Mastodon - Once More 'Round the Sun

Ethan Dempsey

The mastodon, behemoths of the order Proboscidea (elephant), sporting tusks that would dwarf a fully grown man, went extinct because of the growing threat of…humans. That’s right, we killed the mastodon, golem of the prehistoric world, with our frail human hands, and we did it because they were unable to adapt to the new threat that humanity posed. (Note to my biologist editor and readers: I know that extinction patterns are rarely that simple, but come on, I’m trying to draw a metaphor here.) But while the mastodon died out because they couldn’t adapt to a world defined by human interaction, Mastodon (the band) has remained critically relevant largely due to their adaptability.

The internet age has made it possible for every idiot with an IP address to spout off about music. The dawn of internet music criticism not only meant everyone gained a voice, but also that every album’s or single’s release would be scrutinized, deconstructed, and picked at by the online community of critics until only the bones remained. I personally think that metal, maybe more than any other genre, has suffered the greatest loss from such careful scrutiny.

Metal was never the most cerebral genre to begin with. It has always been based on the expurgation of emotions stored within our reptilian brain. It’s about hate, fear, and adrenaline-fueled passion. It is music heavy enough to express the darkest emotions that words alone fail to convey, so why would it fare well under the often-insipid scrutiny of music journalism? Even metal’s spiritual forefathers, the critically acclaimed Led Zeppelin, were initially dismissed by Rolling Stone as derivative blues-rock drivel. Hunted with pitchforks by the mainstream music press, metal turned in on itself, away from such mainstream outlets, and slowly entombed itself in an endless web of repetitive I-can-play-faster-than-you subgenres, little innovation that could be qualified as actual metal (see Deafheaven’s brilliant, but barely metal Sunbather), and stanch “fuck the critics” attitudes.

So how has Mastodon remained critically relevant, even lauded, over the course of five albums and 15 years? Because Mastodon is adaptive to the extreme. Critics hate metal bands because metal bands often appear uninterested in songwriting. Mastodon can thrash with the best of them, but even their heaviest moments are hummable and carefully executed. Metal albums frequently lack the cerebral, introspective, conceptual framework that makes critics need a fresh set of underwear. Mastodon’s first four albums are not only linked through their use of the classical Greek elements (fire, water, earth, and ether), but nuanced and emotionally potent concepts like Moby Dick, personal mysticism, and the fall of Rasputin, all of which were used to excise painful personal demons and strike at fundamental truths.  Metal is derided as endlessly repetitive, but Mastodon deconstructs a new sound on each new album, all the while never losing sight of their unique gifts. If you didn’t like the vicious assault of Remission, there was the slow-burn brutality of Leviathan. If you didn’t care for the meat-and-potatoes songwriting of Blood Mountain, there was the proggy exploration of Crack the Skye. Even if you didn’t like metal at all, there’s still The Hunter, Mastodon’s brilliant genre exploration which touches on nearly everything in the history of hard rock, from Syd Barrett to Pink Floyd to Thin Lizzy-indebted punk.

Mastodon’s adaptability and careful eye for sprawling but direct songwriting means that, in anticipation of their sixth album, Once More ‘Round the Sun, the critical question is not “will it be great?” but “what kind of great will it be?” The answer, strangely enough, is that for the first time these metal de-constructionists have made an album that doesn’t burn down a subgenre and rebuild something from its ashes. Instead, Once More ‘Round the Sun is a deconstruction of the sound of Mastodon itself. Gone are the grand conceptual frameworks that carried all their other albums (even The Hunter was technically tied to the Chinese element of wood). Gone are the extended tracks and genre experiments (every track here is pure metal and only one stretches beyond seven minutes). Even the name of the album is an expression of the pedestrian. We aren’t climbing Blood Mountain and we aren’t harpooning the White Whale. We’re just living through another year, and in place of those lofty touchstones stand 11 songs of essential, vital, and endlessly catchy pop-metal.

One need go no further than earworm opener, “Tread Lightly,” to see what I mean. There’s nothing about this song that isn’t standard “verse, chorus, repeat” structure, yet each time I listen to it I can’t help but be amazed. Its central riff is mathematical but wholly accessible. It balances low-end Ozzy vocals on the verses with a skyscraping, harmony-laden chorus that is even better in contrast to the whip turn it takes from the verse. Nothing about this song feels bloated or unnecessary. Everything about every riff and every machine-gun snare fill feels wholly essential and results in so much more than the sum of its parts. Then, as if the members of Mastodon weren’t satisfied with one crack at the ideal album opener, the next three songs (“The Motherload,” “High Road” and the title track “Once More ‘Round The Sun”) all follow the same basic songwriting formula, each song dropping in just enough sonic variance to retain a sense of riveting originality.

Even when the album breaks away from the pop-metal formula established by the first four tracks, adding in the characteristic time signature shifting that Mastodon has become known for, it doles it out only to heighten the impact of the songs themselves. An example of this would be the expansive doom-and-gloom introduction that kicks off “Chimes at Midnight,” and the subsequent thrash riff that feels all the more potent because of it. The alternate universe Smiths-esque metal of “Asleep in the Deep,” with its beautiful arpeggios and multi-layered chorus, not only complements the contained expanse of “Chimes at Midnight,” but balances well against the punk-infused thrash of the following set (“Feast Your Eyes,” “Aunt Lisa,” “Ember City,” and “Halloween”). Finally, by the time the Scott Kelly feature “Diamonds in the Witch House” arrives, its expansive songwriting is earned by the concision of the previous tracks. Ultimately, “Diamonds” feels like the necessary release of the controlled emotion that has come before it – the listener is left wanting more as Kelly reaches his final throat-shredding notes and the album fades into a sea of harmonics.

What really makes Once More ‘Round The Sun the ideal distillation of Mastodon’s sound is not just its concise songwriting and perfect pop-metal choruses, such as those you’d find on tracks like “Ember City” (seriously, has the line “What do I say to you?” ever meant more than when drummer-singer Brann Dailor belts it out here, over concussive blasts of massive guitar chords and frantic cymbals?). The real potency of this album is in the fact that you can find bits of nearly every iteration of Mastodon peppered throughout the work. The massive riff of lead single “High Road” feels like an ideal update on the “Blood and Thunder” riff that introduced most of the metal world to the band. Those who loved The Hunter’s eccentricity will be tickled by the demented cheerleader’s chant that closes out “Aunt Lisa.” Fans of Crack the Skye will be more than sated by the naked emotional release of “Diamonds in the Witch House” and those frequent, longing Dailor choruses. Blood Mountain devotees are in for a treat with the drama and classic rock aspirations of “The Motherload.” True, the band no longer screams their hearts out like they did on Remission, but both guitarist-singer Brent Hinds’ banshee screech and bassist-singer Troy Sanders’ guttural roar are deployed carefully and methodically throughout the album. Mastodon, ever the musical polyglots, sacrilegiously cannibalize their own sounds on Once More ‘Round The Sun and, ultimately, the album feels like a deconstruction of just about everything there is to love about this band.

Sure, I could nitpick and say that the album’s cohesive song craft is almost too cohesive, leaving it feeling a little flat at times. It’s true; the experimental signposts are few and far between and most of the songs ride similar mid-tempo minor-key grooves. Still, the more you listen to the album, the more it reveals each song’s carefully constructed eccentricities, and ultimately it’s better for its dearth of sonic divergence. In the past, Mastodon’s grand concepts allowed them to blast off into space and take the listener on an interstellar journey, but like every conceptual work, there were always weak moments, stylistic choices that felt forced upon the songs by ambition. Here we’re spared the bloat that has always been a feature of even the best Mastodon albums, and because this version of Mastodon is still engaging without the weirder departures, you’ll barely miss the usual album-defining concepts. Ultimately, six albums in, Mastodon is looking leaner, meaner, and ready to take over the world, just like the inter-dimensional nightmare that fills the album’s cover. I think it’ll be a long time before we see Mastodon go extinct, their bones buried in the silicate for our children to discover.

Release Day: TOPS - Change Of Heart / Sleepwalker 7"

Photo by: Rebecca Storm

Ethan Dempsey

“Singles.” “Seven inches.” “Records.” Whatever you want to call them, I’m not re-inventing the wheel when I say that they’re different from standard albums, and not just because of running time. Albums are sprawling works, monoliths built on months of preparation, multiple track orders, myriad discarded songs (both half-formed and full of life) and sleepless nights. By contrast, most songs, especially singles, seem to emerge from the ether like Athena from Zeus’ skull. They spring to life, near-fully formed, stubbornly demanding their place in this world. Albums are meant to be carefully dissected and examined from every possible angle; a good single will just wash right over you. 

As this is the first time I’ve ever had the pleasure of reviewing a single instead of an album, I thought I would shake up my methodology just a bit. Instead of listening to the tracks endlessly, instead of dissecting each and every chord, drumbeat and melody for their emotional expression, instead of listening to the entire oeuvre of the band’s work, and instead of finding every scrap piece of self-mythology published by the band in some vain attempt to contextualize my work, I figured I’d just dive in. My hope for this little experiment was to replicate the waning experience of hearing a song for the first time on the radio, praying all the while that the DJ will tell you anything related to the ephemeral piece of art blooming from the car radio static. So I downloaded the seven inch sent to me, put on my good headphones, took the dog for a walk, and formed my opinions based on nothing but the music.

“Change Of Heart,” the ostensible A-side on TOPS’ new seven-inch is not your typical single. It carries all the markers of a classic A-side. It’s a mid tempo, major key number that feels both energetic and carefully controlled, like helium gradually released from a balloon. As with all good singles, it is tough to discern where the hook lies, because every melody in the song seems to be effortlessly crafted for maximum “ear worm” effectiveness. It features a bright melodic hook, played by what sounds like a keyboard’s steel drum preset, which wraps the song in an ebullient joy that demonstrates to the listener that the track was as fun to make as it is to hear. Still, something deeper is going on in this song. Sure, the lyrics refer to the common subject matter of a summer single: the rapturous possibility of new love. But where most pop singles seem destined to relate the same boy-meets-girl story, TOPS are more interested in the uncertainty that lies in the moment before a new romance is admitted to by either party. The lyrical lynch pin lies within the repeated question of the chorus, “wasting, wasting a chance you’re chasing/why are you so afraid to face it?” and that’s exactly what sets this song apart. The unease that such a question implies is effectively matched by the orchestration of the song. The narrator has no idea what will become of his frail, nascent friendship with the girl he has grown to love. He “could talk to her about anything,” but that was in the past. Now he stands on a precipice of uncertainty. The synths and guitars sparkle brightly to match the possibility of hope, but the listener will notice how each note seems to echo and die once it’s played, almost like a question still caught behind your teeth. The vocals are breezy and catchy but they’re mixed low and wrapped in reverb, acting as a Greek chorus of uncertainty forever echoing in the narrator’s head, begging the question of why he can’t act. A contemplative track masquerading as easy ear candy, “Change of Heart,” is the best kind of summer single, one you can fall in love with long into the winter.

Casting off the tradition A-side single/B-side experiment tradition of the seven inch, “Sleepwalker” is a more immediately open work than its predecessor. Where “Change Of Heart” may have sounded effervescent and carefree, it is “Sleepwalker” that actually comes from a place of personal tranquility. No longer do instruments lock step in an exuberant mid-tempo strut. Now, guitars are given room to breathe, bass lines are sparse and light, and the easy vocal line is mixed clearly and placed intimately in the center of the mix. “Sleepwalker” is the exhale that “Change Of Heart” so desperately seemed to need. Its vocal line appears abruptly but not shockingly so, moving listlessly through the tale of life and spilling into night-time musing like dreams creeping into the twilight of sleep. The guitar line is beautiful in its meandering elliptical pattern. The vocal track is mellifluous and uncluttered, the chorus separated from the verse by the entrance of a warm male double. And then, just as we find ourselves falling into the lullaby timbre of the brushed snare pattern, the song ends and we’re brought back to our waking life, left to ponder the questions left unanswered and the words which will carry us back into sleep. 

Note: I may have known next to nothing about TOPS before listening to the seven inch, but you should check out this awesome Montreal synth pop band for yourself. You can find their well-received 2012 album Tender Opposites on their bandcamp (tops.bandcamp.com), as well as this new seven inch, a herald of what’s to come for this promising indie rock band.

THE ANTLERS - FAMILIARS

Ethan Dempsey

I’m not a big crier. I’m not saying that I’m not an emotional human being–if the occasion calls for it, I can get plenty gleeful, hateful, playful, woeful, etc.–I’ve just never cried all that much. But I can remember the last time that I cried at a piece of music.

There is a moment towards the end of “Epilogue,” maybe the saddest song off of one of the saddest (yet least maudlin) albums released in the last ten years, The Antlers’ Hospice. In 2009 when I, alone in my new college dorm room, first heard Peter Silberman break open his falsetto like a wound on the final chorus, I wept, if only a little. There are many lines from many songs that leave a lump in my throat, but it wasn’t just what Silberman was saying that broke me. There are many chord changes that rightfully send shivers down my spine, but it wasn’t the melody that ruined me. Ultimately, it was the way in which Silberman’s wavering falsetto and aching melody seemed the only way to communicate the desperate pain that consumed the narrator. It was the sublime manner in which the melody and timbre of his voice drew out the emotion of the words, as if they could never have existed separately to begin with.

In my last review, I briefly opined that the best songs are constructed to place the listener within the headspace of the song. I can’t think of a band that’s consistently been better at such a feat than The Antlers, so a review of their album is the perfect time to explore how this fascinating association can practically function. Surprisingly, The Antlers’ fifth studio album, Familiars, fails at this task more than any of their other releases, so I can’t think of a better opportunity to discuss this band’s dichotomous methods in sharp relief.

The Antlers have always been great at the musical tricks of emotional expression. They received much of their critical clout for their third album, Hospice, and rarely has such hype been so well deserved. Hospice tells the story of a hospital worker failing in love with a cancer patient, or, depending on your intertextual perspective, a lover losing their partner to addiction. This wasn’t a story just told in the lyrics. The album was filled with bracing passages of noise that magnified the cacophony of love rent asunder. Silberman’s voice, its passion equaled only by its untrained, harrowing reach was an impeccable expression of the way in which emotions catch in your throat before they are screamed out.

Much of the press leading up to 2011’s Burst Apart seemed to demonstrate a growing sense of isolation in Silberman, as his band had so quickly expanded beyond his bedroom and his emotions were suddenly writ across a terrifyingly broad canvas. Suddenly his voice, a more experienced emotive weapon after being honed by extensive touring, sounded longing, weary, and disconnected at the center of a clear and hollow instrumental mix. The songs sounded bigger and more spacious, but his voice seemed to hide in the center of the storm, afraid to venture into the wide open space around him. Listen to the way the space between the ringing chords of “I Don’t Want Love,” intensifies the titular rejoinder, as if space between the notes is where the narrator’s ex-lover or demon waits to strike. It wasn’t as openly throat-bearing as Hospice (honestly, how could you top “Cancer Ward”), but its fear of open expression was an equally operative emotional ballast.

This former success gave me high hopes for Familiars. “Palace,” the lead single, seemed to draw a direct through-line back to the previous albums. It had a sound which, while still distinctly part of the Pink Floyd-devoted, lowercase “r” genre of rock, is different from anything else I’ve heard lately, including The Antlers’ previous output. What other song this year has so intentionally aped the sound of Muzak and done so to such great effect?

The Antlers used this matchless sound to connect to a common emotion through a uniquely distorted emotional prism. Everyone has pined for a connection to a simpler time, particularly regarding relationships, which only seem to grow in complexity as they progress. Still, the semi-jazzy up-tempo piano that carries “Palace” seems designed to amplify the opening salvo. When Silberman sings “You were simpler / You were lighter / When we thought like little kids,” the careful instrumentation allows both the listener and narrator to connect to the dust-in-the-spotlight freedom that childhood (real or metaphorical) allows us. Likewise, the song effectively deploys heavier and more foreboding instrumentation throughout the song (the swelling and crashing horn lines, cascading drums, and softly fuzzed-out and distant guitar lines) to match the following couplet, the narrator watching as “you were hid inside a stranger you grew into.” The yearning falsetto that Silberman has become known for is deployed discreetly to punch the heaviest lines home, and another classic is born for The Antlers.

Albums are so much more than great opening songs, though, and because of poor instrumental expression and weak sequencing, “Palace” represents the high point of the album. While initially jarring with its strange Nina Simone-style vocals in the verses, “Doppelganger” is still an effective, complementary darker half to “Palace.” It’s weird, with its strange ascending chord progression, but it’s supposed to be. The uneasy harmonies heighten the danger in Silberman’s voice as he ominously intones “If you’re quiet / You can hear the monster breathing.” Not nearly as engaging as its predecessor, “Doppelganger” is still good enough that a powerhouse third song could have saved it. Sadly, that powerhouse never comes. “Hotel” is fine, playing out like the softer cousin to Burst Apart’s isolation in rhythmic expressionism, but every song after it sounds so close to “Hotel” that they become interchangeable.

It’s not only a problem of sequencing–when six out of the nine tracks use the same basic guitar figures, tempos, and instrumental cadences, no amount of reshuffling will save a record from the deathly sallow of sameness. Unfortunately, this formlessness veils what seems to be a lot of remarkable lyrical perspective. Silberman can crank out emotional and interesting lyrics about weariness, nostalgia, the sadness of hollow celebration and more, but when every song sounds the same, every emotion begins to blend together in the soup, until only a flat affect rises to the top.

I admit I’m being harsh on this album. In the weak middle six there are still stirring moments, and each track’s instrumentation, while similar, is often colored in with myriad details that will probably position this as The Antlers’ best grower of an album. In spite of what it follows (or maybe because of it), the final lines of the closing song “Refuge” still pack an emotional wallop. As Silberman sings “It’s not our house that we remember / It’s a feeling outside it / When everyone’s gone / but we leave all the lights on anyway,” his guitar work, finally pulled out of the reverb sludge in which it’s been buried for most of the album, matches the emptiness and aching hope that just such an image conjures up.

It’s a great way to end a mediocre album that, produced by artists with a less pristine track record, would have been very good. I guess I expect better of The Antlers. It’s fine to have an album that grows on you, but for years they’ve been putting out records that are immediate and boundless. It’s fine to have a sound that defines an album, but on each previous release, the group has used a distinct sonic pattern to reinforce an emotion, not to define (and thereby limit) the work itself. Ultimately I’m fine with this album, but from a band as potent and seasoned as this one, I sort of expect tears.

COUNTDOWN: WHITEWASH

photo: Whitewash

Ethan Dempsey

Whitewash is about as close to true garage rock as you can get these days. Because of the nature of music distribution and recording, not to mention the stunning lack of actual garages in Manhattan, they don’t make their music next to spilled over quarts of Pennzoil and a faded Farrah Fawcett poster. But, while the band’s music definitely runs deeper than the typical three-chord blues-rock of garage, Whitewash not only embraces the timeless songwriting ethos of the genre (all killer, no filler), they also carry its DIY mentality over to their recorded output.

Their debut EP, Fraud in Lisbon, was produced entirely on a beat-up laptop in an NYU dorm room, using only ProTools and four microphones. Oh, and did I mention that Jon (bass), Sam (guitar), Evan (drums), and Aram (guitar) were still college freshmen when they came together based on their shared love of Ween, Zeppelin and just about anything else? Like true DIY pioneers their music contains shades of whatever they want, with little regard for convention, as Bossa Nova and Noise Rock can arrive within a meter of each other. If I’ve done my job at all, you’ll be chomping at the bit to see this garage psychedelia outfit tear the doors off the hinges at the ThrdCoast Showcase at Friends & Lovers, this Friday, June 20th, as they share the bill with fellow rockers No Pop.

Fresh off three-fourths of the band’s return from the wider world, and in anticipation of the ThrdCoast Showcase, I tracked these guys down for an interview. In the DIY spirit of the group (and partially due to scheduling conflicts), I did little of the actual interviewing. Instead, the band did the work themselves, as they took my ten open-ended questions and ran with them. Each member contributed their own answers and distinct personality as they riffed on where they came from, what drives their musical output, and where they’re headed.

TC: One of the great things about Rock & Roll is that anyone can make it, so one of the questions we like to ask people first is what is the band’s musical background, and how did music first arrive in your lives?

Sam: I’ve been playing classical piano since I was four years old, but my dad’s extensive knowledge of contemporary music during my childhood led to a lot of my musical interests. My dad playing music for me (like OK Computer when it came out) was definitely a catalyst.

Jon: Dad rock, I guess - but not Sam’s dad rock. My dad saw Zeppelin back in the day, so that’s always been part of my psychological soundtrack. I also got super big into black metal and power metal at age 11 when I discovered that I could download whatever music I wanted … not sure why I chose Burzum over, say, Animal Collective or Radiohead, but that’s how it went down.

Evan: My brother took me on forced drives around New Jersey and blasted his exquisite collection of mid-90s grunge at me. Bands like Live, Alice in Chains, and the obligatory Nirvana. Some thrash metal, heavy doses of AC/DC. All the good stuff.

Aram: As a young kid I just remember going through my dad’s CD collection, which at the time was mostly Hip Hop. So I guess that’s what I began listening to, because of course as a young boy I went straight for [Snoop Dog’s] Doggystyle and [Dr. Dre’s] The Chronic. But the first instruments I got into were piano and violin.

TC: Garage rock has a reputation for a DIY mentality and a focus on songwriting over musical flash. Its Rock & Roll that’s meant to be so tangible it could have been made in your neighbor’s garage. That being said, why is it you self-identify as a garage rock band, and what is it about this label that you connect to?

Unattributed: Actually, we only identify as garage rock because of a lack of resources–like you say, garage rock could be made in somebody’s house, and our music actually was made in our house (dorm). The sound will change as we grow musically and, uh, financially. (It’s hard to make an experimental synth album without thousands of dollars of equipment.)

TC: Origin stories always make for the best comics, so in that vein, how did the band get started? Was it a chance encounter or was it a project that has long been building to what it is now?

Jon: Well, freshman year, Sam lived across the hall from me, and I think his first impression of me was made for him by my OK Computer poster. He judged me. Eventually we got to talking about what instruments we played, and since I had recently picked up the bass guitar, he showed me the index of Ween tabs online. We sort of sat in my room playing covers for a few months, and then I Facebooked Evan into submission over the course of a few weeks.

Evan: Jon kept bugging me to come play with him during a time when I thought I was running with the “jazz cats,” so to speak. I ignored him for a while, and then when I figured out jazz academia was lame, I agreed to play with them. Sam was a dude from California. Aram was my roommate.

TC: What inspires your music? If you had to pin it down, why does the band sound the way it does? Do you have any major influences that inspire your work?

Evan: I like to absorb all the injustices of the world into my being, and refract them into a kaleidoscope of positivity for all the voiceless people out there, you know? One love.

Jon: I’m currently trying to make non-guitar music with guitars. We dabble with psych rock tropes and try to expand on the bits we think are groovy. If I had to name names, I’d list Kevin Parker [of Tame Impala], John Dwyer [of Thee of Sees], Noah Lennox [a.k.a. Panda Bear from Animal Collective], Bradford Cox [of Deerhunter and Atlas Sound]…

TC: Because everybody loves to look at old pictures, what was the first song that you learned to play both individually and as a band?

Evan: Individually, I think it was “Back in Black” by AC/DC. Actually maybe “Come as You Are.” As a band it was Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On.”

Jon: “Hot Cross Buns.” I think my first song on bass was “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes (quickly followed by the BADBADNOTGOOD bass line for “Orange Juice”).

Sam: Something from my middle school metal phase, so probably some Metallica song or something like that.

Aram: Once I graduated out of the little practice violin and piano books, it was probably something angsty by Blink 182 or Yellowcard (bandmates cringe). I was feeling that angst by the time I picked up a guitar.

TC: What was the first song you remember falling in love with? It could be that one odd pop hit we all loved at 10 years old (I adored “Mambo Number 5”), the song that changed your life at 14, or the song that took your breath away at 21.

Jon: Actually, “Mambo Number 5” is a distinct early memory for me as well. Also “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. My first CD was ‘N Sync’s “No Strings Attached.”

Sam: “Back to Basom” by Ween is, and will forever be, my favorite song of all time for reasons unexplainable.

Evan: “P.I.M.P.” by 50 Cent.

Aram: “X Gon’ Give it To Ya” by DMX.

TC: Was there a song, album or artist that made you realize you wanted to make music? Was there a "this-is-it" moment, or was it a gradual realization? In the same vein, was there a moment in the band’s beginnings that you knew you had found something special, something that was worth it?

Evan: Watching Steve Gadd [of Simon & Garfunkel, Chick Corea, and many more] play the drums. As far as “knowing we had something special,” I don’t think we all looked at each other and were like “THIS IS IT GUYS.” We’re music fans who are trying to re-create the magic we’ve experienced thanks to our favorite bands, but at the same time we’re trying to create something fresh, a reflection of us which no one has heard before.

Sam: Ween.

Jon: I was sort of forced into it via trombone, but always had this general yearning to make the sort of recorded music I could never make with just one instrument. I knew the band would work out because finding a trained drummer who also likes Tame Impala is like finding the gold bar in a pile of cow excrement.

Aram: Yeah, it was definitely a gradual thing for me, just a culmination of enjoying sound and needing somewhere to cry, but not actually cry. I knew it was real upon seeing Sam’s beautiful face.

TC: Because everyone loves a peek at the man behind the curtain, what is the songwriting process in the band like? Is there any insight you can offer into your creative process?

Unattributed: A lot of the time, one band member will show another member a demo he’s been working on or maybe even just a chord progression that he likes. Our best songwriting happens when we bounce ideas off of each other and write spontaneously–hours spent brainstorming lyrics usually only end up in penis doodles on notepads. Or “No Sunglasses” ;-)

TC: In your approach to songwriting, are there any themes you find yourself returning to? Any ideas that seem to recur throughout your work, whether consciously or unconsciously?

Evan: I don’t think we really have a conscious message or theme we return to, it tends to be a blend of whatever we’re experiencing at the time. A lot of bands really know what they’re going for and try to follow a certain narrow path. But I think we are still kind of discovering our niche in a way, and I think that’s to our benefit. We can keep it spicy, and we don’t have to subscribe to a “unifying theme” yet. Or ever?

Jon: I agree–but I’d also add that Whitewash’s style is immediately recognizable, if not easily categorizable. It’s easy for us to say “that could be a song” or “maybe not a Whitewash song” when we’re sorting through demos. Also, I can name a motif: meaninglessness! Ha.

TC: What’s next for the band? Are you touring, working on a new album, etc.? What’s on the horizon?

Unattributed: We’re already pretty far in the writing process for a second project and are talking to studios about booking dates to record it. You can expect a single from the new release (and hopefully a music video to accompany it) before 2014 is up, and pretty much constant shows all year long. We just booked five dates in NYC for the next two months actually. Oh, and don’t forget about our new website (whitewashtheband.com), or that you can find our music on Spotify and iTunes and just about everywhere else!

TC: Is there anything else you’d like to talk about that you haven’t had the chance to so far in this interview?

Unattributed: Legalize it.

COUNTDOWN: NO POP

photo: No Pop

Ethan Dempsey

On their website, Brooklyn trio No Pop sum themselves up satirically and sincerely in the same breath as “Out of tune...true zoo-music…against appropriation, TV Eyes and secondhand experience.” Living up to those kind of iconoclastic statements, No Pop traffics in a brand of No Wave (also known as “noise pop,” but noisy, punchy, take-no-prisoners Rock & Roll by any name) that is driven by the immediacy of modern guitar pop and filtered through the fascinating left-of-the-dial lens of noise pioneers and spiritual progenitors like The Pixies. Make no mistake, they take that line about secondhand experience to heart. With lots of influences they manage to craft a sound from such proud heritage that is all their own. Their May 2014 EP See Pretty is an engaging and wholly satisfying experience but, according to devotees and the band themselves, you need to see them live to truly understand what this band is doing. Lucky for you, New York reader, they’re playing this Friday,June 20th at 8:30 at Friends & Lovers in Brooklyn, sharing the bill with Whitewash in a show sponsored by this very website (not a bad shameless plug, huh?).

True to their preference for a connective experience over second-hand joy, the band surpassed my expectations for an interview via Gchat (a text-to-text conversation for the rare Luddite that doesn’t use Gmail) by suggesting a face-to-face video interview. It was all the better for this change, as I got to see an easy conversational chemistry between guitarist Louis Cohen and bassist/vocalist Oscar Rodriguez that clearly carries over to their effortless song craft. Unable to participate in the interview, but spiritually present as a backbeat, was drummer/vocalist Rachel Housle. In our brief time, we talked about the ethos of noise, pies to the face, Stevie Rae Vaughn, and some harsh truths concerning Beyoncé.

ThrdCoast: Because popular music is the great equalizer, one of the questions we like to start interviews off with is this: what is the band’s musical background, and how did music first present itself in your lives?

Oscar Rodriguez: We all met when we attended The New School’s Jazz and Contemporary Music program, and we weren’t friends but we knew what each other was doing while we were there.

TC: Was your background in Jazz? I would never have guessed that, but I can definitely see how such a pedigree would influence your sound.

OR: Everybody there liked Rock, Hip Hop or whatever, but Jazz is an easier language to learn academically.

TC: Okay, so you met at The New School, but how did the band itself get started? 

OR: We all left school knowing each other a bit. We had heard the other’s playing and were interested in what we each were doing. I was really interested in Louis as a guitarist because I was studying guitar there too, and what I saw from him was really cool. We formed the band with a friend named Adam on drums after we had been away from school for a little while. But eventually Adam had to leave for L.A. for personal reasons and when Rachel joined, it changed.

Louis Cohen: The current sound definitely came from the addition of Rachel after Adam left.

OR: The original dark and noisy shit fell by the wayside and the current sound emerged.

TC: So what inspires this current sound? If you had to pin it down, why does the band sound the way it does?

OR: As a band we all like the Breeders, DNA, Minutemen, Sonic Youth… bands that really used noise effectively.

TC: So Louis, because guitar typically has a much wider sonic framework, would you say it comes down to you to make these songs as weird and noisy as you can?

LC: I do a lot of noise work on my own. My compositions outside the band are definitely in the noise genre. Rachel brings a lot of the quirky noise on the drums and vocally. Oscar holds down the low end, but recently we’ve been experimenting with the bass carrying a lot of the noise as well.

TC: That’s an interesting idea, I can’t really think of a modern band that employs a bassist as its source of noise. I guess you’d have to go back to Primus for that, but it would definitely be cool to see a band with actual songwriting chops do that.

LC & OR: [Polite laughter].

TC: So besides your above mentioned influences, what have you been listening to lately?

LC: I’ve been listening to a lot of The Pixies and Modest Mouse

TC: Any albums in particular?

LC: Dinosaur Jr’s Green Mind, [Modest Mouse’s] This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About, [The Pixies’] Come On Pilgrim. 

TC: That’s interesting that you mention those albums, as from each of those artists, I think you could definitely characterize those as their noisiest albums. What is it about noise that resonates so profoundly with you?

LC: My favorite guitarist is Marc Ribot. I like the little fuck ups that happen in noise. Noise is genuine.

OR: It’s really fucking cool to play loud. I’m more into The Birthday Party sound, the “smash your amps and shit” sound.

TC: It’s curious you reference The Birthday Party because, like a lot of noise bands, much of their aggression and power seemed to come from a place of inner band turmoil, but based on this interview, you seem like great friends. So where does the noise come from for you?

OR: A lot of the anger in my songwriting comes from my anger at larger things.

LC: I’m not mad at these two. The aggression comes from self-expression for me.

OR: One of the best sets we played was a 20 minute set at Leftfield where the booking guy was a complete scumbag.

TC: Here’s hoping your ThrdCoast set is just as potent. Those guys usually aren’t too scummy.

OR: Well that’s good.

TC: Don’t quote me on that though, just in case. Changing directions, was there a moment you knew you wanted to make music?

OR: I wasn’t into music when I was a kid. I only really remember liking Eiffel 65. But I had a guitar in my room, and School of Rock came out and I thought it was awesome and I thought “I should learn to play guitar.”

LC: I was playing guitar, really not giving a shit about it, until I discovered Stevie Rae Vaughn. 

TC: Once again, I would never have guessed you had Texas Blues in your blood. Do you think that informs your current style of playing?

LC: Recently I discovered Robert Johnson and I’ve really been getting into that kind of blues playing. It’s his and other blues players’ missteps and sloppiness that I like. It’s a purposeful sloppiness that resonates with me.

TC: Because I love to find out these embarrassing details, what was the first song that you learned to play on the guitar?

LC: [The White Stripes’s] “Seven Nation Army.”

OR: [Black Sabbath’s] “Ironman.”

TC: Was there a song you first played as a band that really let you know this was something special?

OR: “O TV” was the first song we learned as this version of the band. It was the first day that Rachel joined the band and I brought that song into the group and with her vocals on the chorus, it felt different from what we’d been doing before. It made more sense.

TC: In your approach to songwriting are there any themes you find yourself returning to, any ideas that seem to recur throughout your work, whether consciously or subconsciously? You mentioned that aggression plays a part in your songwriting, but are there artists who inspire it as well?

OR: Frank Black and David Bowie were my principal influences as a songwriter on this EP.

LC: Lyrically I feel myself always coming back to upsetting things like False Flags, Henry Kissinger, Israel’s occupation of Palestine, Beyoncé when I’m looking for inspiration.

TC: I have to ask, what is about Beyoncé that upsets you?

OR: With Beyoncé, the same people that are selling this feminist icon are the same people that are selling Barbie dolls. She’s sort of just that, a manufactured Barbie.

TC: I can see it now, Beyoncé’s acolytes are always waiting in the wings to attack any and all of her detractors and if they ever read this article…I personally think a flame war between you two would be awesome.

OR: Yeah, that’d be fun.

LC: [Laughs].

TC: So we’ve talked about what lyrically inspires you and your major influences, but what is the songwriting process in the band like? Is there any insight you can offer to let us peek at the man behind the curtain?

OR: We’ve tried writing a lot of different ways. I’ve written a song completely at home and brought it into the band to flesh out, or we’ll bring a song in and work on it. Usually that ends up being taken home and then someone sort of finishes it up.

LC: Usually these days someone brings in a skeleton of an idea and we workshop it until it feels right.

TC: Are there any songs that just sort of seemed to be there, a song that came together so easily that it must have just been waiting in the ether, ready to become real?

OR: “Ping Pong” is cool in that way, and we just wrote that in rehearsal. Some songs just come out of everyone together. We usually close our set with “Talk Trauma” because of that. It’s our best version of that.

LC: We actually learned that song best after we recorded it.

TC: What do you mean?

OR: It took us a few tries to get it down on the record, and after that we sort of learned it from the record version so we could play it live.

TC: What’s next for the band? Are you working on a new album or another EP?

OR: We’re looking at an EP. I’m not really interested in an album right now. I want to record two Eps. We have enough for that right?

LC: Seven or eight songs now.

OR: I feel good about two EPs because today the amount of albums or EPs you put out seems to be more important than the amount of songs that are on your release. The amount of launches you have seems to be more important than the amount of songs on each launch. Nobody really listens to much more than the first few songs, especially with BandCamp. When I listen to a friend’s band, it’s a couple of songs if it doesn’t grab me. When I’m driving, that’s when I listen to something all the way through.

LC: I buy albums and that’s when I listen to them all the way through. But yeah, if it’s a friend’s BandCamp, it’s probably a few songs.

TC: Oscar, you touched on feminism in discussing Beyoncé earlier and, as the rare band that definitely has a multi-gendered perspective, do you think that influences the songs in a unique way, or does it ultimately just come down to people making music?

OR: Being in a band with Rachel is definitely different. I had only been in real bands with guys before. We have such different colors now than anything I’ve done before. We’re on the same page and heading in the same direction and we have a lot of the same beliefs, but it definitely opens up the songwriting process.

LC: It’s really just a very thoughtful group of people. We’re able to talk openly about a lot of stuff and that definitely influences our songwriting.

TC: Is there anything else you’d like to talk about that you haven’t had the chance to so far in this interview? This is your soapbox, preach away.

LC: We get a lot of comparisons to The Pixies, and it’s not insulting in any way. It seems easy to reduce someone’s work though.

OR: Obviously The Pixies were a big part of our band when we started, but now we’re hearing a lot of other stuff too and it’s influencing our songs. Also, we really like our EP and we’re happy about it, but we really want to see people come out and see what we’re adding to the show. I’m working on a projection thing that would play throughout the whole show. We recommend checking out the band live. People who see live and hear the album are surprised. It’s not just us up there playing, we’re interacting with the audience in a real way. It’s different all the time. Last night was Louis’s birthday and we threw a pie in his face.

LC: I was cleaning it out of my guitar the next day.

TC: Oh, that’s rough. What kind of pie was it?

OR: Whipped cream.