Story by Adam Daniels

Photography by Dorothy Hong

“Do you need a drink?”
”Yes, I need four double whiskeys and four PBRs.”

It was Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson’s record release show at Williamsburg’s Union Pool one year ago, and while he was among a roomful of friends, he was not at ease. Robinson’s former fiancé obliged the request, assuming it was on behalf of the entire band. This was not the case.

Robinson wasn’t a household name in indie rock at the time. But he had a lot of the pieces in place to be one. He had all but conquered Brooklyn through marathon-style touring. There was a close-up of his mug on the cover of FADER magazine, and a camera crew from SPIN was at the record release show waiting to document the event. What transpired after those four double whiskeys could only adequately be described as a shitshow.

He spilled beer on equipment. He picked a fight with a heckler who called him out for singing his songs not all like they appeared on the album, insisting on dedicating every subsequent song to him thereafter. Robinson blacked out just before the third song. This was the beginning of the end of Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson. And the funny thing is, if it wasn’t for the occasion, that particular evening at Union Pool would have only qualified as a mere footnote in his story.

The scene is a giant, rock n’ roll cliché. No one knows this more than Robinson. He practically grew up on them, an ardent student of rock biographies while coming of age in Portland. One of the first things Robinson mentions when explaining the issue with the way his own story has been written thus far was the way one of his musical idols created part of his own mythology. “Kurt Cobain never really lived under a bridge you know,” he says. “He made that up himself.”

Cobain and the muddy distortion of 90s alt rock represent just one half of the tones that show up in his music today. The relationship that much more directly spawned Robinson’s just-released second album, Summer Of Fear, was his love affair with classic rock. A heady homage to the golden sounds of Tom Petty and Fleetwood Mac, it’s also a record in which Robinson might have created the youngest divorce rock album ever, devoting much time to the struggles and eventual failure of his engagement to his former fiancé and girlfriend of six years.

But the divorce theme is rarely all that direct in Robinson’s lyrics. Rather, it’s underlying layer of melancholy that tugs at the album’s narrator as he tells various stories. By way of his eponymous self-titled debut, these stories filled the bar last summer in Williamsburg, songs he’d fleshed out while befriending near half the bartenders of North Brooklyn, diving headlong into piles of drugs, sleeping in parks, and wrestling with a heavy brand of cynicism as handed down by his stand-up comedian father. These things came together through Robinson’s compulsive addiction to songwriting, a gift in which a lot of people saw a lot of potential. One such song was “Buriedfed,” a folk explosion similar to Robinson’s relationship with music as a whole: part link to the demons in his own life and part introduction to a string of characters and the way they cope with their own mortality, depression and simple daily existence. The song served as the closest thing to Robinson’s autobiographical introduction. Interestingly, a line from that song more closely resembled the crowd at Union Pool’s introduction to Robinson that night. “Didn’t like people much at all, tasted better with alcohol, you know how that one goes,” he states. That’s who he was that night: the asshole that baited the crowd to call him on it while he used alcohol to cope with expectations. It resulted in a theatrical breakdown. But that breakdown was part of a self-destruct mission Robinson had been stumbling to almost the entire time he’d lived in New York.

By age 16, Robinson felt compelled to move to the city. At 17, his acceptance to NYU made this a reality. At that point, his idea of the city was carved out much more by those same rock biographies.

“I was reading (Legs McNeil’s) “Please Kill Me” and all this stuff about ’70s New York and you know like Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, Talking Heads, The Ramones, just like really sort of wanting to bask in that,” Robinson remembers. “Not even really understanding that New York in the ’90s and 2000 was going to be a very, very different place. I think I literally still thought it was going to be like 1979 when I got here.” But the punk scenes of ’70s era New York are little more than legends whose visual cues had been replaced by condos and food chains by the time Robinson moved in 2000. However, the New York City Robinson stumbled upon had its own bubbling scene.

Within weeks, Robinson found himself in attendance at some of the very first Strokes shows. So while the New York scene Robinson envisioned may not have existed, luck and timing gave him a front seat to the first relevant one in rock n’ roll the city had seen since.”I just had like a very zeitgeist-y kind of a, experience, the whole time I’ve been here,” he says.

A few years later he would happen upon a sort of invitation to the city’s next cultural vanguard: the indie music scene developing in and around Williamsburg. On his way to a Grizzly Bear show he stopped in a thrift store and ended up running into and befriending TV On The Radio’s Kyp Malone. They went to the show together, and within a few months he was hanging out with not only Kyp, but the band they had paid to see. Eventually, both would play a vital role in Robinson’s music, initially helping turn his tales and words into actual musical landscapes and then more literally with Kyp on the production side and the Grizzly Bear guys backing him instrumentally.

But even while all this was going on, Robinson lived day-to-day life in a state of near-depression, seeming almost un-phased by the encouraging signs in both his musical and personal life. “I treat good things the way other people treat traumas,” he says. “I kind of push them down and try to get over it, you know?” Throughout his time at NYU, Robinson worked and played as hard as he could. Though he ignored class, he wrote songs and dove into pools of drugs and alcohol with equal abandon. He did it all with youthful abandon, albeit with a much larger arc in mind. Romantic only by rock ‘n roll standards, it was encapsulated further by one pivotal chapter in Robinson’s life and legend: a summer of near-homelessness, carrying a duffle bag and a guitar around while rotating between friends’ couches and strung out nights in Washington Square Park and on Coney Island benches. He likens this much more to being a bit of a troubadour than any sort of dire circumstances, but he also admits he “was getting pretty fucked up all the time then, too.”

But eventually, that all changed. “I went back (to school), ended meeting somebody who sort of helped me get cleaned up and stuff,” he says. That someone was his eventual fiancé. Soon after meeting and falling in love, the two found an apartment in Williamsburg. For a moment, he was on the verge of feeling like he had it all figured out before 25, on the verge of letting himself be happy for a bit without overthinking it.

And then it all fell apart: his relationship and in turn his sobriety. Everything he thought he’d figured out was called into question. Out of this was born Summer Of Fear: a celebration of relapse, depressions and reaffirmed self-doubt.

The concept of Summer of Fear actually began as a screenplay, a running joke between Robinson and friend Christopher Bear, drummer for Grizzly Bear, in which the questionable choices they made each night could be written off as part of a movie rather than some reality rife with consequence. However, somewhat ironically, it is this album born out of the clichés, born out of making yourself a character in your own life, that has the opportunity to finally separate Robinson from his own. It is this album that charts out the personal failures that gave Robinson a second chance to play an active role in his own successes.

Whatever comes next, the Robinson that looks back at you on stage these days is an entirely different creature than the one that created a spectacle that night at Union Pool. While Robinson admits he still knows a few too many bartenders, he no longer drinks at his shows. Headlining a CMJ showcase concert at Le Poisson Rouge the same week Summer Of Fear was released, Robinson could barely get a big goofy grin off his face long enough to look properly solemn to sing about self destruction. He played off of his band, played on his back in three feet of the ground. There’s no denying that he was having fun on stage, a notion even he seemed surprised by when he noted, a few songs in, that he was taking a sip of beer for the first time that night.

This man much more closely resembled the one you imagine when you hear his cries and wails on the first record, a man who despite the demons living in his closet is absolutely at peace within music. The more you talk to him the more you realize this may be the only place he is truly at peace.  And while his music seems almost painfully tied to these demons, maybe the fact that he can now own them on stage is but one triumph. Whatever it has become, it’s forcing the world that already knew him to break the box that contained Robinson before.

Regardless, for now Robinson will go out and relentlessly tour behind an album that champions his own failures and past misadventures. If he can make it through the experience, it might even let his music finally catch up to him. For years now, he’s been singing about traumas that have been replaced over so many times in his life they feel like reopening old scars. But who knows, maybe this time next year Robinson will be testing out some happy songs. Whatever those would sound like. The “Ocean’s 11” line he supplied un-ironically to sum up his day-to-day existence makes it seem like he might slowly be coming around on his own story, one he’s chosen to retell in the third person every night on stage.

“Are you suicidal?”

“Only in the mornings.”

Interview by Samuel Duke

Photography by John Francis Peters

On a rooftop high up above Hell’s Kitchen at dusk, the Horrors are sprawled across rotten deck furniture, a lonesome scene for what some presume to be The World’s Bleakest Band. And though they look the part— dressed in mostly black apart from the rare sliver of white oxford shirt here or there—they are hardly morose. When they talk at length about records and sound and people they’ve been blessed to work with, they do so with the earnestness of kids who spent a lot time alone in their rooms, reading thick books and listening to music no one else seemed to understand. Maybe the Horrors are instead one of the world’s most misunderstood bands, a bunch of former outcasts who’ve finally punked their former tormentors and, in turn, the music industry itself.

Because who doesn’t love a band that looks cool and who doesn’t love to simultaneously tear a band like that apart? Bestowed an NME cover before they’d even released an album, the Horrors were basically ready-made martyrs (or targets) for Britain’s most fleetingly obsessive/premature ejaculatory music journos. After a few insanely promising debut singles and a splotchy first album, they decamped to their London rehearsal space and wrote Primary Colours in three months. It’s an album best described as the sound of demons making love: guitars like huge, red curtains being torn in half; organ flourishes that float supernaturally; unending oceans of delicately controlled reverb. In a live setting, it sounds just as overwhelmingly massive, the foursome rarely even looking at one another other. But back to the roof, where we caught up with singer Faris Badwan and guitarist Josh Hayward before they were set to play their last show as hand-picked openers for Nine Inch Nails. We talked about making Primary Colours, sound, and the intersection of music and fashion. It went deep, but it was never scary.

So, how did you get on these shows? Did the Nine Inch Nails people reach out to you?

Faris Badwan: I think the first we heard of it was when something had been posted on [Trent Reznor's] social networking thing. And then sort of weeks later we got asked to do these dates.

Were you familiar with their stuff?

FB: We’ve worked with a lot of people–Alan Moulder, for example, or when we played with The [Jesus &] Mary Chain–and both of them, actually, have big Nine Inch Nails connections. We’ve met a lot of people who are really into them, people whose opinions we really respect.

Josh Hayward: And we were probably a bit too young when they came around the first time to experience it first hand.

How old are you guys?

FB: We’re all around 20. I’m 22 and Josh is 19.

JH: I remember, when I was working with Moulder, I went in to do some sound effects or something, and he was like, “That’s what I always used to do with Trent.” Like, “We’d do that every week.” That album that took like two years [The Fragile]. If you work with somebody for two years, and really enjoy it at the end, there must be something pretty cool.

FB: And Alan is like one of the coolest guys we’ve ever met. Just like fucking great. Just in terms of how straight he is and how great of a guy he is, besides being one of the best mixers in the world. But, I did take the time to listen to a bit of Nine Inch Nails just before–it was actually after I heard they were into us. And it’s definitely the instrumental stuff that I really love, the atmosphere or whatever. That sonic exploration element is really great. It’s something we really focus on as well.

How did you guys originally meet?

FB: Me and Josh met in this club called White Heat in London. We really spent the majority of our time getting to know each other in the South End, around a club that Rhys ran called The Junk Club. And that was sort of new wave and garage and all sorts. We’d go to the garage clubs in London, where there pretty much weren’t any young people there. So we just got to know each other through that.

And are you guys all originally from London?

JH: I’m from just outside London, and got out there as quick as I could. Just didn’t like the South End.

How did the band form from that? Was it as simple as, “Let’s start a band.”

FB: Yeah, basically. When you really like listening to music, eventually…it’s quite common that you want to start making your own. And we started by playing garage covers and there was certainly a kind of un-schooled, noisy element to them. And that developed into a no wave influence, and [things] just gradually developed from there.

This is your second record, on a different label…Does it feel at all like a rebirth of sorts?

FB: Well, we haven’t really noticed a great bit of different from having to switch labels, apart from…

JH: They’ve both treated us exactly the same. On the first label, the person that we had, our A&R guy, he really liked us, and was just like, “Go off and make a record.” And then we went to this label, and the bloke went, “Go off and make a record.” We’ve always just been left to our own devices, [which is] probably why it’s always developed, ’cause we haven’t had anyone else telling us what to do. We’re just doing it ourselves. You should develop. If you’re not, you’re in the wrong game, really.

FB: It’s kind of why so many bands really don’t change from record to record, ’cause they have people suggesting they shouldn’t. I don’t know, it just seems totally stifling to me, the idea of that. We’ve been really lucky.

And you worked with Geoff Barrow from Portishead and Chris Cunningham…

JH: And a bloke called Craig Silvey, who never gets mentioned at all but has an incredible approach to sound.

Is he Geoff’s engineer?

FB: He works a lot with Geoff. Craig’s sort of been written out of history a little bit, but he actually worked on it a lot more than Geoff did. And Geoff would be the first to admit it. ‘Cause really, when Geoff heard our demos, he sort of said, “We don’t really need to change these. We just want to capture what you recorded, just record it better.”

And you guys were working mostly with Geoff and Craig.

FB: We did two songs with Chris. He would’ve done more on the album, but he was working on two feature films, writing them.

Had he recorded music before?

JH: He hadn’t worked with a band before

FB: Yeah, but I think at the moment he’s doing something with Grace Jones. It sounds amazing. He’s got really brilliant, cinematic ideas, which makes sense, since he’s mainly known for his film stuff. His approach to sound and exploring sound is definitely something we wanted to take on board. But he couldn’t do it, so the only other person who we really thought around that has that as well was Geoff. I mean, Portishead just have a sound that is so timeless and unique, and we felt like that could be something great to incorporate. Turned out he just wanted us to be as we were, which was quite fun.

JH: He’s a bit like the hip-hop Steve Albini, Geoff Barrow.

FB: He just wanted to capture the sound of the band rather than mold them, which is what we want. We don’t really want a label molding us, we don’t want a producer molding us.

So, all the songs were written and arranged before you went into the studio?

JH: Yeah, like around that time we bought a desk and learned to record. And he liked how we produced it as well. He was saying, “That’s what we should do.”

Interesting. Are you guys gearheads? Did you know what you were doing?

JH: Yeah. We each got better at it over time. We each got our heads around it a lot more.

FB: That was the most important thing about making this album, we re-learned that we don’t actually need–and it goes back to what Geoff was saying to us as well–we don’t need any one else at all to make our records. We can just record them in our rehearsal room if we want and mix them elsewhere. And I think it’s going to make for a very cheap third record.

JH: The really long track on that album, “I Only Think Of You” —that’s our recording we did in the rehearsal room. It had the best feel. And that was done with like a shit mix, not set up properly.

All you guys playing together at the same time?

JH: Yeah.

That’s impressive. So, how did you guys meet Chris Cunningham originally? I know he directed the “Sheena Is A Parasite” video.

FB: He came to see us at White Heat, actually, which is where Josh and I met. We were playing and I don’t know how he got in touch with our label or went through one of our friends, but he just turned up at the show. The single was out and had already been released, but he was really desperate to make the video for that song. He’s been doing these “live sets” recently at festivals, so he’s done this eleven-minute remix of that from the original parts and bits that didn’t make the video. It’s fucking weird.

I think the first time I heard about you guys was before the first record, and it was actually just a photo. Do you guys feel like the visual side of what you do is important?

FB: It’s not as important as sound, obviously, but…

JH: It’s a result of the process. When you think of any band that had a specific sound, they looked a bit like that. It’s cause that’s what they were doing. It’s like, if you play golf, you’ll look like a golfer. It appears at the moment, you have to wear jeans and t-shirts nowadays to be taken seriously…it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?

FB: I have to say, it’s almost like the first decade that that’s been the case. I mean, you look back to Nirvana, to the garage bands, to Robert Johnson–they looked the way they sound. At least, a lot of bands do, and it’s important, because your identity just reflects the things that you are interested in, and it’s not like we’ve just decided this is what the band should look like, this is just really elements of our favorite bands, taken into whatever, like, when you’re a kid you dress up like a cowboy or whatever. Like John Wayne.

But was it something you guys talked about and thought about?

JH: No, no, no, it was simply a result of it.

FB: There’s loads of kids at Junk who look like we do. That was it, really.

Do you guys like playing in the States?

FB: It’s my favorite country to tour in. ‘Cause it’s just really rewarding to drive around. I don’t know, it’s funny ’cause the States is one of those countries where I just really enjoy seeing the diners and the highways and stuff like that. I find that really interesting for whatever reason.

Is that iconography stuff you were into growing up?

FB: I guess so, yeah. A lot of the songs I like, like “California Dreaming,” by the Mamas And The Papas, that imagery is so evocative and I don’t know, I’ve always had a connection with it.

Did you grow up around music?

JH: No, not really, I didn’t. My parents were never really into it.

FB: The only thing I can think of that my parents used to play that I like now, is that Fleetwood Mac album Rumours. They used to just play it to death in the car, and that album–I haven’t really listened to the other stuff–but that album I think is totally amazing. My parents were into the Bay City Rollers and Bread and stuff I don’t like at all.

So when did you start developing your own tastes?

FB: I remember at the end of term, when I was eleven or twelve, we each had to bring in a CD or cassette to play at the end of term party. And everyone was bringing in like Now 28 or whatever and I brought in Sounds Of The Seventies and it has this fucking amazing song called, “Can You Feel The Force.” It’s like an early disco song, I can’t remember who it’s by [The Real Thing], I should really look it up and remember it , ’cause it’s really weird now when you listen it, it’s really scary, really ahead of it’s time. But, it’s just a pop song. But I tried to play that and everyone fucking hated it.

JH: It was weird for me, ’cause anyone who listened to guitar music was considered a horrible, disgusting person that you should spit at, so I never really did. I listened to jungle or whatever on the radio. Then I found American guitar music, and went to buy a Sonic Youth album and the lady was like, “Don’t buy that one, it’s too weird.” I took it home and fell in love with it. I had to grow up with it in isolation ’cause none of my friends got it or understood it. They didn’t like it. And then it went back to the no wave stuff in the seventies…

Were you playing guitar at that point?

JH: I’d started ages ago in an argument with a friend who played bass, to play a song so that it was better, and then I just didn’t pick it up again until I joined the Horrors and started playing a lot. All in good fun.

A lot about your band–the sound, the way you look–seems rooted in a love of older things. Do you guys have a passion for that kind of stuff?

FB: Not at all. It’s just like, contemporary music at the moment is quite boring, and it’s the fault of the labels and the industry and in turn the way bands think they should be. I don’t know, you just get fed such rubbish that you can’t help but sort of regurgitate it. It’s just really frustrating ’cause it’s so rare that you come across a band that you actually think, “This is as good as the old records that I love.” But there are a few. Maybe it’s just ’cause we’re in it–maybe you can’t really tell how good something is until you have hindsight.

JH: I’m really scared of looking back on this decade. So scared. You know how you look back on decades for music shifts? This one is going to be, like, autotune.

FB: I mean, you forget that it’s been ten yeahrs since 2000 and nothing’s really happened. There’s the odd band. Or even producers. You look back and every decade has had a few really brilliant producers that have really had a sound–Martin Hannnett in the eighties, or Phil Spector, or Joe Meek, and now we’ve got this decade. Yeah, I don’t know, it’s just really fucking boring.

Do you guys listen to new music at all?

FB: Yeah! There’s a band called Hate Rock I really like. There’s a band called Wooden Shjips that we actually asked to support us on our forthcoming tour. They might be on a few West Coast dates. But that’s what I mean. They are around, but they’re few and far between.

Is The Horrors like a brotherhood for you guys?

FB: Well it’s just really…It’s hard enough to find people that you want to be friends with on a daily basis, let alone work with. So I think we really don’t have a choice anymore.

JH: We’re stuck with each other.

So what’s next after the touring.

FB: We’re touring till the end of February, and then hopefully, it won’t take us long, but we just have to have… we really work best when we’ve got all our gear and we set up and just have a block of writing time, and then we’re really productive. So that’s what we’re going to do, once we get that time.

And you all live in London.

JH/FB: I live in Camden. Everyone else lives East.

Are there any bands that you like from there?

No, there are not many bands that I want to go and see. There aren’t really many people that I feel any affinity to and I don’t really feel like there are many bands that I feel an affinity towards either. So, I don’t think there’s like a scene in London that we’re apart of or that we like.

Could you imagine the Horrors anywhere else?

JH: I really like London ’cause I think it’s got the best work ethic in the world. In London, everyone’s really cynical and everyone hates everything, so no matter what you do, someone’s gonna go, “Shit, I just heard that yesterday.” It just makes you work harder. Everyone’s always trying to outdo each other, which I think is good. No one celebrates anything.

FB: There are a lot of bands, as well. Whether you like them or not, at least you’re surrounded by people that are working.

JH: There’s a lot of promise, but they never seem to get anywhere.

Are you guys you pretty diligent in the way you work?

FB: As a band, we work really hard. There’s so many people in bands that give off the impression that they go of and get drunk all the time. We work really hard and we don’t have any days off, to be honest.

How do you guys write?

FB: We just all write together. We’ve never really done it any other way.

JH: We’ve found coming in with a complete idea is pointless. Just come up with it there.

FB: ‘Cause no one gets excited about anything unless they were there for the beginning.

When you guys were jamming during soundcheck, is that how stuff builds?

JH: Yeah maybe. We were just testing the equipment. We might need a stronger idea to start with.

And do you write lyrics on the spot, Faris?

FB: I’ve got a lot of notebooks. I try to write all the time. But I don’t think you can ever actually finish stuff until you’re actually singing it. So I just have bits that I draw from.

Do you just carry around a notebook?

FB: Yeah. I like drawing a lot, so that’s what I spend a lot of my time doing. So yeah, I always have it.

Do you come from an interest in lyrics or poetry?

FB: I read a lot when I was a kid. But I don’t know, It’s so annoying how so many musicians or singers or whatever think they’re poets. It’s like, your work or what you’re drawing or your lyrics or whatever are good in context. I mean, obviously there are some, like Leonard Cohen, but I’m not trying to make myself out to be something better than I am. Really, I’m a musician, and even drawing–I love drawing, but I’m not a fucking bleeding artist.

Story by Michael McGregor

Photography by John Francis Peters

It all began at Santos Party House, a tricked out Honda Civic of a venue owned by Andrew W.K. and located in the heart of the downtown bottle service scene. Though nine-dollar drinks are common, mescaline ballads are not. Mostly glitz, bass and neon, Santos isn’t Ganglians’ home in any sense of the word. But apparently no one told Ryan Grubbs that. “We’re back… from the beyond,” the leader/frontman of the Ganglians race proclaimed before launching into a relentless set of Kesey-infused MC5 jams.

With allusions to shamans, vision quests and ancient civilizations, Ganglians are hopelessly psychedelic. Bound by neither time, place, nor state-of-mind, this band of ruffians came together by chance. Grubbs, a Montana native who headed to Sacramento after a trip with his grandfather, would often hear local natives Adrian Comenzind and Alex Sowles jamming from the attic of an old house on late night strolls through the city. Once Grubbs—who by happenstance had previously met Comenzind—found out who was sound-tracking his late night jaunts, the three began to jam together. The seeds that would become the band’s scattershot debut 12-inch were sown.

While much of their debut was engulfed in bong hits, propeller-head rhythms and damaged tape hiss, songs like “Stuck Under Town,” “Radically Inept Candy Girl” and “The Void” provided a glimpse of the band’s more melodic side, foreshadowing the majestic nature of Monster Head Room, on which both re-imagined versions of “Candy Girl” and “The Void” appear. Recorded in what must have been a deep, dark cavern, Monster Head Room, in many ways, finds Ganglians seeing the light for the first time. Moving away from the breakneck freak-outs of their debut, the album is metaphysically linked to Mesa Verde, and, depending on what you’ve ingested, it can often sound like waking up in those ancient cliff dwellings would feel. Harmonic cooing, layered found sounds, hypnotic axe wielding, patchouli mists— all the trappings of classic Californian drug folk are locked within. If limited to copious drug references and digital soundscapes, Monster Head Room would succumb to its own cliché. It doesn’t.

And such is the conundrum of a mystic psych act from Northern California arriving in the media capital of the world for a weekends worth of shows with So Cal punk brat Wavves. On stage, the ruffians stepped away from the crystalline jangle of Monster Head Room, choosing to rival Wavves ADHD output with equally turbulent if not more muscular fare like new single “Blood on the Sand,” as well as “My House,” a new tune written just before tour. Teenage Wavves fans didn’t seem to know how to react— moshing and flailing as though Ganglians’ was just another Wavves set. One sarcastic young’n even yelled “Hey Dave Pirner, play ‘Runaway Train.’” Instead, Ganglians conjured fits with “OMG, this shit is coming on strong” songs like “Rats Man.”

Twenty-four hours later, Ganglians are elsewhere again: the Market Hotel, Bushwick’s finest sweat box. Jeremy Earl, singer for Woods and founder of label Woodsist, brings Ryan Grubbs pre-show tacos from the Taco Truck. Amidst massive bites of chicken and guacamole, conversation inevitably veers toward drugs and production ramblings. “The 12” we just really wanted to get out there,” Grubbs says. “It’s raw, and we like it like that. I don’t want to say the songs were hurried, but we let them take hold naturally. We just wrote them, recorded them and that was that. But with Monster Head Room, we really wanted to take our time, let things breathe, play with some different production techniques and really hone the record. We wanted to make an old school, stoner headphone album.”

From first listen, it’s clear Ganglians took the time to nurture Monster Head Room, laying enough lysergic energy to tape to fuel a thousand trips into the nether-world. The production, while exquisite, is not overbearing, giving the record a subtle psychedelic quality that resonates as much with kids experimenting with robo-trippin’, as it does with their parents remembering fond days smoking grass in an imagined Golden Gate Park. Rarely does it overpower the listener, and when it does, it’s serene, as in outro of “The Void” that guides the listener into “To June.”

“The Void,” a droning ballad featured on both the band’s Woodsist 12” and Monster Head Room, best exemplifies that ambiance: a bedroom trip, the heat of a lava lamp left on for days, the fluorescent sheen of a black light making rose bud wallpaper bleed more like geometric fractals than the watercolors they are. “We really wanted to flesh ‘The Void’ out for Monster Head Room,” Grubbs explains. “The version on the 12″ is pretty fucking psychedelic, but we knew we could experiment with it, really take it out there, so we worked long and hard at fleshing it out the way we knew it could sound because, well, it’s an acid song.” No question “The Void,” a hallucinatory ballad with allusions to worlds inside worlds, goes out there. But it also refers to tripping on DMT, or Dimethyltryptamine, a natural drug produced by the human body, and incidentally, what some consider the most potent known psychedelic.

“I’ve never done DMT before, but I want to,” says Grubbs, whose affinity for psychedelics is way beyond that of an experimenting philosophy major. In fact, it’s almost scholarly, as he talks pressed pills and blotter tabs like an appraiser on Antique Road Show, noting the similarities and subtleties of trips, the voices, figures and motives associated with the other dimension as if they were a master carpenter’s etchings on a red oak chest from the Victorian era. “When I wrote “The Void” I was literally seeing furry trolls in the bushes,” he remembers. “I would look out, and I could see their eyes peering out from in between the brush. I was roaming around and I could sense and see these tiny worlds secretly dwelling in front of me, behind rocks, in bushes. I felt like I was always being followed by the unknown, while peeking into the unknown, a world that I didn’t know existed, or doesn’t exist.  The whole experience literally took me some other world, some sort of void. I really wanted to try and recreate that world.”

Clocked at four and a half minutes, “The Void” is not just the centerpiece of Monster Head Room but a treasure map to the unknown. Explorers, Ganglians exude an openness often associated with freewheeling religious zealots and missionaries. They are preachers, but their doctrine is more the distilled essence of the Acid Tests than that of divide-and-conquer. Simply to exist and express, the band acknowledge both darkness and light, while leaving both to the wayside, giving credence only to the molecules that form our existence. It’s a bit heady, yes, but so is their mantra, a manifesto scrawled on the scroll that is their MySpace: “The whole of the Ganglian race. The squirrels in the walls that bounce acorns across the ceiling in the dead of night. NONE OF THIS SHOULD WORK BUT IT DOES!!!”

Lo! In an effort to make the cyberwave you’re currently surfing all the more comfortable and convenient, we’ve taken to compiling the video footage from our bathroom at the Levi’s®/FADER Fort in one glorious post. Updated daily until we run out of tape, you’ll find a host of bathroom performance bits as experienced at the Ace Hotel during CMJ week in New York. Most of them are PG-13, few are destined to be collector’s items, all are worth checking out anyway.

Best Coast
“Sun Was High (So Was I)”

“Brat”

Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson
“The Debtor”

“Losing 4 Winners”

Cymbals Eat Guitars
“Some Trees”

“Plainclothes”

“Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2″

Surfer Blood
“Swim (To Reach The End)”

“Catholic Pagans”

Real Estate
“Beach Comber”

“Green River”

“Fake Blues”

Ducktails
“House Of Mirrors”

“Backyard”

Alex Bleeker and The Freaks
“Never Goin’ Back”

El Perro Del Mar
“Change Of Heart”

“Gotta Get Smart”

The Antlers
“Atrophy”

Dent May
“Love Song 2009″

Crystal Antlers
“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”

Beach Fossils
“Daydream”

Big Troubles
“Freudian Slips”

“Drastic and Difficult”

Turbo Fruits stepped into the Hotbox as clean boys and left as dirty men. Is that even possible? We caught the boys tearing through “Mama’s Mad Cos I Fried My Brain” off their debut, Echo Kid, as well as a shampoo-and-conditioned cover of the Undertones’ “Teenage Kicks.” LUXURIOUS CURLS. VOLUMINOUS HOOKS. Bounce that lasts.

Story by: Adam Daniels

Photography by: Dorothy Hong

Rock n’ roll may not exactly have the same sex and drugs credo it used to, but they still haven’t changed the sign at the door. And though Fruit Bats’ Eric Johnson may not be the prototype for the image of lead singer hard-on, he still knows how to wear the uniform. Just as Johnson and I meet up to presumably grab a beer or two, he bumps into his old friend and tour manager Dave and Dave’s two-year old son Ronan. Together they traded in the tavern for a sunny Brooklyn afternoon at the Williamsburg Waterfront Park, home to the rock daze that is the new Pool Party concert series. So there we sat in the grass overlooking the East River, interrupted a few times by Ronan’s general indifference to our interview setup, and it dawns on me: while it can be assumed most every long-haired lead singer has just as many moments like these, playing defender to a be-overalled youngster’s soccer moves, it seems rare we actually get to see them. Johnson’s tucked in everyday button-down and glasses mixed with his warmth make it just as easy to think you’re talking to a nice dude from Portland in the park than the guy headlining the biggest venue in town that night. He just happens to be both.

Johnson has probably enjoyed more headlines in the last couple years than his musical project Fruit Bats have combined since their 2001 debut Echolocation. This is a logical result of joining one of the only three indie-rock bands my Mom has heard of: The Shins. But Johnson treats playing guitar for that famous band like one might treat bussing tables or tutoring 10th grade algebra. “I’ve always just sort of treated it like my day job,” Johnson says. “It pays the bills.” That isn’t to say he doesn’t enjoy the experience (he describes it as a “great ride he would have been foolish to pass up’) or value their music; he means day job in the literal sense. Playing music with Mercer and the boys has allowed him to make music as a full-time gig for the first time. “Until then I’d run my own KRAFT catering company,” he says. “It was a good thing for me because I was my own boss and could tour whenever I wanted to.” And while he supposes his newer gig will do just fine, this does represent the biggest contrast between the two. His catering service, like these Fruit Bats, was just that: entirely his own. He’s become much more than just a simple fill-in guitarist for The Shins, but he writes none of the music and likewise makes none of the big decisions, key differences that probably make balancing two such musical projects much simpler. For nearly a decade he’s been almost the entire body of one musical project. Now, he’s a full-fledged member of another—he just doesn’t get all their Albuquerque jokes.

The other thing that makes Johnson’s new band mates particularly notable is the fact that when most writers have needed a frame of reference for the Fruit Bats sound, The Shins have been their default name-drop. This is not entirely accurate, perhaps more a crude categorizing of what’s become a way to describe the hooks coming from Sub Pop’s mid-aughties roster. But Johnson certainly grasps the inherent absurdity of joining the monumentally famous band his slightly less heard of musical labour of love is most frequently likened to. “I definitely thought about it,” Johnson says. “The thing with that is, I never really got the whole Shins comparison. I mean I understand the need for classification sometimes. And I just sort of think there was a point in time where it started to become ‘If you look like this, then you’re this band.’ But if you were just a dude that looked like a plain ole’ dude playing guitar-driven simple rock then you were The Shins, because they were one of those bands that was big enough to get those assertions but they were also the one that was least defined by sort of visual cues and easily placed distinctions. So for a while, everyone was The Shins. It didn’t matter if you were also a little bit Joy Division or a little bit whatever too. You were The Shins.” And to be fair,  Johnson did allow a little room for comparison. “It’s funny though,” he muses. “I’ve been friends with James (Mercer) for years and hadn’t really picked up on it. But then Dave (their tour manager) will often hear my voice on the phone and assume it’s James and vice-versa. So I guess we do have pretty similar speaking voices.”

But Johnson should be pleased to know that his Bats’ latest musical effort, The Ruminant Band, is the least Shins-like of the Bats entire catalog to date. In fact, one would be hard-pressed to tie Ruminant Band down to a single musical likeness. There are the sort of poppy melodies that drew those Shins comparisons on the impossibly singable “Being On Our Own.” A bit of the sort of alt-country tendencies that have always been dwelt at the surface of Johnson’s music seep through much stronger on tracks like “Primitive Man.” Their live show can create solos and bridges of near-jam band proportions, but on record here one can find something a bit more timeless, more lived-in. This goes further than just an influence, to the point where you could place some of these tracks decades back without a shred of context. Though long before you ever notice any of these sonic qualities of the record, you can’t help but notice how much fun the folks making it are having. While some of that vibe must stem from the fact that Johnson seems to be one of those musicians that heartily accepts the mind view that it’s a unique privilege to make a living creating music, the rest might stem from the fact that the Fruit Bats are actually a band for the first time.

In the past, the Bats had just been a title for Johnson’s art, featuring a rotating cast of musicians to support his ideas and musical whims. And despite him already being in a “real band” that headlines international music festivals, it’s easily noticeable that Johnson is quite smitten with this whole idea that his band is a real band, admitting a similar giddiness to that high school kid that formed a band and calls every single one of his friends to tell them, long before making it safely through a single practice.

“I have to admit I always wanted to be in a band, it just never really worked out like that,” Johnson says. “But it feels really great. Everyone brings their ideas forward and we all work out the songs together.” The change in members and contributions to this more cohesive group felt like such a relevant change to Johnson, he said he came very close to changing the name of the whole project from Fruit Bats to The Ruminant Band. These changes comes through loud and clear, with Johnson even noting a spontaneous “Woo” being left on the record after a brief moment of shift and improvisation in a track. There is a real feeding off of one another during the live show as well, eye contact and smiles coloring the spaces between breaks and the back-and-forth vocals. It was a friendly crowd in Brooklyn that night, which could cause mostly any musician to feed off such an energy. But at the very least it looked like the beginnings of a band that could enjoy sharing a stage together for a good while, and Johnson’s smile made it clear he felt the same way.

I walk over to a bench away from the grass and the recess Johnson is granted with his young friend. The skyscrapers of Manhattan can’t help but look a little surreal in the distance, more like a postcard than anything tangible. For a moment, Johnson and Ronan are framed in this postcard as well. They switch from soccer to basketball, and he doesn’t pick him up on his shoulders and help him dunk or sink a 20-foot hook shot. In fact, he nearly misses the backboard as a whole on his first shot. “I was never much for basketball,” he says. And though Johnson may not have much of a jump shot, it didn’t seem to matter much to the kid. This all made it quickly evident Johnson is one of those rare musical personalities that makes just as much genuine sense entertaining a kid’s Pele impression as he does playing center stage at Bowery Ballroom, something you can only say about so many folks that happen to play in bands that will change your life.

It was a Thursday in New York, the first afternoon in what’s becoming a most wondrous month of October! Four men from Alabama whom together, call themselves Thomas Function, strolled into our living room to share with us a collection of songs from their new, non swine flu-related sophomore full-length, In The Valley of Sickness. They ate sandwiches. They drank beer. THEY BREATHED FIRE. WE FILMED. Oh! What a fantastic month this continues to be!

Returning to New York after finishing recording their next record, we met up with The Soft Pack to shoot an acoustic sesh backstage before their Bowery Ballroom show. We hauled our collective asses up to the third floor backstage area, and as Matt, Matty, Dave and Brian entered the room we knew we had a problem. Dim light wall fixtures gave the green room a bit of a Blublocker’s feel that didn’t vibe with our cameras. However, a mere four feet away from us shone a light so bright and willing, we were forced to surrender to it. Illumination! And so it was that we flocked to the bathroom with The Soft Pack, threw them in the shower and shot “Down On Lovin” and “C’mon”. Ladies and Gents, welcome to the Hotbox.

Story by Gracie Remington

Photography by Nikki Turner

Farrah is pregnant. A popular cheerleader and high school senior in Council Bluffs, Iowa, Farrah’s announcement comes by way of clique-ish backstab job at the hands of her best friends. Though shunned by her cheer squad, it’s news that leaves her in the loving arms of an MTV camera crew, a reality star of the network’s popular show, 16 and Pregnant. She whines about her newfound lack of a social life. She goes to the doctor. She battles her mother for control of her life, her baby, and the family car. Somewhere in the background, the soundtrack of her life is intermittently interrupted by Brooklyn’s Cale Parks, whose soundscaping provides a comforting counterpoint to the drama that swallows Farrah. The brief musical interludes, with their spare, hypnotic instrumentations, serve as a calming point in a storm of (televised) teenage motherhood.

“I’ve never seen it, thank goodness,” Parks admits over drinks at a bar near his apartment in Greenpoint. “I can safely say I’ve never seen it. I got a MySpace message or a Twitter from a fan, and then I told my manager and he got in touch with the label. We had no idea.”

While he may have been unaware of the role his music played in the soundtrack to Farrah’s life, such odd juxtapositions are nothing new to Parks, who works simultaneously as a multi-instrumentalist in Aloha and White Williams while also performing and recording as a solo artist. Referencing “Dance Dance Revolution-type” music (especially Capsule, described by Parks as “Daft Punk with 200 more notes”) along with the Tough Alliance and Scritti Politti as current favorite bands, Parks floats through genre tags as he would from drum kit to the lead mic: effortlessly and freely. Whether recording with Aloha or cutting tracks in his apartment for his solo work, he imbues his work with a raw, some might say lo-fi immediacy, a bent one might argue comes from his desire to follow a similar path to that of Phil Collins. “He’s a really rad drummer but then he made these pop songs. His solo stuff isn’t flashy drum kit music. They’re just songs; they’re just what they are.”

Parks’ desire to emulate Collins shines through in the sun-dappled pop hooks that comprise To Swift Mars, his most recent EP. Parks’ transition into electrobliss heralds a new direction for the artist, whose previous album, Sparklace, focused more on trance meditations. This time around, no longer hiding his vocals in a dense web of slow, contemplative instrumentations, Parks’ voice sounds utterly triumphant. While he “just started singing last summer,” Parks explains that he wanted his latest release to “mix more like a pop record,” the vocals sitting shotgun.

Drawing heavily on new wave, J-Pop, and now commonplace electro pop (drawing comparisons to tour mates Passion Pit, amongst others) approaches, Parks’ latest release focuses on the sunnier side of life. Album standouts “Knight Conversation” and “One at the Time” are road trip jams, snippets of cross-country sun and horizon. Though its recording intersected with that of Sparklace, To Swift Mars marks an exciting, collagist’s turn for Parks, while remaining true to the fundamentally personal nature of all of his musical projects. Brian from Apes and Androids helped mix the album, while Parks’ fiancée, Kendra, provided the backing vocals on “Knight Conversation.” Recording was done in Parks’ apartment, and Parks will tour with friends Lemonade starting in August, co-headlining and switching spots in the lineup at every show.

Like his idol, Phil Collins, Parks is clearly comfortable working in a variety of situations, as a drummer and as a solo artist, and his flexibility shines through in the varied nature of his solo output. His latest evolution suits him just as well as Collins’ transition from solo artist to soundtrack maestro. “I like to be busy all the time,” Parks explains. “I can’t stand to not do something.” Once his solo tour wraps up, he plans to tour with Aloha following the release of their upcoming LP (due out sometime this fall or winter) while continuing work on his solo project and recording with White Williams. Maybe fifteen years from now Farrah’s baby will hear Parks’ music on TV or Disney DVD or vinyl. It’ll be out there in some form or another.

Interview and Words by Samuel Duke

Joshua Wells lives a desirable existence. His day job–when he’s employed–requires little commitment, so he can spend his ample free time focusing on his music, of which there is a lot. Wells helped form and plays drums in Vancouver rock priests Black Mountain, but, like most of his bandmates, also has something on the side. That project is Lightning Dust, his duo with Black Mountain vocalist Amber Wells. On 2007’s eponymous debut and even moreso on this month’s Infinite Light (both for Jagjaguwar, who release most of the B.M.-related canon,) the two canoe themselves into the darker cave-like recesses of their circle’s preferred musical style–essentially a spookier version of American roots music. On Infinite Light, cellos and Rhodes swell from beneath like levitating deities, and Wells’ voice frequently vibrates like a candle that’s two seconds away from going out. It’s a marvelously well-shaped record, cognizant of space like few albums ever are anymore. We rang Wells earlier this month to talk about the record, his day job, Vancouver’s insular scene, and Canadian music industry organizations. Read that conversation below.

So you’re in Vancouver now?
Yes.

Do you have a day job aside from the music or are you doing that full-time?
Not at the moment. Sometimes I do work, I sort of maintain a causal position as a mental health/needle research person in the downtown East Side of Vancouver, which is sort of an economically depressed area. I work for a company that houses people who are harder to house. But, this year I’ve been mostly doing music ‘cause I haven’t really had time to work.

How long have you been doing that?
I’ve been working for them on-and-off for like five or six years. They’re really cool about just letting me be a casual worker, as they are with many other musicians in Vancouver. So I can go on tour a lot and still sometimes have work.

How did you and Amber start playing music together? Was it before Black Mountain or after you guys had done that?
Basically, Steven, Amber and I–the three of us have been playing music for a long time. We had a band before Black Mountain that just sort of morphed into it. Around the same time that started or maybe just a little bit after, Amber and I just started messing around ‘cause she had a bunch of songs and I had a bunch of songs. And we just made sort of a Christmas album. Not about Christmas, but we just made an EP thing that we gave to our friends. And that’s how it started, just on four-track cassette.

How long ago was this?
That was like 2004 or 2005, something like that.

But your first record wasn’t until 2007…
Yeah, that’s right. So we sort of just kept it at that. And then we just started playing the occasional show. We didn’t have a name back then, either. We played a bunch of shows, just the two of us, as “Amber and Josh”. Just for fun, really, or ‘cause people would ask us to. Then we found ourselves with a summer off, basically after all the first [Black Mountain] record touring and stuff. After the novelty of being around here in the summer wore off after a couple weeks, we got a bit restless and basically just started recording stuff at our jam space, because we had written some more songs and re-recorded a few of the songs that we had done on our “Christmas EP”. We just put that together with no expectations, and by the end of the summer it looked like a pretty decent album. So, we offered it to Jagjaguwar and they were into it.

This record is obviously a bit different. It sounds a lot different. Were you guys writing it while you were on the road for In The Future?
It’s one of those things where the songwriting is pretty slow for Lightning Dust; obviously because we’re busy. But also just ‘cause that’s the way we are. But yea, we had some other things we were working on, and then it kinda got to the point where we had enough songs that were around that it seemed like it was the right to do another album. And we wanted to do it in a more slightly over the top style–a little more orchestrated. We like to keep in mind that space is a major component in our music. But we wanted to get a bit more fancy and orchestrated this time. So we did our best with a really small budget. We have like one violinist friend and one cellist friend and got them involved in it a little more. Other than that, it’s just the two of us.

Were you going into the studio with all those textures laid out in your head?
Yeah, I had pretty clear ideas about what I wanted to do with a song like “Take It Home” that has a big, orchestral bridge and outro. I had written those parts for the string players as well as all the other parts. But just out of necessity we do have to build stuff up in the studio ‘cause like, in general, I play the drums and the pianos and then Amber plays the guitars. So we’ll do backing tracks with me on drums and her on guitar and then I’ll layer some synths and pianos on top of that.

Did you start out as a drummer?
Yeah, I’m a drummer first and foremost. A piano player second.

Did you grow up playing?
Yeah, I started playing the drums when I was nine and I come from a family of musicians. My Dad’s like a rock and roll guitarist and singer; my Mom’s a singer who used to be a folk singer but eventually became more of an opera singer. I was raised around music.

Did you grow up in Vancouver?
No, not really, I was raised all over the place. I was born in Illinois, in a town called Plainfield, which is an hour outside Chicago. When I was really young I moved to Canada, but I’ve lived all over Canada. I’ve lived in Victoria, Calgary, Edmonton, Toronto, and here. But I’ve been here the longest so this is my hometown.

What brought you to Vancouver?
Well, just really a change of pace. At the time I was living in Toronto–this is when I was like a teenager, like fifteen–and I moved out here ‘cause my Mom lived there and my Dad lived here. So I just moved here for a change of pace.

It seems like kind of a special town, musically.
Yeah, it’s different.

I don’t want to say “incestuous” but the amount of Black Mountain-related projects is pretty numerous…
Yeah, I mean, you have to realize that it’s not just Black Mountain-related. It’s a very small musical community here, and particularly in terms of like…there’s lots of other music going on. I suppose the scenes are small and not very co-dependent here, if you know what I mean. It’s a city, there are like two million people here, but probably one million, eight hundred thousand people have never even gone to a live music club in this city. So there’s not really a ton of support for it, which, in a way, can be really frustrating. But in another way, it’s very liberating ‘cause people just tend to make music without any regard to an audience here–because there isn’t one.

The scene may be really small, but everything that I hear from that circle is really good…
Yeah, and that’s what I mean. People sort of make music that is unanalyzed, ‘cause no one is really paying attention apart from their musical peers. I think people just come up with some interesting ideas by not really caring about what people like or what’s trendy. Basically, you get to make music without a critical eye apart from that of your peers, which is critical in the right way. It still drives people to be ambitious, but they don’t really expect that they’re going to ever make a dollar doing it. It’s purely on creative terms.

Before I called, I was reading this article about a program in Canada called FACTOR, where I guess you can receive grants from this organization as an artist?
Yeah, it’s an interesting thing. It’s not really a government granting organization. There is a government granting organization called the Canada Council for the Arts, which funds visual arts and “serious” music. They basically don’t touch what would be called popular music or that sort of stuff. Folk music, indigenous music, classical music–that’s what they deal with. So there’s this thing called FACTOR, which is this music industry organization. And it’s kind of strange, ‘cause it’s like music industry people that get together and review proposals, and yea, you can get grants through them. But one thing that’s interesting about FACTOR is that they tend to help those who need it the least.

That was what I was reading. This guy who runs a tiny label wrote an open letter on The Daily Swarm and it was just sort of like, “The people that get this money are the people that are already established…” and that it seemed like a cool idea that might not have been instituted the right way.
Basically, they have standards for qualification, and one of the main qualifications, for a tour support program, is that you have to have sold at least 2000 records in wherever you’re touring. So, that sets the bar a bit high, right? And one weird thing about FACTOR is that regularly, like every year, they dispense money to people like Sarah McLaughlin or Sum 41–bands that make a lot of money anyway–while they ignore bands you’ve never heard of.But it’s an interesting thing. Sometimes it can help, and if you fall in that zone where, say, you have sold a little bit, but you really want to go somewhere, it can help you out.

Yeah. I mean, it seems like a good idea. Just doesn’t really play out that well.
Yeah, and I guess their whole thing is that they only want to support stuff that’s already “proven popular music,” and so you can sort of see their point because they are a record industry association. It’s not an independent or government-based thing.

Getting back to your music–you guys mentioned that you really wanted to play with space on this record, and that’s pretty evident. Does Lightning Dust allow you to play with that stuff more than in Black Mountain?
Definitely. Especially the way we record–we don’t involve a lot of people. There’s never that thing where it’s like, there are a bunch of people in the band and they always have to be doing something. ‘Cause it’s just Amber and I. We just choose when to make things dense and when to make things simple. In Black Mountain, there are five very distinct musical personalities in that band, and just by its very nature, it’s denser.

Amber’s voice has this sort of tremble to it–is that something she does naturally?
Yeah. She’s always sung like that. And she’s never had any kind of formal training. That’s just what her voice sounds like.

It’s crazy, ‘cause it totally adds this haunted vibe to everything.
Yeah, it’s kind of disorienting and cool. I like her voice a lot. It’s neat, ‘cause I can’t think of anyone that really sounds like that.

So what’s next, the record’s coming out and then you’re headed out on tour?
Yeah we’re gonna be touring for all of September, part of October, all around the States and Canada.

And then, go back and make another Black Mountain record?
Yeah. We’ve been kind of working on writing and stuff like that this summer, Black Mountain has. We want to make another record this winter.

Do you guys just get together and jam or do people bring songs?
Oh we just kind of jam, and people bring songs. It’s sort of like people bring in skeletal songs and then we just jam until they’re good.

One last question: where is the album cover from?
Jeremy, the synth player from Black Mountain, he is a budding rock album artist. He did the cover for the last Black Mountain album as well. He’s just super talented in that way, he nails it. We were basically like, “Yeah, you should do our album cover.” And then he just came up with it and we were like, “Yeah, that’s fucking amazing.”

So it was something he came up with specifically for the record?
Yeah. We just gave him the record to listen to and he just made it. That’s sort of his style–he makes otherwordly collage art. He’s really a perfectionist too, and works really hard in that world of collage. It gets really interesting results. Especially in the world of album covers, his art just looks like a really great album cover.

Last week AA Bondy, the time-traveling bard pictured above, stopped by to unfurl three backporch jams in the Tripwire living room. His new long-player, When The Devil’s Loose, is out on Fat Possum right now and it leaves a similarly winsome expression upon our faces. See why below:

The boys of Portland’s Nurses got cozy with us in front of the fireplace. It’s starting to get a little chilly outside so we’re bringing the performances inside for our new, aptly-named series The Fireplace. We were lucky enough to hear charming versions of “Technicolor” and “Manatarms” off their new full-length, Apple’s Acre. We also got a sneak peek/ear load of “So Sweet,” a song so sweet it can only be heard right here, in front of our as of now unlit fireplace. Stay tuned for later episodes and the decorative lighting/live flame sure to be found within, DUDES.

Tim Kasher of Cursive came over to our back porch a couple weeks ago with things to get off his chest. He played us a precious oldie, “Driftwood: A Fairy Tale” as well as a couple newbies off their newest LP, Mama, I’m Swollen. It was all very, very intense. Watch and see.

We’ve been digging on Blind Man’s Colour for a minute now. Their jams are shoegaze-y and moon-jumpy and just teeming with sunshine vibes. So when we heard the boys were coming to NYC for a couple of debut performances, we had to have them on our back porch. Kyle, Orhan and bassist, Ben, showed up ready to try out acoustic versions of “Jimmy Dove” and “The Dinosaur Ride” before they played their second of three NYC shows at Cameo that night. All Orhan needed was a headband. Low maintenance.

The boys of Foreign Born were a little furry after playing the last show of their summer tour. So we decided to give them a shave! Well we didn’t, but the nice men at the Neighborhood Barber in the East Village did the honors. You think we know how to handle those ol’ fashioned straight blades? No, thanks. Anyway, before being told not to speak so as not to turn into Scarface, Matt told us a little bit about their troubles driving through Texas and how Sal got handcuffed. Let the past be behind you boys, the tour has been shaved and cut off!

Story by Nat Roe
Photography by John Francis Peters

They say that after civilization finally collapses and cities become abandoned, plants will reclaim New York City beginning from Central Park and moving steadily outward in concentric circles until all the steel and concrete is completely hidden.

At the moment, you might say nature is a bit edged out.  On a recent summer afternoon, I met Theo Angell at a little anomaly in the Bushwick area of Brooklyn called Flushing Farms.  A few ears of corn, raspberry plants and flowers look like someone transplanted fifteen square feet of Eden into a maze of industrial sprawl.  A graffiti covered shack next to the green patch will soon be a cafe. The occasional show space, run by Jeffrey Lohn, former member of no-wave legends Theoretical Girls, is just a few blocks from Angell’s own apartment.

At first glance, Theo Angell’s rustic folkisms appear just as at odds with his New York City surroundings as Flushing Farms.  Angell’s new record Tenebrae breathes with a slow-paced psych folk hum that would seem completely oblivious to passing sixteen-wheelers and the mechanical whirs of factories.  Angell’s patient guitar work, sympathetic croons and otherworldly atmospheric swirls sound as far from urban as is imaginable.

The boys of The Temper Trap came a long way to play these songs for us on our back porch. Their heavenly single, “Sweet Disposition” is featured in the movie (500) Days of Summer but you can preview a little stripped-down version below. And below that, check their backyard-style rendition of “Science of Fear.”

“Sweet Disposition”

“Science of Fear”

Story by Adam Daniels
Photography by Dorothy Hong

David Lynch is not twee. In fact, it’s hard to argue against the idea that he might be the anti-twee. So it may come as a surprise that when referencing her musical philosophy Camera Obscura frontwoman Tracyanne Campbell kept coming back to the polarizing auteur. She initially mentioned the director in reference to Mullholland Drive, the trippy neo-noir thriller about an aspiring actress and a mysterious little blue key.

“It just has a message to it, and like all his films, it starts but it doesn’t really end and I think that’s the way music should be,” Campbell says. “I don’t think I should write music that should tell you how to feel or what to get from it. You should take what you want, you know? Art should be interpreted in so many ways. You should get what you need to get, rather than what somebody tells you. I think that’s one of the main things that appeals to me about David Lynch.”

But then again, maybe this shouldn’t be a surprise. Camera Obscura formed in 1996, and now for going on a decade and a half they’ve been fielding a daily barrage of questions on twee, Stuart Murdoch, heartbreak and the shadows of Belle and Sebastian (“Oh my God, you guys are from the same country? What’s that like?). So one can imagine this cycle could make Campbell feel, well, particularly untwee.

Lynch’s name came up within the context of a conversation on the band’s communal passion for film (Campbell herself entitled a recent blog post of the landscapes of the American West “My Own Private Idaho”). She says she believes people underestimate how much films can influence artists in their songwriting and storytelling.

“I think that is something that I’m sure is true for everyone but they don’t talk about, maybe because people don’t ask,” Campbell says. “But people, writers and such, always assume that music is just the be-all-end-all thing that people are inspired by when they’re writing songs and it’s just bullshit.”

And aside from the inspirations, people tend to make the same assumption about Campbell’s lyrics as well.

“That’s the thing people always assume, that I’ve had my heart broken like 100 times,” Campbell says. “And I just haven’t. That makes me sound like someone who just goes from person to person to person. Maybe I don’t have as many relationships as people like to think. I’m not a hopeless romantic.”

For the record, Campbell says she has had her heart broken before, twice, maybe three times romantically. But these instances don’t define the records.

“People will try to say ‘Oh this is a break-up song’ or ‘Oh this is a break-up album.’” Campbell says. “And you can’t really do that because that’s not the way life happens. It can never be like that where every thought is about break-up or heartbreak or even love. It’s never just one or the other. It’s a million things. It’s about walking down the street, catching a glimpse of yourself and realizing you hate someone one minute and absolutely love them the next, so many things.”

While Campbell speaks in general music terms, it’s easy for these words to point at the uniquely endearing quality in her band’s music: the moments where you’re being tugged in three different directions before you even had time to stop and think about the meanings of each path. But while she may not want you to cram her songs into a box, whatever else you want to make of them seems just fine by her.

“People ask what the songs mean all the time,” she says. “”I know what the record is about. But I’d never want to write a passage about what every single song is about exactly. That’s not what we do when we write music.”

And once again we’re back on Mullholland Drive. It’s easy to assume a director like Lynch would revel at the chance to divulge secrets and meanings that lie within his intricately woven plotlines and idiosyncratic details. This seems like just the sort of thing directors commentaries were created for. But Lynch refuses to give anything more than a tagline into the deeper meaning of the film. allowing and even encouraging room for the multiple interpretations audiences and critics alike placed on the film. The Guardian famously called together six esteemed film critics to interpret the film and its ending and essentially got five different answers.

Such a concept would seem quite novel to Campbell.

“There’s no wrong answer to what the songs are about,” she says. “That’s the beauty. People could say 100 things and they’re all right because that’s what they mean to them. They mean exactly that.”

So whether you use “Let’s Get Out of This Country” as an excuse to flee your native land or view the relationship in “French Navy” as an allegory for socialism, it all seems pretty peachy to Campbell. Just don’t ask her what the little blue key means.

Two days after Nathan Williams shattered his wrist and only a few hours before his brain-melting set at Bowery Ballroom, we treated he of Wavves notoreity to a rubdown in Chinatown. So it came to be that Nathan christened our new series, The Rubdown, and chatted with us about his wrist, his thoughts on Barcelona, and his new grunge project with Hella drummer Zach Hill. Things are looking up. And they sound awesome.

Story by Samuel Duke

Dinosaur Jr. are old. You can see it in J. Mascis’s hair, once a seemingly never-washed curtain of stringy brown that has turned a greyish white. Drummer Murph, once the band’s resident hippie, is bald, and Mascis and bassist Lou Barlow both have, gulp, kids. But as of today they are in the midst of a grueling tour routing through Japan, Europe and the US to support their new (and second since reuniting in 2005) album Farm. Can we even call it a reunion anymore now that we’re on the second record? Maybe not, but considering the fact that Mascis and Barlow (well, mostly Barlow) spent the better part of fifteen years hating each other’s guts, it still seems like a gift that they have an official and regularly updated MySpace page. And that they’re an almost better band than they were before.

Who knows how to explain this. The years have made Barlow and Murph better players, and Masics’ obsessiveness has waned, putting the others at greater ease. But they’re not exactly best friends. “We don’t take field trips,” Barlow tells me. “The music is really where the chemistry I enjoy with them is.” He’s calling on release day from Los Angeles, where he lives with his wife and daughter, and on this morning, is probably cranking out a ton of phoners while the band are between gigs at the Troubadour. When I ask how the two months of Farm sessions felt at Mascis’ home studio, he says, “I like making records, but I think the way Dinosaur does it, fun isn’t really a part of it.” But fun is most certainly a part of listening. The band’s greatest assets—Mascis’ gushing open chords and couchsurfer whine, Barlow’s steady hand, Murph’s barely capable drumming—are not hard things to love. They are not difficult noisemakers, they are what amounts to a punk rock Crazy Horse with lyrics about feelings that don’t sound wussy.

The first time I heard Dinosaur Jr. was in “Video Days,” Spike Jonze’s 1991 skateboard film that is regarded by some as The Godfather of the genre. Their cover of the Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” played during Rudy Johnson’s part. Since that moment, Dinosaur and skateboarding were inseparably linked in my brain, both regarded as gilded nuggets of Gen X slackerdom. So when their new video for “Over It” hit the web, with Mascis on a board and Barlow and Murph on BMX bikes, shredding LA street scenes like pros, I think my medulla wet itself. And yet, Barlow seems nonplussed. “The video was definitely a nod in that direction,” he says. “I’ve never ridden a skateboard in my life. J was sort of the first person I knew who sported it and I never actually saw him ride, I just saw him carrying it. At the hardcore shows we would go to, people would be doing it, but to me it always seemed forced. ‘Like, OK dude, you’re trying to ride up this wall?’”

This saltiness must make them who they are. If they were too eager, too nice, too “right on,” it wouldn’t be the same. They would be like Sonic Youth: still putting out okay records but also doing questionable things like appearing on Gilmore Girls and making deals with Starbucks. Dinosaur would never do that, mainly because they don’t care enough. They just want to play. Loudly. When I ask if making records is, at this point, a means to an end to play live, Barlow is quick to answer in the affirmative. “For now it is. If we go make another one, maybe we’ll tweak the way we work.” This is crazy to me, that one of the best records of the year exists ostensibly to keep them from getting bored on stage. I want to say it cheapens things a little, but if it means we can continue to hear new Dinosaur music, and have it be this good, I couldn’t care less.

Last Friday, before the boys of Japandroids beasted things up at Cameo Gallery in Brooklyn, we had the honor of hearing them strip things down a little bit. David sat it out because, well, he refuses to play a drum softly. Brian placed his new New York scarf over his amp and got things started with a sweet, sweet version of “Sovereignty.” The ‘Droids don’t play “I Quit Girls” in their sets because it’s too mellow, so we got a little sneak peak of what it would be like if they gave their set the coffee shop treatment. Not corny at all! To close, Brian plowed through a cover of one of our favorite jams, Mclusky’s “To Hell With Good Intentions.” So good.

Story by Christopher Norton
Photography by Nikki Turner

It’s a cold world Band of Skulls was born into. The psychedelic blues rockers are the latest U.K. exports to wage their classically skuzzy assault on the land of the free and the brave, starting with New York City. Which is surprising given the band’s former appellation, as guitarist and sometime frontman Russell Marsden told us in a recent conversation.

Marsden and drummer Matt Hayward have known and played music with each other since childhood, but the band which listeners will discover today didn’t take shape until Marsden and bassist-to-be Emma Richardson met in art school. The three originally played under the name Fleeing New York, but as other members came and went the body of songs that make up new full-length Baby Darling Doll Face Honey began to coalesce—especially lead single “I Know Who I Am”—and the core trio decided it was time for a change.

“It’s really weird because it’s felt like we’re a different band,” Marsden said. “It’s like we did our apprenticeship, and this is the real deal.” All three of the members contribute songs—even Matt, who when he’s not behind the kit is “like a singing acoustic troubadour,” according to Marsden. “We have to amplify his parts.”

“It’s been a long process getting this album together without one songwriter who comes in and says, ‘These are the songs, these are the chords’,” Marsden said of the group’s democratic creative dynamic. “It’s like a TV show.”

The undeniable standout at the band’s recent Bowery Ballroom spot opening for Brody Dalle’s new band Spinnerette was “Impossible,” a deep album track that showcased Band of Skulls’ recent emphasis on collaborative songwriting and closed the set with a My Bloody Valentine style noise bliss-out. “We were trying to make a more spacious sound, and that was the song that came out of it,” Marsden recalled. “I think we’re continuing to go down that path because it worked so well.”

Of course, it’s a tough road ahead for any straightforward power trio on a one-species-under-a-groove kind of globe, where the tunes getting the most attention tend to break down cultural barriers, not the sound barrier. Marsden knows it’s a challenge, but has faith in his group to summon the concerted intensity necessary to stand out from the huddled masses. Their raw, stripped-down sound is “the curse and the best thing, because you do have a pure and essential sound, but if you end up being super busy, you just become madly busy. I’m relieved when the show’s over because it feels like I’m operating some dangerous machine. There’s no chance for anyone to stop and take a drink, check their text messages.” This furious pace was set during the very recording of Baby Darling Doll Face Honey as the band rushed to capitalize on the buzz generated by “I Know What I Am.”

“The song had already been picked up by a few people, including iTunes, and that had to get organized while we finished the album,” said Marsden. “It was kind of terrifying, but necessary. You could say, no, it’s not ready yet, but that would be a silly thing to do because you won’t get that opportunity again.”

And he hopes to build on that opportunity with an ace-in-the-hole live show. “It’s a pleasant surprise; we have a lot of curious people coming to check us out and hopefully they’ll be converted to the cause. Although it’s a new record, it’s not a new band that’s just been together for a few months,” he claimed. “We’ve got some loud records and some really delicate music as well. You’re going to like something that we do.”

Baby Darling Doll Face Honey is out July 28 in the U.S. on Shangri-La Music.

‘Twas a drippy afternoon we spent with local Brooklynites, Suckers in our backyard (or porch, really). Pan & Quinn & Austin & Brian’s debut EP Suckers came out this past April. The guys are playing a residency at Pianos every Thursday starting tomorrow, July 9th. Be there or be square, knucklebrains!

07.09 @ Pianos w/ Gates of Heaven, Hearts of Darknesses & Etta Place – Hosted by Toilet Cobra
07.16 @ Pianos w/ Miracles of Modern Science, Wild Yaks & Cameron Hull – Hosted by Hima Suri
07.23 @ Pianos w/ Bear In Heaven, Intermissions & Hexa – Hosted by Despot
07.30 @ Pianos w/ Sean Bones, Acrylics & Class Actress – Hosted by Kristi Yamaguchi

“Roman Candles”

“Afterthoughts and TV”

Interview by Joseph Tirabassi
Photography by John Francis Peters

You wouldn’t expect such an ungodly racket to come out of these three. The members of Screaming Females are regular, unassuming folk who just so happen to conjure a riotous free-for-all of gnarled guitars and furious rhythm. They’re like an angrier, punked-out take on the ‘60s power trio model, only without the paisley shirts. The band’s most recent album Power Move is led by Marissa Paternoster’s snarling howl and breakneck guitar solos, a skill set that’s made fans of Henry Rollins, J. Mascis, and some dude named Jack White. They’ll head out on the road with White’s new band the Dead Weather starting July 13 in Washington, DC. But don’t let the bright lights of the marquees fool you – the band is steeped in the D.I.Y. ethos, as drummer Jarrett Dougherty takes over the managerial role by doing all the legwork that’s usually reserved for a team of interns. Heck, Paternoster even acts as home tattoo artist to bassist Mike Rickenbacker. They keep everything in the family.

Since the last time you talked to the Tripwire, a lot has happened – the album came out, and you lined up the Dead Weather tour, how did that come about?

Jarrett: We did a Spring tour for our new album, one of the days we played was in Nashville at this club called the End, which is one of those long-lasting, slightly skuzzy but good sound rock clubs and our good friends in this band JEFF the Brotherhood are from there and run a label out of there called Infinity Cat that released a 7” we did with them

Mike: Buy the 7”

Jarrett: We played a show there on the tour and leading up to it there was some press in the local paper, and people were getting excited about the show. And this guy comes up to us after the show and said, “Hey my name’s Ben, I help run this record label” and Marissa and I are both thinking ‘oh great, it’s one of these guys.’ You get those guys that come up to you after the shows and say “I’m gonna make you guys huge!” But then a second later, he’s like “wow, I probably sound like a complete idiot.” And he talked to us about how he helps to run Jack White’s label Third Man Records. He told us about the studio and office that they’d built down there and if they’d known we were coming, how they’d love to have us in there but they had no idea who we were. So he and Jack [Lawrence] the bass player from the Dead Weather and the Raconteurs were just there hanging out, they come to see JEFF sometimes. Ben was just like “let me tell you, I am a jaded motherfucker and that was awesome.” And he was just sort of thinking out loud, “maybe you should play some shows with Jack’s new band.” A few days later we got a call from the booking agent asking us if we wanted to do the tour.

Is it kind of intimidating to meet Jack White? He seems like he might be one of those guru types.

Matt: I might piss myself.

He’s one of the few musicians around that is still into guitar solos. Marissa, what makes you like the guitar solo as opposed to just strumming chords like a lot of current bands?

Marissa: I think if you can take a good guitar solo, then there’s no reason not to.

Do you ever worry about overplaying?

Marissa: I make an honest effort not to.

Jarrett: When musicians use chops just for the sake of playing more, it’s rarely good. When you play something just because it’s flashy, you become like Dream Theater or something. But I think that’s what people like about Marissa’s soloing, is that it actually says something. It’s not there just to fill space, it’s not some plugged-in studio musician. It emotionally has content.

Do you improvise a lot on stage?

Marissa: Yeah, there’s only like two or three songs where I play the same thing, but all the other ones are made up on the spot.

On stage, what is your [Mike and Jarrett] relationship when Marissa is going crazy on the guitar?

Jarrett: On those parts, I try to think about holding back as much as I can so that it’s just a platform for her to play off of. But there are parts where we are all doing a full-band improvisation, which is a completely different thing than her improvising over a solid base. Everyone has to work together, because if everyone plays as much as they can at that point, it’ll sound like a big mess. So you have to listen to see who’s taking a lead at this moment or that moment.

You guys tour incessantly. Do you find life easier on tour, or when you’re back at home?

Mike: It’s a different kind of easy. On tour, I have something to do every day, something very specific and productive, and at home I don’t do anything productive.

I was watching the Flaming Lips documentary “The Fearless Freaks” and one of them is talking about when they’re on the road, it’s cool because you’ve got somewhere to sleep every night and people feed you most of the time. But then when you get home, you have to go back to flipping burgers or frying fish or whatever. Do you guys work day jobs?

Mike: I do.

Jarrett: Not currently. We definitely have for most of the time we’ve been a band. But right now I’ve been managing to stay unemployed by working really hard on the band stuff and eking by on a little bit of savings. But I don’t really find life particularly easy ever. People think ‘playing in a band – that must be fun.’ And fun is part of it, but I’ve never thought, ‘I’m in a band, life will be easy.’ But it’s at least something that I feel fulfilled with at the end of the day with all the work I put into it. It’s either I put a lot of work in for someone at a corporation and make a lot of money. Or I put a lot of work into the band and have a lot of setbacks and not make any money off of it, at least I’ll feel good about what comes out of it.

You started by playing house shows in people’s basements, moved up to clubs, and now you’re going on tour in these huge places with the Dead Weather. Are you excited to hear yourselves in these big rooms?

Mike: Every time I’ve been to a big venue, it always sounded bad.

Marissa: At least it’ll sound good for us in the monitors.

Are you worried about losing the intimacy you have at a house show?

Jarret: Not as much as the performance aspect, for myself. It’s cool when you play someone’s house, you can hang out and they’re like “look at this movie I just got.”

Mike: Like Son in Law.

Jarrett: [Laughs] But with these places you have to show up really early and you don’t know anyone there and you have to sit in some weird dressing room and stare at each other for a while, but actually performing, the reaction you get from a big room is just like a small room, but with more people.

Do you get to put out a tour rider?

Jarrett: We actually do.

Mike: I wanted a case of Pellegrino.

Jarrett: We asked for a case of beer, a case of water, a fruit and vegetable platter and four vegetarian dinners. I figure that’s pretty reasonable. At first we were like “I guess we’ll do a rider,” but people told us, “no you have to do it, it’s in their budget. If you don’t do it, they’ll just get to keep more money.”

You should be hitting them up for champagne.

Mike: I don’t even like champagne, but I’ll take it.

Marissa: We could just open it and go “yeaaaaaaaaaa!”

Jarrett: I was trying to figure out what a rider looked like so I looked it up online and I found the Killers’ rider. They get a different bottle of booze depending on what day of the week it is.

Mike: Don’t they have like 500 beers a night or something?

Jarrett: Yeah.

Mike: That’s so cool.

Jay-Z only wants a certain kind of blacked out SUV to pick him up from the airport and it has to be exactly 70-odd degrees in the room.

Jarrett: Does he carry a thermometer with him?

He probably has a temperature man. Since you’ve been getting more attention, has it been weird having all these people from New York, Chicago, LA, places like that looking in and saying “oh, what’s going on down there in New Brunswick?”

Jarrett: It seems to be a pretty common question. “Tell me about New Brunswick, New Jersey!”

I think that a lot of people not from the city think that there’s no scene, but bands like Bouncing Souls are from there.

Mike: And Lifetime.

Jarrett: The Ergs! are from New Brunswick.

Mike: Thursday! [Laughs]

Jarrett: New Brunswick is a strange city. As an outsider, if you roll through it, you’d think that there’s absolutely zero culture.

Mike: Not a thing worthwhile.

Jarrett: Yeah, not a thing worthwhile. But I think that’s what made the scene strong in a lot of ways. It’s also rough because it’s the type of place where people move in and out of constantly. But for me, my life was changed seeing a basement show in New Brunswick. I would have never ended up in a band if I hadn’t seen that first band playing in a basement.

What band was that?

Jarrett: It was this band called Atomic Missiles. They were amazing, one of my favorite bands for a long time. Them and this other band Plastic East. They played basement shows all the time when I was first hanging out in New Brunswick before I moved there. They weren’t the most popular bands. There were some cooler, hipper basement bands, if you can imagine that. But these bands were so wild. They didn’t play anything like I’d heard on TV or on the radio or even like Spin Magazine, or whatever my underground source was at the time. So New Brunswick is cool. It would be so good for the scene though if there was an all-ages venue. A legal venue, which there isn’t. There has been one in the past.

Mike: The Elks Lodge won’t even let us do a show there.

Jarrett: It’s cool though because it’s made us do everything ourselves. Managers, record labels, publicists, they’re not coming to New Brunswick to find out about bands. So if you want to release your album, you have to do it yourself, unless you know Joe Steinhardt, who runs Don Giovanni. When we wanted to go on tour, we would ask this band the Ergs! who had done national tours eight or nine times. We’d go to Joe and ask him where to play and he’d start pointing at a map and check out friends to call.

I was reading this thing recently about how your environment shapes your art or shapes your music. Do you think that the city shapes the sound? Would Screaming Females be the same in a different town?

Jarrett: I can give a very specific example. There’s a big Hispanic population in New Brunswick, so there’s reggaeton blasting all the time and my window used to be right on the street. So at all hours of the night, I’d hear that [beatboxes reggateon beat]. On the new album there’s a reggaeton beat on one of the songs. I specifically played that, because for weeks, all I would hear is [beatboxes reggaeton beat].

Marissa: How are you going to write that?

I don’t know. My onomatopoeia skills aren’t great.

Jarrett: Do you guys think it’s more than that…

Mike: I think we’re the product of the sum of ourselves.

Marissa: We practice in a deep dark hole, in a basement. Years and years of practicing in a deep dark hole.

Do you guys live together?

Jarrett: We do now. All in the same room, no heat or air conditioning. [Laughs]

Marissa: We pee at the same time.

Mike: There’s actually just a hole in the floor where we pee.

Marissa: We eat out of a trough. Communal living. It enhances our artistic experience together.

It makes you real.
[Laughter]

Where did you record Power Move?

Marissa: [Speaking like a radio commercial] We recorded Power Move at The Hunt Studios! In Millstone, New Jersey. Check out www.thehuntstudio.com or e-mail info@thehuntstudio.com. 732.567.5125. [Laughs]. No, actually though, I was an intern there, I got school credit. Now I’m not in school, so I just hang out there with the engineer Eric and he’s my BFF. I help him with projects and he helps me with projects, and I bring stuff in to him. It’s the coolest studio in the world. It looks like a meth lab on the side of the highway. It’s filled with all kinds of weird bugs and dead rats. There was a vulture on the roof one day, and I was scared because you could hear it walking on the ceiling. But it’s very professional. There’s just some wildlife. [Laughs]

I guess it doubles as a petting zoo?

Marissa: If you want to pet weird, dead rats.

Did you track the album live?

Marissa: Yeah.

Jarrett: We have three full lengths. The first one we recorded it to a computer, we did it ourselves, tracking everything separately. I love the way it sounds, especially as a first big project recording. But over and over again, we kept hearing from people that it didn’t capture our live chemistry or whatever. So I guess for our second record the idea was to shut people up and we went in to a studio and recorded live to analog tape. We pretty much just set up the amps, set up the drums and put microphones in front of them, did it, then maybe added a few handclaps and one or two guitar overdubs and that was it. So the album could be really jarring at times, which we really liked about it when it first came out, but it’s super sparse. It felt kind of empty, even though it’s loud. For the new record we wanted to do something different. So working with Eric was amazing, he would basically allow us enough time as we needed, even though it only ended up being a week. He did everything he could within the confines of three people playing in a room together to allow there to be different sounds and really cool sounds. It’s similar to the second record, except we changed things every day, we moved amps every day, did all kinds of stuff like that.

There seems to be something that sticks with people from Jersey. It’s this pride, begrudging or not. My mom is from Atlantic City, and she left there when she was in her 20s, but she’ll still get mad if we ever make fun of Jersey.

Mike: It’s quite a place.

Jarrett: I know that New Jersey lacks a lot in the way of culture, in terms of contemporary art and whatnot, or like being supportive of it. In California, there’s all these little towns with arts centers and small labels…

And handmade jewelry

Jarrett: [Laughs] Yeah, and everyone is saying “hi!” and waving to you.

Marissa: I don’t want to talk to anybody.

Jarrett: That’s why New Jersey’s the perfect place to be.

Marissa: I just want my cannoli and I want to get out.

Jarrett: People make fun of Jersey, and at first you blow it off, but then four five days into the tour, you’re just like “shut up!”

One headbutt and a broken nose later, and it’s a done deal. Have you gotten any weird fans come up to you?

Marissa: We probably shouldn’t talk about them.

Mike: They are in touch with the blogosphere.

Jarrett: It’s for our safety.

Mike: What about the guys that ask Marissa to marry him?

Marissa: A couple of guys with goatees will ask me to marry them every so often. We get touched inappropriately.

Jarrett: That only happens to Mike.

Mike: And I hated it.

Marissa: “I don’t even fucking know you!”

By doing a lot of the grunt work yourselves, the benefits are obvious – you can do whatever you want. But what are some of the limitations?

Jarrett: The limitations were becoming more apparent. That’s why we decided to go with Don Giovanni on this one, and they got a publicist to work on it who had been a fan of ours for a long time and was always checking in on us. There’s only so many hours you can spend on one thing and I spent pretty much all my time on this band, but you still can’t get everything done. Like for the Dead Weather tour, there’s paperwork, we’ve never had to deal with fucking paperwork at shows. Now, it’s like contracts and riders and stage plots. Hours and hours each day I would learn how to write a band contract for this tour. We’re at the point now where we’ve had too many people we’ve had to deal with we can kind of pick out who to trust.

You can tell who’s bullshitting you.

Jarrett: Yeah, like a publicist – their job is to basically be a hype man for the album, and if they don’t care about it, they’ll do a crappy job. But if they’re legitimately into the album, they’ll do everything they can. As you go along, you find people who have been at it a little longer and are giving you what turns out to be more than advice, it comes from experience. One night I e-mailed Steve Albini really late at night and he responded.

Whoa, Steve Albini?

Jarrett: Yeah! I was just asking about managers and booking agents and this guy really knew what he was talking about. The way he broke it down was awesome. It wasn’t any moral issue, it was basically “Don’t let these fuckers steal your money. People start businesses every day, band’s a pretty easy business to run. You don’t need someone to tell you how to run it.”

What have you been listening to recently?

Jarrett: I’ve only been listening to reggae and Talking Heads albums.

Oh, what reggae stuff have you been into?

Jarrett: Steel Pulse and the Congos and King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown by Augustus Pablo and King Tubby.

Have you seen the movie “Rockers?”

Jarrett: No! I’ve been meaning to see it! The Harder They Come is amazing. Mike, what have you been listening to?

Mike: I’ve been listening to the college radio station to see if they play us. They did once today. Then I call and request us.

Do you change your voice?

Marissa: [muffled] This is not Mike.

Mike: [Laughs] I don’t know. I like music. You?

Marissa: Dressy Bessy and nothing else.

Jarrett: And you went to that PJ Harvey concert.

With John Parish?

Marissa: Yeah. I went with my dad.

Mike: I just got ABBA’s greatest hits.

Marissa: I have this Madonna song you’re going to like.

“Hung Up?”

Marissa: [hums melody] I love Madonna though.

Have you been recognized at all around New Brunswick?

Jarrett: It happened to Mike.

Mike: Most of the times, people identify us as those fags.

Marissa: We’ll get out of the van at like 1am coming home from a show and these mongoloid cavemen with their mini Heineken kegs and the girls with the tube tops…

Mike: “…are you fags homeless, ‘cause you look like shit!”

Marissa: Good call on the “fags.”

Are those prison tats on your knees?

Mike: No, those are Marissa tats.

Marissa: We have lots of prison tats. Lots of stick and pokes.

Mike: I like this one [points to a tattoo of an ice cream cone]. I like ice cream. Put that in there.

My roommate has been trying to convince me to do it.

Marissa: I could do it for you.

That’d be great. What do you need? India ink…

Marissa: Yeah, India ink, needle, thread, pen or pencil.

Jarrett: You have to boil the needle.

Marissa: A new one. Don’t boil a used needle you find.

As big of a nerd as I am, I had to look up on the internet how to do it. It ran through the supplies and at the end of the list is a bottle of tequila.

Marissa: Yeah, make sure you get really drunk. It hurts really bad. Way worse than a real tattoo.

I think my parents hate my tattoos. They just don’t invite me to the beach any more.

Mike: We’re going to the beach tomorrow. Long Beach Island.

Jarrett: Mike has Marissa’s head tattooed on the back of his leg.

Mike: I need to get a Jarrett tattoo.

Marissa: I’d need to put glasses, and long hair, and a beard. Maybe I should get a can of oatmeal.

If Canada’s Great Lake Swimmers were ever pigeon-holed as being emotive thought-rockers, it wouldn’t be entirely off base. But it also wouldn’t do them justice. When I sat down with lead singer and songwriter Tony Dekker a while back before their gig at the Bowery Ballroom here in New York, he joked about how there’s an up-tempo number on the band’s latest, Lost Channels. Although it’s admittedly new territory, these are musicians who see making an album as an adventure. And they tell the story from track one to twelve.

So how is the tour going? I know you guys were down South a little bit earlier this week in North Carolina, how was that? How are those audiences?
The audiences have been really great across the board, like we had a couple really good shows in Texas, we had some great shows coming up the east coast through Atlanta, Georgia, North Carolina, on our way out the shows were also really great, across Canada and down the west coast, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, they were all really really great shows.

Awesome. I know you’ve got this really cool project going right now where you’re getting fans to take video at your shows — tell me how that came about.
Well, I just thought it would be kind of a cool idea, I was talking about it with some people at the label, and they were like, yeah, we should try to put this together. And get footage from the different shows and sort of create one song, like all the footage from “Concrete Heart” and sort of paste them all together to create this tour video kind of thing. Because we’re playing something like 60 shows I think, this tour, so we thought it’d be a great idea to try to paste it all together and make a video out of recording one song every night.

So are you talking to fans about it, during the show? Are you talking about the project?
Not a heck of a lot. You know people have their little cameras out and everything, so I’m assuming that the footage is coming in, I don’t know, I think it’ll be really cool, if it turns out.

You’re touring right now with a brand new album. Are you dedicating most of the show to the new material? Are you bringing in old stuff?
We’ve been bringing in old stuff, we play stuff from all the records, basically, but we’ve been emphasizing obviously the new tracks, because they’re new, they’re fresh, the album’s just come out. But we’ve been playing stuff from all of the albums. Having four albums out now, I think we’re really able to tailor a set, kind of a quieter set or a louder set, or a mix of the two.

In terms of the set design, are you kind of playing with the same sets from night to night or are you going more on the fly?
We’re changing it up. I usually have a set list planned before hand, but you know we’ve been changing it up from night to night just to keep it interesting.

You’re going to Europe in two weeks. I saw that one of those shows is already sold out, that’s fantastic.
Yeah, our London show sold out.

So you must have a pretty strong following in England.
I mean we’ve been touring there for three or four years, and it’s sort of been building up to this.

So let’s talk about the album. I know you recorded in the Thousand Islands, I think it’s called? And you have a history of recording in interesting places, but tell me about the Thousand Islands.
We connected with a historian and photographer named Ian Coristine, and he invited us to come and check out the Thousand Islands area, and when the time came to record the album, we got in touch with him and he invited us to the Thousand Islands to kind of check it out and be inspired. He heard us on a Canadian radio station. And so when the time came to record the album, I got in touch with him again and said are there sort of any interesting places to record in that area, and he knew the area really well and was able to point out a lot of really cool places.

Did you just sort of go in and set up the equipment and make your own studio kind of thing?
Exactly, yeah. Basically turning a space into a studio. You know turning like a, it’s kind of like using the acoustics of the place. So we were using the natural acoustics of the place to sort of add a layer of depth to the songs.

With all the places you’ve recorded, and Lost Channels being done in the Thousand Islands, can you hear that influence coming through the record?
I think so, you know definitely sonically I think I hear it. As far as the writing of the songs, I had a lot of the songs already written, going into the recording, there were a few that were inspired by the place, and I think I got a little bit of a taste for it in that short period of time that we were there. But you know a lot of them were already prepared and it was more, the influence on them was more in a sonic way than in a lyrical way, for the most part.

On the songwriting process, you said you have a lot of them prepared before you go into the studio, but how collaborative of a process is that in the studio? Is it set, or more organic?
I have pretty specific ideas going into the studio, and we did a lot of demoing and sort of pre-production as well, going into it, so I feel like you know because we had such limited time in the recording locations I wanted to make sure that we had everything down before we got in there. There wasn’t a lot of spontaneous — I mean there was some spontaneous work that happened, but a lot of the ideas were already laid down before we went in.

You’ve already gotten so much critical and popular acclaim for this album — do you read reviews? Good, bad, indifferent?
I don’t pay too much attention to that stuff. The biggest concern to me is making good music, the best music that I can.Trying to focus on writing songs and then you know, playing good shows. And then all that other stuff, it’s great, you know, that there are good reviews, but I don’t really take too much stock in good or bad.

How do you think the fans are receiving the album?
It seems like everyone is really receiving it really well, I think people are liking the new songs. And there’s some up-tempo ones, which is kind of different for us, and I think people actually appreciate that.

I’ve also heard that there’s an interesting story behind the title of the album, Lost Channels.
Well there’s a passageway of water in the Thousand Islands region that passes through some of the islands and it’s actually called the Lost Channel. And it was this spot where there were some mysterious disappearances in the late 1700s of like, there were some boats and crew members that went missing, and ever since then it’s been known as the Lost Channel. Ian Corestine, the photographer there, told the story to us when we were there, he tells it a lot more eloquently, but it sort of stuck with us and it was a nice way to kind of reference the geography, reference the area and sort of incorporate those stories into our stories.

Tell me about the church bells on the album. Where did those come from?
They came from the castle that we recorded in, the Singer Castle, those were the bells from the bell tower that go off every hour. We had to hire a boat captain to get us out to the island with all this really expensive recording gear and all of our instruments, and so we had access to the bell tower where you could go inside and see all the gears and all of the levers and everything all moving, and it sounded really cool, and we just thought this would be great just to record, just to have a document of it since we have all this equipment here. And it’s kind of a rare occasion to actually capture the sound of this bell tower, so we set up a whole bunch of mics in there and waited til noon, til the bells went off and ended up putting it on the album. It’s sort of a signal for side two to start, too. Because in my mind, like the album is broken up into two sides, and the Singer Castle Bells signal to like flip the record, or switch to side two. At least in my brain, that was how I was thinking.

You have been compared, as people love to do, to all kinds of folks. From Neil Young to Sufjan Stevens, and there’s a huge spectrum between all these people. Is there any merit to any of this in terms of influencing your sound?
I don’t really feel like I’m channeling anybody’s sound. I’m not trying to make songs that sound like somebody. I mean some people are, some people say, yeah, I’m really trying to get that Crazy Horse kind of vibe and sound to it. I love Neil Young, I love his catalog, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that I’m influenced by it, I certainly respect it and appreciate it and in terms of songwriters with Canadian roots, he’s one of the huge luminaries. And I think to a certain point when you start to think singer/songwriter from Canada, you get that a little bit. I’m a huge appreciator of Neil Young’s music, for sure, but also I’ve found, I think another really big guiding light in Canadian music is Leonard Cohen, who I kind of see as a great master of songs, such a guiding light when it comes to writing songs because he is a very special spirit.

So speaking of Canada, what’s the fame level like there? Do people recognize you in the street?
I mean, I think it’s pretty relaxed. We’re not like this crazy rock band or something, so when we do get recognized it’s pretty cool, actually. People are pretty chill about it. I get stopped every once in a while. It happens in the weirdest places, like I took a flight into Calgary for example, and there was someone there at the Calgary airport that was at the Saskatoon show. And it was like hey, I saw your show last night, it was really good! And I was like, thanks, buddy.

Acrylics are popping up all over Brooklyn right now. The fivesome are currently recording their debut long-player, a release whose psychedelic bike ride jams have yet to officially find a label home. We spent an afternoon with them in founding duo Molly and Jason’s backyard, a mess of vines, knives and beer bottles not unlike the pop scene that’s at the core of “Summer Seventeen,” the song they stripped down and rolled out just for El Tripwire (that’s us, knuckleheads.) It’s good. Real good. Catch them tomorrow night, July 2nd, playing with Kuroma and Gift Horse at Pianos. On July 17th they play at Savoir Adore’s record release party at Cameo then back to Piano’s to play with Suckers and Class Actress on July 30th. Like we said, they’re all over the borough right now. Pretty soon they’ll be all over your brainspace.

Last week our favorite analog darling and Tiny Telephone founder,John Vanderslice, played some shows in NYC. We had the pleasure of having him over to our backyard (or porch) to hear him play one of his best songs, “Fetal Horses,” for our new video performance series, The Backyard. The rain stopped for just a moment while the birds came out and joined in on the sing song fun. Who needs a back up band when there are birds outside?

Catch John on tour with his band coming to a city or festival near you:

6/25 – House of Blues//Dallas, TX w/ The Tallest Man on Earth
6/26 – The Parish//Austin, TX w/ The Tallest Man on Earth
6/28 – Modified//Phoenix, AZ w/ The Tallest Man on Earth
6/29 – Troubadour//LA, CA w/ The Tallest Man on Earth
6/30 – Casbah//San Diego, CA w/ The Tallest Man on Earth
7/10 – Horseshoe Tavern//Toronto, ON w/ Cotton Jones
7/11 – Ottawa Bluesfest//Ottawa, ON w/ Jackson Browne, Ben Harper
7/12 – Ottawa Bluesfest//Ottawa, ON w/ Jackson Browne, Ben Harper
8/30 – Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival//San Fran, CA w/ MIA TVOTR, Deerhunter
9/16 – Media Club//Vancouver BC, Canada
9/17 – Crocodile Cafe//Seattle, WA
9/18 – The Wild Buffalo//Bellingham, WA
10/3 – Austin City Limits Festival//Austin, TX w/ Andrew Bird, Grizzly Bear, The Decemberists

A couple weeks ago, we were lucky enough to test out the new lanes at Brooklyn Bowl, the first all green bowling alley. And let me tell you…it is sweet. We got to chill with Moby for the day and talk about his older albums as well as his new album, Wait For Me, to be releasted on June 30th. We also got the inside scoop on his new video for “Shot In The Back Of The Head” by David Lynch which you can view in it’s entirety here.

“These girls are raw! Bikini kill! We need a ride to Bikini Island!”

I’ve been obsessed over this lyric in “Wet Hair” since I first heard Japandroids Post-Nothing. Maybe it’s the way Brian King’s driving guitar rips through drummer David Prowse’s crashing cymbals, or maybe it’s King’s earnest yelps that lend weight to such seemingly frivolous lyrics. Repeated listens of Post-Nothing over the past two months have taught me a critical lesson: just because you’re singing about girls, failed relationships, living in your 20s and growing old, doesn’t mean you need to cloak it in irony or complex metaphors. It’s no surprise then, that the end of “Wet Girls”, which features the emphatic proclamation “we must get to France so we can French kiss some French girls!”, is one of the album’s most affecting moments. Post-Nothing has no time for posturing or masquerading; its messages are delivered through guitar distortion and unfiltered honesty. So when I phone Brian King late on a Friday afternoon, as he sits in his bed recovering from major surgery, and open the interview by asking, “Brian, where is Bikini Island?” I’m only partially kidding. “In my head,” he answers. We both want to go there and Bikini Island is as much my ideal as it is his.

I was supposed to meet with Brian and Dave last month at their Toronto show, but a perforated ulcer got in the way. “It’s a gruesome medical condition requiring intense surgery and an intense hospital stay and intense recovery. Nobody was more disappointed than me.” The canceled dates included a lengthy North American run and an appearance at the Sasquatch Music Festival. “There was nobody who wanted to go on that tour more than I did,” King says. “If you’re sick, you can still play. I would rather see a band try to play, than just give in.”

Few garage bands can penetrate the heart. The grime of the garage promises thick, unkempt, washed-out fuzz rock that seeks out suburban liberation more than personal catharsis. But Vancouver duo Japandroids are so much more than garage rock. Japandroids are pop, rock, and garage-punk songwriters – in that order. The delivery is achingly visceral which means for us, as listeners, Japandroids are one of the easiest bands to feel.

Japandroids caught fire when Pitchfork picked up “Young Hearts Spark Fire,” a rock affair so dynamic that “rebellious” would be an appropriate adjective if its lyrics weren’t so un-rebellious. “We used to dream/ now we worry about dying,” King and Prowse belt out until they arrive at the album’s credo: “I don’t want to worry about dying/ I just want to worry about those sunshine girls.”

“That song just has more lyrics and others are more focused on just rocking out,” King muses. “That’s definitely a song where the lyrics are what you listen to, so if there is a message, that might be the quintessential one.”

The future of the Japandroids before “Young Hearts Spark Fire” was bleak. “We couldn’t pay people to pay attention to us,” King reflects on their earlier days. By “earlier days,” I mean January of 2009. “We couldn’t get record reviews, couldn’t get radio stations to play us, couldn’t get labels interested.” They had already self-released two albums, intending the same with Post-Nothing. “But that would have been the third record we self-released in three years. That had us asking, ‘how much longer do we want to work this hard, use all our money and all our energy without progressing, playing the same venues for the same ten people.’” For all intensive purposes, Japandroids were breaking-up in December. They had played Pop Montreal and CMJ in New York and wanted to end on a high-note. It was the enthusiastic dedication of Unfamiliar Records that kept them going – to the extent that King had warned the label of their imminent break-up. But Unfamiliar wanted to release it anyway. “We were so close to putting out the record on our own that when Unfamiliar Records called us, I had to frantically call the pressing plant and tell them to stop the presses.”

Post-Nothing is an eight-song head rush. “If you don’t feel dead after playing it, you’re not doing it hard enough,” King says about their songwriting. The entire album is recorded live which accounts for the raw sound. “We go to the studio, I set up my guitar and Dave sets up his drums. We pick songs and play them together four or five times to get the good take, then we just record our vocals over top of it. We sound like that when you see us. Believe me, you will hear certain fuck-ups. In “Heart Sweats,” there’s a part half-way through the song where I sort of do this guitar solo, it’s not really a solo but there’s a guitar riff that’s high, a Japandroids guitar solo. There’s clearly a funny note that’s bright and loud, maybe it’s not as obvious to other people, but when I hear it I think, “I really fucked up there. That’s one of those things we couldn’t change. We wanted to preserve the live aspect. I didn’t want to cover it up, or fix it up digitally.”

The thematic terrain of Post-Nothing borrows from coming-of-age issues: jobs, leaving home, dying, growing old, girls, break-ups, loyalty, friends, drinking, etc. The opening trifecta (“Boys Are Leaving Town”, “Young Hearts Spark Fire”, “Wet Hair”) evokes these themes impeccably and is irresistibly fast-paced, headbang-worthy. The album’s final songs “Crazy/Forever”, “Sovereignty”, and “I Quit Girls” close out the album on an emotional(ly rocking) note. “We’ll stick together forever/ Stay sick together/ Be crazy forever,” is the formers only lyric, repeated over and over again. “It’s not “sick” in the physical sense,” King explain as he recalls writing those lines, “but sick in something that’s imperfect, like in a relationship, partnership, or friendship.”
“Is it wrong to call Post-Nothing a pseudo break-up album?”
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that. The emphasis would be on pseudo. Neither one of us considers it a break-up album, but I could totally understand how someone going through a break-up might identify with parts of the record.”

But don’t call them immature—Japandroids’ candor is their appeal, their content no less adult than marriage and a 9-5 job, and their musicianship no less appealing than a 15-piece band. And athough Brian and I end our conversation by casually remarking how both of us could use a few French girlfriends, don’t call us kids. We’re just growing up.

Metal wouldn’t exist without three core things — intoxicants, babes and the BOOM. In this edition of Bombshell we have the trifecta for you; a legit babe who slays the mic with intelligence and beauty, as well as two seminal intoxicant heavy bands that have carved out a mark for a generation of new metalheads to adore (see: they bring the motherfuckin’ BOOM). In preparation for the onslaught of summer tours, check out what some of my current faves are getting into and get your pink ass out to the pavement to see them in full glory. I promise, with all the female advice you’ll get from this column, you’re one step closer to getting laid.

Metal has always been a domain consumed with masculinity, for better or worse there is an inherent testosterone burst in every metal laced musical endeavor. As a musician and a commentator, I have always been intrigued with other females in heavy music. In an almost voyeuristic fashion I’ve connected with many other females in metal and despite my power-dykish disposition, have realized in the end we’re all just ladies who love the music. Meeting with Grace Perry from Landmine Marathon was quite a surprise; tall, fit and well-spoken she could easily step off the pages of a Prada ad. But what impressed me most was her genuine personality and love for music. Librarian/student by day, death metal/sludge goddess by night, Grace has been upping the ante with her Arizona-based band for over five years. Recently signing on with Prosthetic Records in late 2008 the band released Rusted Eyes Awake a raw and cathartic throwback to the days where production was minimal and the doom sandstorm was king. Sizing up with a heavy dose of charm and intelligence, Grace’s stage presence and demeanor leaves her untouchable, the girl oozes a rare brand of sexuality, one any gal or strapping young lad can get into. Although classic ovary driven bands like Girlschool set a precedence for the caliber of female fronted metal, bombshells like Grace have reshaped the way non-metal elitists view ladies in the genre — with equal respect and fascination. Grace was on hand last weekend as part of the Maryland Death Festival and word on the street is she had a little something brewing connected to the event, so keep your peepers peeled and check out my hangout with Grace here.

*****

Thunderous. The minute I heard “March of the Fire Ants” from Mastodon, I knew that I had stumbled on something purely Earth shattering. Part 90s post-hardcore, part progressive meltdown, all the while remaining wholly booming, Mastodon has perfected the formula of a hook-laden metallic rock conquest. Forming out the the ashes of the upstate NY-based Lethargy, bassist/beard master Troy Sanders linked up with Brann, Bill and Brant (must be lonely being the only non B guy) in Atlanta, connecting together to fuse a definitive southern rock feel with crushing metal/doom undertones that sticks to your ribs. Graduating to the big leagues, Mastodon’s second major label release Crack The Skye is looming positively on the tongues of both fans and critics, drawing in listeners with unexpected harmony, finesse and careful song craft, all filtered though the ears of mastermind producer Brendan O’Brien. Mastodon’s swift rise to the top of the metal world can clearly be attributed to hard work, extensive touring and plenty of perseverance. I sat down with Troy Sanders before a sold-out headlining show at NY’s Fillmore at Irving (Irving Plaza always in my heart) to talk about the new album, a possible Crack the Skye movie and many more debauchery filled behaviors.

*****

Torche are a quintessential summer band, perfect for jumping into your fathers beat up Chevy, lighting an overstuffed spliff and cutting loose. The first time I saw Torche was at an Isis show in 2006 and, in all honesty, was not totally sold. Retrospectively, my apprehension made perfect sense — they were a but a budding baby at the time and needed some saucy metal breast milk! Since that time, Torche has swiftly grown into a sneak-attack band, offering listeners a fresh melting pot of doom, post-hardcore driven vocals coupled with dynamic structuring. Offering rock-driven metal in the way Cynic bless prog metal — tight, appealing packaging with attention grabbing elements that keep listeners coming back for more. Their 2008 release Meanderthal topped Decibel Magazine’s top-records of 2008, probably much to the surprise of their deaf metal lovin’ core audience. Torche have been grinding hard since Meanderthal’s release and have been spending most of their time on the road, planning to conquer Europe with the legendary Coalesce and Kylesa, as well as return to the US late summer to trek with Harvey Milk. Genre defying and poised for glory, I had a chance to sit down with them on their recent US tour with Dredg — don’t let the soft spoken demeanor fool you, these men all all business when they hit the stage.

Before Ladytron take the stage in their glam outfits and backed by pulsing electronica, their calculated keys producing some of the most recognizable dance tracks around, I climb aboard their tour bus parked around the corner from the venue to stare directly at a KFC. Very chic.

Member Daniel Hunt is making coffee as band mate Mira Arroyo tinkers on her laptop when I sit down. Ladytron and The Faint are playing for two nights at The Fillmore in San Francisco and are swapping headlining duties. Playing at the Fillmore, says Hunt, is surreal because “it’s where we started” as a band.

The UK outfit, which also includes Reuben Wu and Helen Marnie, has been busy since releasing Velocifero last year. In between remixing, DJ appearances, and touring, the band is also producing new tracks for singer Christina Aguilera, which Hunt apologizes he can’t offer to us for a sneak peak. “As soon as you’re gone, I’m actually gonna blast it.” Ladytron are also embarking on a mini-Australian tour which include two nights at the Sydney Opera House as a part of a festival curated by none other than Brian Eno, who asked the band personally to tag along.

During the live show I observe that songs with a more synth like “Ghosts” and “Seventeen” pack a better punch; this night is the one Ladytron are headlining at, and a lot of people in the audience seem half-enthused and half-out of their mind from what I can see from the balcony. I’m glad to also witness that most of the electronic shows I’ve seen in the past few months have had a killer light show to accompany the dance soundtrack. Note to self: think about maybe getting high next time.

At the after show hosted by Popscene, Wu and Hunt take to the DJ decks to blast some crazy techno-type beats. Before the night is over, a woman badgers them about how she got gypped out of seeing Ladytron perform live. “The flyer lied to me! I want my money back! She didn’t perform!” Confused, the two gently try to explain that they were only there to spin and not play, to which the woman replies “How can you be in the band?” She thought Ladytron was a solo act. Hunt’s amusement is beyond containment.

I was told you have the juicy info on everyone in the band. Is this true?
Juicy info, really? [laughs' Maybe just in regards to what we’re doing. We’re finishing the tour in the U.K., then flying to Moscow to play dates with Depeche Mode. And, we’re doing an opera with Brian Eno in Sydney, tailor set to creation and surroundings.

Are you in Brian Eno’s iPod? How did that solidify?
His daughter was actually at our Oxford show, and said her dad was into us. Which is amazing, he was hugely influential to not only us but many others -- just try to document it. The opera is not really every day sort of thing we get to do.

You guys are like the UN of electro groups; you’re in Milan, Reuben’s in Liverpool, and Helen and Mira live in London. Is it hard for things like band practice with you being the furthest?
Living in different places is actually quite good. You spend all this time on the road, so it’s nice to split for a little while. In Europe it’s so cheap to get around. From London to Italy is as easy and cheap sometimes from Liverpool. Milan is also underrated in its reputation, I think. Santo looks like an artsy Paris, and Italians don’t like it very much. But the infrastructure and jobs in architecture, I quite like it. It’s an hour away from the coast.

For making music for people to dance to, it seems your stage presence is really quite calm.
We get asked about that a lot, and that is also said about us a lot too. Truthfully it’s like day and night [when you look at the way we first performed and to now]. I mean, do you want us to strap on a synth and punch the air? The whole idea of “stage craft” is bullshit, like someone gave you a manual and things to say in between songs and how to act on stage. I find it to be really false. When I watch bands, I just watch them play, not how much they jump around. We just didn’t buy into the idea and I’ve always found that a bit funny.

What does it mean to go on a DJ tour, anyway?
Put on your iPod and play some shit. (laughs) It’s normal from band members to do that, but “DJ tour” I admit is a weird wording. It’s more like DJ gigs. When we started going out on our own to DJ it was quite uncommon, because most bands were just doing live shows all the while. It’s a good way to try out new material that you don’t do on the road, or when you’re in between albums and need to kill time. But sometimes that goes against us or people do weird shit. Once someone asked me “Can you play some Ladytron?” and I said, “This is Ladytron, it’s our new single.” The response there was “Oh, okay. But can you play some Ladytron we know?”

She’s currently taking on Europe — for the second time in as many months — she’s been all over the U.S. and her third solo LP has barely even started to collect dust. Maria Taylor, who you might remember from her work with Orenda Fink in Azure Ray, calls her album LadyLuck, which in and of itself has proved to be pretty charming thus far — it’s been seen on the Heatseekers Chart, and her video for the single “Cartoons and Forever Plans” has broken 100,000 views. We caught up with her in between legs of her tour, on the day the album hit stores to chat about her crazy schedule, the making of her new album, where she’s been and where she’s going.

You were literally just in Stockholm – you just got back last night, right? Have you even adjusted yet?
No, I haven’t! I feel so out of sorts.

I’m sure – are you in California right now?
No, I’m actually in Alabama, that’s where my family is and that’s where a lot of my band members are, so we’re going to practice here.

So what’s your fanbase like in Europe? How do the gigs there compare to what you’re doing over here?
It’s usually the same, in fact in some places it’s a little better. Like in Germany, I probably do a little better than I do over here. But like this tour I was opening up for my friend Josh Radin, so they weren’t my fans, they were his, which was great.

I know for the next two months you’re going to be kind of on a whirlwind on the touring front. You’re going non-stop. How do you even begin to prepare for a stint like that, mentally, artistically?
Well, artistically you can just practice, but mentally I just have to dive into it. Because I can get really stressed out about if I think about it too much, thinking, I can’t be away this long, it’s too much, I can’t take it. So you know you have to just throw yourself in there. You get acclimated and usually by the time it’s over I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m home. Right now, though, it is kind of daunting, I can’t look at all the dates at once.

Talk to me about the album. First of all, how did you end up working with Michael Stipe?
I used to live in Athens, Ga., I guess that was about 10 years ago, so he and I have been friends for about 10 years. We used to hang out there all the time. So when I was in Athens working with my friend Andy LeMaster on this record, we were just all hanging out and Michael was over at the house when I was just trying to finish up this song. And he just said, ‘do you want some help with the lyrics?’ I had the melody and the chords and some of the lyrics, but yeah, he offered, and I was like, ‘yeah! Of course I want your help, please!’ So we sat up ’til six in the morning and he pretty much wrote most of the lyrics. It was a really great, fun night. Memorable.

How does this album compare in your mind to 11:11 and Lynn Teeter Flower?
Songwriting, my approach is the same. Always. I only know how to write songs the same way I’ve always written them. So I feel like every record is just a reflection of where I am in my life, and that’s pretty much how they differ. Then I try with each record to do something a little different production-wise. Like on Lynn Teeter Flower, I wanted to make it more like my live sound, so it was a little more stripped-down, and we just all set up and played it as if we were playing a show. Since I did that, for this one I wanted to elaborate more with strings and woodwinds, so I got my friends who are awesome musicians to just run wild with it.

You said the writing process for you is typically the same, but I know you wrote Lynn Teeter Flower between touring for 11:11 — was this a more concentrated effort, or was it written more sparsely? How did it come together?
Well I’d just moved. I moved from Omaha, Nebraska, to Los Angeles, so I wrote most of LadyLuck right after I moved. You know everything was new; new apartment, and meeting all these new people, new friends, just the weather, my god! Absolutely different. So it was just everything, all my surroundings were different. It definitely inspired me and I wrote pretty much every single one of the tracks on LadyLuck within probably a month after moving.

I’ve kind of read in a couple of places that it’s sort of a break-up album that’s not a break-up album. I’m just wondering what your thoughts are on that clichéd phrase-ology.
[laughs] I kind of wish that wasn’t in the press release, ‘cause people keep asking me, and I’m like, that sounds so unlike me to ever say anything like that. I don’t know, I mean that’s a part. It’s just about everything, all the changes in my life. That’s one small part of it, but most definitely every song is not about that. It’s more just about, I’d say just change and moving. Moving along.

You said you’re at your mom’s house right now, are you from Birmingham originally?
Yeah.

So how does that background, particularly as you move around and find yourself in different places and no longer in the south, how does that background influence the music that you make?
My family is a very musical family. My dad wrote jingles for a living, so we had a studio in the house. And my brother and sister played in my bands lot of times, and they recorded with me on most all my records, so I would say more than the South, it’s just my upbringing. It’s definitely an influence and it will always be. Constantly there was music being played either on the stereo or just by us, my whole life.

Did your dad write any jingles that we would know?
[laughs] Well you might, but I think they’re just in Alabama. There’s this one for Milo’s — it’s a Hamburger joint — it’s just all over Alabama, and they’re especially known for their sweet tea. So in Alabama, it’s probably like the most well-known jingle, so that was always our family’s claim to fame, the Milo’s commercial.

Kind of on that same vein, you’ve been a working musician, a career musician, since you were 15 years old — that’s more than half your life now. How do you keep what you’re doing relevant and dynamic, not just to the people, your fans, but also to yourself?
It’s probably why I travel so much. I feel like every four or five years I just get the itch to go live in a different place. But also the touring helps, too, I’m constantly in a different city, a different country, and meeting new people, and that constantly inspires me. I feel like when I play music it’s almost like it’s brand new. It hasn’t gotten old yet. And when it does, I’ll think of something else to do I guess, although I have no idea what in the world that would be.

So what brought on the move from Saddle Creek to Nettwerk?
I had been managed by them [Nettwerk] for the past three years, and I have such a wonderful, wonderful relationship with my manager. And when I moved to Los Angeles I just got to know people on the label side as well. With all the changes in my life I just decided I wanted to see what it would feel like. It’s still an independent label, it’s still the same philosophy, I just wanted to try it out, because I had been with Saddle Creek for so many years. With Azure Ray, and even with Now It’s Overhead and being a part of Bright Eyes record, and all my solo work, you know, I just felt like I owed it to myself to see the difference.

You’ve collaborated with so many fascinating musicians, now with Michael Stipe and also back to Conor Oberst. What’s been the most memorable work that you’ve done with other artists?
The one with Michael is probably the most memorable just because I’ve known him for so long but we’ve never made music together, ever. It’s just always been more of a social thing, going out to bars and having drinks. And with most of my other friends that I’ve collaborated with it’s been something that we always have done. Sitting up for six hours until the sun came up playing music with Michael, it was just really wonderful. I was in my pajamas, it was surreal.

So what’s next? Have you thought that far ahead?
I’m sure I’ll just keep on touring. There’s a couple of things that I’m not sure if they’re going to happen, maybe me opening up for some people. I kind of want to keep touring as much as I possibly can for this record, but then there’s also some talk that Azure Ray, we might work on another record together.

Oh yeah?
Yeah, we feel like it’s been long enough. It’s been like five years, six years. And Orenda, who was my partner in Azure Ray, she actually just moved to Los Angeles, as well. So before it was like, I mean everything was great between us but we just didn’t see each other that much so I didn’t know if it was ever going to happen, but now she lives right down the street and I see her every day, so it just seems like something we should do. We’re both really excited about it.

With some time to kill between their sound check and show at Mercury Lounge on this early evening, we took the boys of Awesome New Republic — Michael John Hancock and Brian Robertson — record shopping to dive deeper into their world of musical influences. What could be a better way to kill time than digging through some records?

Turns out The Sound Library in the Lower East Side was the perfect location, as they found numerous rare disco records and even an African gem who MJ told us he sang with during his time at music school in Miami. Aside from just watching them shop, he guys told us what happens at their label, Honor Roll Music and the history behind their “Birthday” single. And just when we didn’t think there could be any more disco in the air, we met a rowdy boxer — ironically named Disco — who took a huge liking for the duo. Disco, baby, disco!

You can download Awesome New Republic’s Rational Geographic Volume 1 for free here.

I almost don’t recognize Chris Cornell as he’s accompanied into his dressing room by his intimidating bodyguard: the vocalist has his hair tied up and has a cool demeanor reminiscent of nonchalance. But after grabbing a Diet Coke and settling into a black couch, the former Soundgarden/Audioslave singer, solo artist, and Paris restaurateur eyes me with a signal to begin.

It’s beguiling to know what kind of career Cornell has had, and is continuing to have, from being covered by Johnny Cash during his Soundgarden days, to writing songs for American Idol contestant David Cook. Cornell is widely recognized for his vocal belting technique on stage: a controlled, yet powerful resonance that’s one part belly, one part throat. Later I get to see this tool employed to reach the nooks and crannies of The Grand in San Francisco, where he is playing, even all the way up into the balcony. His backing band look like kids in comparison to him as the show progresses, Cornell flashing smiles in between songs like a true pro while also delivering his vocals with such authority and fervor it’s hard to look away.

I look around when Cornell fetches an acoustic guitar to play “Fell On Black Days” midway through his show: there’s a healthy mix of old and young, post-grunge and emo, smilers and stoners. I’m glad to see that his set list not only includes songs with his last two bands, but also a healthy selection from all of his solo works — “Can’t Change Me”, “Cochise”, “Black Hole Sun” and “Part Of Me” all sit well with each other, despite the fact that there are 15-plus years in between the release of some. I decide I’d even make out with the crusty punk next to me if it meant Timbaland would come out on stage.

Although Cornell acknowledges pre-show during our interview that he won’t forget his roots (when asked if he’d do a split album with Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder — whom Cornell did a duet with at the beginning of his career and still is friends with — the response is “I don’t know if I’d like to do that”), and it’s also evident that Cornell is willing to be a shape shifter to expand his musical palate. 2009’s Scream, executive-produced hip-hop megastar Timbaland, is a venture away from the hard rock and grunge that Cornell has been associated with until previously. It also features select background vocals by Justin Timberlake. That can’t be that bad, right? Read more below on Cornell feeling like Pink Floyd and how we shouldn’t hold our breath for his possible movie career.

I was about your daughter Lillian’s age when I started swiping Soundgarden albums from my dad. What do you think you will tell your kids when they are older about your career?
Oh, they know already. They even tell other people, so they definitely know and are well aware of what I do.

You had a small part in Cameron Crowe’s 1992 film Singles, is that next in your forte to expand?
That was 19 years ago. I think I would have pursued that by now if it was an interest. Besides, there were bigger parts in the movie than mine, lots of cameos.

Timbaland was your partner-in-crime for Scream — he was originally going to remix some stuff but then ended up deciding on working for the whole album. How?
As a producer he is so prolific and focused on songwriting. It just happened naturally and I’m glad it did.

When you were in Audioslave, you guys were the first American rock group to play Cuba. How was that experience for you?
We can’t compare it to anything. It was a four day experience, and the audience didn’t know what to expect. It was a focus on the arts in general, and it was an important role everyone’s daily life that day. Sometimes there are casual fans in the U.S. who just don’t give a shit. My dad isn’t really into art or music, and here everyone was heavily interested and educated in art and art forms. The performance itself was unusual because it was the closest that [Cuba] had to an outdoor festival; 70,000 people were estimated to have been there. And the crowd reaction – a lot of people just – observing. Cuban-Afro music and performances are pretty participatory, and our music [wasn’t] really that way. It’s not music you’d usually clap your hands to and shake your ass to. I felt like were like Pink Floyd in that way, and I’m still stunned we were doing at that point and have a lot of gratitude for it. I don’t think the performance was that well, and we filmed the film part of the experience while I was sick.

Do you think you’d do anything different?
The power for the show was inconsistent, and my vocals kept disappearing. But this huge wave came over us of…I’m not sure. We were all just moved, the feeling of being really the first rock band to do that. Manic Street Preachers also did something similar, I think. Cuban fans also deserve to listen to music as well, and I’m critical of [bands not touring extensively when possible]. Like, why couldn’t a band like U2 play? It’s bullshit, how easy it is to do it. But I would like to go again.

Tripwire photographer Sarahana has a great music blog, and one of the regular features is a series of mini musical documentaries she calls the Secret Garden. For this very special installment, Sarahana gave us the exclusive to her video of the angelic-voiced, rising folk artist Sharon Van Etten singing “Keep” from her upcoming album, Because I Was in Love


Words and video by Sarahana

When twenty-eight-year-old Sharon Van Etten sings, her voice feels like a timeless story you’d read from a musty book, colored yellow with age. In some way, this voice is emblematic of the ultimate form of feminine heroism because it attains its unbreakable might by confronting its deepest wounds and vulnerabilities; its strength is that it is unafraid of its weakness.

With this kind of prowess up her sleeve, Sharon has been steadily winning the attention of everyone’s who’s crossed her path. It still feels like she remains one of the most overlooked jewels of new music, but that should be expected to change soon with the proper release of her stunning debut, Because I Was in Love, out on May 26 through Language of Stone Records.

The recent release of a music video for “For You”, directed by the seasoned Michael Palmieri (Foo Fighters, The New Pornographers), and opening sets for prominent bands such as Beirut and Great Lake Swimmers have already earned Sharon new praises from tastemakers outside the comfort zone of Brooklyn, the musical savvy borough that has been a kind home to her since leaving New Jersey, where she’s originally from, and Tennessee, where she spent several years growing up.

Before she embarked on her European tour, we visited Sharon at her apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, where she performed “Keep”, taken from her upcoming album, Because I Was in Love.

When we found out Trash Talk was playing New York on 4/20 and that guitarist Garrett Stevenson is a certified card carrying member of the medical marijuana club, well, we just had to celebrate the holiday in style.

And by style, we mean hanging out in a friend’s apartment because it was pouring rain outside. But really, when you have good friends and good video games, is there anything more you need to celebrate 4/20?

This video is being shown for the first time nearly a month later because there was some heavy, heavy editing involved, but we made sure to leave in only the most integral conversation points. From their beef with Trap Them, to breaking the edge with MC Hammer, it was amazing to spend our April 20, 2009 with one of the premiere up-and-coming hardcore bands.

“I like to see lady drummers. It’s fucking cool,” says one of the security guards at Popscene as The Whip plow through their soundcheck. The Manchester quartet are in town to open for fellow UK outfit Late of the Pier, but in two short hours the Mancs will blow their contemporaries out of the front door and onto the alleyway outside of the club.

“What was the name of that first band? They were so. Much. Better,” I overhear while standing in line to use the ladies’ room.

And it’s true. Cousin to The Faint with a dash of Daft Punk knob-twiddling, the four friends from college now known as The Whip are able to deliver more songs to grind to then their headliners. The most success comes from songs like “Blackout”, which carries a sexy bass line with a light Nintendo synth, and “Muzzle #1”, a rhythmic foot tapper that sort of sounds like what The Horrors would be if they went dance-punk. And while the band doesn’t talk much in between songs, opting to end their short set with lead single “Trash”, the venue breaks into continuous cheering at the end.

Both bands are sharing the green room, where I’m whisked into for The Whip interview pre-show, and the scene is somehow serenity-meets-frenzy. There are lanky Brits from both bands falling over themselves trying to reach the riders while I plop down onto a black vinyl couch, and even though the vibe is at a calm tone, everyone is talking to one another — and not me. Never before have I had to keep track of my interview subjects until now, as various members of The Whip actually leave the interview mid-thought to answer a phone call, talk to a manager, or huddle up next to a LOTP member.

It’s somehow not rude, though — it genuinely feels like all the people smashed into this tiny ass room want to hang with one another, and I even find myself floating from person to person to spark a conversation. “I love this song,” says Daniel when Bloc Party’s “Banquet” thumps outside, and we talk about the influx of British bands to hit America in recent years.

The whole setting resembles a cozy house party, which is both endearing and neat. I end up speaking with drummer Fiona Daniel and keyboardist Danny Saville the most while sitting on the couch, as vocalist Bruce Carter and bass player Nathan Sudders to my right are distracted at various intervals, but piping in when given the chance. Most of our conversation centers around their hometown of Manchester (both Sudders and Carter are tickled to know about the goth night I went to while there a few months back: “I actually know the owner for Satan’s Hollow!” says Saville), and what some goals are (Carter: “Ride a cable car”). As I leave, all four extend their hands to shake mine warmly, offering to hang out if we all were ever in their hometown at the same time. This cordiality is again replicated as I join Sudders outside for a cigarette post-interview.

“Please, MySpace us if you decide to join us in Manchester for grad school,” he urges. I’m amazed he remembered that small detail from our conversation amidst the ringing cell phones and chatter about doing shots back in the green room. “Maybe I will,” I reply. “You lot seem to be really good folks.”

There seems to be the common theme of “fucking shit up” when people talk about your music. Is this accurate?
Fiona Daniel: Fucking shit up? Really? [laughs]

Danny Saville: Well, I mean, I think that’s a good thing. Right?

Nathan Sudders: Oh, wow.

“Trash” is the opening song on your album, and has been the one garnering the most attention. Are you afraid no one is going to be listening after that first song ends?
FD: You know, people don’t have to dance if they don’t want to. I mean, we want it to happen as naturally as possible.

Bruce Carter: I think we did a great job on the album as a whole.

You’ve cited having older siblings and friends who got you into the Manchester scene. What particular interaction stands out most?
DS: I got my foot in the door with that scene from an older friend [who gave me a cassette of music]. I remember the tape cover was a yellow and black picture/painting of sorts with some vandalism-looking writing. There was the FAC 51 symbol in it and Bigfoot was prancing around. So weird but very cool.

I fell in love with Manchester when I was in England over the winter. I saw the Hacienda apartments and it’s so sad what they look like now. Is it weird something so historical like that is now defunct in your own hometown?

DS: I used to live right across the street from the Hacienda. I used to break in and play there before it was torn down to be converted. It’s a bit of a shame that it wasn’t saved but what can you do? And now it’s like any other neighborhood in the area. There’s weed on the corner.

There’s always seems to be a Manchester/London comparison that happens.
FD: True. But when you consider how many amazing bands that have come out of our humble little area, it’s quite impressive.

DS: And it’s all about the sizing, really, too. Birmingham is bigger, but in Manchester you can still bump into people. London is just too big for us. We might not have been able to succeed if we had decided to move there first instead of sticking to where we started.

BC: In any case, it’s obviously not as cool as here. [grins and points to his surroundings]

How many sexual innuendos have you gotten in reference to your band name?
DS: What, you mean like bondage or S&M-type stuff? None. None at all. [smiles]

Last Friday we showed you what a crazy spectacle a King Khan and The Shrines show is. But have you ever wondered what kind of transformation takes place before the show?

Prior to hitting the stage, Tripwire photographer Victoria Jacob spent the evening with Khan and his troupe as they cleaned themselves up while preparing to bring the house down. Here is what she saw.

Being a long jaded follower of many musical genres, it’s hard for me to be leveled by a new live band; rare is the evil smile on my face or the slow climb of a shiver up my crooked spinal column. Since I’ve become a “professional” music critic as opposed to just another wiseass amateur arguing about music with anyone within earshot, few acts have issued a response in my mind higher than “they’re ok.”

Within the first seconds of The Factory Workers opening slot for two bands that are now erased from my memory, the long absent grin glued itself to my face and the warm electric shock of a supercharged amp rattling across the concrete floor straight through the top of my skull…. Holy Skipping Moses! “Yes Virginia, rock ‘n’ roll does exist!”

The Factory Workers (Al Amador and Justin Brooks) were something explosive. Prior to our interview an hour before the show at Lawrence, Kansas’ The Replay Lounge, I honestly knew very little to nothing about them; just the home recorded songs on their MySpace page and a shared appreciation on the blues. Even in those songs I could hear the lingering beast, a wicked two headed monster ready to fry amplifiers and devour drum kits. During the course of their all too short thirty minute vaporizing set, I became thoroughly convinced that I, along with a decent size Friday night crowd at The Replay Lounge, had just witnessed a giant step forward in Blues Evolutionary Theory.

But the blues rock duo from Kansas City, Missouri are more than just a blues band; they incorporate the sounds of The Black Keys, Son House, the punk rock brutality of Mudhoney and sprinkle in the laid back slyness of Lightnin’ Hopkins. On top of that they add in moments of electric blues like those made famous by 1960’s groups Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Blue Cheer to create a rattle both wholly familiar and entirely their own. It is a music in lock step with their working class name. “I would drive by this factory everyday on my way to work or class and think, I bet those people are working really hard,” lead singer and guitarist Alheim “Al” Amador told me. “I want to work as hard at my music as those people in the factory are working at their job. I wanted to be respected like I respect them.”

The blues have been a part of American music culture for generations. Long before Robert Johnson had hellhounds on his trail, before Willie Dixon was your “Backdoor Man”, years before Leadbelly was singing of murder in the pines, hell, even before there was an America there was the blues. The blues are a human reaction to the hardships of life not a exclusively American reaction. The Factory Workers prove that.

What makes the band’s cohesiveness and blistering live set even more astonishing is the fact that they’ve only been playing for two years and this was to be their first show ever in a proper venue. As Amador tells it, “We started playing in the garage and the basement just having fun. We thought it sounded pretty solid for a two-piece, so we decided to play some shows just to try it out,” A exchange student from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, Amador came to the states at 17. Justin Brooks, the group’s drummer is squarely Midwestern. “I was born in Springfield, Missouri, moved to St. Joseph, Missouri, graduated high school there, went to Kansas City for college, met Al and there you have The Factory Workers.”

I spoke to the duo shortly after they finished setting up their gear. It was the perfect Lawrence spring night for a show; nice temperature, nicer looking college girls in shorts strolling by, a Lyle Lovett-fashion-obsessed street musician playing for money nearby and pizza furnished by one of the guys’ girlfriends… It was the calm before the proverbial storm.

People usually work their way up to the blues. What did you listen to on your way there?
Al: When I was younger I listened to a lot of Credence, stuff like that; my dad was a big fan of rock music.

Justin: For me, it was Nirvana.

A: Yeah, Nirvana definitely. As I got older I started playing guitar to Nirvana, but that was back home in Mexico. When I came to the States, I started digging into different stuff; Junior Kimborough, Robert Lee Burnside… You know, all the people that were doing the rawer, Memphis style stuff. I just picked it up from there. I just try to make a collage of everything.

What about you? You’re being awfully quiet.
J: Oh, sorry. [laughs] I’d say some of my big inspirations as a drummer are probably Buddy Mills from Band of Gypsys, I kinda started listening to him when I started playing music with Al and really got into it. I really like Abe Cuddingham of the deftones a lot and Dave Grohl.

Al, Who’s your all-time favor guitar player? Remember, I’m looking for a “right answer.”
J: Steve Vai!

A: Yeah, right! [laughs] I couldn’t really tell. I don’t focus on one player, ya know.

J: Al, I’d probably say Burnside.

A: Yeah, Burnside is pretty awesome. I guess I’d have to go with that.

So, how do you feel about your first record? Is it an EP?
A: Yeah, it’s pretty much an EP.

J: It was our first time working with real recording equipment and not just a laptop.

What was the studio experience like for you guys?
J: It was good. We got to play at the same time together instead of laying down our parts at different times, which was great. Since it’s blues and pretty raw we just laid it down together; it turned out really well, Josh (Thomas, of High Diving Ponies) recorded and mixed it.

What was it like working with Josh?
J: Oh, it was great man.

A: He’s very relaxed and will tell you like it is; he’s straight forward but cool about it, ya know? No BS, really an awesome guy to work with. Josh has been around the scene for a long time so he knows what’s going on.

What’s the scene in K.C. like for a band like The Factory Workers? Are they on board or do you not really give a shit?
A: I don’t really care, I just really like playing live, we haven’t been doing it for too long but it’s definitely a lot of fun.

How long have you been playing together? Do you know the exact date?
J: It was April 16, two years ago.

How did you discover each other as musicians? Did you know some of the same people?
A: I would see Justin hanging with the hipsters at school and I thought “Man, I just wanna punch that guy.”

J: It’s true, He really did hate me.

A: But then we meet through a common friend at a birthday party and we hit it off from there. I was like, “Hey, you play drums? You wanna hang out and play music?”

J: Once we started jamming it just clicked. I had never played drums before but he stuck it out for 6 months or a year for me to pick it up. Now I think we have something really solid. I don’t have any formal training but I’d like to get some someday.

Who is the main songwriter in the band or do you share the work?
J: No, he writes them all. I don’t write a single thing. [laughs]

A: The songs are old ones I’ve had for a long time and some come on the spot. But yeah, I do most of the songwriting. He just beats the shit out of it.

What’s the EP going to be called?
A: I think we’re just going with The Factory Workers.

When is the album going to be “officially” released?
J: We just finished the final edit so it’s out now.

A: With some more time and a few more songs maybe we can add to it and release a full album.

How long have you two been playing together?
A: A couple years; We started to get some momentum going, had shows booked than I fell and broke my collarbone and we had to sit for like three months so that slowed us way down. It’s hard to play guitar with a broken collarbone, ya know.

Last question, you both play in High Diving Ponies with Josh Thomas. What’s it like splitting time between HDP and The Factory Workers?
J: It’s cool but it’s two completely different style.

A: I play bass in HDP. It’s taught me a lot because I do bass a lot when I’m strumming cords with The Factory Workers.

J: I’d say we’ve seen a lot of improvement in each others playing since we started doing both. There’s a bit more aggression in Josh’s songs so it give me an excuse to go crazy on the drums.

A: I’m pretty mellow when I play the bass, I stick to one bass line. With The Factory Workers it’s more freestyle. The main part of the song always remains the same but there is room to dance up and down the song.

Discussing music with Al and Justin and witnessing their annihilating set at The Replay Lounge further cemented in me the feeling that the blues, and rock for that matter, are part of the same universal language. It is not English, Spanish, Arabic or Pig Latin. It is language with no barrier. It’s words and an alphabet that we all can understand.

With the closing notes still bouncing off of the pinball machines, I gladly gave the guys $5 to replenish their thirsty gas tank. As I headed out the door, the smile returned to my face and a thought popped into my ringing head:

“If they are this great live after just a few shows, then how killer are they going to be a year from now?”

Southern California’s Local Natives make it hard to draw comparisons. There are similarities here and there — Broken Social Scene and Fleet Foxes are among the contemporary names thrown around — but the Natives’ style is less erratic than BSS, more ballsy than the Foxes. Their harmonic style is indicative of the influence of hazy beach bums of 60s SoCal and Zombified Brit pop, while their percussion philosophy derives from somewhere more natural: a unifying connection between the five-piece developed over hours spent living together in their own guerilla hideaway in Silverlake, Calif.

I sat down for a little phone chat with the guys as they made the arduous journey from San Francisco to Portland. My grasp for the topography of the region is nearly nonexistent, thus making our teleconference, in my mind, just another hurdle for the group in what might be the toughest climb amidst a sea of switchbacks and sheer crags. Since this setting is always more interesting, I kept the image in my mind and forged on through the midst of cell reception woe. I hit them fast and I hit them hard, with the sort of tough grit that would make even Harry Callahan squirm. With half a day to drive from San Francisco to Portland at top speed, I tested out their mental dexterity while they navigated the treacherous mountain passes of Northern California. So after a minute or so of making sure our cell phones were indeed connected and working, my interview began with a real humdinger.

So how are you guys doing?
Kelcey: We’re doing good, on the road going from San Francisco to Portland. It’s a ten-hour drive, the longest drive on this tour we’re on right now. It’s a little brutal, but it’s all right… we started at 8 this morning.

I talked to (Tripwire photographer JENZ) earlier, said she had a little trouble getting into the show…
K: Yeah there was a little mishap with the list, a fuck up if you will, on our part. We tried to fill her full of drinks so that she could forget all about it.

That’s all right, she mentioned she’ll catch you guys again soon, opening for Ben Kweller?
K: Yeah, we’re opening for Ben in June, so we’ll have her out, it’ll be a great time.

Awesome, is that opening spot a result of meeting him down in Austin (at SXSW)?
K: Uh, well we met Ben in Austin, (through) his UK booking agent as well as his national booking agent. He brought Ben out to the show, and he really dug the music and had heard a lot about us and really likes the stuff and so he was stoked to throw us on a couple shows for him.

I was actually there at SXSW for a show you guys played where he showed up, at this little house party the last night of the fest.
K: Oh yeah, that was the place, yeah we saw him there.

How did the rest of SXSW go for you guys?
Taylor: SX was so excellent for us. It was really awesome, none of us had ever been before and we really got (thrown) into it because we had nine shows (over four days). So it was really intense, but we had a great time.

And you’d never been to Austin before that?
T: Well we had played Austin a couple times, but you know, that city is just transformed for SX. There’s like 2,000 bands and thousands of people and it’s really just like chaos for a week, which we really are akin to, we like that.

Nice. So you’ve got an album done, but no label?
T: Correct, yeah we’ve got an album but right now we’re just kind of shopping it around and talking to people.

Did that chaotic week help you guys out in the way of finding a home for it?
T: Oh yeah, it was really cool. I thought it was great to see the progression over, as I said, nine shows. I think it was the second to last show we played was one we added literally the day before, and that show was probably the most packed out of all of them. So it was cool to see this progression where you know, we made some fans early and there were some people kinda spreading the word about us, and so by that show there were all these people there checking us out, from the industry and not. So yeah, the dialogue has definitely increased a lot on pretty much all ends.

Ryan: It was really cool to meet people from the UK, too. That was a good opportunity for us to get to some people out there.

So hopefully sometime in the future a UK tour?
T: Yeah definitely, we just signed up with our UK and European booking agent, and he’s awesome and we’re really, really happy. We don’t have any firm plans yet but we’re already starting to throw out some ideas of dates and stuff and we want to get over there soon.

So it’s been a nice steep route you seem to have taken so far, you haven’t been together too long, correct?
T: Um, sort of, it’s been about two, two-and-a-half years in this lineup so not super new, but me (Taylor Rice, guitar/vocal), Ryan (Hahn, guitar/vocal) and Kelcey (Ayers, keys/vocal), the three of us met in High School. So we’ve been playing together, jamming for over six years. Then it was like everything really came together for us over the last year or so, really when we made our album, when everyone decided to throw all our eggs in the band basket and just go for it full time. We all (including Andy Hamm, bass; Matt Frazier, drums) got a house; we all live together in Silverlake and we’ve been really committed to this as our first priority. So that’s really relatively recent, but we’ve been playing together for a while.

Speaking of the album, the title is Gorilla Manor, is that right?
T: Right, yeah.

There has to be a story behind the name…
T: Well, yeah. So when we were writing the album we were all living together in a house, sort of sequestered ourselves, secluded away and it just kinda became the moniker for the place we were living, and we just came to identify (the house) with the whole process. Our band is really collaborative in terms of the songwriting process and so everyone is constantly throwing out ideas, and during this time (writing) we kinda felt like we found what was our sound and we found these threads that we felt unified us. So that’s kind of why we identified that with the album.

Well I have to say the few songs I’ve heard are excellent (I won’t go into my fan-boy-ish love for their track “Airplanes”). There’s a thoughtfulness to them, I can only hope that’s translated to the rest of the album.
T: Yeah me too. (Laughs.) Seriously, we’re very happy with it, which is actually saying a lot. We really tear all of our songs apart. As a result of the collaborative thing we work over things pretty hard.

And who did you guys get to produce the album?
T: We recorded it in L.A. in a place called Rancho Park with a guy named Raymond Richards, and he’s got an amazing studio in his house. It’s called Red Rockets Glare, and we made the album there over last summer, towards the end of summer. (To rest of band) Would we say he produced it? We kind of self-produced it, but I mean, he helped us a lot. He really is a master at all the tones and the fun toys that he has in his studio, and that was something that was really new to us. We had never done an album before, so he was so easy to work with. But we were really hands on in everything we did with the recording.

So any leads as far as what you might do with it?
T: Yeah we do, we’re talking with a lot of labels right now, but it’s all very tentative and superficial at the moment. Can’t really say much. But we’d love to find a home for it and have a goal to release around the fall so…

Awesome. Now the sound that you guys have, it’s very natural, your combination of almost tribal percussion, and the harmonies. Is that a result of your surroundings, something that naturally finds its way out, or is it something that you guys have made a conscious effort to emphasize?
T: Those two things are very much the kind of threads that we’ve found in a lot of our writing. Now way back when, we started out as a “guitar” band as most bands do, but now we spend almost all of our writing time, or most of it, on our vocals, the melody and harmonies, and also on the percussion. And I’m sure that has something to do with the area but it’s also mostly to do with our personal preferences and influences and who we listen to. You know, the 60s harmony bands is fairly evident, we’re huge fans of The Zombies, Crosby Stills & Nash for example, and we’re also huge fans of Animal Collective or Broken Social Scene, who really have that kind of strong percussive element that we’re drawn to.

I’m guessing Talking Heads is in there somewhere, seeing as you guys have that cover of “Warning Sign” out there and in your set…
T: Yeah we were actually just listening to that.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I actually find your version a little more enjoyable.
T: Oh man, wow.

I mean it’s a great song, but you guys have really taken it and made it your own. It’s almost a different song now.
T: Well, I always think, well we all do, that when you do a cover it’s way more fun to take something that’s not exactly your sound and try to make it your sound. So it was really fun to try and make these pretty three part harmonies out of these David Byrne yelps.

You should start a cover of the month club.
T: (Laughs.) Yeah, we’ve thought about it.

So the rest of this tour you’re headed up into Canada?
T: We are, we’re gonna try. We’ve got Portland, Seattle and then Vancouver. We’ve never crossed the border as a band, and we’ve learned that you have to get this immigration exemption thing from the venue and all this stuff. So we’re really kind of winging it and we really hope that they don’t charge us like $800. That would be sad.

Well at least it’ll be a fun attempt if you can’t make it. So what do you foresee, or hope to see happen in the next six months for you guys?
T: Well we already kinda talked about it, but releasing the album is a major goal of ours and the fall seems like a really good time for that. Other than that, just touring. We really want to be out on the road as much as possible. Hope to have a national tour with a bunch of dates and then go abroad. Like I said, we’ve got some dates we’re planning on.

Ryan: It’s been a dream of ours to go to the UK and tour and now all of a sudden it looks like that’s going to become a reality in the near future.

Have you guys done much touring nationally so far?
R: We’ve toured twice nationally. We went out to Chicago one time and then we did a month long tour to New York and back. Other than that, we’ve done two little West Coast tours. So we’ve done a fair amount of touring, but we really like it, we’re trying to do it as much as possible.

So how much longer do you guys have on the road today?
T: Six more hours, or something like that.

And with that I wished them luck on their way, a group of nice guys making nice music for the masses. The Canadians are going to love that.