Quasi's success is a balancing act – musical and otherwise – for divorced duo
By Chris Nixon
For The San Diego Union-Tribune
April 20, 2006
If Rachmaninoff, Thelonius Monk and the Flaming Lips gathered in a room for a jam session, the results might sound something like Quasi's 2006 album “When the Going Gets Dark.” Big piano chords (Rachmaninoff), atonal melodies (Thelonius) and an outsider pop mentality (Flaming Lips) collide in 11 tracks of beautiful psychedelic cacophony, a sound that has everything to do with the relationship between its two members.
The duo's sound extends from the complicated relationship between Sam Coomes (piano, guitar, bass, vocals) and Janet Weiss (drums, vocals). Weiss – who anchors the drum kit for Portland trio Sleater-Kinney – and the well-traveled Coomes (Elliot Smith, Built to Spill) once were married during the band's early years. Now with the relationship purely professional and friendly (the two divorced in 1995), “Going” was Quasi's seventh album.
Coomes writes almost all of Quasi's songs, but the key to the band's music success lies in the balance between the two personalities. Said Coomes: “I feel like we're fairly equal. We're fairly balanced. We set up opposite each other onstage: Nobody's in front, nobody's in back.”
Despite leaving the difficulties of relationship in their rearview mirrors, recording the new release presented unforeseen obstacles. Coomes and Weiss finished the recording of the album and were pleased with the basic tracks. But the challenge came when they tried to mix the tracks into complete songs.
“Recording the initial tracks – when Janet and I were just sitting in there playing – we were really feeling it,” said Coomes. “We were happy with what we got on tape as far as our performances go. That was why we stuck with it. We knew it was happening at some level. But it really got bogged down along the way. When it was all done, we were kind of relieved that it came out as good as it did.”
The solution came when Quasi decided to send the tracks to Dave Fridmann (Flaming Lips, Café Tacuba), giving him free reign to come up with the final mix: “Eventually, he was able to figure out how it all fit together and sow it all up sonically.”
For the first time in over a decade, Quasi will be performing with an additional musician when the tour stops at San Diego's Casbah club on Kettner Boulevard Monday. Coomes said bassist Joanna Bolme (Stephen Malkmus) will allow the pair to experiment more in the live context.
“We've always been reluctant to add another person, not because of sound reasons but mostly we don't want anybody getting in our way,” said Coomes. “When we play live, we really get off on going out on a limb and really going nuts. So we don't want to be limited. But, actually, with Joanna it helps us to do that more. She can hold down the center and I can go off even more.”
Despite the ups and downs of the music industry and personal relationships, Coomes and Weiss still find their musical connection unique and fulfilling.
“Quasi is intrinsic to our lives,” Coomes said. “Each one of us gets something out of it that wouldn't be easily gotten in a different context. So we're willing to work through whatever difficulties come our way, and we've had more than our share for sure.
“Why do we do this? It's not for money. We just do it because we love it and we get something out of it. If people like it, that's great. And if they don't, we'd still do it anyway.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Umphrey's McGee pushes jam band music forward
Jam band embraces spontaneity, followers
By Chris Nixon
For The San Diego Union-Tribune
April 11, 2006
The words “jam band” evoke a variety of images and stereotypes, both musical and cultural. The bands typically adopt an improvisational style, drawing new fans through word-of-mouth and constant touring. Kids usually follow groups on their tours, creating a traveling subculture.
For Chicago band Umphrey's McGee, acceptance into the jam band lifestyle brought a constant flow of devoted fans.
“I see it as we're part of this community, a really great community that allows us to experiment in our live show,” said percussionist Andy Farag from his home in the Windy City. “People come out and travel from state to state to see us. We embrace (the term jam band). This is how we make a living.”
The music of Umphrey's McGee – with its tendency toward both tight songwriting on studio albums and long jams during live shows – places the sextet at the forefront of the next generation of jam bands (see also Particle and Disco Biscuits). After its humble roots in 1998 in the Midwestern town of South Bend, Ind., the group grew an audience through constant touring.
Learning the music business through touring can leave bands scratching their heads, especially jam bands. Even the most ardent of Grateful Dead fans (affectionately dubbed Deadheads) will admit the legendary group's studio output was uneven and mediocre at best compared with its live shows. Instead of creating material on the spot, Umphrey's McGee was forced to learn the art of studio songwriting.
Umphrey's McGee – Jake Cinninger (guitar), Joel Cummins (keyboards, vocals), Brendan Bayliss (guitar, vocals), Ryan Stasik (bass), Kris Myers (drums, vocals) and Farag (percussion) – released its third studio album recently, titled “Safety in Numbers.” The disc features 11 tracks of prog rock and tight songwriting, with guest appearances by veteran rocker Huey Lewis and touted jazz sax player Joshua Redman.
“Over the past couple of albums we've been working on (writing material to fit the studio format),” admitted Farag. “We realized that we have to be different in our live show and our studio work. I think we did it a little better this time around with 'Safety in Numbers.' In the studio, you have to be short and concise compared to a show. So you have to be mentally prepared to separate those two things.”
Despite the solid collection of tunes on “Safety in Numbers,” the calling card of Umphrey's McGee continues to be its live performances.
“People come see us for the improvs,” said Farag. “We try to write songs on the spot. It's the spontaneity of the experience that keeps people coming back, the freshness of every show. Nobody knows what's going to happen next, not even us onstage.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The San Diego Union-Tribune
April 11, 2006
The words “jam band” evoke a variety of images and stereotypes, both musical and cultural. The bands typically adopt an improvisational style, drawing new fans through word-of-mouth and constant touring. Kids usually follow groups on their tours, creating a traveling subculture.
For Chicago band Umphrey's McGee, acceptance into the jam band lifestyle brought a constant flow of devoted fans.
“I see it as we're part of this community, a really great community that allows us to experiment in our live show,” said percussionist Andy Farag from his home in the Windy City. “People come out and travel from state to state to see us. We embrace (the term jam band). This is how we make a living.”
The music of Umphrey's McGee – with its tendency toward both tight songwriting on studio albums and long jams during live shows – places the sextet at the forefront of the next generation of jam bands (see also Particle and Disco Biscuits). After its humble roots in 1998 in the Midwestern town of South Bend, Ind., the group grew an audience through constant touring.
Learning the music business through touring can leave bands scratching their heads, especially jam bands. Even the most ardent of Grateful Dead fans (affectionately dubbed Deadheads) will admit the legendary group's studio output was uneven and mediocre at best compared with its live shows. Instead of creating material on the spot, Umphrey's McGee was forced to learn the art of studio songwriting.
Umphrey's McGee – Jake Cinninger (guitar), Joel Cummins (keyboards, vocals), Brendan Bayliss (guitar, vocals), Ryan Stasik (bass), Kris Myers (drums, vocals) and Farag (percussion) – released its third studio album recently, titled “Safety in Numbers.” The disc features 11 tracks of prog rock and tight songwriting, with guest appearances by veteran rocker Huey Lewis and touted jazz sax player Joshua Redman.
“Over the past couple of albums we've been working on (writing material to fit the studio format),” admitted Farag. “We realized that we have to be different in our live show and our studio work. I think we did it a little better this time around with 'Safety in Numbers.' In the studio, you have to be short and concise compared to a show. So you have to be mentally prepared to separate those two things.”
Despite the solid collection of tunes on “Safety in Numbers,” the calling card of Umphrey's McGee continues to be its live performances.
“People come see us for the improvs,” said Farag. “We try to write songs on the spot. It's the spontaneity of the experience that keeps people coming back, the freshness of every show. Nobody knows what's going to happen next, not even us onstage.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Jamie Lidell in N&D
Lidell's music draws from a wide range of styles
By Chris Nixon
For The San Diego Union-Tribune
April 10, 2006
Bubblegum Motown. Parliament's space funk. 1980s R&B crooners. Dance-floor electronica. From a dusty Southern shack to the flashy discos of New York City, funk and soul shifts to fit the times.
Amazingly, a 32-year-old English native turned German resident captures the spectrum of soul all on one album, skipping easily from classic Marvin Gaye-inspired soul songs to dance tracks informed by modern club music.
Meet Jamie Lidell. His 2005 release “Multiply” effortlessly encapsulates the history of soul and funk in his sprawling set of 10 tunes. Lidell cites funk and soul as inspirations, but also “noise, jazz, blues, techno, house, glam, dirtcore, unterbeat, the big ole pop, the lesser known pitch touch, rock 'n' rules, the hop, the fug, all that.”
From the subtle soul of “Games of Fools” (in which Lidell sounds like a young Sam Cooke) to the Rick James-esque “When I Come Around” (complete with hand claps and 1980s keyboards), the disc covers a dizzying array of song styles but manages to hold to together as a complete whole.
“Either I must have many sides or no core or just a lot of shades to my shadow,” mused Lidell from his home in Berlin.
The recording process for “Multiply” took the multi-instrumentalist three years, with sessions taking place mostly at his home studio. Lidell worked primarily with producer-musician-DJ Mocky (aka Dominic Salole), along with an occasional live drummer to fill out the sound.
“It unfolded like a book: one of those fat phone books,” said Lidell about the process behind “Multiply.” “The studio is a weird place for me, but I try to let out what's brewing. I see it as a form of sonic sweat. Sometimes it'll smell sweet, sometimes funky – but it's gotta come out when it gets hot.”
In his solo live shows, Liddell utilizes technology to layer his vocals and keyboard parts. But don't expect him to hide behind a laptop when he starts his latest American tour tonight in San Diego. A Jamie Lidell concert is singing, dancing and performance art all wrapped into one: “When I play live, I try and just let the music flood out like tea from a bag.”
When asked about the Casbah gig, Lidell said, “I will attempt to stop time. It's a risky game, but if you wanna be there, we could make it last forever.”
Enough said.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The San Diego Union-Tribune
April 10, 2006
Bubblegum Motown. Parliament's space funk. 1980s R&B crooners. Dance-floor electronica. From a dusty Southern shack to the flashy discos of New York City, funk and soul shifts to fit the times.
Amazingly, a 32-year-old English native turned German resident captures the spectrum of soul all on one album, skipping easily from classic Marvin Gaye-inspired soul songs to dance tracks informed by modern club music.
Meet Jamie Lidell. His 2005 release “Multiply” effortlessly encapsulates the history of soul and funk in his sprawling set of 10 tunes. Lidell cites funk and soul as inspirations, but also “noise, jazz, blues, techno, house, glam, dirtcore, unterbeat, the big ole pop, the lesser known pitch touch, rock 'n' rules, the hop, the fug, all that.”
From the subtle soul of “Games of Fools” (in which Lidell sounds like a young Sam Cooke) to the Rick James-esque “When I Come Around” (complete with hand claps and 1980s keyboards), the disc covers a dizzying array of song styles but manages to hold to together as a complete whole.
“Either I must have many sides or no core or just a lot of shades to my shadow,” mused Lidell from his home in Berlin.
The recording process for “Multiply” took the multi-instrumentalist three years, with sessions taking place mostly at his home studio. Lidell worked primarily with producer-musician-DJ Mocky (aka Dominic Salole), along with an occasional live drummer to fill out the sound.
“It unfolded like a book: one of those fat phone books,” said Lidell about the process behind “Multiply.” “The studio is a weird place for me, but I try to let out what's brewing. I see it as a form of sonic sweat. Sometimes it'll smell sweet, sometimes funky – but it's gotta come out when it gets hot.”
In his solo live shows, Liddell utilizes technology to layer his vocals and keyboard parts. But don't expect him to hide behind a laptop when he starts his latest American tour tonight in San Diego. A Jamie Lidell concert is singing, dancing and performance art all wrapped into one: “When I play live, I try and just let the music flood out like tea from a bag.”
When asked about the Casbah gig, Lidell said, “I will attempt to stop time. It's a risky game, but if you wanna be there, we could make it last forever.”
Enough said.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Sia Furler in Night&Day
'Six Feet' gave her work yards of exposure
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 30, 2006
As more high-profile television shows like “The O.C.” adopt music-video stylings with glossy montages and artsy cinematography, television soundtracks provide the perfect conduit for musicians to access larger audiences. Australian-born vocalist Sia Furler experienced firsthand the dramatic effect TV can have on a music career. Featured during the closing scene of “Six Feet Under's” final show, her song “Breathe Me” immediately rocketed into public consciousness.
“I approved usage of the song, but I had no idea in what context,” said Furler from Los Angeles where she was rehearsing her band for a tour starting in San Diego Saturday. “I woke one morning and went to the computer; I had about 15 e-mails from all my American friends basically filled with expletives and exclamation points. Everyone was watching the final heartbreaking montage and it was my song as the soundtrack. I was pretty excited, obviously. Within a couple of days, the song had gone to No. 4 on Amazon.com.”
Originally featured on Sia's 2004 UK album “Colour the Small One,” the song hadn't caused much of a stir with fans or critics until its appearance on “Six Feet Under.” Punctuated by Furler's soulful, intimate vocals and subtle downtempo electronic pop, the song's sweet sincerity struck a chord with viewers and gave the album a new life.
But Furler (who records under her first name) experienced the fickle nature of success in the music industry. Born in Adelaide, Australia, she jammed in funk and soul bands, honing her skills as a vocalist before moving to London. There, she hooked up with an inexperienced manager who helped her sign a deal that, she said, hurt her development as an artist: “He signed me to a pretty crummy record deal. I really didn't know anything about it. I was fine as long as I could pay my phone bill and my electricity bill.”
The record deal yielded one hit in the United Kingdom, “Taken for Granted,” but her debut album, “Healing Is Difficult,” was slow to hit shelves in stores. Interest in it fizzled.
Meanwhile, producers Henry Binns and Sam Hardaker of Zero 7 heard her tapes and asked her to participate in the band's debut disc, “Simple Things.” She also will sing on Zero 7's upcoming release “The Garden.” She toured with Zero 7 (along with Tina Dico, who performed here a few weeks ago at the Casbah), but her solo career stood at a standstill until “Six Feet Under” came along.
“Colour the Small One” just saw a release in the United States with her new label Astralwerks. Needless to say, Furler is excited about touring with her top-notch group.
“I hope they're my band forever, although I imagine they won't be because they're so good,” said Furler, whose band includes drummer Joey Waronker, guitarist Guy Seyffert, keyboardist Joseph John Kennedy, bassist Sam Dixon and cellist Ollie Kraus. “I'm sure they'll outgrow me or I won't be able to afford them at some stage.”
She's particularly happy with Waronker (R.E.M., Smashing Pumpkins, Beck) taking a seat behind the drum kit: “He's actually a producer these days, but he's doing me a favor by going out on tour with me. He's so engaging to watch and so tasty and beautiful in his playing.”
Despite her recent success, Furler refuses to get a big head about it all.
“I'm a little nervous because I know that 'Breathe Me' is definitely the best song on the album so it can only go downhill from here,” said Furler, a bit scarred from her previous encounters with the music industry. “They're probably going to choose 'Numb,' because we already have a video for it and they seem to think it will work well in the American market. I prefer 'Sunday,' but I guess one of the things I've learned is to let people get on with their business. Sometimes, you don't have to be in control. Sometimes, they do know better.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 30, 2006
As more high-profile television shows like “The O.C.” adopt music-video stylings with glossy montages and artsy cinematography, television soundtracks provide the perfect conduit for musicians to access larger audiences. Australian-born vocalist Sia Furler experienced firsthand the dramatic effect TV can have on a music career. Featured during the closing scene of “Six Feet Under's” final show, her song “Breathe Me” immediately rocketed into public consciousness.
“I approved usage of the song, but I had no idea in what context,” said Furler from Los Angeles where she was rehearsing her band for a tour starting in San Diego Saturday. “I woke one morning and went to the computer; I had about 15 e-mails from all my American friends basically filled with expletives and exclamation points. Everyone was watching the final heartbreaking montage and it was my song as the soundtrack. I was pretty excited, obviously. Within a couple of days, the song had gone to No. 4 on Amazon.com.”
Originally featured on Sia's 2004 UK album “Colour the Small One,” the song hadn't caused much of a stir with fans or critics until its appearance on “Six Feet Under.” Punctuated by Furler's soulful, intimate vocals and subtle downtempo electronic pop, the song's sweet sincerity struck a chord with viewers and gave the album a new life.
But Furler (who records under her first name) experienced the fickle nature of success in the music industry. Born in Adelaide, Australia, she jammed in funk and soul bands, honing her skills as a vocalist before moving to London. There, she hooked up with an inexperienced manager who helped her sign a deal that, she said, hurt her development as an artist: “He signed me to a pretty crummy record deal. I really didn't know anything about it. I was fine as long as I could pay my phone bill and my electricity bill.”
The record deal yielded one hit in the United Kingdom, “Taken for Granted,” but her debut album, “Healing Is Difficult,” was slow to hit shelves in stores. Interest in it fizzled.
Meanwhile, producers Henry Binns and Sam Hardaker of Zero 7 heard her tapes and asked her to participate in the band's debut disc, “Simple Things.” She also will sing on Zero 7's upcoming release “The Garden.” She toured with Zero 7 (along with Tina Dico, who performed here a few weeks ago at the Casbah), but her solo career stood at a standstill until “Six Feet Under” came along.
“Colour the Small One” just saw a release in the United States with her new label Astralwerks. Needless to say, Furler is excited about touring with her top-notch group.
“I hope they're my band forever, although I imagine they won't be because they're so good,” said Furler, whose band includes drummer Joey Waronker, guitarist Guy Seyffert, keyboardist Joseph John Kennedy, bassist Sam Dixon and cellist Ollie Kraus. “I'm sure they'll outgrow me or I won't be able to afford them at some stage.”
She's particularly happy with Waronker (R.E.M., Smashing Pumpkins, Beck) taking a seat behind the drum kit: “He's actually a producer these days, but he's doing me a favor by going out on tour with me. He's so engaging to watch and so tasty and beautiful in his playing.”
Despite her recent success, Furler refuses to get a big head about it all.
“I'm a little nervous because I know that 'Breathe Me' is definitely the best song on the album so it can only go downhill from here,” said Furler, a bit scarred from her previous encounters with the music industry. “They're probably going to choose 'Numb,' because we already have a video for it and they seem to think it will work well in the American market. I prefer 'Sunday,' but I guess one of the things I've learned is to let people get on with their business. Sometimes, you don't have to be in control. Sometimes, they do know better.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
WAS in Night&Day
We Are Scientists keeps tongues firmly in cheek
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 30, 2006
We Are Scientists – a trio of hooligans who originally met while attending Pomona College outside of Los Angeles – lament little about the band's move to New York in 2001. Lead singer and guitarist Keith Murray used his deadpan tone to illustrate the best and worst of things about living in Southern California.
“The best thing about Southern California is the Mexican food,” recalled a grieving Murray as he traveled in a tour van somewhere on a Texas highway. “The worst thing about Southern California is when you inevitably leave – as you must – you will miss the Mexican food. In any way that Southern California thinks it is somehow defined by anything other than Mexican food, that is simple delusion. We have been to Akron, Ohio. And for a moment, I thought I was in West Covina, but I couldn't get a single enchilada.”
Despite the obvious lack of high-quality enchiladas in Akron or NYC, We Are Scientists has moved onto greener pastures. Murray – along with bassist Chris Cain and drummer Michael Taper – sparked major-label interest at 2005's South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas. Said Murray: “We didn't think anybody would know who we were. As far as we could tell, nobody really did. But South By Southwest is widely regarded by people as our turning point.”
Instead of getting tangled in label commitments, the band decided to self-record an album while the material remained fresh. The set of 12 songs, later to become 2006's “With Love and Squalor,” proved a good tool to lure record labels.
“We recorded it as live as possible with a friend of ours producing it, just so we could have an album in hand,” said Murray, remembering the process. “We wanted to give the illusion that all these labels could be missing out at moment's notice. I'll be honest with you: It worked. Every label man that I met with face-to-face after that had distinct fear in his eyes. Basically, I would hold it just out of reach and when they reached for it I would slap their hand away. I'll be honest, there was a lot of torment delivered unto the music industry courtesy of We Are Scientists. Then, we buckled almost instantly once the offers started rolling in.”
This courtship led to a deal with Virgin Records, which released “With Love and Squalor” in the States Jan. 10. Chippy lyrics pepper the 12 ironclad rock tunes on the band's debut, an exercise in tongue-in-cheek rock 'n' roll. But these guys have the musical chops to back their throw-caution-to-the-wind modus operandi.
“Despite our name, I think you'll detect the distinct lack of scientific discussion in most things we do, including any actual scientific research we are involved in,” remarked Murray. “But when we do get hired on as scientific consultants for labs or large-machinery construction, we try to be as emotional and impulsive and act with as little reason as possible to avoid the obvious typecasting of scientists.”
While they fit nicely into the Franz Ferdinand/Futureheads/Bloc Party pantheon of bands recycling 1980s post-punk sounds, We Are Scientists rises above the hordes scrambling to cling onto the sound du jour with its intelligent lyrics and edgy attitude.
The infectious nature of “Love and Squalor” seems primed for radio airplay, a huge selling point for labels when they came knocking. The record sells itself, and the band has been reaping the benefits of partnering with Virgin.
“For the band, it's an entirely different story now (since signing the record deal),” said Murray, who takes the Casbah stage with his band Sunday. “We can actually go to San Diego and sell a reasonable amount of tickets, whereas before, the only reason to go to San Diego would be to get even closer to Mexico for some enchiladas.
“But our shows are amazingly different now. In the UK on our next tour we're doing 2,000-person venues, which are sold out in two or three days. So it helps to have people behind you.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 30, 2006
We Are Scientists – a trio of hooligans who originally met while attending Pomona College outside of Los Angeles – lament little about the band's move to New York in 2001. Lead singer and guitarist Keith Murray used his deadpan tone to illustrate the best and worst of things about living in Southern California.
“The best thing about Southern California is the Mexican food,” recalled a grieving Murray as he traveled in a tour van somewhere on a Texas highway. “The worst thing about Southern California is when you inevitably leave – as you must – you will miss the Mexican food. In any way that Southern California thinks it is somehow defined by anything other than Mexican food, that is simple delusion. We have been to Akron, Ohio. And for a moment, I thought I was in West Covina, but I couldn't get a single enchilada.”
Despite the obvious lack of high-quality enchiladas in Akron or NYC, We Are Scientists has moved onto greener pastures. Murray – along with bassist Chris Cain and drummer Michael Taper – sparked major-label interest at 2005's South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas. Said Murray: “We didn't think anybody would know who we were. As far as we could tell, nobody really did. But South By Southwest is widely regarded by people as our turning point.”
Instead of getting tangled in label commitments, the band decided to self-record an album while the material remained fresh. The set of 12 songs, later to become 2006's “With Love and Squalor,” proved a good tool to lure record labels.
“We recorded it as live as possible with a friend of ours producing it, just so we could have an album in hand,” said Murray, remembering the process. “We wanted to give the illusion that all these labels could be missing out at moment's notice. I'll be honest with you: It worked. Every label man that I met with face-to-face after that had distinct fear in his eyes. Basically, I would hold it just out of reach and when they reached for it I would slap their hand away. I'll be honest, there was a lot of torment delivered unto the music industry courtesy of We Are Scientists. Then, we buckled almost instantly once the offers started rolling in.”
This courtship led to a deal with Virgin Records, which released “With Love and Squalor” in the States Jan. 10. Chippy lyrics pepper the 12 ironclad rock tunes on the band's debut, an exercise in tongue-in-cheek rock 'n' roll. But these guys have the musical chops to back their throw-caution-to-the-wind modus operandi.
“Despite our name, I think you'll detect the distinct lack of scientific discussion in most things we do, including any actual scientific research we are involved in,” remarked Murray. “But when we do get hired on as scientific consultants for labs or large-machinery construction, we try to be as emotional and impulsive and act with as little reason as possible to avoid the obvious typecasting of scientists.”
While they fit nicely into the Franz Ferdinand/Futureheads/Bloc Party pantheon of bands recycling 1980s post-punk sounds, We Are Scientists rises above the hordes scrambling to cling onto the sound du jour with its intelligent lyrics and edgy attitude.
The infectious nature of “Love and Squalor” seems primed for radio airplay, a huge selling point for labels when they came knocking. The record sells itself, and the band has been reaping the benefits of partnering with Virgin.
“For the band, it's an entirely different story now (since signing the record deal),” said Murray, who takes the Casbah stage with his band Sunday. “We can actually go to San Diego and sell a reasonable amount of tickets, whereas before, the only reason to go to San Diego would be to get even closer to Mexico for some enchiladas.
“But our shows are amazingly different now. In the UK on our next tour we're doing 2,000-person venues, which are sold out in two or three days. So it helps to have people behind you.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Feist rides rising momentum
Since 'Let It Die' album, her career has thrived
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 24, 2006
In her breezy and humble manner, singer-guitarist Leslie Feist takes a moment from her hectic schedule to gloat a bit about her current surroundings:
“I'm in the countryside outside of Paris, in a beautiful old manor house,” says a bubbly Feist, speaking about the locale for the recording of her next album. “The studio is in the basement, but we decided to set everything up in the old parlor and dining-room area so we can look at each other and (at) the sunshine coming through the stained-glass windows. It's pretty idyllic, and I think it's spoiling me. I'll have to go back to regular life after this.”
Regular life isn't too bad, either, these days for Feist. Riding the coattails of her standout sophomore release, “Let It Die” (following 1999's “Monarch”), the 30-year-old musician is making the journey from well-respected collaborator to revered solo artist.
After gaining indie credibility with varied artists such as Broken Social Scene, Kings of Convenience and former roommate Peaches, Feist's “Let It Die” stands as one of the most endearing pop albums in recent years. The process of recording turned out to be a voyage into the unknown.
“It's funny to talk about the recording process of 'Let It Die,' because I just started making a new one with the same people,” says Feist, who recorded “Let It Die” in 2003, released it overseas in 2004, and saw a U.S. release in 2005. “We're all looking at each other, laughing, because of how different the circumstances are this time. When we made the first one, it was really like jumping blind into a dark lake at night. You don't know if you're going to hit the rocks or if there are some creatures lurking underwater.”
The magic of “Let It Die” sprung from the partnership of Feist and musician Chilly Gonzalez, who toured together throughout its on-again, off-again recording period.
“We were a duo on tour, but it was his music and his songs,” recalls Feist, who took a break from touring with Gonzales to record her breakout album. “I was kind of his Vanna White/singing partner/torch-song singer. I was the straight man to his funny man.”
Feist – along with Gonzalez and producer Renaud Letang – shaped 11 tracks replete with soaring strings, oom-pah-pah horns, oozing jazz guitar and Feist's earnest vocals and clever lyrics. The record earned the singer two Juno Awards (Canada's equivalent of the Grammy Awards): for new artist of the year and alternative album of the year, edging out fellow nominees Arcade Fire and A.C. Newman. The disc also made numerous “Best of 2005” lists in the States.
San Diego native Robbie Lackritz – who has also worked with Rilo Kiley and Ben Lee – engineered tracks and helped Feist on the road as tour manager. Feist credits Lackritz with being “one of those behind-the-scenes guys who know how to play guitar better than I do.”
Despite her reputation as a collaborator, Feist confides that she doesn't really enjoy working with others when writing tunes. “I much prefer to write everything by myself,” says Feist. “It's kind of difficult. It's like getting undressed in a really bright light.”
Though it may not be the French countryside, Feist is now hitting the road in the U.S. accompanied by a small band (baritone guitar, organ/flugelhorn, drums) and with a set list combining songs from “Let It Die” and the upcoming release. Feist – who is also an excellent guitarist – focused on writing songs for the new album that are compatible with the way she tours.
“ 'Let It Die' is more piano-based, organ-based and percussion-based,” says Feist, who will stop at the Belly Up Tavern in Solana Beach Sunday. “Live, the songs are more guitar-based. The record that we're doing right now is really guitar-based. I feel like finally I get to write some parts that I'll be excited to play on tour for this record.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego DJ and music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 24, 2006
In her breezy and humble manner, singer-guitarist Leslie Feist takes a moment from her hectic schedule to gloat a bit about her current surroundings:
“I'm in the countryside outside of Paris, in a beautiful old manor house,” says a bubbly Feist, speaking about the locale for the recording of her next album. “The studio is in the basement, but we decided to set everything up in the old parlor and dining-room area so we can look at each other and (at) the sunshine coming through the stained-glass windows. It's pretty idyllic, and I think it's spoiling me. I'll have to go back to regular life after this.”
Regular life isn't too bad, either, these days for Feist. Riding the coattails of her standout sophomore release, “Let It Die” (following 1999's “Monarch”), the 30-year-old musician is making the journey from well-respected collaborator to revered solo artist.
After gaining indie credibility with varied artists such as Broken Social Scene, Kings of Convenience and former roommate Peaches, Feist's “Let It Die” stands as one of the most endearing pop albums in recent years. The process of recording turned out to be a voyage into the unknown.
“It's funny to talk about the recording process of 'Let It Die,' because I just started making a new one with the same people,” says Feist, who recorded “Let It Die” in 2003, released it overseas in 2004, and saw a U.S. release in 2005. “We're all looking at each other, laughing, because of how different the circumstances are this time. When we made the first one, it was really like jumping blind into a dark lake at night. You don't know if you're going to hit the rocks or if there are some creatures lurking underwater.”
The magic of “Let It Die” sprung from the partnership of Feist and musician Chilly Gonzalez, who toured together throughout its on-again, off-again recording period.
“We were a duo on tour, but it was his music and his songs,” recalls Feist, who took a break from touring with Gonzales to record her breakout album. “I was kind of his Vanna White/singing partner/torch-song singer. I was the straight man to his funny man.”
Feist – along with Gonzalez and producer Renaud Letang – shaped 11 tracks replete with soaring strings, oom-pah-pah horns, oozing jazz guitar and Feist's earnest vocals and clever lyrics. The record earned the singer two Juno Awards (Canada's equivalent of the Grammy Awards): for new artist of the year and alternative album of the year, edging out fellow nominees Arcade Fire and A.C. Newman. The disc also made numerous “Best of 2005” lists in the States.
San Diego native Robbie Lackritz – who has also worked with Rilo Kiley and Ben Lee – engineered tracks and helped Feist on the road as tour manager. Feist credits Lackritz with being “one of those behind-the-scenes guys who know how to play guitar better than I do.”
Despite her reputation as a collaborator, Feist confides that she doesn't really enjoy working with others when writing tunes. “I much prefer to write everything by myself,” says Feist. “It's kind of difficult. It's like getting undressed in a really bright light.”
Though it may not be the French countryside, Feist is now hitting the road in the U.S. accompanied by a small band (baritone guitar, organ/flugelhorn, drums) and with a set list combining songs from “Let It Die” and the upcoming release. Feist – who is also an excellent guitarist – focused on writing songs for the new album that are compatible with the way she tours.
“ 'Let It Die' is more piano-based, organ-based and percussion-based,” says Feist, who will stop at the Belly Up Tavern in Solana Beach Sunday. “Live, the songs are more guitar-based. The record that we're doing right now is really guitar-based. I feel like finally I get to write some parts that I'll be excited to play on tour for this record.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego DJ and music writer.
UB40 uncovered in Night&Day
They gave up their day jobs and found a nice career
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 23, 2006
An urban legend surrounds veteran English reggae group UB40 regarding its name. The story goes that the band's members met in the unemployment line, in British parlance the “dole queue.” Thus, they named the band after the requisite form one fills out to apply for unemployment in the United Kingdom: the UB40 form.
While the paperwork is indeed called the UB40 form, the true story of the band's name provides insight into the reason behind the band's longevity.
“Obviously I've known (lead singer) Ali (Campbell) all his life. He's my kid brother,” explained Robin Campbell, who has been the band's guitarist since its inception in 1978. “Starting with when he was 12 years old, the kids he brought home after school are the same kids in the band. So it was kind of a social circle that became a band.”
But a true expression of the band's devotion to the art of reggae came in the form of giving up everything for the music. Said the elder Campbell: “I think a couple of us had jobs when we formed the band. Those people gave up their jobs and went on the dole to be in the band. We did it five days a week just like a job, we had to learn. We decided that if we were going to be in the band, we were going to have to give up our day jobs.”
And there you have the reason for the name.
The Campbell brothers – along with drummer James Brown, bassist Earl Falconer, percussionist Norman Hassan, sax player Brian Travers, keyboardist Michael Virtue and toastmaster-trumpeter Astro – used this devotion to reggae and dub music to earn fame and fortune.
The world first heard UB40 through its dub reggae remake of Neil Diamond's song “Red, Red Wine” on its classic collection of cover tunes on 1983's “Labour of Love.” Driven by the soulful vocals of Ali Campbell, hits followed on 1997's “Rat in the Kitchen” and subsequent cover albums (“Labour of Love II” in 1992 and “Labour of Love III” in 1999). But success draws detractors. Said Campbell, venting his frustration: “We're always battling idiots who call us a middle-of-the-road band and white reggae, which the black guys in the band find infuriating.”
The same devotion to reggae that catapulted the band into stardom would eventually wear UB40 down.
“We tour after we make an album,” clarified Campbell. “After we're finished and the interest has waned, we go back in and make another one. And then go back out on the road. That's how it's gone for the last 25 years really.”
To put it succinctly, UB40 burned out. When they rejoined after a break, the process of creating albums changed. The band owned its own studio, allowing members to come and go during the recording of records. Subsequently, the last two or three UB40 albums suffered, according to Campbell.
“We were making records by numbers really,” admitted Campbell. “We were doing it in shifts because we could go in when we felt like it. We were kind of composing without each other. We'd still end up with stuff we liked, but it was never quite a UB40 record.”
So the brothers Campbell and company went back to its roots to record 2006's “Who You Fighting For?” The record represents the much-bandied-about term “return to form,” as UB40 regrouped and started writing songs the same way it did back in 1978.
“Basically, we decided to get back into a room and play together as a band,” said Campbell, who takes the stage at downtown club 4th & B Tuesday. “It transformed us really. It reinvigorated us. When we started jamming again, everything changed and everyone had smiles on their faces. And we've got an album we're proud of again. I think it's the best thing we've done in donkey's years, I really do.”
The same devotion to reggae that catapulted the band into stardom would eventually wear UB40 down.
“We tour after we make an album,” clarified Campbell. “After we're finished and the interest has waned, we go back in and make another one. And then go back out on the road. That's how it's gone for the last 25 years really.”
To put it succinctly, UB40 burned out. When they rejoined after a break, the process of creating albums changed. The band owned its own studio, allowing members to come and go during the recording of records. Subsequently, the last two or three UB40 albums suffered, according to Campbell.
“We were making records by numbers really,” admitted Campbell. “We were doing it in shifts because we could go in when we felt like it. We were kind of composing without each other. We'd still end up with stuff we liked, but it was never quite a UB40 record.”
So the brothers Campbell and company went back to its roots to record 2006's “Who You Fighting For?” The record represents the much-bandied-about term “return to form,” as UB40 regrouped and started writing songs the same way it did back in 1978.
“Basically, we decided to get back into a room and play together as a band,” said Campbell, who takes the stage at downtown club 4th & B Tuesday. “It transformed us really. It reinvigorated us. When we started jamming again, everything changed and everyone had smiles on their faces. And we've got an album we're proud of again. I think it's the best thing we've done in donkey's years, I really do.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For the San Diego Union-Tribune
March 23, 2006
An urban legend surrounds veteran English reggae group UB40 regarding its name. The story goes that the band's members met in the unemployment line, in British parlance the “dole queue.” Thus, they named the band after the requisite form one fills out to apply for unemployment in the United Kingdom: the UB40 form.
While the paperwork is indeed called the UB40 form, the true story of the band's name provides insight into the reason behind the band's longevity.
“Obviously I've known (lead singer) Ali (Campbell) all his life. He's my kid brother,” explained Robin Campbell, who has been the band's guitarist since its inception in 1978. “Starting with when he was 12 years old, the kids he brought home after school are the same kids in the band. So it was kind of a social circle that became a band.”
But a true expression of the band's devotion to the art of reggae came in the form of giving up everything for the music. Said the elder Campbell: “I think a couple of us had jobs when we formed the band. Those people gave up their jobs and went on the dole to be in the band. We did it five days a week just like a job, we had to learn. We decided that if we were going to be in the band, we were going to have to give up our day jobs.”
And there you have the reason for the name.
The Campbell brothers – along with drummer James Brown, bassist Earl Falconer, percussionist Norman Hassan, sax player Brian Travers, keyboardist Michael Virtue and toastmaster-trumpeter Astro – used this devotion to reggae and dub music to earn fame and fortune.
The world first heard UB40 through its dub reggae remake of Neil Diamond's song “Red, Red Wine” on its classic collection of cover tunes on 1983's “Labour of Love.” Driven by the soulful vocals of Ali Campbell, hits followed on 1997's “Rat in the Kitchen” and subsequent cover albums (“Labour of Love II” in 1992 and “Labour of Love III” in 1999). But success draws detractors. Said Campbell, venting his frustration: “We're always battling idiots who call us a middle-of-the-road band and white reggae, which the black guys in the band find infuriating.”
The same devotion to reggae that catapulted the band into stardom would eventually wear UB40 down.
“We tour after we make an album,” clarified Campbell. “After we're finished and the interest has waned, we go back in and make another one. And then go back out on the road. That's how it's gone for the last 25 years really.”
To put it succinctly, UB40 burned out. When they rejoined after a break, the process of creating albums changed. The band owned its own studio, allowing members to come and go during the recording of records. Subsequently, the last two or three UB40 albums suffered, according to Campbell.
“We were making records by numbers really,” admitted Campbell. “We were doing it in shifts because we could go in when we felt like it. We were kind of composing without each other. We'd still end up with stuff we liked, but it was never quite a UB40 record.”
So the brothers Campbell and company went back to its roots to record 2006's “Who You Fighting For?” The record represents the much-bandied-about term “return to form,” as UB40 regrouped and started writing songs the same way it did back in 1978.
“Basically, we decided to get back into a room and play together as a band,” said Campbell, who takes the stage at downtown club 4th & B Tuesday. “It transformed us really. It reinvigorated us. When we started jamming again, everything changed and everyone had smiles on their faces. And we've got an album we're proud of again. I think it's the best thing we've done in donkey's years, I really do.”
The same devotion to reggae that catapulted the band into stardom would eventually wear UB40 down.
“We tour after we make an album,” clarified Campbell. “After we're finished and the interest has waned, we go back in and make another one. And then go back out on the road. That's how it's gone for the last 25 years really.”
To put it succinctly, UB40 burned out. When they rejoined after a break, the process of creating albums changed. The band owned its own studio, allowing members to come and go during the recording of records. Subsequently, the last two or three UB40 albums suffered, according to Campbell.
“We were making records by numbers really,” admitted Campbell. “We were doing it in shifts because we could go in when we felt like it. We were kind of composing without each other. We'd still end up with stuff we liked, but it was never quite a UB40 record.”
So the brothers Campbell and company went back to its roots to record 2006's “Who You Fighting For?” The record represents the much-bandied-about term “return to form,” as UB40 regrouped and started writing songs the same way it did back in 1978.
“Basically, we decided to get back into a room and play together as a band,” said Campbell, who takes the stage at downtown club 4th & B Tuesday. “It transformed us really. It reinvigorated us. When we started jamming again, everything changed and everyone had smiles on their faces. And we've got an album we're proud of again. I think it's the best thing we've done in donkey's years, I really do.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
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