbitrary sort of random titles.

Every now and then, since David Lynch and I are friends, I’ll just send him a piece of music. I’ll be working on something and I’ll think, 'Oh David might like this.' So I sent him “Shot in the Back of the Head” and he liked it and he said, 'Oh if you have any footage lying around I’d love to use it in a video.' I know he’s constantly shooting, no pun intended, shooting things and he does a lot of animation and he wanted to learn how to use Flash and so he used making the video as his way of learning how to use Flash.

Did he draw those images in the video?

He did everything. When I’m working with artists I really revere and respect, I like them do whatever I want. For me to in any way try to give direction to David Lynch would be the most absurd, presumptuous thing I’ve ever done.

How is Moby of today different from Moby of the past, when you first began playing music, and DJing in clubs, or when you first achieved mainstream success? And do you feel that you have evolved as an artist?

The first record I put out was actually in 1983, I was in a hardcore punk band called The Vatican Commandoes and we put out a 7inch called Hit Squad For God, which sold 250 copies, and at that time all of my favorite musicians were underground musicians and there were no musicians I respected who actually sold a lot of records, so when I was growing up I always thought I would be a weird underground musician who never sold records. And when I signed to my first label, I thought maybe I would sell 2000 records. I never expected mainstream success...so when it happened it just kind of confused me. For awhile, to my shame, I actually found myself having success and wanting more. But then the more I had the less I liked it.

In some ways it’s sort of emancipating because now I can make a record like this and I hope that people like it but I’m not concerned about anything resembling mainstream success. And it’s nice to not care about that aspect of it. But as far as my evolution as a musician or an artist, I don’t know. I can’t say that there’s been a progression; technically I know how to engineer records better and play instruments better, but some of the music I made when I was trying to get signed in the late '80s—I made some really strange, interesting music—that from my perspective is just as interesting as some of the music I’m making now. Some artists progress in a sort of linear way; I don’t think I have.

Do you think that your new album is a more intellectual approach to music? I know you wrote and recorded Wait For Me in your home studio, which is a converted bedroom, and you drew the album art yourself and had friends as guest vocalists.

It’s a little more experimental, it’s a lot more personal. It’s a lot less bombastic. One of my goals in life has been to make almost anti-intellectual music, because when I was nine years old I started learning music theory and playing classical music and from the time I was about ten until 13 or 14 I had a music teacher who loved complicated jazz and the only music he liked was intellectual, complicated music. And then I discovered punk rock, and I was like, 'All I want to hear is The Clash and three chords.' I like smart music when it still has a populist, emotional quality to it. Sonic Youth are a great example. Sometimes simplicity is really an underrated virtue in all of the arts. Sometimes the process can overwhelm the emotion.

Is there any part of the recording process that you absolutely hate?

I don’t like writing lyrics, I don’t know why. My mom was a literature major, I’m related to Herman Melville, I love writing essays, I love writing prose, but for some reason I just don’t like writing lyrics; that’s the drudgery of it. I try hard to write personal and expressive lyrics but in a perfect world I’d have a friend who wrote all of the lyrics. Mixing is also another part that makes me really anxious.

You’ve written that Last Night was an eclectic dance record, a party record for 1 a.m on a Saturday night, while Wait For Me is much quieter and more like a '9 a.m Sunday morning raining outside' record. Did you always want to make a record like this? Did you always want to slow things down and create something more introverted?

Musically I love Pantera, I love Black Flag, I like really aggressive music, but the music that other people have made that’s closest to my heart tends to be more mournful and quieter. As much as I love Pantera, I’ll always love Nick Drake more. As much as I love Public Enemy, I’ll always love Joy Division more. I love big bombastic expression, but quieter, introverted expression has always appealed to me more.

You've also said that Wait For Me is meant to be listened to from start to finish. Are you trying to indicate that there is no one “single,” or that it is more cohesive than your other albums, and therefore must be enjoyed in a different way? Your other albums did have singles and songs that leant themselves to clubs, parties, and sometimes radio play…but this one seems different.

I understand it’s 2009 and the vast majority of people who listen to music from this record will listen to it on their iPod on shuffle. It’s just a given and I accept that but I really do hope that if someone is willing to buy the record they, at least once, listen to it from start to finish. There’s something nice about a cohesive album. You put it on and you let it do all the work. And you hand yourself over to the musician’s vision of what the album should be, and I’m certainly not going to be presumptuous enough to say that this is a classic record, but I just hope that somehow someone will listen to it from start to finish and get something out of it.

The first focus track, “Shot in the Back of the Head,” was us saying, 'We like this song, let’s put it out and see what happens.' But that was an interesting choice because it’s an instrumental so it can never be played on the radio, and the video is dark and strange so it can never be played on MTV. The old punk rocker in the back of my head loves the fact that the first focus track, or single, is probably the least commercial thing I’ve ever released.  

When you wrote about the meaning behind the song “Jltf1/Jltf” you mentioned that everyone you knew was smoking crack, smoking meth, and shooting speedballs and dying of overdoses and that this became normal. And then you went on to say that these people shouldn’t be demonized and that the reason people do drugs more often than not is they want to be happy, and you have spoken about how it shouldn’t be the job of the government to impose laws upon the bodies of adults. Can you say more about these opinions?

The song title is a dirty acronym; it stands for Junkies Love to Fuck. Living here for so long, I’ve had so many friends who are drug addicts, and a friend of mine, the woman who shot the press pictures, Jessica Dimmick, she made this amazing book called The Ninth Floor, she spent a year living with junkies in a shooting gallery, and what’s interesting is that my friends who are junkies are trying to feel good. They’re destroying themselves, but they’re just trying to feel good so they get in almost this feral state. Basically, it gets reduced to shooting up, sleeping, eating and having sex. And then eating falls by the wayside, so they shoot up and have sex. And so the song is inspired by a lot of junkie friends.

I don’t think that the government ever has a place to tell an individual what they can or cannot do to their own bodies. If someone wants to get crazy tattoos on their face, if someone wants to kill himself, if someone wants to take drugs, it’s not the government’s place to prevent them from doing it; it’s the government’s place to provide them with information. And as far as drugs though, I’m all in favor of decriminalization because most of the people I know who’ve really been damaged by drugs, it’s because they didn’t know what they were taking. They didn’t know what they were getting into. Certainly, people shouldn’t deal with the awfulness of addiction. The Dutch government has this amazing public health service where they set up a booth in nightclubs and if you bring them your drugs they test them for purity. That way there are less drug deaths. I don’t advocate drug use, but it’s a fact of life that people like to take drugs.

Do you ever make music consciously thinking that people listening would be on drugs?

I’m aware…Everybody does drugs. Honestly I don’t know a single person who has not at some point in their life done class-A narcotics. I have, everybody I know has. Luckily, I emerged relatively unscathed. Luckily most of my friends emerged unscathed. I really worry about people harming themselves. The war on drugs is not working, it’s costing tons of money and it’s sending poor innocent kids to jail for having the smallest amount of drugs on them.

Having lived and made music in NYC for 30 years, and having been fully ingrained in the culture, what do you think about New York of today, in terms of gentrification or its music and arts scenes, versus New York of years past? Are you still as fascinated with and absorbed by the city now as you were then? And would you ever want to record elsewhere?

Selfishly, I did prefer NY when it was cheaper and scarier. I preferred the East Village when you sort of took your life in your hands walking down certain streets. Cheap rents enable people to take more chances. I do miss cheap, dirty, scary old NY; having said that, I’m one of the few people who thinks that this is an amazing time. The last few years, barring gentrification and barring how expensive everything is, there are more galleries, and more bands, more clubs, more musicians, more photographers, more writers…just the number of band that have come out, the number of records that have come out. Like the '90s, not much happened here. From 1990 until 1999, I can’t really think of too many relatively well-known bands that came out of NY. There was stuff going on but NY had been ravage by AIDS and the crack epidemic, and so, in the '90s, NY was kind of licking its wounds. I think NY is in a really good place…the bigness of it means that the moment one place becomes too gentrified, people leave. There’s always a next place to go and that’s what keeps it interesting.

Let's talk about your sentiment, shared by Lynch, about art versus commerce and how the market should accommodate art and not the other way around. Do you believe that people like yourself in the music world have any power to change the industry? Or do you feel that you are doing so simply by making a record based upon your own artistic intentions?

I think luckily it’s already sort of changed because records just don’t sell that well anymore, so ten years ago, a major label could go to an artist and encourage the artist to make a lot of compromises in the interest of selling five million records. And now the same major label will go to the artist and ask them to compromise without any incentive. It seems that musicians are able to have a lot more integrity now, and also musicians can reach their audience more directly; decades ago, there were a handful of radio stations, a handful of magazines, and a handful of record companies, and if you didn’t go through them no one heard your music. And now, I don’t know, there’s so many different ways in which people can release records and communicate with fans, in which people can disseminate music and information, so I do think that the demise of the major label is one of the greatest things to happen to music in a long time. 

Since you've been personally inspired by David Lynch and his theories about creativity. how do you feel about his ideas of Transcendental Meditation? Lynch has said that transcending is “an experience that you can have just before you go to sleep….when you go from one state of consciousness to another,” but that we can get there in the waking hours through meditation. Do you think music, yours or anyone else’s, has the power to transcend? And do you ever meditate or feel as though you have reached this “fourth state of consciousness” where you find an unbounded ocean of bliss within your Self?

I don’t know if I ever reached the fourth state of consciousness. Maybe I have maybe I haven’t. I mean certainly there was no one there standing there…if you’re learning how to pay an instrument, you can play for someone and they’ll tell you that you’ve gotten to a certain point, but as far as consciousness goes, all you can do is talk about your experience. It’s all subjective. One of the things I love about music and art in general but especially music is it can take you anywhere, and you don’t have to do anything. It’s one of the only art forms that exists even when you close your eyes. Most other things...you don’t like looking at a painting, you close your eyes the painting goes away. But with music, even with your eyes closed, it literally penetrates every cell in your body. Music is air molecules being slightly adjusted. Part of its power, I think, is that it’s technically intangible. It’s also the only art form you can’t touch; it never exists. The moment it’s created it doesn’t exist anymore. And people sometimes confuse the delivery vehicle for music with the music itself; like someone will think you can touch music because here’s a CD. A CD is just a piece of plastic with binary code on it; it’s not actual music. Music is also the only art form that can’t exist in a vacuum, music needs air.

(illustration by Tatyana Fazlalizadeh)

If you can imagine a band that actually sounds like a band, sans the processing, mixing, and Pro Tools perfection that runs rampant today, then you will have conjured The Secret Machines and their self-titled album. Before starting their own label, the giant Warner Bros. forced them into mixing, which Josh Garza likens to photoshopping; “I’m the drummer,” he says, “let the drums sound the way they sound!”

Garza, Brandon Curtis, and Phil Karnats spent a lot of time working on their setup pre-recording in order to use only live takes, and according to Garza, “One of the best ways to make [a rock record] is to put up some mics and press record, and let the band be as they are.” As a result, Secret Machines (which they wanted to remain titleless because they felt that the album didn’t need any guidance) is a truly honest record, though it was also an uphill battle after the loss of their former guitarist to School of Seven Bells. The album, influenced by a plethora of classic rock bands (“We’re old at heart”), reveals the slightly modified Machines yearning and reaching, but though it’s rather dark, there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

In their live shows, the Secret Machines create a multi-sensory experience by enhancing the music with visual lights and imagery. On their most recent tour, they teamed up with noted stage designer Es Devlin to create a unique and minimalist installation piece that presents “a different way of rock ‘n’ roll set design…not moving lights, not a backdrop.” The guys care deeply about the revolutionary potential of music and music communities, and they promote safe spaces for self-expression. For Curtis, music is about “channeling and discovering and expressing,” and he says, “It seems like music is one of those things where you don’t have to necessarily express a particular idea. You can create, non-invasively, an environment that can give birth to other ideas and other feelings, you create situations…tonight, when we play, we will make an environment, we will make a feeling, a mood, a space and then it will be gone.”

Is it just me, or is the world finally starting to seem shinier? The psychedelic movement of the 1960s is far behind us, but, today, a new generation of thinkers, shakers, and music makers are attempting to tap into the collective unconscious in a myriad of creative ways. By dipping into the multifarious pot of past influences, bands like MGMT are inventing new sounds, thoughts, and images, via fusing musical styles. 

Inspired by late ’70s punk, ’80s underground, Motown, and such bands as Suicide, Television Personalities, and Tear Drop Explosion, the fresh and colorful MGMT consists of Andrew VanWyngarden and Ben Goldwasser, who have been described as “psychic pilgrims” that delve into “mystic paganism” (though they came up with neither phrase and aren’t too sure they agree). The combo conducts experimental pop without regard to any specific genre; as Goldwasser says, “We never really felt like we were part of a scene, most of the time we were making music for ourselves, for our own amusement.”

Though some tracks on their 2007 debut, Oracular Spectacular, such as the single “Electric Feel,” are entirely danceable and Williamsburg-club-friendly, the “pilgrims” were surprised when clubs started spinning their tunes, as this was not their intention. “A lot of our songs have nostalgia about childhood,” Goldwasser explains, “we’re trying to get away from reality, and not have to think too much about settling down.” Brooklyn is certainly the ideal setting for dispelling societal (as well as musical) expectations. Recently, the guys started a rumor about potentially churning out a double album, with one disk that’s “really far-out and psychedelic” and the other of catchy pop music, since they want to continue equally in both directions.  

Perhaps the most obvious example of the ways in which MGMT marries pop sensibility with wild imagery occurs in their music videos. For “Time to Pretend,” Goldwasser says, “We really wanted to do a dance party video, but mess it up…so Andrew came up with the idea of doing a bayou jamboree, swamp dance party.” The tribal “Electric Feel” video involves spiritual animals, outer space, and fractal geometry, which visually evokes a hallucinogenic experience, which is almost transcendental. “The basic story for that was a post-apocalyptic tribe of young people living on the beach and hunting and taking acid…it sort of came from a lot of discussions we were having about what the end of the world would be like, thinking about ways that young people would try to resurrect some sort of civilization, try to survive, in a hostile environment…bad things are happening, but people are trying to pick up the pieces.”

Though the images came well after piecing together the album—the guys recorded demos on their own before hitting the studio with Flaming Lips producer David Fridman—MGMT looked to Alejandro Jodorowksy’s The Holy Mountain (1973) for inspiration. This Surreal film, funded in part by John Lennon, tells the tale of a spiritual quest for the secret of eternal life, via Christian and Buddhist symbolism, New Age mystique, Tarot, and alchemy. In terms of their own ability to re-open the third eye of the world, Goldwasser states, “A lot of mystical, magical imagination is overlooked right now…it sounds kind of stupid saying it, but I think magic is something that is really important, and the idea of something behind every day life. I don’t think I’m really superstitious, but I really believe in a higher form of intelligence, or something like that.”

The artist known as Santogold sits prim and proper with hands pressed together, yet a wide-open stare commands attention, as gold glitter shoots from her mouth. The cover of Santi White’s self-titled solo debut perfectly encapsulates the Santogold persona as forceful, energy-driven, and fearless. She’s literally spilling her gold-speckled guts, violently emitting her musically unique vision, and divulging her independence as a female singer, songwriter, and producer.
         
If you’ve even been semi-cognizant of new artists this year than the name Santogold, if not the music itself, has already graced your ears. And if you didn’t catch her stellar performances at SXSW, CMJ, or Coachella, you’ve probably heard her music pop up in commercials—“Lights Out” for Budweiser, a remix of “L.E.S. Artistes” for Ford,  “Say Aha” for Telus smart-phones, and “Creator” for three Extreme Style VO5 gel commercials. That’s not to say that she’s (gasp) become “commercial.” To celebrate the 100th anniversary of Converse, White, along with Pharrell and Strokes’ leader Julian Casablancas, recorded an original full-length track, which was available as a free download. The three also appeared in Converse ads, a commercial, and even a music video. As an artist, White feels that these creative projects help spread her music, and she doesn’t seem concerned about any other connotation.  

It would seem that the ultra-hip White sets trends without even trying. As something of a Brooklyn fashionista  (often spotted in Bed-Sty wearing an amalgamation of comfy clothes, or donning a big fur coat, spandex, sneakers, colorful T-shirts, hoops, and shades), she epitomizes the mishmash of musical genres and generational styles that has just recently permeated the music scene and become accepted by the masses.

Despite comparisons to her equally funky pal M.I.A, which, as she’s stated, is largely due to being solo female performers of color and not to similarity of musical styles, White’s shiny brand of songwriting showcases her vocal ability, as well as other strengths. She considers herself a singer, not a rapper, and has a hand in every part of the creative and recording processes. Her diverse and collaborative album fuses reggae, hip-hop, indie rock, electronica, new wave, and Caribbean and African drumming—all tied up with a punkish bow and lyrically seething self-assurance. In terms of influences, White explains, “There are too many things to name; my life in general and all of my experiences inspire my music.” She does, however, credit her older sister for getting her into Bad Brains, The Smiths, and other rock bands, while her musically-obsessed father used to sneak her into concerts, like that of the late James Brown.

When White traded her hometown of Philly for modern-day Brooklyn, she also traded her woman-behind-the-curtain role for full possession of the stage. A graduate of the liberal arts college Wesleyan, which fosters free-minded and eclectic artists, Santogold defined her own educational path, majoring in both music and African-American studies, thus laying the groundwork for creative success. “I'm not sure if it’s Wesleyan or just the type of person that's attracted to Wesleyan,” she says of the school, from which a number of underground performers—Mr. Len, Masterminds, Pumpkinhead, and MGMT—have also emerged. “It has a great music department, and a lot of really fun and interesting students who pride themselves on their individuality.”

As a result of this academic experience, White’s transition from behind the scenes heavyweight to major headliner was mostly unproblematic. “The transition has been very natural,” she says. “It was a slow process going from working at a label, to songwriting, to fronting my band, to my solo project. It was very organic and each step has prepared me for the next.”

Beginning her journey in the mid-90s as an intern for Sony, White later joined the big leagues at Epic Records as an A&R executive. When she signed solo performer Res to the label, White ended up writing ten of eleven tracks on her neo-soul meets rock meets R&B album, How I Do, which certainly went above and beyond the call of duty. Res’ 2001 debut landed her a temporarily popular single/video and not much else, but White gained a name as a credible songwriter, and would later write for Lily Allen and Ashlee Simpson.
 
Next, White fronted the ska/punk band Stiffed, releasing an EP and an LP that remained underground, despite radio-play potential. By 2006, Stiffed was over and White wanted to branch out on her own. As plans for a solo record raced through her mind, she sought to remain true to her DIY ethos, penchant for self-expression, and assorted cache of influences, which range from the Pixies to Cocteau Twins, while also seeking across-the-globe collaborations. One musical connection led to another, and soon plenty of DJ’s, producers, rappers, and the like, between England and the US, were on board. White found herself with a healthy number of friends/collaborators who would help breathe life and originality into various tracks on her record.

Former Stiffed bandmate John Hill, aka Johnny Rodeo, took the role of White’s co-producer and main partner-in-crime. “John Hill and I have a very special creative chemistry,” White explains. “He is one of few people I absolutely trust creatively. We have very similar tastes and influences, and we're like brother and sister so we can be completely honest with each other, which is always best. It was great to work so closely with John because it helped to create some cohesion on the record.”

Together, the pair worked with Diplo, Switch, Spank Rock, Freq Nasty, the late Disco D, Vaughn Merrick, Graeme Sinden, and Trevor “Trouble” Andrew, White’s skater/ snowboarder/ musician beau, among others. Each of these artists leant their own flavor to the record, but White states, “When other producers were involved, John and I worked along-side them to make sure that the songs shared a common thread, so that the project worked as a whole.” For the track “Shove It,” for example, White decided to bring in electronica composer Disco D; as Hill told Remix, “I had never worked with him, and it was a truly inspiring experience.” After a good deal of chopping up, tweaking effects, and building beats, Hill added horns, melodica, and piano, White rerecorded vocals, and the tracks were sent to Switch for another remix. Hill continues, “When we were finally mixing, we decided to take a couple of elements from Switch’s remix and combine them with ours.”

Consequently, every track benefited from such labored, intensive, back-and-forth efforts during recording and mixing, but the heart of each song was all Santogold. “I do think of myself as a confident and self-assured person,” White says of her abilities. “And those feelings show up in my songs as frequently as the insecurities and vulnerabilities show up in songs like ‘L.E.S Artistes’ or ‘Anne.’” Many of the album’s lyrics concern aspects of freedom while also conveying a feminist sensibility through thematically defiant undertones, especially on “Unstoppable” and “Creator.”

During her time in Stiffed and as a solo artist, White has been angered by critics who refer to her music as R&B or hip-hop solely on account of her ethnicity. “I did not know how Santogold would be received,” White says, “but one thing I learned along the way was to never worry about that part, but to just focus on the music.” Through her willingness to concoct a multifarious sound against industry expectation, it can be said that White promotes freedom from pre-conceived notions of what African-American performers should sing or write. Her all-around approach to music making also sets her apart from other female singers, who are usually less involved in the production or decision-making end of things.

The video for Santogold’s first single, “L.E.S Artistes,” has Santogold positioned atop a horse, asserting a sort of masculinity or dominance. Other parts of the video display symbolic mock violence and self-destruction, taking a refreshingly artistic and seemingly socio-political approach to a song that was written, of course, about NYC’s infamous Lower East Side and White’s experience as a resident there. While she possesses an almost intimidating sex appeal, it’s unlike that of most female performers, who are more obvious about their goods. The music video doesn’t feature a party of scantily clad women, nor does White rely on her appearance to gain exposure.

On stage, White performs in front of a DJ and in between two cool-as-ice dancers/back-up singers, who don colorful, loose-fitting outfits and plastic sunglasses as they groove. Like any punk rocker, White is highly engaged with the crowd and boasts an infectious energy. When it comes to her stage presence, she explains, “There will always be times when we feel less secure or less confident. But the key to being a good performer is to never let those take over. It’s great as a performer to show vulnerability, as long as you can demonstrate control over it…or not! People seem to love watching performers fall apart.”

Not that we have to be worried about that. Björk, who offered White an opener slot, and Kanye West were both early fans of her music, but it would seem that the rest of the world has been given the chance to catch up. Despite rumors of strained vocal chords hindering performances, White is determined to keep Santogold alive and intact. “My plans for the future are just to keep making music,” she says. “I can't wait to get back in the studio. But I have a bunch more touring to do first.” This self-described Creator is now on everyone’s radar, and as her self-titled debut is in the earliest stages of becoming an iconic classic, it’s safe to say that Santogold is unstoppable.  

Diplo
Born Wesley Pentz. Philly DJ and producer. Runs club/music collective Hollertronix. Dated, worked, and toured with M.I.A. Started label/radio show Mad Decent, signing artists such as Crookers, DJ Seja, and Boy 8 Bit. On tour until November.

Disco D
Born David Aaron Shayman. DJ and producer for artists like 50 Cent. Originally Detroit-based, helped popularize “Ghettotech.” Started label/night club Booty Bar in Brooklyn. Pioneer of mobile music art form. Committed suicide in January of 2007.

John Hill
Also known as Johnny Rodeo. Brooklyn-based producer and musician. Co-produced Santogold, among work on other albums. Former member of Stiffed with Santogold. 

Sinden
Born Graeme Sinden. UK producer and DJ. Has done remixes with Diplo under the name A. Brucker & Sinden. Toured Europe in 2008 with The Count, aka Hervé, with whom he remixes as The Count & Sinden.

Spank Rock
Phily/Baltimore-based hip-hop group. Members MC Spank Rock, Armani XXXchange, Chris Rockswell, & Ronnie Darko. Toured with Hollertronix and M.I.A. Signed to Downtown Records, the same label as Santogold.

Switch
Born Dave Taylor. UK DJ, producer, and sound engineer. Produced album Kala for M.I.A. Currently producing an album with Diplo as Major Lazer. Known for doing remixes, such as “Tell Me” by P. Diddy.

Rock bands from Sweden and other northern-European countries, notably Norway and Finland, are often associated with the sort of heavy metal intended to terrify and antagonize. Although Dungen hails from a similarly desolate and wintry landscape, their music embodies an optimistic neo-psychedelia inspired more by progressive metal than that of the black or death variety. Songwriter/frontman/multi-instrumentalist Gustav Ejstes has seemingly benefited from the dark isolation of his homeland. “The way I grew up, in the countryside, I had a lot of time to myself,” he says. “There were a lot of opportunities to be creative.”
                             
Against expectations of what might emerge from the Swedish countryside, Dungen’s latest album, 4, possesses light-hearted moments of absolute joy, taking from Swedish folk music and even classical and tying this into rock n’ roll freak-outs, feedback, and extended guitar solos. While the prog rock moments present on past albums are still a major factor, string arrangements and flute offer 4 a more cinematic and whimsical air. Between Reine Fiske’s masterful guitar-work, tight and jazzy structures, and the nearly ever-present piano, on the part of Ejstes, the new album emits a sentimentality that overrides otherwise traditional rock band instrumentation.

Though 4 may appear conceptual, Ejstes confirms, “I have never forced anything, and when I have tried to force myself to do anything musically, it turned out very bad. It might be a cliché, but it comes to me…I just want to make music. I just have to.” He readily admits that 4 is a departure from previous work because “this time it’s more piano-based” and because the band didn’t rush into recording; rather, they “let the songs go for awhile.” Piano is the instrument on which Ejstes feels most comfortable and expressive; in all regards, he remains steadfast in his belief that songs should pour out freely and naturally. The band ditched Virgin Records, after a brief signing, to return to their original indie label, Subliminal Sounds, so as to ensure their maximum creative freedom. Ejstes has even likened his creative process to that of a hip-hop producer, and has experimented with turntables and scratching.

Ejstes, Fiske, Gustavsson, and new drummer Holmegard—who oddly enough all wear size 10 in shoes—have benefited from performing at large festivals throughout the US and Europe, such as Bonnaroo and Coachella, where they improvise and “try to make things interesting,” but they also enjoy playing in their home country. “We played a small place in Sweden on the west coast, just by the sea,” Ejstes says. “There were no more than 30 people there, we were playing ping-pong with the crowd before and after the show.” When it comes to the language barrier, he confirms that Dungen’s worldwide fan base has no problem with the Swedish lyrics. “I talk English,” he explains (in English), “but I don’t think I’m so good in English so I can’t express myself as well.”

(photo by Jeaneen Lund)

As one of the two founding members of Canadian indie-rock sensation and super group Broken Social Scene, Brendan Canning has been involved in a plethora of musically creative collaborations. He recently released a solo record titled Something For All of Us… as part of the Broken Social Scene Presents series. Though this would suggest a one-man show, about 25 people contributed to the record; some had already made musical bonds with Canning, while others were new to collaborate. “I work with different producers so it was quite similar to the way I made records with BSS—smoked too much pot, spent way too much time in the studio.” Canning also admits that when “making a solo record, or whatever you wanna call it, you have to deal with yourself more.”

The mild-mannered Canning has come a long way since the first BSS album he wrote with Kevin Drew, titled Feel Good Lost, on which he primarily played bass. He has expanded, playing a variety of instruments—“guitar, bass, lots of keyboards, lots of string pads, lots of singing, and some piano too…”—and although it was a challenge to take on lead vocals, Canning admits it was freeing. Largely a positive person, he also decided to write in minor C—“I find that more on a darker theme, like a very sad cowboy or something”—to reflect somber moments throughout the album. As he says, “Music is generally sad but hopeful, joyous yet melancholy.”

Inspired by “whatever’s good,” he finds it difficult to describe his sound; “There’s a little white soul, I think antique folk, kinda got a little Led Zeppelin guitar-picky thing, a little Cocteau Twins thing maybe…something like ‘Snowballs & Icicles,’ I think that’s in the Elliott Smith kind of ballpark.” For Canning, there are no preconceived notions, and every song “lands in a different place. To peg it all down to one thing, to what my sound is, that’s for other people to really write and talk about and decide for themselves.”

(photo by Norman Wong)

As one of the two founding members of Canadian indie-rock sensation and super group Broken Social Scene, Brendan Canning has been involved in musically creative collaborations for years. He recently released a solo record titled Something For All of Us… as part of the Broken Social Scene Presents series, which features an assortment of musicians. Beyond Race spoke to the mild-mannered Canning about his role in Broken Social Scene, his passion for music, the solo record, and the Toronto scene from which he emerged.

You’ve come a long way since Feel Good Lost, which Broken Social Scene released in 2001. How do you think you have improved or expanded as a musician, writer, or singer since this album?
Lots of ways. I’m releasing a record where I do plenty of singing; at the point of Feel Good Lost, I did no singing. As you get older, hopefully you pick up a few tricks here and there. No grand secrets or anything, it’s overall understanding composition and arrangement better hopefully, like Feel Good Lost is a good record. I can’t say that you don’t feel that you could be learning more, but are you improving? I don’t know. I guess someone else could say that, maybe people look back and say, ‘Oh you peaked at Feel Good Lost and everything else was downhill, you wasted 30 years when you could have been doing something else.’
I don’t think anyone’s going to say that.
I hope not.

What is it like going from making music with a very large group of people to embarking on a solo record?
Well, I mean there’s still lots of people playing on the record, I work with different producers so it was quite similar to the way I made records with Broken Social Scene— smoked too much pot, spent way too much time in the studio, and trying to figure out where the hell you’re at and trying to figure out whether you have a record or not, then take 3 months off and then think about it for 3 months and then come back…you know, [that was what happened with] the Broken Social Scene records we made, except for Feel Good Lost, that was an easy one because that was really Kevin [Drew] and I for most of it, and it was very simplistic because we were working on an 8-track, but we’ve been working with technology, which can definitely slow you down. Because you just have too many options sometimes…‘Wanna lay another guitar track down?’ ah you know. It leaves a lot of room and a lot of work to the editors, and I’m not an editor.

What are you trying to achieve on your first solo album? Have you been experimenting with any new techniques or approaches to songwriting and instrumentation? Also, do any specific themes run through the album?
It’s just the songs that were coming out. There wasn’t like a concept written on paper before I went in to record, I don’t have some preconceived notion before I start making a record, or before I started making this record. It was more just…I want to make some music and Brian and John, the guys who were producing the record with me, they had ideas too so it was like starting a new group essentially, you know, me, Brian, and John in the studio, spending way too much time, getting to know each other. That’s essentially what it’s about.

Why did you decide to have “Hit the Wall” act as the album’s first single and music video?
Seemed like a good song to lead off with…catchy chorus, no other reason than that.

The album sounds largely upbeat and is full of positive energy, so I was wondering if you had to be in this state of mind while you were creating the music.
Well I’m generally a positive person. I feel like there were actually moments that were a little more somber than usual for Broken Social Scene, or at least on a couple tunes, more stuff in C minor to begin with, but then it ends in B flat Major, sort of like your tension and then your release. “Possible Grenade,” that’s C minor and I find that a little sort of more on a darker theme, like a very sad cowboy or something…maybe you’ll look back on that and think I was being serious, but it is, C minor is very cowboy. Music is generally sad but hopeful, joyous yet melancholy, that’s kind of my thing.

Did you feel any pressure to make a solo album after Kevin Drew and to be part of the Broken Social Scene Presents series, or was this something you always wanted to do?
It’s something that I thought about for quite a while, you have a band and you do a lot of stuff that’s really great and some of the time you’re thinking, ‘God I just want to work on my own for a little bit,’ and I did, but I’m ready to collaborate, not that I didn’t collaborate lots on that record. I mean there’s lots of time where I thought, ‘I wish there were more people around to help with the process and maybe hone in on an idea quicker,’ but making a solo record or whatever you wanna call it, you have to deal with yourself more so that’s important too, dealing with yourself and your own problems in the studio.

Was it a challenge to do vocals on this album, since you haven’t done a lot of vocals with Broken Social Scene?
Yeah.
Did it feel freeing?
When I listened to certain tunes, I was really happy with the vocal performance, like, ‘Yeah, I have no problem with the way I sound on this tune.’

What are the instruments that you play on this album?
I play guitar, bass, acoustic guitar, lots of keyboards, lots of string pads and some piano too. Lots of singing, horn arrangements, string arrangements…
Wow, that’s a lot of different instruments.
That’s ok, they’re not terribly complex parts, any of them.

What do you think personally inspires you and your projects?
What music? You name it. We were at a bar last night and it was sort of like Goth night, but more like post-punk night although they called it Goth, it wasn’t too Gothy, it was more like mid-80s music that Interpol probably listened to a lot, and I was really digging it. There was one Depeche Mode song that they snuck in, I like old Depeche Mode. Lots of bands that sort of sound like Echo and the Bunnymen, but not Echo and the Bunnymen, or Sisters of Mercy, but not Sisters of Mercy. Not that that’s music I listen to, but I enjoyed it last night…like yeah, good melodies, good baselines, you know it’s a little darker, but so whether it’s that kind of music or hip-hop or jazz or rock music, folk music, Latin music, I’m inspired by a lot of things. Whatever’s good music.

What do you think is your favorite or most accomplished song on this record? Or do you not have one?
Well, I don’t know, there’s a couple I think. “Snowballs and Icicles,” that was written a couple of years before, from the two songs I recorded with Ohad Benchetrit of Do Make Say Think and that was “Snowballs and Icicles” and the other song was “take Care Look Up,” but I think “Snowballs & Icicles” is a pretty deep little tune and I can’t even figure out how to play it actually because it was written so long again and it was in alternate tuning, so I like that one. I don’t know, I think “Antique Bull” is kind of a good one, you know I worked with Lisa Lobsinger and sort of spent a while working on the melody and it’s got some interesting parts and it’s got another minute added on of a song we faded out so…there’s a couple there that I think are good. I think “Chameleon” maybe, maybe we’ll leave it at “Chameleon.” That’s your classic thematic Broken Social-ish kind of song with the horn arrangements...for a while there that was the best tune we had going because the vocals were kind of the most triumphant sounding. There you go, I have two favorites I guess.

I know there were people on this album that you hadn’t worked with before. Were there a lot of newcomers or was it mostly friends with musical bonds that you’d already made?  
Yeah, I mean I had never recorded with Liam O’Neil from The Stills, or Kevin Hearn who plays with The Barenaked Ladies and also Lou Reed’s band, I never recorded with him before…those are two new people, oh and Liz, you know the band Land of Talk? Liz Powell did some vocals on the song, “Been At it So long” and did some backups on “Hit the Wall” so yeah, she’s a good one. She’s actually someone I recorded with ten years ago but you know, kind of on a project that didn’t quite go the right way.

How many people would you say you worked on Something For All Of Us... with?
Oh I don’t know, 25 maybe.
Is there anyone you haven’t collaborated with that you would really like to?
Oh sure yeah, tons. Hopefully I’ll get to play with them sometime. I don’t know, we’ll see when they come my way. The last sort of collaborative thing we did was Spiral Stairs of with the band Pavement, we did this thing with a drummer, this guy Darius who also played for The Posies, we did a band, a one-night only thing called Human Milk, kind of a funny name, at a festival in Calgary…yeah, you know, I think it’s a long life of playing music so collaborations will come when they come.

Maybe this is a hard question to answer, but how would you define your own sound, if you had to? I mean because it’s often considered indie rock…
Yeah indie rock, and then there’s a little white soul, I think antique folk, kinda sounds a little like The Sundays, kinda got a little Led Zeppelin guitar-picky things, a little Cocteau Twins thing maybe, sort of like the Goth part of the Cocteau Twins, I like them a lot. Something like “Snowballs & Icicles,” I think that’s in the Elliott Smith kind of ballpark. I think every song lands in a different place, to peg it all down to one thing, to what my sound is, that’s for other people to really write and talk about and decide for themselves.

I was reading your Myspace bio, and there’s a line that says, “Something For All Of Us… is as much of a reflection of Canning’s life outside Broken Social Scene as within.” I was wondering what you thought of that statement, and if you agree with it.
Yeah because I think lots of these songs, you’ll put them up against other Broken Social Scene tunes and I think they’ll sound very comfortable in that setting and then there are a few moments where it’s like, ‘Oh this is sort of different territory or maybe we didn’t hear this coming from Brendan Canning on previous Broken Social Scene work,’ but if you kind of look at the whole body of Broken Social Scene, I’m heavily involved with the band and started it so, once again, I’ll leave that for other people. It’s just a bio and, you know, it’s not a bad bio. It’s as good an intro as anything.

Do you think that the album cover art, and the artwork on previous Broken Social Scene albums, corresponds well to the music? It’s colorful and sort of casual, so I was wondering what you thought of it and how the choices were made.
Well, I like it. I think maybe the artwork could have gone in a different direction, but, for me, it’s kind of a reflection of where I live, like that’s the street where I live, and that’s the people making the record and then some other people that weren’t making the record. Because the music sounds a certain way, maybe you’d think darker tones would have better suited the record, but that’s sort of Brendan in the neighborhood and it’s a little influenced by this reggae artist named Scientist and the artist Tony McDermott that I really like so that’s kind of a little where we mixed some of the inspiration behind the art. What do you think of it?
I like it. There are so many details there to look at.
A lot of our artwork in the past was lacking a little bit in the color.
This one is more colorful for sure.
On the other hand, I think all the art we’ve had has fit the albums well. It’s a tough thing to decide on sometimes.

Since you tour often and are involved in a lot of different projects, do you still feel connected to the music scene in Toronto, from which you came?
I do. I don’t spend nearly as much time in clubs and going to see bands like I used to, but there are a couple of younger bands, like one band I was going to their rehearsals to say, ‘Okay I like you guys, but you guys need some help,’ and it was really fun and it was kind of apparent they were fans of our band. There’s still plenty of musicians in town that I’ll see on a daily basis when I’m home. It’s not like when Broken Social Scene were starting. I’ve sort of been playing in bands in Toronto since 1991 and spending a lot of time there, and that’s a lot of time to live in the same city, [but now] I get the chance to tour the world…when I’m home, the neighborhood bar is pretty close to my house, pretty comfortable, they don’t play the best tunes but they’ve got some okay beer on tap, my dog can sit on the patio, has his own chair, me and my gal just sit there and have a drink…Toronto is still my city and I look at the weeklies every week and check to see who’s playing.
Even when you’re on tour?
No, not when I’m on tour. ‘Oh my god I can’t believe I’m missing these guys!’

You have a big tour coming up. And you’re playing a lot of festivals?
Yeah, a lot of festivals. We’re sort of doing it on weekends, but yeah life is manageable. It’s a good balance right now and we never spent too much time on the road because I think certain bands can do it, but it’s kind of a fucked up life.
It seems like a lot of time away in a microcosm.
Yeah, it’s like you’re hanging out with bands and they get too into their own thing. It’s like, ‘You guys are fucked, you know there’s another world going on out there and you’re missing it.’

Is there any specific festival or show you’re looking forward to the most?
We’re going to Brazil and Argentina, so I have to say I’m looking forward to going to Brazil. I’ve never been.

(photo by Norman Wong)  

We all know the song. We all know the lyrics. “Behind the boathouse, I’ll show you my dark secret.” Well, the Toadies are back with a brand new album called No Deliverance, but they aren’t exactly delivering the dirty little secrets of their past. When asked about the dark secret behind the boathouse, vocalist/guitarist Vaden Todd Lewis laughs and says, “I’m leaving that up to the listener.”

“Possum Kingdom” may have become the most widely known and remembered song off of 1994’s Rubberneck, but the success of the Toadies, who almost bore the moniker of Bogus Weed—“we flipped a coin and then we flipped it again until we got Toadies”—involves a lot more than just one hit. In fact, the Toadies toured for a year and a half before the album got any notice; “It just gradually snowballed until we were playing bigger places.”

Back in the ’90s, when Rubberneck went platinum, Lewis says, “It felt like I was on a lot of drugs…that could have been all of the drugs I was on. No, of course it was awesome. It was unexpected and kick-ass.” The Toadies rose to the top of the charts and their cryptic music video was frequently aired on MTV (back when the station actually played rock videos). More than a decade later, the guys still enjoy playing “Possum Kingdom,” “Tyler,” and “I Come From the Water,” among other Rubberneck tracks, though Lewis admits that they went through “a burn-out phase” and needed distance from this material.

In terms of live shows, Lewis assures that “it’s all [about] fans and making them happy,” and if this means performing their classic hits in addition to the new stuff, then the guys are more than down. “They’re the most tenacious fans ever, it’s just great. And they’ve been thrilled about [No Deliverance] and very supportive. They’ve come out in droves to these shows, so our focus primarily right now is making them happy.”

Toadies fans certainly are a loyal bunch. They stuck by their cherished rock band during complications with Interscope over the sophomore album. Lewis explains the rocky situation: “We went in to do an album in ’98, got approval from the label, recorded it, and it was sent off to get mixed, and somewhere between tracking and mixing it got unapproved, so we had to go back to the drawing board. We worked a handful of songs off that, wrote more, went back in and recorded in 2000.”

Seven years after Rubberneck, Hell Below/Stars Above (originally titled Feeler) eventually saw the light of day via Interscope, but the Toadies called it quits soon after. Not only were sales from Hell Below disappointing—largely because, as Lewis states, “We just didn’t have a chance to make it go”—but original bassist, Lisa Umbarger, left while they were still touring for the record. When the Toadies returned to their beloved home state of Texas to spend some time apart, Lewis, guitarist Clark Vogeler, and drummer Mark Reznicek began work on separate creative projects. Lewis, along with Reverend Horton Heat drummer Taz Bentley, formed the Burden Brothers in 2002 and released 2 albums and several EP’s.

Fast-forward to 2006, when the Burden Brothers, after extensive touring, are looking for some much needed time off. The Toadies receive an offer to do a reunion show and, as luck would have it, the offer falls in the 2-week window of Burden Brothers off time. “We were continually getting offers through all the downtime,” Lewis says, “just one happened to fall right in that spot and it just came out of nowhere and was a really good thing.”

The Toadies played a few sold-out shows and regrouped again the following year. In August of 2007, the Burden Brothers were looking for a substantial amount of time off after the loss of 2 members. Lewis says, “I got home, didn’t know what I was going to do…after writing for a few days, I realized that a lot of the stuff sounded very Toadies-ish, and it’s a totally different style than Burden Brothers, so I called up the guys and asked them whether they were available, or inclined.” Almost immediately, Vogeler and Reznicek were back on board, and they began work on new material. This time, the guys signed with Texas indie label Kirtland Records, which is “more hands on and feels a lot better.” Lewis explains, “I’ve learned that the more in control I am about my career, the more creative and positive I am.”

Now, bassist Doni Blair is the newest Toadie. Although it wasn’t the easiest transition, he assures, “I’ve been a fan forever so I knew the songs. I’m having a great time on stage playing them.” The band is touring for this entire year in support of No Deliverance, and they’re hoping to leave the country in February. Lewis playfully gripes, “The jokes get increasingly worse…a major downfall,” when discussing long bouts of time on the road, yet the guys feel that they’ve finally learned how to do it right.

Reminiscing about memorable shows, like the time they played with Elliott Smith, Lewis recalls, “There was the festival where the smoke bomb ruined the kick drum. That was exciting.” “There was that one show where the girls flashed their boobs,” Reznicek gleefully adds. “It happened once in Salt Lake City. They took off their Jesus jammies and their sequined underpants.”

Despite the good-natured laughs, Lewis is serious when it comes to discussing the thematic underside of No Deliverance. “One of the big [themes] is running away from something that you feel like you gotta do until you can’t run anymore and decide to just chase after it and go for it,” he explains. “That’s kind of harking back to when the band broke up. I didn’t want to have anything to do with music or at least business, I just wanted to stay home and work in my garage and eventually I realized people were asking me, ‘What are you going to do next?’ and I didn’t have a good answer, because there wasn’t anything, and eventually I just realized that I’m a musician and that’s what I’m supposed to do. The title track, ‘No Deliverance’ is, in a big way, about that struggle.”

After all of the touring and hard work, the guys can always relax and play Guitar Hero II, on which “Possum Kingdom” is a track. Guitarist Vogeler declares, “It’s really hard! It’s way more difficult than it is to actually play the song, but it’s fun.” Not only is it hard, but the experience of playing your own song on a popular video game is also pretty damn surreal. “It’s cool because it was, I think, the first one where they used the actual tracks from the record,” Vogeler explains. “All of the songs previously, they had some band replicate it, but this is, you know, actual guitars and drums from ‘Possum Kingdom’ that you play.”

Despite all the touring, the guys unanimously agree that their hearts and souls lie in Texas, and they consider themselves a firmly rooted Texan band. “Texas is our bread and butter,” Lewis says. “If we could, I would play [there] every weekend. This new album has a lot of Texas to it.” In terms of any comparisons to newer bands, Lewis proclaims, “We have less suck,” to which Reznicek adds, “Less suckage per mile!” Lewis continues, “I don’t think you get a lot of irony or weirdness in music these days…I love hearing weird stuff."

(photo by Peter Marince) 

Well, SxSW is over and done with, but boy did I have myself an awesome time! This year was my first South by experience and the festival more than exceeded expectations. As opposed to CMJ, which had me running all over NYC, Austin closes off Red River and 6th Street, allowing hoards and hoards of indie rock-kids, punks, musicians, journalists, transients, metal-heads, hip-hop-heads, and neo-hippies to wander easily and in large clumps. Austin certainly served as the ideal playground for assiduous music fanatics, as groups or sole individuals could pop in and out of seemingly endless strips of bars, pubs, clubs, venues, rooftops, lawns, patios, and parks night after night as they saw fit. All of this guaranteed a greater sense of community than the likes of CMJ could conjure: a community that is both integral to Austin's already inherent music scene and completely separate from it, seeing as how (I'd bet) more than half of South by goers are not actually Texan, and neither are the bands.

Due to my grad school lit class Wednesday night, I didn't arrive in Austin until Thursday afternoon, thereby missing out on one full day of music. However, I got my hands dirty on Red River as soon as I scored my magical wristband (secondary to badges, but nearly as good). First up on my must-see list for the night was Mason Jennings. He's a little too mellow-hippie-folk for my tastes, but he served as a big inspiration to Spencer Bell, a good friend of mine who passed away in 2006, and was playing along with other riot-folk-esque artists on a large stage outdoors in the back of Stubb's. The night was called "Body of War" and featured political folk acts assumably put together by Tom Morello, formerly of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave. I caught a few pretty, acoustic songs by Ben Harper and then Morello performed several songs of peace, including one that was written during slavery. He then invited plenty of other artists to accompany him, such as Harper, Kimya Dawson, Brett Dennen, Billy Bragg, and Jennings, and they played an enthusiastic version of "This Land is My Land" as the final song of their collective set, which really got the crowd singing and jumping up and down.

Before Mason Jennings' solo set, I darted into Emo's just down the street, which is a charming and rather small bar/venue that actually feels very Avenue A. Le Loup was playing there; according to their website, they are "not so much a group of musicians as [they are] a collective of talented young artists and entrepreneurs scattered across the East Coast." Whatever they are, their carefree electronica meets punk rock formula, rife with co-existing vocals, keys, and dancey beats, was absolutely tantalizing, and I'd have to say that I enjoyed their set more than any of the others I saw that night. They were clearly influenced by a variety of sounds, yet concocted something fresh and alive. Whichever male member was leading the pack on the mic boasted a contagious amount of passion. After their final unified "oooh-ahh-oooh," I headed back to Stubb's for Mason Jennings, who performed with calmed maturity and ease, particularly during his romantic single, "Be Here Now."

I had planned to check out Genghis Tron, but they were so noisy and ferocious that I settled for listening to them beyond the gates of the outdoor veranda where they played. I headed to Mohawk's Patio and stood on the porch-balcony for the venue's final three sets: Bon Iver, Jens Lekman, and Black Mountain. The first of these was mildly disappointing, but the second, whom I didn't even know before that night, was highly enjoyable and quite catchy: vocalist/guitarist Lekman is a Swedish pop performer who was accompanied by a female cellist and violinist, and the standard percussion and bass. At one point, all of the musicians put out their arms and pretended to fly around the stage...how cute! Black Mountain came on at 1am, and the body language/on-stage presence of lead singer Amber Webber was, unfortunately, that of the rather bored and energy-deficient variety (perhaps in a jaded Interpol way?). However, her powerful, oscillating voice carried every song and stood at the core of their music. Black Mountain is Ray Menzarek of The Doors times the metal riffs of Black Sabbath plus stoned Grace Slick minus Woodstock plus darker Yes plus a dash of The Church of Satan and supplemented by Jodorowsky's Holy Mountain...or something to that effect. Perhaps the most incredible aspects of their majestic set came when Webber was standing idly at the center, allowing her male bandmates to completely take over, engulfing the audience in tidal waves of lengthy and loud, anarchic, prog-rock masterpieces.

Friday was another solid day of music. During the sunny hours, I attended a house party hosted by Diesel U Music. A uniquely decorated stage (with a big armadillo) had been set up in the backyard, which extended to a pond and various benches, play equipment, and even a fenced animal pen. Some of the bands included Two Gallants, Peggy Sue & The Pirates, The Heavy, Trainwreck Riders, The Morning Benders, and various local acts; and though I don't even know which band I ended up watching, I was definitely into their punkish Southern-rock sound and excited attitude. As various partially-clothed people sat on the grass in 90 degree weather consuming free beer, barbecue meat and homemade salsa, the entire party felt inviting and extremely Texan!

Friday night began for me on the dirt behind Stubb's again, where I caught the infectious Brooklynite called Santogold. She's an African-American, East Coast version of M.I.A, with subtle Nelly Furtado and even Tegan and Sara attributes. However, by fusing reggae, hip-hop, club, R&B, and Caribbean and African drumming, Santogold creates a delicious brand of shiny, funky pop that is very much her own. She performed in front of a DJ and in the middle of two backup singers/dancing, who donned colorful baggy pants and plastic sunglasses, while Santogold herself bounced around in a loose tanktop, pants, and sneakers; I found these three strong black females very inspiring. Next, I made my way closer for another Brooklyn band, MGMT. As expected, these "psychic pilgrims" took the stage wearing head scarves and '70s rockstar-meets-American Apparel attire...thankfully, their groovy music matched. I have to admit, I fell a bit in love with vocalist/guitarist Andrew VanWyngarden as he lead the now-full band of boys behind him. The crowd was thrilled when they played "Electric Eel" mid-set, and if MGMT didn't already have a lot of fans, they certainly made some more loyal ones there.

I popped back into Mohawk's for another late-night triple set. Be Your Own Pet , a youthful Nashville punk-rock foursome, jumped onto stage and dove into their set full of unrelenting energy. Bleach-blond lead singer Jemina Pearl, with painted stripes on both cheeks and wearing black spandex pants and high-top Converse, flew her small body across the stage, covering every square inch, while guitarist Jonas Stein performed many a cheerleader-style jump. After a few songs, they literally broke the PA system, and the generator that supplied power to the entire stage had to be re-juiced for about twenty minutes. While everyone waited, Pearl entertained the crowd by bouncing around like an ADHD-riddled child, showing us her tiger tattoo, and raving about John Waters' Polyester. Finally, it was back to business, and the band returned with even more energy. Pearl climbed onto the shoulders of a large male she invited on stage, Stein jumped into the audience and allowed enthralled young girls to throw themselves onto him, and Pearl writhed around on the floor, tearing down an amp and squirming out from under it.

The gears changed with the next two performers, the legendary J Mascis, of Dinosaur Jr., and Thurston Moore, of Sonic Youth. Be Your Own Pet is actually on Moore's label, Ecstatic Peace, and their new album was just released. After all of their sweaty antics, J Mascis, with his signature long gray hair and large eyeglasses, sat serenely on a folding chair and revved up his plugged-in acoustic guitar. How someone can make the music that Mascis creates using only his gravely voice and nimble fingers is mind-bending, and the audience watched in utter amazement as the alternative-rock expert layered guitar melodies on top of one another, playing and harmonizing over himself until the sound nearly broke at its seams. He barely looked up or acknowledged anyone as he conducted song after song and performed some of the most amazing guitar solos I have encountered live; his stripped-down set and simple demeanor allowed for one to gaze at his hands without any of the rock-star glamour one usually associates with such soloing.

Thurston Moore and his bassist, drummer, and violinist came on next. The violinist was actually solo artist Samara Lubelski, who herself performed a few sets at South by, and whom I knew from having worked with at Kim's Video last year. The band performed songs from Moore's new album, Trees Outside the Academy, which I have previously reviewed. Strings and acoustic guitars play important roles in defining this album, as witnessed especially in the stunning “The Shape Is In A Trance;" such composition and instrumental expansion serves Moore’s melodies well and his songs are powerful yet delicate, vibrant yet restrained. Moore is an alt-rock god for a reason, and watching him perform two feet in front of me confirmed everything I ever thought about him: that he has made his mark on the world of rock n’ roll, that the genres of avant-garde, experimental, post-punk, and grunge all apply to his musical experience and, consequently, Sonic Youth’s influence on indie rock, which is limitless. Moore and co. ended up performing not one but two encores to appease the enthusiastically applauding and screaming crowd. For one of these, Moore played an old Velvet Underground song after a verbal introduction that explained how much he likes Lou Reed. At the very end of the song, he pushed his guitar into the crowd, allowing myself and the others up front to beat at, strum, and molest the instrument, which actually got lost in the hands of the audience until he reeled it back in. This show was the highlight of the entire festival for me!

Saturday, I was back at Mohawk's during the early afternoon for two bands I absolutely adore, and who also fit together perfectly. The first was Film School, from California; I also previously reviewed them and saw the band play Mercury Lounge in February. The interesting thing about this five-piece is that they translate to the stage quite differently than to record. Some might define them as modern shoegaze, with freely escaping soundwaves and poignant resonance à la noise-rock; their latest effort, Hideout, is an all-out escape from reality, perfectly balancing instrumental ambience with humming vocals that fade in and out. But, though their albums brim with reverberation via textured pedal effects, they are much more traditionally rock and roll live, when their post-punk dreaminess becomes highly charged and incredibly effective, and when brainchild Greg Bertens lets his guitar carry his body up and down. Basically, what I'm trying to say is, they know how to rock out when need be. Up next was another post-punk, avant-garde wonder, A Place to Bury Strangers, whose Brooklyn loft I was invited into when I interviewed them for a previous issue of Beyond Race. Singer/guitarist Oliver Ackermann's vocals bleed into the backdrop of well-maintained distortion and fast-paced drums. They have opened for the likes of Jesus and Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine and have been tagged as “the loudest band in New York," which is quite obvious! By the near-end of the set, Ackermann was pulling all of the strings out of his busted-up guitar and tossing it around the stage. He then picked up a shinier red guitar as the other sat bruised and used on the floor...what a rush!

Though I had wanted to see Goes Cube, another band I have interviewed for Beyond Race, I needed a little break and didn't get to check them out. I did see Crystal Castles on the Wave Rooftop, which was packed! Though it was nice to see the moon above me, this venue didn't quite support the many people attempting to squish together. Crystal Castles came on in their signature hooded sweatshirts (though I could barely see them) and squeaky vocalist Alice Glass darted around. Just as I was really getting into their danceable beats mixed with old-school arcade game sound bites, Glass' voice came piercing through; I couldn't sink my teeth into it, and headed to Austin's goth club, Elysium, for Japan Nite part 2. The spacious, colorful dancefloor was filled with enthusiastic South by goers who raised many a metal-hand to The Emeralds, a Japanese rock and roll trio who seems to have learned the ways of rock by watching This is Spinal Tap one too many times. Nevertheless, they were tight, catchy, and just plain fun in all of the ways retro rock should be. The Pillows, who actually played their first ever US show at SxSW in 2005, closed out the night. Another Japanese trio, these guys were less slick than The Emeralds, but still really amusing to watch, and the crowd loved them.

As my eardrums continue to recover, and as my right wrist now feels a little too naked, all I can think about is next year's South by festival. Too bad there are so many months in between.

(photos by Amy Dupcak)

During a solo set at this year’s South by Southwest, alternative-rock icon J Mascis, with his signature long gray hair and large eyeglasses, sat serenely on a folding chair and revved up his plugged-in acoustic guitar. How someone can make the music that Mascis creates using only his gravely voice and nimble fingers is mind-bending, and how a single person can become involved in multiple musical projects (all successful) is equally as mystifying. In 2007, Mascis’ old band, Dinosaur Jr., released Beyond, their first album in a decade, and in March of 2008, his new band, Witch, released Paralyzed. Along with three solo sets, Mascis played five shows with Witch in the course of those few SxSW days.

Although renowned as the guitarist and vocalist for Dinosaur Jr, which acted as a predecessor to many a grunge and indie rock band, Mascis has returned to his first instrument for Witch; “I never played many gigs on drums,” he says, indicating that this is his first time touring as a drummer. Witch’s monstrous “Sabbath-esque” sound harks back to seventies metal of the doom variety. The riff-heavy and nihilistic songs on Paralyzed, as well as the band’s self-titled debut, contain supernatural lyrics via vocalist Kyle Thomas (member of avant folk collective Feathers) and a menacing blaze of screeching, frequently soloing guitars. All of this amounts to a particularly nightmarish, yet not unfriendly, strain of heavy metal acid rock. Mascis cites Graham Parsons and Syd Barrett as influences, which justifies Witch’s psychedelic features (as heard on “Sweet Sue” and “Psychotic Rock”), but he explains, “A lot of people have the same influences and it comes out differently.” In terms of achieving with Witch the notoriety of his former band, Mascis calmly says, “You do what you want to do and see what happens,” though he does admit that he’d love to play with The Rolling Stones.

They’re louder than loud, pounding out song after song, and amplifying their sound with immense distortion, ferocious percussion, and raw screams. Goes Cube began as a two-piece in 2003, with vocalist/screamer/guitarist David Obuchowski and bassist Matthew Frey, until powerhouse drummer Kenny Appell replaced their drum machine in 2005. David and Matt met in college in Chicago, and David and Kenny grew up together in New Jersey, so the three are incredibly close. Inherently DIY and influenced by such bands as Isis, Torche, and Helmet, they define themselves merely as “heavy rock,” or  “post-hardcore,” but with “nothing kitchy.” Not wanting to confine themselves to a genre, they joke, “At the end of the day, we’re just playing slow jams.” The band name comes from Matt and David writing “abusive emails” to each other and translating the words first into German and then back into English. As David recalls, “One time he wrote to me ‘Go Die,’ except...it came out ‘Goes Cube.’ He said, ‘by the way, if we ever have a band together, we have to name it Goes Cube.’” Another aspect to note is the absence of actual names from any of the songs. David explains, “The way that our process works, even before Kenny joined, it’s always been that we write the music first, so there’s no lyrics associated with the music...I write lyrics later.” When they were programming measure by measure on the drum machine, the guys had to save the patterns for each song with simple numbering, so it’s “not really an artistic decision, [but] purely practical.” Goes Cube’s first gig was at the legendary CBGB’ and, since then, they have covered most New York City venues, performing with both Stereo Total and Planes Mistaken for Stars at Bowery Ballroom. They also played this year’s CMJ and have become staples at Mercury Lounge. They toured with Foreign Islands and, more recently, The Giraffes, garnering a vast amount of print and online press. In January of 2007, they released a wicked EP called Beckon the Dagger God  and, for “Goes Cube Song 30,” shot a music video that harks back to the bare-bones creativity of the early ’90s, with elements of German Expressionism. Now, the band is putting the finishing touches on a full-length album of newly recorded material, including their latest creation, “Goes Cube Song 57.”
 http://www.myspace.com/goescube 

(photo by Amy Dupcak)

Inside of Irving Plaza, you can feel the tension build. Torche and Jesu each gave a powerful performance, but it’s Isis the crowd can’t wait to see…or rather, to experience. When they delve immediately into their set, the room is suddenly engulfed, drenched, in murky atmospheric sound. The entire band launches into synchronous motion. As guttural screams and droning melody reverberate off the walls (and as mosh-pits spring up in the middle of the floor), another stripped-down, bare-bones display of intensity and raw emotion emerges. Isis’ unrelenting passion and fierce energy persists song after song, and well into an encore.

Although Isis has roots in Boston, nowadays they bounce back and forth between coasts—members Aaron Turner, Aaron Harris, and Cliff Meyer reside in LA, while Mike Gallagher and Jeff Caxide are currently New Yorkers. The band formed in the fall of ’97, but gained speed when Mike and Cliff joined in early 2000. After struggling with a name, they settled on a central goddess of Egyptian mythology. Drummer Aaron Harris, with whom I speak about the band, tells me that the correlation isn’t really there; “We wanted a powerful name to kind of represent the music.”  

To categorize this music, Isis is often compared with bands of a similar nature (influencers Godflesh, Neurosis, and The Melvins, whom they consider “childhood heroes,” to name a few); even Harris admits having a tough time pinning Isis to a genre. More often than not, they get lumped in with metal, or are referred to as “ambient,” “avant-garde,” or “post” metal. Their songs are long, melodic, and definitely heavy, conveying complexity and unpredictable structure. Indecipherable lyrics are sung, screamed, or forcefully expelled from Aaron Turner’s ribcage. Isis is brooding but not hopeless, aggressive but not hostile, epic but not anthemic. Every fluid album requires serious, perhaps solitary, listening; “Our records are something you need to have the time to listen to,” says Harris. For me, their songs epitomize internal combustion; the dynamic ambience they create is introspective—sometimes loose and surreal, and other times hard-hitting. Harris explains, “We took inspiration from people who really made meaningful music to us…[who] seemed to put a lot of thought and time into their songwriting.”

Although Isis has four full-length albums under their belt (in addition to EP’s, other projects, and a new DVD called Clearing the Eye), opening for Tool’s 10,000 Days tour in the fall of ’06 and more coverage in magazines have helped spotlight the band. Harris says the attention is flattering; “We play a kind of music that isn’t that accessible to the general public. It’s cool that we were able to do this…and gradually over time recruit more fans. I don’t think any one of us expected that.” The arena tour was a learning experience and Tool-fans were surprisingly receptive. Now headlining the tour with Jesu, they seek to promote In the Absence of Truth (released October ’06) and are supportive of their alternating openers; Aaron Turner, for instance, wears a Torche T-shirt onstage.  

Amplifiers buzz and blare as A Place to Bury Strangers conjures beautiful noise. Densely echoed, almost somber vocals bleed into a backdrop of well-maintained distortion and fast-paced drums. They’re loud, very loud…deafening even. In fact, they’ve been tagged as “the loudest band in New York,” though this doesn’t begin to describe the overwhelming experience of hearing them live. Vocalist and guitarist Oliver Ackermann explains, “I build my own electronics and effects pedals, and a lot of the stuff I build covers a wider frequency range…it affects people in ways they aren’t used to.” The goal is to “really attack people any way you can, disorient them with such loud volume that you can actually feel it.”

Sonically powerful, their shows are often multimedia events, designed “to take people to another place…[to] make you feel good, like a drug.” The hypnotic and cerebral environment they create involves projected psychedelic imagery, smoke machines, and strobe lights. “Oliver builds light-boxes, which hook up to my drums so they flash,” Jay Space says. The last part of their shows even verge on performance art; Bassist Jono Mofo explains, “There’s no real music left, it’s just noises and lights, I’m not even on stage, I’m like standing next to it while it’s happening…my bass is feeding back, Oliver is ripping his strings out.” Jay adds, “He didn’t even have strings, he was like shaking a string.”

Here, in their cozy, charmingly disheveled Brooklyn loft, which serves as practice-space, living-place (at least for Oliver), and hang-out, APTBS is perfecting their sound; a blend of post-punk, dark psychedelic, experimental, avant-garde, noise rock, and shoegaze. An original member named the band after an Italian word, but it’s also the title of an Alistair Crowley poem, as well as a Biblical reference to the thirty pieces of silver Judas received for selling out Jesus, which was then used to buy a field for burying strangers.  

Influenced primarily by the Jesus and Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, Sonic Youth, and new bands like Lightning Bolt, the three-piece has been passionately pursuing their music through mostly DIY efforts. They book their own shows and tours, and do promotion. At Webster Hall in May, they opened for idols The J&M Chain; an amazing gig, which drummer Jay says he “worked his ass off to get.” They also opened for Brian Jonestown Massacre this past winter, and have shared the bill with a variety of bands all over Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the outer states. “I love all sorts of shows for ridiculous reasons,” Oliver says. “When we played in that alleyway for the women’s rights, I thought that was a cool show because we pulled up like ten minutes before we were supposed to play.”

Currently on the cusp of what could (and should!) be quite the career, APTBS has a new CD of old recordings, as well as a 7-inch on Vacancy Records. This fall, they’re recording their first full-length album in Chicago, to be released through a label called Highwheel. “He just started,” Oliver says, “he’s got a couple bands, local Chicago bands.” One of the deciding factors for the contract is that they’ll get to put out an actual LP, as Jay Space himself is a vinyl collector.

Having formed a kinship with other Brooklyn bands, these New-York transplants (Jono from Wales, Jay from Philly, and Oliver from Virginia) don’t exactly feel connected with any Brooklyn “scene.” Jono declares, “I mean it’s freaking Brooklyn for Christ’s sake…there’s all kinds of shit going on that has nothing to do with what we’re doing.” Jono and Jay also play with their previous band Mofo (Jono describes it as “like an old girlfriend”) and Oliver has a new project with Richard Fearless (of Death in Vegas) called Black Acid. Despite these side gigs, APTBS is the band that the guys pour their time, creative energy, and volume into…it’s what they’re going to make happen.

(photo by Amy Dupcak) 

The Stevedores formed in the basement of their Fleetwood house, while attending Sarah Lawrence College in Westchester, New York. Spencer Bell (vocals and lyrics), Jake Miller (guitar), Ben Johnson (drums), Shawn Fernando (keys, backing vocals), and Adam Webb-Orenstein (bass) combined individual abilities and passions to create a truly unique and ambitious musical experience, influenced by everything from The Doors to Traffic to Ween to old Westerns. Harmonious and rambunctious, blues-driven and classic-rock oriented, The Stevedores have deemed themselves “psychedelic lounge glam,” though perhaps this is only a comical attempt to pin down their music. According to Shawn Fernando, they deviate from the formula and try to get to “the heart of rock n’ roll” by incorporating “a little bit of everything” into their multifarious sound. One reviewer wrote that The Stevedores “seamlessly blend the best elements of the Pixies, Tom Waits, and Sonic Youth into something completely original.”

In 2004/2005, The Stevedores played extensively around the Sarah Lawrence campus and were instantly recognized for their bizarre stage antics, props (such as a microphone stand crafted out of a fire extinguisher and animal skull), eccentric cover songs, and ever-present fans. Frontman Spencer Bell captivated the audience with his larger-than-life presence, wringing his neck with the microphone wire, banging a trash can lid, and donning a sombrero for “story time” during the song, “The Day The Stranger Came to Dos Manos.”

In the summer of 2005, the band stepped up to larger venues throughout New York City. Most notably, they played a series of well-attended, high-energy shows at the Knitting Factory, performing under the name "Canfield Devil House." 

They recorded their debut album, Tamuawok., primarily at Sarah Lawrence, though mastering was completed after the band relocated to a house in Madison, Wisconsin. The thematic and lyrically clever Tamuawok. perfectly captures their innovative spunk; playful keyboards, precise drums, and unwinding guitars lend every track their own flavor. With boisterous and organic instrumentation that heralds an obvious Western motif, Tamuawok. encompasses a real DIY ethos; Spencer Bell’s album art, all done by hand, only adds to this effect. Bell sounds like an old crooner, hitting note after note.

"That Wouldn't Be Right" is bright and cheerful, though the lyrics suggest something slightly cynical; midway through, the vocals bleed emotion as the guitar breaks away to escape confines of melody. Many of the songs feature instrumental freak-outs like the best of prog rock. In the dancey "Clever Phraseology," everything goes wild until coming together again under the mighty reign and gusto of Bell's voice. According to reviewer Ross Bronson, “The production [on Tamuawok.] is surprisingly great for such a DIY band, and the band's energy level is apparent on all nine tracks. Most bands calling themselves 'rock' these days are afraid to do just that, and the vibrant, charismatic garage-lounge of The Stevedores provides a welcome alternative. Experimental without being boring, poppy without being grating, and stream-of-conscious without being hogwash.” The final track, "Thunderdome" is definitely a standout. The feel-good vibe is epic and anthemic, with a horn, marching-band-esque drum rolls, punchy baseline, dynamic vocals, hand-claps and a variety of sound effects.

In June of 2006, The Stevedores began what they called “The Great Midwestern Exodus” to set up a recording studio in their rented house on Gorham Street, right by the lake in Madison. They played a few shows and began work on their next album, The Straw That Broke The Camel's Heart. While preparing for a Thanksgiving Day party, Spencer Bell was rushed to the hospital, complaining of stomach pains. He was diagnosed with Adrenal Cancer and passed away about ten days later, on December 3. He was only 20 years old.

 The remaining Stevedores channeled this shocking tragedy into new instrumentals, such as "Chaussures Francaises," which they performed at Spencer's memorial service in Detroit on December 10. While enduring the harsh Midwest winter, they decided to continue making music and to delve into a new project as a four-piece

On February 4, 2007, the band entered the RPM challenge to record an entire album in the month of February. The Stevedores finished This Is Very Important Message* on February 25; a surreal, avant-garde, and reflective album that combines vocal talents and reveals musical and emotional experimentation. Newly strong and regaining confidence, the band reworked their older songs to perform live; drummer Ben Johnson took over singing lead on Bell’s previously sung vocals, and the other band members took turns singing as well. In keeping with the spirit of Bell and his role in The Stevedores, the band performed regularly in Wisconsin during the summer of 2007, and also wrote and performed scores for plays and an organic wine documentary. They continued work on their EP, The Straw That Broke The Camel's Heart, two songs for which they wrote with Bell, and one after his passing. “Prospero” is impressively nine minutes long and  musically constructed around a single vocal line Bell recorded via computer shortly before his death. This grand and rather brilliant track also features a soliloquy from The Tempest, emphatically performed by Shawn Fernando on a tape recorder.

After finishing this new EP in August 2007, The Stevedores scattered to the corners of the country. They reconvened for a few shows in New York City this past December and, in August of 2008, they will perform, for the second time, at the Adrenal Cancer Benefit show for Spencer Bell in Detroit.

*From Future Time

(photos by Amy Dupcak, except bottom photo by Claudia Ochoa) 

...from another article on Spencer Bell, of The Stevedores..... 

Enthralled with the creative process, frontman Spencer Bell (whose dynamic singing and wide vocal range drive every Stevedores song, and who also did Tamuawok.’s art) continually worked on acoustic solo projects. He recorded several EPs and full-length albums while living in Fleetwood, Brooklyn, and Madison. Reminiscent of Jim Croce (who also died surprisingly young), Mason Jennings, Syd Barrett and early Bowie, his organic folk-rock-bluesy blend of songwriting is incredibly original and melodic. Brutally honest and self-aware, but never melodramatic or clichéd, Spencer’s lyrics represent a rather minimalist take on life. He tells stories, sometimes metaphorical and other times straightforward, of heartbreaks, current hang-ups, life experiences and “facing a boredom that borders on horrible.” Many songs, which sometimes involve beautiful harmonies and experimental voice effects, offer optimistic insight and a positive, even amusing, attitude—“That’s me, I’m the lyricist, it’s not my job, it’s my disposition. I gotta let you know this life is rich. We’re not alone, you see it’s really me that I’m trying to convince.”

Not long after finishing his most recent and accomplished album (Feudal, Brutal and the American Dream), Spencer was diagnosed with severe adrenal gland cancer. About ten days later, on December 3, he succumbed to his illness. At only twenty years old, Spencer had lived a life full of art and adventure, performing and creating with maturity and passion way beyond his years. The Stevedores played, for the first time without him, at a memorial service held in his hometown of Detroit. As per Spencer’s request, piñatas, monkeys, and inflatable cacti hung from the ceiling.

In all honesty, there is no way to sum up Spencer Bell because he was a larger-than-life character whose presence deeply affected a room. I can tell you this much: he was genuinely funny, charming and always knew how to cheer you up. He was a master at card tricks, awesome at chess, and had an incredible bond with his cat, Tony. He wrote poetry using an old typewriter and had a massive collection of personal journals. He made art out of soda cans and rubber bands, sculptures from scraps of iron, wood, and broken chairs. He created sock monsters and 3D animated cartoons. He hung a hammock in his bedroom. Once, he recorded “pathways of energy” by duct-taping walls, floors, and the ceiling. He was sensitive, affectionate and free-spirited, never caring what others thought. Spencer was somebody to look up to…he is greatly missed.

(photo by Spencer Bell) 

Otep Shamaya is the powerful front-woman of the band that bears her name. Otep (the band) made an incredibly quick ascension from local rockers of their native L.A. scene to signing with Capitol Records. In fact, it was attending Ozzfest 2000 that caused Otep (the woman) to put together a band in the first place, and they hadn’t even been playing a year when Capitol caught on. Since then, Otep has played for three years at Ozzfest, toured Europe, opened for Static X, and will soon embark on a new tour, which will surely please their devoted fans.

As a spoken-word poet, Otep approaches songwriting from a lyrical perspective; “That’s how we process…my spirit as the poet or writer first.” Nowhere is this clearer than on their newest album—aptly titled The Ascension—now on Koch Records and set for an October 30th release. Otep’s stunning voice commands the melody and surrounding instruments; her words rise from the gut and she spits them out fiercely with forceful and unapologetic precision. Her vocal style veers between seductive and raspy singing to emotionally guttural screams, which rival any male vocalist.   

Though the hard-rock world is overrun with male energy, Otep assures that the scene is becoming increasingly varied; “You go to shows and there are girls everywhere and they are just as loud.” She refuses to submit to stereotypes of female singers and declares, “Don’t come to our shows…don’t buy our music if you’re looking for something mundane, [or] a replica of something else.” In terms of live shows, Otep delivers ferocity and true passion to the point where other bands requested that they tone it down. Naturally, Otep hasn’t acquiesced. Up on stage, Otep engages in “spiritual intercourse” with the crowd—taking energy from strangers and allowing them to take hers too.  

Of their pierced and tattooed appearance, Otep warns, “Don’t judge us by our look or our hair or the black shirts.” She further explains, “Because we’re aggressive and our sound is so loud, I think it’s easy to say, ‘Oh, we’re metal.’ But if you talk to a lot of traditionalists, then I don’t think they’re going to agree with that.” She describes the band as arty hard-rock fusion, citing influences as wide ranging as Nirvana (whose song “Breed” Otep covers superbly), Mobb Deep, trip-hop, and Kerouac. Her all-male cast of musicians is also exceptionally trained in classical and jazz.

Music serves as a platform for Otep to communicate her political beliefs. As an activist for human rights, every song on the 13-track Ascension will donate to a different charity. “Lyrics and Mail” attacks America’s pharmaceutical culture, as other songs take on the war in Iraq, “the ineptitude of the Bush administration,” and women’s rights, all through “the tools of metaphor.” What actually makes her angriest, though, is inaction. Likewise, America’s celebrity fixation perpetually angers Otep, who describes Britney Spears as simply a “glorified backup dancer.”

Since poetry is a cathartic process, Otep’s lyrics often convey her personal demons too. Through writing, she builds her own “divergent reality” and reconnects to the human condition. On The Ascension, she writes of self-acceptance, self-love, and “how we should condemn society for condemning us.” In the poem that closes the album, Otep tells her listeners to get up “again and again and again” in spite of the violence and turmoil of this world.     

(photo courtesy of KOCH records)

These past few years have certainly been busy for the genre-defying Roots Tonic. Since 2004, they’ve recorded two studio albums (Shake Off the Dust…Arise and Youth) and toured the world as the Hasidic Jewish reggae sensation Matisyahu’s backing band. In early 2006, they went into the studio to record a full-length album, Roots Tonic Meets Bill Laswell, with the legendary bassist and producer Laswell. Released in May, the instrumental and experimental record is deeply rooted in dub and reggae. Lacking a lead singer to act as focal point for their music-making, Roots Tonic Meets Bill Laswell is the band with space to breathe, resulting in an atmospheric record that’s garnered incredible reviews and a healthy amount of media attention. Deeply resounding echoes and reverb, ambient guitar licks, tribal instruments, synthesizers, low bass lines, cymbals, a range of percussion and sporadic effects coalesce to create a fluid, yet at times chaotic, current of sound reminiscent of progressive '70s space-rock with a fresh, groovy feel.

Roots Tonic is composed of guitarist Aaron Dugan, who hails from Philadelphia, drummer Jonah Davis from New Jersey, and keyboardist/bassist Josh Werner from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The three met while attending The New School, where Josh and Jonah started playing together. They performed as a backing band for MC’s and spoken-word poets at the infamous Nuyorican Poets Café on East 3rd. Occasionally, the producers of one of the shows would hire them to do brief tours of colleges backing such artists. Aaron was the first to be contacted by Matisyahu; “He asked me to play a Chanukah lighting ceremony a few years back with a drummer.” As the story goes, Aaron called Josh to do the next gig and then Josh called Jonah to do the following. Josh recalls, “We played a gig with no rehearsal and no clue as to what the future had in store for us.” Thus, their band was formed.

I asked the guys what it was like performing with such a unique artist as Matisyahu. According to Jonah, it’s been awesome; “I’ve gotten to see so much of the world and perform for thousands of people.” Aaron adds that they and Matisyahu have “great chemistry.” While discussing a list of producers to work with on Matisyahu’s latest release, Youth, Josh and Aaron suggested the renowned Laswell, whom they found personally inspiring. Although Aaron remembers thinking that Laswell was a long shot, Matisyahu was equally interested and, together, they teamed up in the studio.  This formed a lasting, creative bond, which soon lead to the recording of Roots Tonic Meets Bill Laswell. Josh explains, “Bill was one of the only possible candidate that could understand our sound.” When asked to describe this sound, the guys, not surprisingly, give varying answers. Aaron describes it as dub/reggae spiced with “rock, jazz, Eastern, Afro-Cuban, etc.” Jonah agrees about the dub/reggae bit but adds, “We try not to forget the spirit of improvisation on stage.” Josh simply deems it “American reggae stew.”

With a variety of musical influences among them, it’s no wonder that their sound is tricky to describe. Among Jonah’s personal influences are Elliott Smith, Tom Waits, The Band, Miles Davis and Coltrane. In terms of favorite albums, he’s recently been grooving to Howl by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Aaron is influenced by the likes of Young, Dylan, and Marley, though he admits there are “too many to list;” among his eclectic array of favorite albums are Radiohead’s OK Computer, Bjork’s Homogenic, The Beatles’ Revolver, Wu Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu Tang and Lightning Bolt’s Wonderful Rainbow. Josh cites King Tubby, Hendrix, Brian Eno and Charles Mingus along with Dylan, Young, Elliott Smith, and Marley. In terms of personal inspiration, Josh tells me that he tries not to go to searching for it, but prefers to “stay open enough to greet its arrival.”

Listening to Roots Tonic Meets Bill Laswell, I imagine that, in the spirit of reggae, the recording process was free flowing. They confirm my suspicions by telling me that they knocked out the record in just a few hours! Every song was recorded in only one or two takes and Laswell, with his “minimalist Zen-like approach,” didn’t implement any Pro Tools editing. “I think that’s why this record has an authenticity to it…we just got in a room and busted out some songs,” Josh remarks. I wanted to know what the band hoped their audience would feel when they listened to this incredible album. Jonah wants people to experience it as “a little voyage into our world” whereas Josh is a bit more specific: “The great thing about reggae…it’s like the secret formula for meditation and peace. I hope everyone can enjoy our version of the humble royal keys to the universe.”

Since joining forces with Laswell, Roots Tonic has been able to evolve artistically and gain more confidence. As of now, a few ideas are floating around about another solo album. “We’d like to make a record with a different vocalist on every track,” Aaron explains, and there’s been talk of collaborating with brilliant jazz artist John Zorn among other musicians they admire. While trying to play a dub festival in France, they also hope to go on tour as Roots Tonic if circumstances allow, and they still perform with Matisyahu, which keeps them plenty busy. With individual goals for solo projects, improvisation albums, recent marriages and the desire to continue creating art, it’s my belief that this new record is just the beginning for Roots Tonic.