Obscurity to ubiquity: Panic! rides fast track
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
December 7, 2006
Gothic bearded babes dancing between church pews, dancing men on stilts and a vaudeville master of ceremonies directing the festivities as a jaded groom discovers his newlywed bride is cheating on him.
That's a lot of visual eye candy for a three-minute music video, courtesy of the Los Angeles freak show troupe Lucent Dossier Vaudeville Cirque. And it's the winning formula that propelled Panic! at the Disco's “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” to the top of the charts and won Video of the Year at this year's MTV Video Music Awards.
“We wanted to do something different because it was going to be our first video,” said Panic! at the Disco guitarist Ryan Ross about the breakout video. “We didn't want to do the click back and forth between a band playing in a warehouse to some storyline that doesn't even make any sense because there are only three minutes in a song. For every video we've done, we wanted to make sure it did something for the song, and visually it wasn't something you're seeing on TV right now.”
Raised under the faux sparkle of neon lights in Las Vegas, the four guys in Panic! at the Disco decided they wanted to make music their career. While still in high school, singer Brendon Urie, bassist Jon Walker, drummer Spencer Smith and Ross began to earn a name for themselves through MySpace and the Internet out of necessity more than anything else.
“We had to use the Internet because there really wasn't much going on in Vegas,” said Ross of his hometown music scene. “I guess there are a handful of bands, but it doesn't really feel like much of a community. We'd practice and write songs. Instead of playing a show, we'd record those songs and put them on the Internet.”
Through high-speed Internet connections and word of mouth, Panic! at the Disco's brand of accessible emo-pop began to spread worldwide: “We only had two songs, and we had them on our MySpace page. We were just this little band from Vegas that nobody knew about in Vegas. People all around the world were telling their friends.”
Urie's deft singing and Ross' clever lyrics led Fall Out Boy bassist Pete Wentz to sign the band to his imprint label Decaydance. After only a few years as a Vegas garage band, Panic! at the Disco seemed primed for a breakout with its debut album.
Between attending high school and holding down jobs, Ross and company wrote the songs that would become the backbone of “A Fever You Can't Sweat Out” over a four-month period before journeying to the East Coast to record.
“We recorded in Maryland: five weeks straight, no days off, 12-hour days,” Ross said. “We slept in a one-bedroom apartment on bunk beds and did the whole Top Ramen dinner for a month and a half. It was a lot of work and stress and arguing and no sleep. It was tough, but afterward we were happy that we put the extra time into it, and all the little things that we enjoy about it were worth it to us.”
With the album's platinum sales, Ross joked, “We might get a two-bedroom apartment when we record this album.”
Ross' songwriting skills set Panic! at the Disco apart from the glut of young bands singing emotive pop-rock. Ross and the other members are heavily influenced by writer Chuck Palahniuk (“Fight Club”). Tunes like “Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off” and “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage” give the album substance and emotional weight. And it's the band's songwriting that will give the group a name in the rock business down the road.
Said Ross, on modern songwriting: “I don't really like a lot of bands' lyrics these days. Adam Duritz is one of my favorite songwriters because of the way he tells stories. Tom Waits, same thing. I like people who paint a picture for you. They include a lot of small details that allow you to really see something.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Emo on steroids
My Chemical Romance expands the repertoire, and blows past the critics
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
December 7, 2006
From the opening beeps of a heart monitor on “The Black Parade's” opening track “The End,” My Chemical Romance's third studio album marks a creative pinnacle for the five guys from Jersey.
With a tip of the cap to epic albums like Pink Floyd's “The Wall” and Queen's most orchestral masterpieces, MCR tackles the rock opera with its emotive rock. Call it an “emopera.”
“This is without a doubt that record for this band,” said lead singer Gerard Way via phone after a sound check during a tour stop in North Carolina. “It's that one record by a dark-horse band that created a knee-jerk reaction, and having it causes a big cultural thing among a younger audience. There has been some skepticism toward the band largely on a critical level. That's common when you have a group that's speaking to the youth.”
Emerging from the area of New Jersey just outside of New York City (traditionally the territory of Bruce Spingsteen, Bon Jovi and Southside Johnny), Way – along with bassist and brother Mikey Way, drummer Bob Bryar and guitarists Frank Iero and Ray Toro – faced an uphill battle when they started in 2001.
“We never wanted to be trapped in a local band, local hero type of thing,” recalled Way on the band's early years. “There were some very big fish in a very small pond in Jersey. We just got in a van and left. We had ambitions that were much larger than conquering a county. We did what's really risky and really hard to do. We got in a van with no money, a van that doesn't really even work, and just start driving places you've never been to play, sometimes for eight kids.”
Traveling the country led them to release 2002's “I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love,” which subsequently led them to sign with Reprise (a division of Warner Music Group). “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” followed in 2004, a solid set of emo tunes mixing pop balladry and biting guitar riffage. The album went platinum and connected with mostly younger audiences.
By adding flourishes of classic rock orchestration, “The Black Parade,” critically praised and commercially a hot seller, seems to be changing all of that now: “This is the record that pushes us through (to the public). I meet people now who are in their 40s and 50s who are fans. Not because of their kids, but because they heard a song on the radio and they remember what it was like listening to Queen.”
Most rock operas follow a storyline. But My Chemical Romance chose to follow a theme, a theme that could be misconstrued, according to Way.
“I think the theme for me is 'life,' ” he said. “I know it seems like a dark record. That's what people try to dwell on. To me, the record is about triumph, victory and the strong desire to live. The record is really about survival and truth.”
While lyrically strong, the album's orchestral elements stand out as an achievement among emo-pop bands.
“Even though there are sometimes hundreds of layers happening, not one of those layers is arbitrary,” said Way of the record's thick production. “None of those layers is just us trying to be cool or trying to confuse people. It's all very thought out. It's the result of leaving no stone unturned.”
Standout tracks like the demented Gypsy music of “Mama” (Mama we're all going to hell) and the ballad “Cancer” really show a band finding new expression in the tired confines of emo and modern rock.
“That's basically the way we approached this record: Nothing was taboo,” said Way. “Nothing was uncool. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was about pulling your skin off and getting really naked with it.
“It doesn't necessarily mean it was going to be stripped-down raw. Getting naked with this material meant exposing yourself in a very large way.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
December 7, 2006
From the opening beeps of a heart monitor on “The Black Parade's” opening track “The End,” My Chemical Romance's third studio album marks a creative pinnacle for the five guys from Jersey.
With a tip of the cap to epic albums like Pink Floyd's “The Wall” and Queen's most orchestral masterpieces, MCR tackles the rock opera with its emotive rock. Call it an “emopera.”
“This is without a doubt that record for this band,” said lead singer Gerard Way via phone after a sound check during a tour stop in North Carolina. “It's that one record by a dark-horse band that created a knee-jerk reaction, and having it causes a big cultural thing among a younger audience. There has been some skepticism toward the band largely on a critical level. That's common when you have a group that's speaking to the youth.”
Emerging from the area of New Jersey just outside of New York City (traditionally the territory of Bruce Spingsteen, Bon Jovi and Southside Johnny), Way – along with bassist and brother Mikey Way, drummer Bob Bryar and guitarists Frank Iero and Ray Toro – faced an uphill battle when they started in 2001.
“We never wanted to be trapped in a local band, local hero type of thing,” recalled Way on the band's early years. “There were some very big fish in a very small pond in Jersey. We just got in a van and left. We had ambitions that were much larger than conquering a county. We did what's really risky and really hard to do. We got in a van with no money, a van that doesn't really even work, and just start driving places you've never been to play, sometimes for eight kids.”
Traveling the country led them to release 2002's “I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love,” which subsequently led them to sign with Reprise (a division of Warner Music Group). “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” followed in 2004, a solid set of emo tunes mixing pop balladry and biting guitar riffage. The album went platinum and connected with mostly younger audiences.
By adding flourishes of classic rock orchestration, “The Black Parade,” critically praised and commercially a hot seller, seems to be changing all of that now: “This is the record that pushes us through (to the public). I meet people now who are in their 40s and 50s who are fans. Not because of their kids, but because they heard a song on the radio and they remember what it was like listening to Queen.”
Most rock operas follow a storyline. But My Chemical Romance chose to follow a theme, a theme that could be misconstrued, according to Way.
“I think the theme for me is 'life,' ” he said. “I know it seems like a dark record. That's what people try to dwell on. To me, the record is about triumph, victory and the strong desire to live. The record is really about survival and truth.”
While lyrically strong, the album's orchestral elements stand out as an achievement among emo-pop bands.
“Even though there are sometimes hundreds of layers happening, not one of those layers is arbitrary,” said Way of the record's thick production. “None of those layers is just us trying to be cool or trying to confuse people. It's all very thought out. It's the result of leaving no stone unturned.”
Standout tracks like the demented Gypsy music of “Mama” (Mama we're all going to hell) and the ballad “Cancer” really show a band finding new expression in the tired confines of emo and modern rock.
“That's basically the way we approached this record: Nothing was taboo,” said Way. “Nothing was uncool. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was about pulling your skin off and getting really naked with it.
“It doesn't necessarily mean it was going to be stripped-down raw. Getting naked with this material meant exposing yourself in a very large way.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
The Life of Mr. Lif
From sheltered life to hip-hop star, Mr. Lif's life
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
Back in the early 1990s in a dark dorm room on the campus of Colgate University in upstate New York, a man named Jeffrey Haynes freestyled with friends and got his hip-hop chops the old fashioned way. He earned them.
Now, Haynes' conscious rhymes can be found pumping from speakers in dark dorm rooms across the country under the moniker Mr. Lif. Politically aware and rife with intelligent vocabulary, Mr. Lif is the product of his environment. The golden age of conscious hip-hop in the early to mid-1990s gave Haynes inspiration to step up his game and devote his life to music.
“I did something back then that a lot of lyricists don't do these days: I took it all very seriously,” said Haynes from his home in Philadelphia. “Nowadays, kids buy some equipment and claim to be rappers. I started rhyming back in '93. You couldn't (mess) around back then. You're up against A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul and Wu-Tang Clan. There is no margin for error.”
For Lif, the era exemplified the best that hip-hop had to offer: “I knew that voice was important. I knew that content was important. And I knew that cadence was very important as well and always having dope production.”
Reaching back before his collegiate days, Haynes learned to be a man from his parents growing up in the Boston suburb of Brighton.
“My parents are Barbadian-Americans,” recalled Haynes. “They came to America with a whole different view on black people in this country and on planet Earth. There was a 99 percent literacy rate when they moved over here. They were used to seeing black doctors and lawyers in abundance. They came over here, and every night on the news there are groups of black people getting arrested or killing each other. That resonated strongly with them and made them tighten up the reins on me to make sure I was not exposed to that type of negativity.”
After fleeing the sheltered life at Colgate, Lif retreated back to Boston to make his name in the hip-hop game. He first gained a foothold through his self-produced tracks that found their way on to Boston's vibrant college radio scene.
The turning point for Mr. Lif came when he met El-P from the NYC-based crew Company Flow. El-P offered a contract to record for his influential alternative hip-hop label, Definitive Jux, aka Def Jux. His relationship with El-P gave Mr. Lif instant nationwide cred.
“El-P is one of the godfathers of the independent scene,” said Haynes, who used El-P as a producer on 2002's “I Phantom” and 2005's “Mo' Mega.” “He was prominent at a time when a lot of kids were realizing that we didn't have to sleep on the steps of Motown or Loud Records to put out a song. Everyone was realizing that if you had a couple thousand dollars, you could press up a single and service it to some DJs.”
Always politically driven in his lyrics, Mr. Lif joins another conscious hip-hop crew, The Coup, on the current set of 20 dates across the country. The tour stops at House of Blues downtown tomorrow.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
Back in the early 1990s in a dark dorm room on the campus of Colgate University in upstate New York, a man named Jeffrey Haynes freestyled with friends and got his hip-hop chops the old fashioned way. He earned them.
Now, Haynes' conscious rhymes can be found pumping from speakers in dark dorm rooms across the country under the moniker Mr. Lif. Politically aware and rife with intelligent vocabulary, Mr. Lif is the product of his environment. The golden age of conscious hip-hop in the early to mid-1990s gave Haynes inspiration to step up his game and devote his life to music.
“I did something back then that a lot of lyricists don't do these days: I took it all very seriously,” said Haynes from his home in Philadelphia. “Nowadays, kids buy some equipment and claim to be rappers. I started rhyming back in '93. You couldn't (mess) around back then. You're up against A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul and Wu-Tang Clan. There is no margin for error.”
For Lif, the era exemplified the best that hip-hop had to offer: “I knew that voice was important. I knew that content was important. And I knew that cadence was very important as well and always having dope production.”
Reaching back before his collegiate days, Haynes learned to be a man from his parents growing up in the Boston suburb of Brighton.
“My parents are Barbadian-Americans,” recalled Haynes. “They came to America with a whole different view on black people in this country and on planet Earth. There was a 99 percent literacy rate when they moved over here. They were used to seeing black doctors and lawyers in abundance. They came over here, and every night on the news there are groups of black people getting arrested or killing each other. That resonated strongly with them and made them tighten up the reins on me to make sure I was not exposed to that type of negativity.”
After fleeing the sheltered life at Colgate, Lif retreated back to Boston to make his name in the hip-hop game. He first gained a foothold through his self-produced tracks that found their way on to Boston's vibrant college radio scene.
The turning point for Mr. Lif came when he met El-P from the NYC-based crew Company Flow. El-P offered a contract to record for his influential alternative hip-hop label, Definitive Jux, aka Def Jux. His relationship with El-P gave Mr. Lif instant nationwide cred.
“El-P is one of the godfathers of the independent scene,” said Haynes, who used El-P as a producer on 2002's “I Phantom” and 2005's “Mo' Mega.” “He was prominent at a time when a lot of kids were realizing that we didn't have to sleep on the steps of Motown or Loud Records to put out a song. Everyone was realizing that if you had a couple thousand dollars, you could press up a single and service it to some DJs.”
Always politically driven in his lyrics, Mr. Lif joins another conscious hip-hop crew, The Coup, on the current set of 20 dates across the country. The tour stops at House of Blues downtown tomorrow.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Soul Coughing frontman forges on
Doughty finds himself in a 'good situation'
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
When listening to singer-songwriter Mike Doughty in his music and his manner of speech, you get the sense he likes words. His ability to run rampant through the syllabic rhythms of the English language evokes a grin from even the most starchy collared professorial wordsmiths.
Doughty seems to enjoy playfully plying his lingual talents more than anyone else within ear's reach. But mention two words and the smile drains from his voice: “Soul Coughing.”
With his eight-plus years fronting tech-inflected, alt-pop band Soul Coughing in the 1990s, Doughty added his beat poetry, spoken word and talk/sing to the band's sound. The NYC-base quartet gained a serious foothold on college radio with singles like “Circles” and “Super Bon Bon” verging on mainstream success. But it's a period in Doughty's life he only grudgingly speaks about.
“I'm not crazy talking about Soul Coughing,” said the 36-year-old singer from a tour bus headed toward Denver recently. “I left Soul Coughing so I could do what I'm doing now. I really dig the band I have now. I've been digging the records I've been making. It's a good situation.”
During his Soul Coughing stint, he helped redefine a lead singer's role in a band. If anything, Doughty played the role of rhythm singer. The guitar strapped around his neck provided a rhythmic counterpoint to his vocal spiels, while Mark De Gli Antoni's swirling samples, Yuval Gabay's beats and Sebastian Steinberg's bass took the musical forefront. Doughty's certainly no Pavarotti, but his lyrics served as another instrument.
The rail-thin singer made Soul Coughing one of the most original bands in the 1990s through style and sheer intelligence. His words transformed Soul Coughing's slam-boom-bombastic sound into a journey, with each song a trek into the mind of a lyrical genius. And the Cosmo-sipping hipsters of the NYC scene loved it.
After the traveling Soul Coughing carnival came to a halt in 1998, Doughty (pronounced dough-tee) hit the road solo. Without the sonic chaos of Soul Coughing, Doughty's performances lead to his strength: weaving polyrhythmic, staccato word associations into a meaningful whole.
“When I split up the band, I hit the road in the most lo-fi, grass-roots way I could,” said Doughty, currently on a big-time arena tour with the Barenaked Ladies. “I got in a rental car. I threw a guitar in the trunk. And I did the smallest shows possible.”
After starting from scratch and releasing a few low-profile recordings sold out of the back of his rental, Doughty returned to the world of high-profile album releases in 2005. Doughty stripped away the bells and whistles of Soul Coughing songs to create the 12 tracks on “Haughty Melodic.”
With the help of Dave Matthews and his label, ATO, the record reached new audiences with catchy songs like “Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well” and “Tremendous Brunettes” (the latter features guest vocals by Matthews). The album sets him up nicely for mainstream success greater than his taste with Soul Coughing.
“The only way I could do it was to start over,” said Doughty. “To this day, I do a Soul Coughing song in the show, but I don't really play the hits. If you really want to move on you have to fight. And I'm fighting.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
When listening to singer-songwriter Mike Doughty in his music and his manner of speech, you get the sense he likes words. His ability to run rampant through the syllabic rhythms of the English language evokes a grin from even the most starchy collared professorial wordsmiths.
Doughty seems to enjoy playfully plying his lingual talents more than anyone else within ear's reach. But mention two words and the smile drains from his voice: “Soul Coughing.”
With his eight-plus years fronting tech-inflected, alt-pop band Soul Coughing in the 1990s, Doughty added his beat poetry, spoken word and talk/sing to the band's sound. The NYC-base quartet gained a serious foothold on college radio with singles like “Circles” and “Super Bon Bon” verging on mainstream success. But it's a period in Doughty's life he only grudgingly speaks about.
“I'm not crazy talking about Soul Coughing,” said the 36-year-old singer from a tour bus headed toward Denver recently. “I left Soul Coughing so I could do what I'm doing now. I really dig the band I have now. I've been digging the records I've been making. It's a good situation.”
During his Soul Coughing stint, he helped redefine a lead singer's role in a band. If anything, Doughty played the role of rhythm singer. The guitar strapped around his neck provided a rhythmic counterpoint to his vocal spiels, while Mark De Gli Antoni's swirling samples, Yuval Gabay's beats and Sebastian Steinberg's bass took the musical forefront. Doughty's certainly no Pavarotti, but his lyrics served as another instrument.
The rail-thin singer made Soul Coughing one of the most original bands in the 1990s through style and sheer intelligence. His words transformed Soul Coughing's slam-boom-bombastic sound into a journey, with each song a trek into the mind of a lyrical genius. And the Cosmo-sipping hipsters of the NYC scene loved it.
After the traveling Soul Coughing carnival came to a halt in 1998, Doughty (pronounced dough-tee) hit the road solo. Without the sonic chaos of Soul Coughing, Doughty's performances lead to his strength: weaving polyrhythmic, staccato word associations into a meaningful whole.
“When I split up the band, I hit the road in the most lo-fi, grass-roots way I could,” said Doughty, currently on a big-time arena tour with the Barenaked Ladies. “I got in a rental car. I threw a guitar in the trunk. And I did the smallest shows possible.”
After starting from scratch and releasing a few low-profile recordings sold out of the back of his rental, Doughty returned to the world of high-profile album releases in 2005. Doughty stripped away the bells and whistles of Soul Coughing songs to create the 12 tracks on “Haughty Melodic.”
With the help of Dave Matthews and his label, ATO, the record reached new audiences with catchy songs like “Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well” and “Tremendous Brunettes” (the latter features guest vocals by Matthews). The album sets him up nicely for mainstream success greater than his taste with Soul Coughing.
“The only way I could do it was to start over,” said Doughty. “To this day, I do a Soul Coughing song in the show, but I don't really play the hits. If you really want to move on you have to fight. And I'm fighting.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Rejects are OK
Just another band from Oklahoma
All-American Rejects cash in a bit after paying some dues
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
The words “music” and “Oklahoma” don't find their way into one's vocabulary in the same sentence too often. Maybe if you've had musicals drilled into you at a young age, a few refrains from Rodgers and Hammerstein's score float through your head. Or, for the real music geeks, you might recall the band portrayed in Cameron Crowe's “Almost Famous” flick donned the name Stillwater, a town of 40,000 in central Oklahoma.
You might not know that The All-American Rejects, a band sporting a couple of singles in the Billboard Top 20 in the past year, hails from Oklahoma. To be more exact, its members grew out of the town of, that's right, Stillwater.
Nick Wheeler, the band's guitarist, recalls his roots trying to make a living as a working musician in the Midwest.
“Being from Oklahoma, you just have to get lucky,” said Wheeler. “It's not about who you know and it's not about being a part of the scene. There ain't nobody in Oklahoma that can do anything for you. There's no music scene either. You've pretty much got nothing going for you.”
But the trial by fire gave The All-American Rejects an appreciation for the band's current situation.
“We definitely learned a lot being a band at the bottom of the heap and paying dues,” said Wheeler, speaking from a tour stop in Rochester, N.Y. “We've played every hole you can name in the Southwest. There is a still a long way to go for us, but each thing you do is another baby step to the next bigger goal. Hopefully, we can keep it up.”
Wheeler, along with singer-bassist Tyson Ritter, guitarist Mike Kennerty and drummer Chris Gaylor, are doing more than just keeping up.
Driven by the band's brand of emo pop, both 2002's self-titled disc and 2005's “Move Along” have achieved platinum status in sales. The All-American Rejects' catchy choruses and scruffy good looks make this Oklahoma band a surefire moneymaker for its label, Interscope.
But it almost didn't happen. After the relative success of the debut, Wheeler and company fumbled with a collection of songs suitable for the record company's liking. After a few months in Florida to write songs, the band readied to enter the studio to record the sophomore effort. But “the guys who pay the bills” – read, the record company – sent The All-American Rejects back to the drawing board.
Wheeler picks up the story: “Nine months later, we ended up in Atlanta. We were going to work with a producer in Atlanta, but he ended up not doing the record. So, we just hung out there by ourselves for two months or so. That's where (the song and hit single) 'Move Along' came around, written in a little rehearsal space in Atlanta. Everyday, we'd go up there and play for 14 hours.”
After hearing the results from the hard work, the quartet got the go-ahead to start recording the album that became “Move Along.” Working with producer Howard Benson, the disc yielded the singles “Move Along” (topping out at No. 15 on the Billboard charts) and “It Ends Tonight” (currently on the charts at No. 11).
For Wheeler, the recording was painless compared to the long months in Atlanta: “All the trials and tribulations of writing the record happened before we even got into the studio. The studio was the easy part because we'd done our homework.”
The All-American Rejects currently headline the “Tournado” tour with Motion City Soundtrack, The Starting Line, The Format, Gym Class Heroes, and Boys Like Girls, which stops at the ipayOne Center tomorrow. After the tough times leading up to “Move Along,” Wheeler knows his band will be smarter when approaching the next record, leaving a little time to rest before jumping into another song cycle.
“Being on the road, it's a roller coaster,” said Wheeler. “You have to get off the ride and come back to earth for a minute before you can get your head straight and be creative and do it for the right reasons. Right now, we're in a groove and it's 'Move Along.' We're playing these songs every night and we're still loving them.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
All-American Rejects cash in a bit after paying some dues
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 30, 2006
The words “music” and “Oklahoma” don't find their way into one's vocabulary in the same sentence too often. Maybe if you've had musicals drilled into you at a young age, a few refrains from Rodgers and Hammerstein's score float through your head. Or, for the real music geeks, you might recall the band portrayed in Cameron Crowe's “Almost Famous” flick donned the name Stillwater, a town of 40,000 in central Oklahoma.
You might not know that The All-American Rejects, a band sporting a couple of singles in the Billboard Top 20 in the past year, hails from Oklahoma. To be more exact, its members grew out of the town of, that's right, Stillwater.
Nick Wheeler, the band's guitarist, recalls his roots trying to make a living as a working musician in the Midwest.
“Being from Oklahoma, you just have to get lucky,” said Wheeler. “It's not about who you know and it's not about being a part of the scene. There ain't nobody in Oklahoma that can do anything for you. There's no music scene either. You've pretty much got nothing going for you.”
But the trial by fire gave The All-American Rejects an appreciation for the band's current situation.
“We definitely learned a lot being a band at the bottom of the heap and paying dues,” said Wheeler, speaking from a tour stop in Rochester, N.Y. “We've played every hole you can name in the Southwest. There is a still a long way to go for us, but each thing you do is another baby step to the next bigger goal. Hopefully, we can keep it up.”
Wheeler, along with singer-bassist Tyson Ritter, guitarist Mike Kennerty and drummer Chris Gaylor, are doing more than just keeping up.
Driven by the band's brand of emo pop, both 2002's self-titled disc and 2005's “Move Along” have achieved platinum status in sales. The All-American Rejects' catchy choruses and scruffy good looks make this Oklahoma band a surefire moneymaker for its label, Interscope.
But it almost didn't happen. After the relative success of the debut, Wheeler and company fumbled with a collection of songs suitable for the record company's liking. After a few months in Florida to write songs, the band readied to enter the studio to record the sophomore effort. But “the guys who pay the bills” – read, the record company – sent The All-American Rejects back to the drawing board.
Wheeler picks up the story: “Nine months later, we ended up in Atlanta. We were going to work with a producer in Atlanta, but he ended up not doing the record. So, we just hung out there by ourselves for two months or so. That's where (the song and hit single) 'Move Along' came around, written in a little rehearsal space in Atlanta. Everyday, we'd go up there and play for 14 hours.”
After hearing the results from the hard work, the quartet got the go-ahead to start recording the album that became “Move Along.” Working with producer Howard Benson, the disc yielded the singles “Move Along” (topping out at No. 15 on the Billboard charts) and “It Ends Tonight” (currently on the charts at No. 11).
For Wheeler, the recording was painless compared to the long months in Atlanta: “All the trials and tribulations of writing the record happened before we even got into the studio. The studio was the easy part because we'd done our homework.”
The All-American Rejects currently headline the “Tournado” tour with Motion City Soundtrack, The Starting Line, The Format, Gym Class Heroes, and Boys Like Girls, which stops at the ipayOne Center tomorrow. After the tough times leading up to “Move Along,” Wheeler knows his band will be smarter when approaching the next record, leaving a little time to rest before jumping into another song cycle.
“Being on the road, it's a roller coaster,” said Wheeler. “You have to get off the ride and come back to earth for a minute before you can get your head straight and be creative and do it for the right reasons. Right now, we're in a groove and it's 'Move Along.' We're playing these songs every night and we're still loving them.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Mates of State: Two rode in
Mates of State meshes perfectly, on stage and at home
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 23, 2006
'The first time we ever played together, we were so nervous,” recalled Jason Hammel, one of half of the husband-wife duo Mates of State. “We thought that if it didn't work out musically, maybe there was something wrong with the relationship. But luckily it worked out.”
For Kori Gardner (organ, vocals) and Hammel (drums, vocals), the musical relationship blossomed into a marriage and more recently a child. After beginning their musical and emotional relationship in Lawrence, Kan., they moved to San Francisco and started playing around town as Mates of State.
Despite the lack of traditional instrumentation like bass and guitar, the two made infectious pop with layered vocals. Gardner and Hammel weren't sure if it would work at first.
“Before we met, we were both in separate bands, and were songwriters and singers,” said Hammel, speaking from his current home in East Haven, Conn. “When we came together, it was this lucky occurrence; like striking gold. We realized we could actually do this together.”
With its stripped-down duo mentality and the vocal interplay between Gardner and Hammel, the band has since earned a following among indie scenesters. From 2000-2003, the pair released three albums of cute pop (they were married in 2001). It's not the kind of pop that leaves a saccharine aftertaste, filled with fake enthusiasm or tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. Mates of State's music rings true with a sunshine outlook and sincerity.
In 2004, Gardner and Hammel moved to Connecticut to buy a house, explore New York City and be closer to Gardner's family: “We actually just wanted to live close to New York City for a while. We're about an hour from there. And Cory had some family here, halfway between us and New York City. We also wanted to buy a place, which we couldn't do in San Francisco.”
The year also gave the husband and wife a baby girl, who they named Magnolia, which transformed their lives on the road and at home. When on tour, they now travel with a nanny (a friend from San Francisco) and schedule drives between shows around Magnolia's naps.
Mates of State has always worked collaboratively, hashing out songs while both musicians were in the same room. With the move to the East Coast and the purchase of a home, the band has a home recording studio. But with a baby in the house, working together is tougher these days.
“For this most recent record, we had a child and also had recording capabilities at home,” said Hammel. “About half the parts we'd work on separately. One of us would put a part down on the computer, and say, 'Look, I'm stuck. You run with this.' We'd just keep passing it back and forth until we had a song that we liked.”
“Bring It Back” (released last March), Mates of State's fourth album, is filled with glorious harmonies and symphonic pop. After laying down the basic tracks at the couple's home studio, the two ventured into a conventional studio in New Haven, Conn.
“It was the first time we went into the studio and said we wanted a producer,” said Hammel on working with producer Bill Racine (Rogue Wave, Mark Gardener). “He's just a gold mine of ideas. He also had a lot of sonic ideas, about how to achieve certain amp sounds and drum sounds and keyboard sounds. He really pushed us to find which sound works for each song.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 23, 2006
'The first time we ever played together, we were so nervous,” recalled Jason Hammel, one of half of the husband-wife duo Mates of State. “We thought that if it didn't work out musically, maybe there was something wrong with the relationship. But luckily it worked out.”
For Kori Gardner (organ, vocals) and Hammel (drums, vocals), the musical relationship blossomed into a marriage and more recently a child. After beginning their musical and emotional relationship in Lawrence, Kan., they moved to San Francisco and started playing around town as Mates of State.
Despite the lack of traditional instrumentation like bass and guitar, the two made infectious pop with layered vocals. Gardner and Hammel weren't sure if it would work at first.
“Before we met, we were both in separate bands, and were songwriters and singers,” said Hammel, speaking from his current home in East Haven, Conn. “When we came together, it was this lucky occurrence; like striking gold. We realized we could actually do this together.”
With its stripped-down duo mentality and the vocal interplay between Gardner and Hammel, the band has since earned a following among indie scenesters. From 2000-2003, the pair released three albums of cute pop (they were married in 2001). It's not the kind of pop that leaves a saccharine aftertaste, filled with fake enthusiasm or tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. Mates of State's music rings true with a sunshine outlook and sincerity.
In 2004, Gardner and Hammel moved to Connecticut to buy a house, explore New York City and be closer to Gardner's family: “We actually just wanted to live close to New York City for a while. We're about an hour from there. And Cory had some family here, halfway between us and New York City. We also wanted to buy a place, which we couldn't do in San Francisco.”
The year also gave the husband and wife a baby girl, who they named Magnolia, which transformed their lives on the road and at home. When on tour, they now travel with a nanny (a friend from San Francisco) and schedule drives between shows around Magnolia's naps.
Mates of State has always worked collaboratively, hashing out songs while both musicians were in the same room. With the move to the East Coast and the purchase of a home, the band has a home recording studio. But with a baby in the house, working together is tougher these days.
“For this most recent record, we had a child and also had recording capabilities at home,” said Hammel. “About half the parts we'd work on separately. One of us would put a part down on the computer, and say, 'Look, I'm stuck. You run with this.' We'd just keep passing it back and forth until we had a song that we liked.”
“Bring It Back” (released last March), Mates of State's fourth album, is filled with glorious harmonies and symphonic pop. After laying down the basic tracks at the couple's home studio, the two ventured into a conventional studio in New Haven, Conn.
“It was the first time we went into the studio and said we wanted a producer,” said Hammel on working with producer Bill Racine (Rogue Wave, Mark Gardener). “He's just a gold mine of ideas. He also had a lot of sonic ideas, about how to achieve certain amp sounds and drum sounds and keyboard sounds. He really pushed us to find which sound works for each song.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Pretty Girls Want Revenge
He said, she said: Dark dance tunes at HOB
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 16, 2006
When you get down to it, there are several ways to craft a rock song: from a female perspective (Tori Amos), from the male angle (AC/DC) or via pure androgyne (Ziggy Stardust).
Turn the dial to dark dance tunes and you'll often hear the intriguing pairing of Seattle's Pretty Girls Make Graves and Los Angeles duo She Wants Revenge, both appearing at downtown's House of Blues Tuesday. Individually, these groups bring that female-male yin-yang into sharp focus.
Led by the compelling female vocals of Andrea Zollo, PGMG represents the feminine half of the equation. Zollo sings on “Pyrte Pedetal, one of the standout songs from 2006 release “Elan Vital”: Your yarns were dipped in gold / I swallowed them whole / The real tragedy is that your act is just boring and old.
Rising out of the rainy Pacific Northwest, Pretty Girls Make Graves earned indie cred by mixing gritty guitar work with Zollo's beautiful singing on its 2002 debut “Good Health” (Lookout Records). The band moved to the Matador label and released its crowning achievement, “The New Romance,” in 2003, an album brimming with dark post-punk emotion.
After the underground success of “The New Romance,” original guitarist Nathan Thelen left the band to focus on his family and newborn child. So Zollo recruited her acupuncturist, Leona Marrs, to play keyboards and accordion. Marrs added more subtlety and texture to PGMG's 2006 offering “Elan Vital,” named after the teachings of Franch philosopher Henri Bergson.
Translated as “vital force,” the record reveals the band's softer side complete with bittersweet lyrics and complicated instrumental assemblage.
Turn the page to She Wants Revenge.
Sparked by Justin Warfield's deadpan Ian Curtis-inspired vocals and stripped-down moody keyboard riffs by Adam Bravin, the duo rips out its collective heart and lays it down on the tracks.
Delving into the dark corner of the male mind, Warfield croons on “These Things,” from the group's self-titled 2006 album: Let's make a fast plan, watch it burn to the ground / I try to whisper, so no one figures it out / I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed / It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things.
Filled with longing and despair bordering on violence (“Tear You Apart”), Warfield and company tap into the sinister side of the male psyche. The band has earned its detractors by using time-tested song formats harkening back to the 1980s scene in Manchester, England. But the universal truths of the lyrics and the infectious sing-along choruses transcend any mimicry that might be going on.
In the tandem's set during last year's Street Scene at Qualcomm Stadium, Warfield complained about performing in a steaming parking lot in broad daylight. They should find comfort in the dark confines of House of Blues alongside a suitable foil in Pretty Girls Make Graves.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 16, 2006
When you get down to it, there are several ways to craft a rock song: from a female perspective (Tori Amos), from the male angle (AC/DC) or via pure androgyne (Ziggy Stardust).
Turn the dial to dark dance tunes and you'll often hear the intriguing pairing of Seattle's Pretty Girls Make Graves and Los Angeles duo She Wants Revenge, both appearing at downtown's House of Blues Tuesday. Individually, these groups bring that female-male yin-yang into sharp focus.
Led by the compelling female vocals of Andrea Zollo, PGMG represents the feminine half of the equation. Zollo sings on “Pyrte Pedetal, one of the standout songs from 2006 release “Elan Vital”: Your yarns were dipped in gold / I swallowed them whole / The real tragedy is that your act is just boring and old.
Rising out of the rainy Pacific Northwest, Pretty Girls Make Graves earned indie cred by mixing gritty guitar work with Zollo's beautiful singing on its 2002 debut “Good Health” (Lookout Records). The band moved to the Matador label and released its crowning achievement, “The New Romance,” in 2003, an album brimming with dark post-punk emotion.
After the underground success of “The New Romance,” original guitarist Nathan Thelen left the band to focus on his family and newborn child. So Zollo recruited her acupuncturist, Leona Marrs, to play keyboards and accordion. Marrs added more subtlety and texture to PGMG's 2006 offering “Elan Vital,” named after the teachings of Franch philosopher Henri Bergson.
Translated as “vital force,” the record reveals the band's softer side complete with bittersweet lyrics and complicated instrumental assemblage.
Turn the page to She Wants Revenge.
Sparked by Justin Warfield's deadpan Ian Curtis-inspired vocals and stripped-down moody keyboard riffs by Adam Bravin, the duo rips out its collective heart and lays it down on the tracks.
Delving into the dark corner of the male mind, Warfield croons on “These Things,” from the group's self-titled 2006 album: Let's make a fast plan, watch it burn to the ground / I try to whisper, so no one figures it out / I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed / It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things.
Filled with longing and despair bordering on violence (“Tear You Apart”), Warfield and company tap into the sinister side of the male psyche. The band has earned its detractors by using time-tested song formats harkening back to the 1980s scene in Manchester, England. But the universal truths of the lyrics and the infectious sing-along choruses transcend any mimicry that might be going on.
In the tandem's set during last year's Street Scene at Qualcomm Stadium, Warfield complained about performing in a steaming parking lot in broad daylight. They should find comfort in the dark confines of House of Blues alongside a suitable foil in Pretty Girls Make Graves.
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Make way for the S-O-V
Lady Sovereign goes with the flow, her own
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 16, 2006
Make way for the S-O-Veeee, chimes English MC Lady Sovereign on her hip-hop anthem “Random.” Feisty and self-deprecating, the 5-foot, 1-inch white girl from London pushes aside stereotypes and delivers genre bouncing hip-hop.
Despite the glut of rap artists strolling the streets of London and the UK, the home of hip-hop (America) remains a tough market to crack for English rappers. Following in the footsteps of English MCs The Streets and M.I.A., the 20-year-old Lady Sovereign manages to stand head above the rest with her clever word play and machine-gun delivery.
“We've got our own UK scene going on, but it don't exactly get put in the limelight,” said Sovereign during a tour stop on the East Coast. “It's insane, because there are so many people in the game.”
Officially the biggest midget in the game, rhymes Sovereign on “Love Me or Hate Me,” from her first full-length release, “Public Warning.” Combining elements of rap, dub and Pharrel-inspired soul, Lady Sovereign cracked the charts on MTV's “Total Request Live” with her unique flow and ability to have fun with her height and feminine curves (or lack of them).
Sovereign, born Louise Amanda Harman near Wembley Stadium in London, grew up in East London's music scene. The area is known for its own style of electronic dub and hip-hop called “grime,” marked by its lightning quick rhymes and a willingness to combine styles under the umbrella of electronica and hip-hop.
Here's another English slang term for you: “chav.” Sovereign explained: “A chav is kind of working class, not exactly well off. It's a bit of a disrespectful term to be honest.” Chavs often sport hoodies and Adidas tracksuits, don tacky jewelry and listen to hip-hop almost exclusively. Sovereign shrugs off her attachment to the chav culture by the media.
“I don't classify myself as a chav,” said Sovereign. “If anything, I'm a well-groomed chav. It's disrespect really. Whatever, people just hatin'.”
Lady Sovereign remained a relative unknown in the States before meeting up with Def Jam Records' Jay-Z, who signed her after she freestyled in his New York City office. She released “Public Warning” on Halloween this year, which is gaining a foothold on the American charts with “Love Me or Hate Me.”
So I can't dance and I really can't sing / I can only do one thing / And that's be Lady Sovereign, spits Sovereign on “Love Me or Hate Me.” Despite the English slang and the difference in backgrounds, this MC feels like she can connect with American audiences.
“We've grown up in a different environment,” Sovereign, who plays House of Blues Sunday. “We've grown up in a different land. But it's the same all over the world. If you're real and you're honest, you're going to know what you're talking about.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 16, 2006
Make way for the S-O-Veeee, chimes English MC Lady Sovereign on her hip-hop anthem “Random.” Feisty and self-deprecating, the 5-foot, 1-inch white girl from London pushes aside stereotypes and delivers genre bouncing hip-hop.
Despite the glut of rap artists strolling the streets of London and the UK, the home of hip-hop (America) remains a tough market to crack for English rappers. Following in the footsteps of English MCs The Streets and M.I.A., the 20-year-old Lady Sovereign manages to stand head above the rest with her clever word play and machine-gun delivery.
“We've got our own UK scene going on, but it don't exactly get put in the limelight,” said Sovereign during a tour stop on the East Coast. “It's insane, because there are so many people in the game.”
Officially the biggest midget in the game, rhymes Sovereign on “Love Me or Hate Me,” from her first full-length release, “Public Warning.” Combining elements of rap, dub and Pharrel-inspired soul, Lady Sovereign cracked the charts on MTV's “Total Request Live” with her unique flow and ability to have fun with her height and feminine curves (or lack of them).
Sovereign, born Louise Amanda Harman near Wembley Stadium in London, grew up in East London's music scene. The area is known for its own style of electronic dub and hip-hop called “grime,” marked by its lightning quick rhymes and a willingness to combine styles under the umbrella of electronica and hip-hop.
Here's another English slang term for you: “chav.” Sovereign explained: “A chav is kind of working class, not exactly well off. It's a bit of a disrespectful term to be honest.” Chavs often sport hoodies and Adidas tracksuits, don tacky jewelry and listen to hip-hop almost exclusively. Sovereign shrugs off her attachment to the chav culture by the media.
“I don't classify myself as a chav,” said Sovereign. “If anything, I'm a well-groomed chav. It's disrespect really. Whatever, people just hatin'.”
Lady Sovereign remained a relative unknown in the States before meeting up with Def Jam Records' Jay-Z, who signed her after she freestyled in his New York City office. She released “Public Warning” on Halloween this year, which is gaining a foothold on the American charts with “Love Me or Hate Me.”
So I can't dance and I really can't sing / I can only do one thing / And that's be Lady Sovereign, spits Sovereign on “Love Me or Hate Me.” Despite the English slang and the difference in backgrounds, this MC feels like she can connect with American audiences.
“We've grown up in a different environment,” Sovereign, who plays House of Blues Sunday. “We've grown up in a different land. But it's the same all over the world. If you're real and you're honest, you're going to know what you're talking about.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
The Fray in N&D
The Fray has kept its wits during rapid rise
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 9, 2006
In four short years, The Fray has elevated from a regional band kicking around Denver to gold records, TV soundtracks and videos plastered all over MTV and VH-1. The reason why? The foursome crafts infectious pop songs with hummable choruses.
It also doesn't hurt to make a few friends along the way.
“We just tried to make as many friends as we could in the Denver area, whether they were in another band or a booking agent or bar owners or local press or on local TV news,” said drummer Ben Wysocki, recalling the band's early days in the Mile High City. “It really can't hurt to know somebody.
“It got to the point where we had spread ourselves pretty thin around Denver, almost to the point of playing too much around town. People may have been getting a little sick of us. But you almost have to get it to that point for everything to spread beyond Denver.”
And it did spread beyond Denver. After earning the title best new band from Denver alternative weekly Westword (think the Reader, but better), The Fray earned a record contract with Epic and started on its journey to popular notoriety. But before record contracts, bands need to earn their chops if they want to weather the storms of popularity.
“Every band has to do their time lugging their own crap around in their own cars, setting up and playing for five or 10 people,” said Wysocki, speaking from a tour stop in Orlando. “It gives you perspective, and helps you be appreciative when a lot of people start coming.”
Wysocki, vocalist/pianist Isaac Slade and guitarists Joe King and Dave Welsh traveled to record their debut with John Mellencamp guitarist Mike Wanchic. Located in Bloomington, Ind., the location provided The Fray privacy and the focus needed to complete “How to Save a Life.” The resulting 12 tracks reveal four young, clean-cut guys putting together pleasing piano pop ready-made for radio, video channels and TV soundtracks.
The single “Over My Head (Cable Car)” found its way onto the NBC sitcom “Scrubs” along with ABC's “Grey's Anatomy,” propelling the band into the national spotlight. The Fray warmed up for Weezer and Ben Folds before headlining the current (mostly sold out) tour, which stops at SDSU's Open Air Theatre Saturday.
Humble beginnings, earn your chops, record an album, sudden rise to fame, 21/2 tours. That's a lot to pack into four years. The fast track to fame wrecks many bands, getting lost in excess or believing the rock-star myth. But Wysocki and his mates have their heads on right.
“We consider ourselves husbands first, and that keeps us really grounded,” Wysocki said. “We may play a show for 6,000 people, and then call our wives after the show. And they're just waiting for us to get home and take the trash out. I'm still just Ben to her, and that's a really important thing.”
“This job is a privilege, and our whole band feels like it's a privilege,” Wysocki continued. “There are a lot of bands that we've known that would just dream to be where we're at and doing what we're doing.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
By Chris Nixon
For The Union-Tribune
November 9, 2006
In four short years, The Fray has elevated from a regional band kicking around Denver to gold records, TV soundtracks and videos plastered all over MTV and VH-1. The reason why? The foursome crafts infectious pop songs with hummable choruses.
It also doesn't hurt to make a few friends along the way.
“We just tried to make as many friends as we could in the Denver area, whether they were in another band or a booking agent or bar owners or local press or on local TV news,” said drummer Ben Wysocki, recalling the band's early days in the Mile High City. “It really can't hurt to know somebody.
“It got to the point where we had spread ourselves pretty thin around Denver, almost to the point of playing too much around town. People may have been getting a little sick of us. But you almost have to get it to that point for everything to spread beyond Denver.”
And it did spread beyond Denver. After earning the title best new band from Denver alternative weekly Westword (think the Reader, but better), The Fray earned a record contract with Epic and started on its journey to popular notoriety. But before record contracts, bands need to earn their chops if they want to weather the storms of popularity.
“Every band has to do their time lugging their own crap around in their own cars, setting up and playing for five or 10 people,” said Wysocki, speaking from a tour stop in Orlando. “It gives you perspective, and helps you be appreciative when a lot of people start coming.”
Wysocki, vocalist/pianist Isaac Slade and guitarists Joe King and Dave Welsh traveled to record their debut with John Mellencamp guitarist Mike Wanchic. Located in Bloomington, Ind., the location provided The Fray privacy and the focus needed to complete “How to Save a Life.” The resulting 12 tracks reveal four young, clean-cut guys putting together pleasing piano pop ready-made for radio, video channels and TV soundtracks.
The single “Over My Head (Cable Car)” found its way onto the NBC sitcom “Scrubs” along with ABC's “Grey's Anatomy,” propelling the band into the national spotlight. The Fray warmed up for Weezer and Ben Folds before headlining the current (mostly sold out) tour, which stops at SDSU's Open Air Theatre Saturday.
Humble beginnings, earn your chops, record an album, sudden rise to fame, 21/2 tours. That's a lot to pack into four years. The fast track to fame wrecks many bands, getting lost in excess or believing the rock-star myth. But Wysocki and his mates have their heads on right.
“We consider ourselves husbands first, and that keeps us really grounded,” Wysocki said. “We may play a show for 6,000 people, and then call our wives after the show. And they're just waiting for us to get home and take the trash out. I'm still just Ben to her, and that's a really important thing.”
“This job is a privilege, and our whole band feels like it's a privilege,” Wysocki continued. “There are a lot of bands that we've known that would just dream to be where we're at and doing what we're doing.”
Chris Nixon is a San Diego music writer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)