Of Montreal, Chord, Fall 2008
Yes, Of Montreal is a pop band, but it's one that's innovative as hell. Whether it's the sound, the lyrics, or even the live performances, frontman—or maybe more appropriately "conductor"—Kevin Barnes strives to find new ways to combine, remix, and interpret styles and influences to keep of Montreal fresh and evolving. While of Montreal's last album, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, was a collection of upbeat pop songs designed to pull Barnes out of a gloomy funk, the inspiration for the new album, Skeletal Lamping, lacks a single narrative.
And that's how Barnes wanted it.
"Everything is very fractured and fragmented and I’m constantly contradicting myself in my thoughts and my concept of the world," he reflects. "I wanted to just make a record that represented that state of being. It’s important for you to feel totally free to contradict yourself and just be whoever you happen to be at the moment."
In a word, the album is best described as human. A multifaceted approach lends each song its own unpredictable personality in composition, style, and lyrics. "Nonpareil of Favor" starts off as a peppy indie pop song and ends in a lyricless drone, far from where the track began. "Touching Something's Hollow" is a wistful interlude with vocals and piano that explodes into "An Eluardian Instance," a texturally varied track about young love. The album is also not shy about sexuality, exploring everything from trans-gender relationships to prostitution.
A variety of musical styles pop out on this album, but Barnes specifically aimed to harness the bravado and energy of 70s funk. "You can draw parallels to all sorts of artists but I’m definitely pulling a lot from Prince, Sly Stone, Curtis Mayfield and people like that. And I’m also trying to incorporate more dissonance and tension, which is not really something you find in funk music."
But there is more to Skeletal Lamping than just fifteen tracks about kinky sex and wayward lovers. Barnes and the band felt they wanted to do something new with this release, something beyond a jewel case and booklet or a digipack. Taking advantage of the talented people in his life, Barnes teamed up with his brother, David (who has designed the band's album covers since 1997), and wife, Nina (who has done much of the band's merch), to create a set of seven objects that accompany the album. From a giant foldout monster poster with the CD to a Chinese lantern with a digital download, fans get a piece of art—and a reason to invest in the album even if they download it for free through other means.
"All the items we created we wanted to be integrated into people’s lifestyles. So it’s always gonna be an inspiring piece or a provocative piece or conversation piece, or something that has value just like any art piece does. The Chinese lantern and the wall decals—basically if you bought everything you could redesign your room."
For the upcoming tour, the band has replaced the electronic drum machine with a dedicated drummer who will play live on all tracks. Barnes hopes the addition will allow the band more freedom to improvise during the shows. of Montreal also plans a stage show that should impress even the most loyal fans accustomed to the band's theatrical style of glitter, glitz, and sensory overload. Using a separate room on wheels, the band will create a second environment on stage that can be turned around, re-staged, and then turned back to face the audience.
"What we’d love to do is transform each venue and create an other-world environment that you are not expecting at all," says Barnes.
Through their multifaceted approach to distribution and performance, of Montreal hopes to create new experiences for their fans that they hope will not only engage fans, but inspire them to participate and become a part of something larger. For Barnes, it's not just about the music, it's also about the spirit.
"I want the audience to feel like they’re part of the community, the sort of art collective that Of Montreal is," he says. "I really hope that people will dress up and feel like they’re part of the performance as well."
Showing posts with label Chord. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chord. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Friday, June 1, 2007
Book Review: Revolution on Canvas [Chord]
Chord, Issue 43, June 2007
Revolution on Canvas, Volume 2: Poetry from the Indie Music Scene
Edited by Richard Balling
Warner Books
In The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby suffers the disillusionment of realizing the American Dream only to find himself feeling more hollow and empty than ever before. Jay largely suffers this experience silently and even the denouement-shattering epiphany of his last scene is wordless. Presumably, the emotions of Bobby Darling of Gatsbys [sic] American Dream are more finely wrought and therefore explicable in print. Unfortunately, like the rest of the writing in Revolutions on Canvas Volume 2, Darling's poem is mercilessly melodramatic, with a banal metaphor that warrants expulsion from any serious poetry workshop. The collection of poetry and fiction from various names in the indie music scene takes itself entirely too seriously. I didn't laugh or cry or feel anything deep down in my soul, but I did roll my eyes. A lot. I also found myself cursing Charles Bukowski and E.E. Cummings until I remembered that it's not their fault they spawned a generation of imitators who think anything with random line breaks, misused punctuation, and sensory language constitutes "poetry."
There's no shortage of irony in this anthology, starting with the editor's stated intent to make poetry accessible to the apathetic. It calls itself a survey of indie music, but some of the best indie lyricists of today—Dave Berman, Mark Kozelek, Colin Meloy, to name a few—are nowhere to be found. Instead, with work from people like Fall Out Boy's Peter Wentz and A Static Lullaby's Joe Brown, this book gives hope to kids scribbling bad poetry in notebooks that one day they, too, will be published poets. That said, people love this sort of stuff—it's how the emo corner of the indie rock world became popular in the first place. The second installment of Revolution on Canvas may amount to Chicken Soup for the Tortured Soul, but in the end, reading is better than cutting.
The second installment of Revolution on Canvas may amount to Chicken Soup for the Tortured Soul, but in the end, reading is better than cutting.
Revolution on Canvas, Volume 2: Poetry from the Indie Music Scene
Edited by Richard Balling
Warner Books
In The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby suffers the disillusionment of realizing the American Dream only to find himself feeling more hollow and empty than ever before. Jay largely suffers this experience silently and even the denouement-shattering epiphany of his last scene is wordless. Presumably, the emotions of Bobby Darling of Gatsbys [sic] American Dream are more finely wrought and therefore explicable in print. Unfortunately, like the rest of the writing in Revolutions on Canvas Volume 2, Darling's poem is mercilessly melodramatic, with a banal metaphor that warrants expulsion from any serious poetry workshop. The collection of poetry and fiction from various names in the indie music scene takes itself entirely too seriously. I didn't laugh or cry or feel anything deep down in my soul, but I did roll my eyes. A lot. I also found myself cursing Charles Bukowski and E.E. Cummings until I remembered that it's not their fault they spawned a generation of imitators who think anything with random line breaks, misused punctuation, and sensory language constitutes "poetry."
There's no shortage of irony in this anthology, starting with the editor's stated intent to make poetry accessible to the apathetic. It calls itself a survey of indie music, but some of the best indie lyricists of today—Dave Berman, Mark Kozelek, Colin Meloy, to name a few—are nowhere to be found. Instead, with work from people like Fall Out Boy's Peter Wentz and A Static Lullaby's Joe Brown, this book gives hope to kids scribbling bad poetry in notebooks that one day they, too, will be published poets. That said, people love this sort of stuff—it's how the emo corner of the indie rock world became popular in the first place. The second installment of Revolution on Canvas may amount to Chicken Soup for the Tortured Soul, but in the end, reading is better than cutting.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Low: Delight Us With Silence [Chord]
Chord [site is down], Issue 42, April 2007
When Alan Sparhawk started Low, he had no idea that nearly fourteen years later they would still be making records. "We were just kind of fiddling around and we had no ambitions at all," says the frontman. "The next thought was that we’d do a show and see what kind of adverse reaction we’d get out of people. It was very much dictated that we’re gonna play really slow music that’s barely there and see how little we can get away with." But they began to realize the possibilities of the style and it caught on with fans. Now, on the brink of their fourteenth year of playing haunting, minimalist music with his wife Mimi Parker, they're set to release a new album on SubPop, Drums and Guns.
The band's dirge-like percussion, grinding, minimal guitars, long harmonic vocal phrases, and emotional lyrics resulted in a sound so different that it prompted a friend of Sparhawk to coin the term that has followed them throughout their career. "We played our first shows here in Duluth and this friend of ours who worked in a record store was always joking around about the intricacies of the music scene and he said ‘I got it! You should call it Slowcore!’" Sparhawk reminisces. "It was a total joke and I think I mentioned it at one of our interviews." The tag stuck. They don't hate it but they do find it amusing. "You gotta have those tags I guess. I think that there are worse things to be called."
Their style has deeper roots than trying to shake things up in Duluth. Like many musicians, Sparhawk learned more about music in church than anywhere else. "Anyone who’s grown up going to church regularly with their family ends up singing those hymns and for some kids that’s the only singing you do throughout the week except for maybe some singing in school during the week." Alan was raised as a Mormon and his father, a jazz musician, often enlisted him up to sing for the congregation. "We’d loathe doing it but I look back and I realize that here were some semi-sophisticated things we learned from doing that," he says. "Harmony, breathing, holding notes, enunciation… those songs move slowly and there’s very long phrasing." That style has come to define Low's vocals.
The trio teamed up again with the producer of their 2005 rock-and-reverb infused album, The Great Destroyer, but Drums and Guns is nothing like their last outing with the David Friddman, the producer known as "the Fifth Flaming Lip." "David is a good producer," says Sparhawk. "He lets the band breathe and helps you push yourself. There was a lot of conversation homework, a lot of phone calls before we went in to record, just kind of me rambling and mumbling about whatever my concerns were and by the time we got to the studio he at least had me figured out a little bit and help us get on the right track and find what we were looking for."
Low is back from their adventure in rock with the new album, but this time they took a different approach in the studio than they have in the past. "You can hear drum machines and loops and there’s more dabbling in mechanical things," says Sparhawk. "We kind of assembled the record like a hip hop record." It's a departure from their usual method of sitting down in the studio, playing the songs as if playing for an audience, and fleshing them out as they go along. "After all these years I just sort of know all the patterns we’d fall into if we just do that so we decided to not do it that way," he says.
Sparhawk and Parker will tour this spring in support of the new album with current bassist Matt Livingston (also the bassist in a Sparhawk side project, Retribution Gospel Choir), but with one of their two children now in school, the future calls for changes. Sparhawk admits, "It’s getting more and more difficult to work out scheduling for touring." Regardless of whether or not they decide to really settle down, they will never give up music altogether. "It seems like music is just part of us," he says. "It’s kind of what our family has become and I think we’ll always have something that we’re doing in that realm."
For now, Low fans can relish Drums and Guns as a study of what has kept this band unique throughout the years. "There’s definitely a couple songs that, as far as recordings and stuff," says Sparhawk, "I definitely think are the strongest things that we've done."
— Jess Hemerly, April 2007
The band's dirge-like percussion, grinding, minimal guitars, long harmonic vocal phrases, and emotional lyrics resulted in a sound so different that it prompted a friend of Sparhawk to coin the term that has followed them throughout their career. "We played our first shows here in Duluth and this friend of ours who worked in a record store was always joking around about the intricacies of the music scene and he said ‘I got it! You should call it Slowcore!’" Sparhawk reminisces.
When Alan Sparhawk started Low, he had no idea that nearly fourteen years later they would still be making records. "We were just kind of fiddling around and we had no ambitions at all," says the frontman. "The next thought was that we’d do a show and see what kind of adverse reaction we’d get out of people. It was very much dictated that we’re gonna play really slow music that’s barely there and see how little we can get away with." But they began to realize the possibilities of the style and it caught on with fans. Now, on the brink of their fourteenth year of playing haunting, minimalist music with his wife Mimi Parker, they're set to release a new album on SubPop, Drums and Guns.
The band's dirge-like percussion, grinding, minimal guitars, long harmonic vocal phrases, and emotional lyrics resulted in a sound so different that it prompted a friend of Sparhawk to coin the term that has followed them throughout their career. "We played our first shows here in Duluth and this friend of ours who worked in a record store was always joking around about the intricacies of the music scene and he said ‘I got it! You should call it Slowcore!’" Sparhawk reminisces. "It was a total joke and I think I mentioned it at one of our interviews." The tag stuck. They don't hate it but they do find it amusing. "You gotta have those tags I guess. I think that there are worse things to be called."
Their style has deeper roots than trying to shake things up in Duluth. Like many musicians, Sparhawk learned more about music in church than anywhere else. "Anyone who’s grown up going to church regularly with their family ends up singing those hymns and for some kids that’s the only singing you do throughout the week except for maybe some singing in school during the week." Alan was raised as a Mormon and his father, a jazz musician, often enlisted him up to sing for the congregation. "We’d loathe doing it but I look back and I realize that here were some semi-sophisticated things we learned from doing that," he says. "Harmony, breathing, holding notes, enunciation… those songs move slowly and there’s very long phrasing." That style has come to define Low's vocals.
The trio teamed up again with the producer of their 2005 rock-and-reverb infused album, The Great Destroyer, but Drums and Guns is nothing like their last outing with the David Friddman, the producer known as "the Fifth Flaming Lip." "David is a good producer," says Sparhawk. "He lets the band breathe and helps you push yourself. There was a lot of conversation homework, a lot of phone calls before we went in to record, just kind of me rambling and mumbling about whatever my concerns were and by the time we got to the studio he at least had me figured out a little bit and help us get on the right track and find what we were looking for."
Low is back from their adventure in rock with the new album, but this time they took a different approach in the studio than they have in the past. "You can hear drum machines and loops and there’s more dabbling in mechanical things," says Sparhawk. "We kind of assembled the record like a hip hop record." It's a departure from their usual method of sitting down in the studio, playing the songs as if playing for an audience, and fleshing them out as they go along. "After all these years I just sort of know all the patterns we’d fall into if we just do that so we decided to not do it that way," he says.
Sparhawk and Parker will tour this spring in support of the new album with current bassist Matt Livingston (also the bassist in a Sparhawk side project, Retribution Gospel Choir), but with one of their two children now in school, the future calls for changes. Sparhawk admits, "It’s getting more and more difficult to work out scheduling for touring." Regardless of whether or not they decide to really settle down, they will never give up music altogether. "It seems like music is just part of us," he says. "It’s kind of what our family has become and I think we’ll always have something that we’re doing in that realm."
For now, Low fans can relish Drums and Guns as a study of what has kept this band unique throughout the years. "There’s definitely a couple songs that, as far as recordings and stuff," says Sparhawk, "I definitely think are the strongest things that we've done."
— Jess Hemerly, April 2007
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The Dears: Critics of Cool [Chord]
Chord [site currently down], Issue 40, November 2006
If you ask The Dears' frontman Murray Lightburn what he thinks about the Canadian indie scene, he'll answer, "Why wasn't anyone asking about it ten years ago?" Maybe it's because a large chunk of the audience following today's surge of Canadian imports was still playing on jungle gyms ten years ago. "Canada is just a place," says Lightburn, but he adds, "The Dears have Canadian passports, for which we are truly grateful." It's no wonder, though, that Lightburn brushes the question off. His band is an aberration from saccharin-sweet pop embraced by today's popular Canadian indie bands. The Dears craft a unique sound from contemplative and dark lyrics layered over rich, orchestral compositions—and happen to hail from Montreal.
The sextet has also been at it for a lot longer than some of the other Canadian bands now popular in the United States and worldwide, but The Dears have remained largely under the radar. The core members of the band—Muray Lightburn, Natalia Yanchak, George Donoso, and Martin Pelland—have been working together for six years, when it first started as a sort of singer/songwriter vehicle for Lightburn. After a series of additional instrumentalists and guitarists who didn't quite fit, the complete lineup, which includes Valerie Jodoin-Keaton on keyboard and flute and Patrick Krief on guitar, has been together for two years. "The lineup we have now kind of feels like a 'forever' line up, very thick and thin," says Lightburn. "This lineup has been through the most shit together and even our road crew is like family. We would probably kill for each other."
While The Dears have been compared to Britpop bands like Blur and their frontman himself to Morrissey, the similarity is far from uncanny. He's not trying to emulate. He has taken something away from everything he's listened to, even the string and horn arrangements of Isaac Hayes tracks. "I think that in my case, music chose me—us, for that matter," says Lightburn. "Sometimes it's a blessing; other times, a curse." Like many musicians, Lightburn's relationship with music started at an early age. "The first song I remember barely singing was 'Oh Little Town of Bethlehem,'" he reminisces. "Apparently I made people cry. I was, like, five."
The impact he had on that church congregation may have been accidental, but the impact of his work today is not. Lightburn looked to achieve something that feels much more organic than the usual studio album that results from tweaking and splicing takes. Recorded in Lightburn's home, Gang of Losers is much more bare than No Cities Left, their acclaimed 2004 release, and 2000's End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story. Every song on the album is a single, continuous take of that track without edits or punch-ins. The texture on Losers comes partly from the intricate compositions, but also from the raw simplicity of the production process. It opens with "Sinthro," which sounds like the breakdown in an M83 track, and turns into a strong rock/pop album from track two on. The album is cohesive and successfully achieves Lightburn's goal.
Gang of Losers is about the nerds, the individuals, the ones who are only uncool because they don't follow the herd. Aptly titled, it captures the experience of feeling like a loser, something even the cool kids can grasp. He's frustrated by today's obsession with hip, a frustration succinctly captured by this bit from "Bandwagoneers": Heaven knows that I'm a freak / Heaven knows that we're all faking it. In the narrative "Ballad of Humankindness," Lightburn laments about the depressing state of nightly news and makes an appeal to humanity, crooning "I think it's time that we all learned forgiveness." Lightburn explains, "I write from a microscopically personal point of view because it's all I know. I vent because if I don't, my hands may wind up around some person's throat." The lyrics on Losers are poignant and sung beautifully in Lightburn's polished voice.
The music industry and the various scenes spawned from the way it functions seem to fuel his writing. His view of the industry is, in fact, rather grim. "Everyone is confused and no one knows what to like or what's any good. Majors, Indies, doesn't matter," he says. "The whole concept of the music industry is completely fucked. It's like a giant web that's been spun for a thousand years and we're all trapped. God help us." Could more bands like The Dears help break the industry's grim traditions? Let's hope.
— Jess Hemerly, November 2006
Gang of Losers is about the nerds, the individuals, the ones who are only uncool because they don't follow the herd. Aptly titled, it captures the experience of feeling like a loser, something even the cool kids can grasp.
If you ask The Dears' frontman Murray Lightburn what he thinks about the Canadian indie scene, he'll answer, "Why wasn't anyone asking about it ten years ago?" Maybe it's because a large chunk of the audience following today's surge of Canadian imports was still playing on jungle gyms ten years ago. "Canada is just a place," says Lightburn, but he adds, "The Dears have Canadian passports, for which we are truly grateful." It's no wonder, though, that Lightburn brushes the question off. His band is an aberration from saccharin-sweet pop embraced by today's popular Canadian indie bands. The Dears craft a unique sound from contemplative and dark lyrics layered over rich, orchestral compositions—and happen to hail from Montreal.
The sextet has also been at it for a lot longer than some of the other Canadian bands now popular in the United States and worldwide, but The Dears have remained largely under the radar. The core members of the band—Muray Lightburn, Natalia Yanchak, George Donoso, and Martin Pelland—have been working together for six years, when it first started as a sort of singer/songwriter vehicle for Lightburn. After a series of additional instrumentalists and guitarists who didn't quite fit, the complete lineup, which includes Valerie Jodoin-Keaton on keyboard and flute and Patrick Krief on guitar, has been together for two years. "The lineup we have now kind of feels like a 'forever' line up, very thick and thin," says Lightburn. "This lineup has been through the most shit together and even our road crew is like family. We would probably kill for each other."
While The Dears have been compared to Britpop bands like Blur and their frontman himself to Morrissey, the similarity is far from uncanny. He's not trying to emulate. He has taken something away from everything he's listened to, even the string and horn arrangements of Isaac Hayes tracks. "I think that in my case, music chose me—us, for that matter," says Lightburn. "Sometimes it's a blessing; other times, a curse." Like many musicians, Lightburn's relationship with music started at an early age. "The first song I remember barely singing was 'Oh Little Town of Bethlehem,'" he reminisces. "Apparently I made people cry. I was, like, five."
The impact he had on that church congregation may have been accidental, but the impact of his work today is not. Lightburn looked to achieve something that feels much more organic than the usual studio album that results from tweaking and splicing takes. Recorded in Lightburn's home, Gang of Losers is much more bare than No Cities Left, their acclaimed 2004 release, and 2000's End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story. Every song on the album is a single, continuous take of that track without edits or punch-ins. The texture on Losers comes partly from the intricate compositions, but also from the raw simplicity of the production process. It opens with "Sinthro," which sounds like the breakdown in an M83 track, and turns into a strong rock/pop album from track two on. The album is cohesive and successfully achieves Lightburn's goal.
Gang of Losers is about the nerds, the individuals, the ones who are only uncool because they don't follow the herd. Aptly titled, it captures the experience of feeling like a loser, something even the cool kids can grasp. He's frustrated by today's obsession with hip, a frustration succinctly captured by this bit from "Bandwagoneers": Heaven knows that I'm a freak / Heaven knows that we're all faking it. In the narrative "Ballad of Humankindness," Lightburn laments about the depressing state of nightly news and makes an appeal to humanity, crooning "I think it's time that we all learned forgiveness." Lightburn explains, "I write from a microscopically personal point of view because it's all I know. I vent because if I don't, my hands may wind up around some person's throat." The lyrics on Losers are poignant and sung beautifully in Lightburn's polished voice.
The music industry and the various scenes spawned from the way it functions seem to fuel his writing. His view of the industry is, in fact, rather grim. "Everyone is confused and no one knows what to like or what's any good. Majors, Indies, doesn't matter," he says. "The whole concept of the music industry is completely fucked. It's like a giant web that's been spun for a thousand years and we're all trapped. God help us." Could more bands like The Dears help break the industry's grim traditions? Let's hope.
— Jess Hemerly, November 2006
Thursday, June 1, 2006
Saosin [Chord]
Chord [site currently down], Issue 39A (Warped Tour Special Issue), June 2006
If you're not sure how to pronounce Saosin, you're not alone. Even the band's five members fluctuate between pronunciations—sometimes it's "say ocean," sometimes "say oh sin." But according to bassist Chris Sorensen, knowing their music is more important than properly pronouncing the name, which former lead singer Anthony Green adapted from the Chinese word for "be careful," xiaoxin (the literal English translation is "small heart"). One thing is for certain, though: while the recording industry struggles to compete with technology, these SoCal-based rockers used it to launch a career.
Saosin began with a grassroots Internet campaign where band members posted MP3s to music message boards. "We didn't whore ourselves out," says Sorensen. "We just made it so people heard the music and didn't even necessarily know who the band was." Their viral strategy worked. Their first show, part of a local showcase, sold out. Kids lined the front of the stage, mouthing the words to the songs.
Now with a Capitol Records deal and a spot at Warped Tour for the second year in a row, Saosin is in the studio working on their first full-length album to complement their two existing EPs. "The only expectations they have are that we have a good record," says Chris. "They really work with what we have instead of coming to us with some cookie cutter 'this works' type scheme."
Even as they gain momentum, they haven't forgotten their cyber beginnings. Saosin's MySpace page boasts nearly 140,000 friends. "The coolest thing about MySpace is that you can listen to that band and then go check out some hot babe's page," Chris chuckles. They also want to see other talented bands succeed. Their web-based "Open for Saosin" contest put unknown bands on the bill with them. "It's cool that they earned that show," says Chris. "The bands that worked really hard to do it are the ones that are going to try and make it." They'd love to do it again in the future.
Between an unexpected spot on the main stage and managing the merch table, driving, and setup, Saosin was overwhelmed at Warped in 2005. But despite surviving on little sleep, Chris considers it a pivotal moment in their career. "I think that tour was, financially and as far as gaining fans and exposure, our biggest moment so far." This year they plan to hire some people and appreciate Warped. You might even see drummer Alex and lead singer Cove swinging at pitches in the MLB batting cage, but not Chris. His skills behind the plate pale in comparison to his skills on bass, and he's hostile to America's pastime. "I'm an anti-baseball fan, and you can tell that to the Major League guys."
- Jess Hemerly, June 2006
Saosin began with a grassroots Internet campaign where band members posted MP3s to music message boards. "We didn't whore ourselves out," says Sorensen. "We just made it so people heard the music and didn't even necessarily know who the band was." Their viral strategy worked. Their first show, part of a local showcase, sold out. Kids lined the front of the stage, mouthing the words to the songs.
If you're not sure how to pronounce Saosin, you're not alone. Even the band's five members fluctuate between pronunciations—sometimes it's "say ocean," sometimes "say oh sin." But according to bassist Chris Sorensen, knowing their music is more important than properly pronouncing the name, which former lead singer Anthony Green adapted from the Chinese word for "be careful," xiaoxin (the literal English translation is "small heart"). One thing is for certain, though: while the recording industry struggles to compete with technology, these SoCal-based rockers used it to launch a career.
Saosin began with a grassroots Internet campaign where band members posted MP3s to music message boards. "We didn't whore ourselves out," says Sorensen. "We just made it so people heard the music and didn't even necessarily know who the band was." Their viral strategy worked. Their first show, part of a local showcase, sold out. Kids lined the front of the stage, mouthing the words to the songs.
Now with a Capitol Records deal and a spot at Warped Tour for the second year in a row, Saosin is in the studio working on their first full-length album to complement their two existing EPs. "The only expectations they have are that we have a good record," says Chris. "They really work with what we have instead of coming to us with some cookie cutter 'this works' type scheme."
Even as they gain momentum, they haven't forgotten their cyber beginnings. Saosin's MySpace page boasts nearly 140,000 friends. "The coolest thing about MySpace is that you can listen to that band and then go check out some hot babe's page," Chris chuckles. They also want to see other talented bands succeed. Their web-based "Open for Saosin" contest put unknown bands on the bill with them. "It's cool that they earned that show," says Chris. "The bands that worked really hard to do it are the ones that are going to try and make it." They'd love to do it again in the future.
Between an unexpected spot on the main stage and managing the merch table, driving, and setup, Saosin was overwhelmed at Warped in 2005. But despite surviving on little sleep, Chris considers it a pivotal moment in their career. "I think that tour was, financially and as far as gaining fans and exposure, our biggest moment so far." This year they plan to hire some people and appreciate Warped. You might even see drummer Alex and lead singer Cove swinging at pitches in the MLB batting cage, but not Chris. His skills behind the plate pale in comparison to his skills on bass, and he's hostile to America's pastime. "I'm an anti-baseball fan, and you can tell that to the Major League guys."
- Jess Hemerly, June 2006
Tour Essentials: Moneen [Chord]
Chord [site is down], Issue 39A (Warped Tour Special Issue, 2006)
The guys of Moneen are no strangers to the road. Fresh off the release of their second full-length album, The Red Tree, those in the know have flocked to Moneen's remarkable live performances for years. Moneen brings their emotionally loaded lyrics and the colossal dreads and potent sound of guitarist Chris "Hippy" Hughes—think My Bloody Valentine meets Minor Threat—to the MLB/Vagrant stage at this year's Warped Tour. Lead singer Kenny Bridges talks about three things you won't find the band without.
- Jess Hemerly
The guys of Moneen are no strangers to the road. Fresh off the release of their second full-length album, The Red Tree, those in the know have flocked to Moneen's remarkable live performances for years. Moneen brings their emotionally loaded lyrics and the colossal dreads and potent sound of guitarist Chris "Hippy" Hughes—think My Bloody Valentine meets Minor Threat—to the MLB/Vagrant stage at this year's Warped Tour. Lead singer Kenny Bridges talks about three things you won't find the band without.
- An arsenal of socks and underwear. With all of their experience on stage, you won't find the guys getting cold feet—or tolerating wet ones. "Soggy feet equal grumpy moods," says Kenny, "so socks are essential." Kenny admits, though, that rocking out commando is okay once in a while.
- A butter knife. Forget the Swiss Army knife. The dull old butter knife is a necessity that you might need when you least expect it. And they're serious about it. "If we screw ourselves by not bringing a butter knife on tour again," Kenny threatens, "I swear I will quit the band." Just what they use it for remains a mystery, but apparently it's for more than just cheese and butter.
- Something to pass the time. Kenny suggests a string. "Hours of fun. Tie knots, tie friends, tie shoes... endless possibilities," he says. Even a band on Warped Tour can find pleasure in the simple things, right? Maybe not... "What am I talking about, string sucks." Perhaps they help Chris take care of his dreads instead.
- Jess Hemerly
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