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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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Death Cab for Cutie: Such great heights
Wednesday 08 October @ 13:44:03 |
 by ROB VAN ALSTYNE
Started as the lo-fi, one-man project of a music control freak (singer/guitarist Ben Gibbard), Death Cab for Cutie have morphed over the ensuing five years into one of the leading lights of the ever nebulous “college rock” category.
First grabbing attention in its home state of Washington with the 1998 release, Something About Airplanes, on the tiny Barsuk records label, Death Cab for Cutie were one of many pacific northwestern bands during the close of the ’90s (most notably Built to Spill and Modest Mouse) crafting hazy would-be anthems spun from a wealth of languid, angular guitar lines to the delight of the underage crowd. Even then, however, Death Cab was a band apart, with Gibbard’s boyish quaver a little too tuneful and sweet (think Tears for Fears front man Roland Orzabal) to fit in with the rest of the shakey indie-rock vocal pack. As Gibbard slowly let loose his once tightly held creative reigns, the band blossomed, with the increased presence of guitarist/producer Chris Walla reshaping Death Cab for Cutie into a true collaborative effort.
 Follow-up releases saw the band (which also includes longtime bassist Nick Harmer and new drummer Jason McGerr) expanding its sound slightly, toying with increased atmospherics and slightly more rocking tempos, while mostly sticking to its post-adolescent themes of illicit party-hookups and hidden cigarette butts. All that changed with the group’s breakthrough third full-length, 2001’s The Photo Album, in which the band brought some of the intensity of its live show to bear on record for the first time. The tentative (albeit winning) mid-tempo tunes of Death Cab’s past were all but eradicated, replaced with hard-driving rock (“Why’d You Want to Live Here?”) and edgy, pensive tunes (“We Laugh Indoors”). The increased presence of piano and keyboards also livened the mix, serving as the primary instrument on both moody ballads (“Information Travels Faster”) and spritely pop (“Blacking Out the Friction”). Perhaps most importantly, however, Gibbard appeared ready to move on from solely documenting the infantile maneuvers of dysfunctional early 20s relationships and cast his perceptive lyrical eye upon other subject matter (from sharply conveying the feelings of an abandoned son at his deadbeat dad’s funeral to laying out in detail the reasons Los Angeles is a shitty city to reside in). It felt like a true breakthrough, an exceptionally crisp and accessible recording that magnified the bands previously subtle melodic charms. The album was hailed widely, elevating the band out of the overcrowded “on the verge” category and into the seemingly self-negating status of indie-rock “stars” (alongside the likes of Bright Eyes, Guided By Voices and a few other college radio chart topping acts that manage to garner a good bit of ink in high-profile magazines while steering just shy of ACTUAL mass success).
Now was the time when Death Cab could have cashed in their chips, given birth to The Photo Album Part II and basked in easily-achieved good will; or perhaps inked a deal with the majors (who were undoubtedly knocking heatedly at the door) and simply re-recorded some of their more choice cuts from their earlier independent releases. But the band did just the opposite, turning out a dense and uncompromisingly difficult platter, Transatlanticism (released this week on Barsuk records). The first half of the record floats by comfortably enough, with the cascading bop ba’s of “The Sound of Settling,” proving Death Cab can still craft sweet toothed audio confections on demand if necessary, but it’s Transatlanticism’s icy, piano-dominated second half that shows Death Cab for Cutie to be a restlessly creative and ambitious entity. The title track weaves Gibbard’s fairy-tale-gone-wrong about separated lovers around a solitary piano figure and ambient background squiggles for nearly four minutes, with an isolated guitar hook repeated ad nauseum as the only accompaniment, before a pounding drum pattern eventually drops in. It’s an eight-minute track, but the listener’s attention is never in danger of straying. Elsewhere the band deftly weaves in electronic music touches (“We Looked Like Giants”) and new-found folk skills (“A Lack of Color”) into its previously streamlined rock sound.
As the group’s members settle into their late 20s and headlining rock act status, it’s obvious that Death Cab for Cutie are in it for the long haul. Whether that means a sustainable cult career or major commercial breakthrough is entirely up to them. Gibbard recently took time out to chat with me before the band headed overseas to Japan, talking about issues ranging from band practice habits to the importance of keeping perspective on success.
 Pulse: The press biography being sent out for the new record mentions that the songwriting process for Transatlanticism was significantly different from previous records. How did you guys approach constructing the songs for this album differently from previous efforts?
Gibbard: The records have always kind of started from the same base of my four tracked demos and what have you. The real difference with the arrangements this time around is that we made a conscious decision to not bring the songs into the live arena while we were recording them. It was good to not be concerned with how we were going to play the songs live when we were making them. Out attitude was that we’ll take these songs and build them from the ground up, and being able to replicate them live is an afterthought. It made for a far more creative and fulfilling studio experience. Rather than go in and record the songs we’d already been playing live for the last two-and-a-half tours and sitting around playing the guitar part we’ve already played to death, we were able to really be adventurous; be as creative as possible.
Pulse: The band took a fair amount of time off from the road and active work in between The Photo Album and Transatlanticism, during which period you guys all pursued different projects. How important was that time away from the band in terms of keeping things fresh and exciting in the creative process? Do you find that your time spent working on music outside of the context of Death Cab with a project like the Postal Service ends up having an impact on the work you do within the band later on?
Gibbard: It’s really amazing to me to see a band like Hot Hot Heat who’ve been on the road since last October. I saw those dudes up in Vancouver doing a video shoot and I just couldn’t even imagine being in a band with that level of constant time commitment. Early on we practiced every week, but that’s not really how we operate now. The band is definitely still the focal point of our lives though, it’s always exciting to keep coming back and trying to push things further, just trying to up the level of quality each time. The way we work though, we’ll do a tour and then take two months off. Like right now we’re about to head on the road for seven weeks, but December and January we have completely off. I mean, I’ll see the guys because we’re all friends, but we won’t be working on music. We just got practice space for the first time in our band history to prepare for this tour; in the past we’ve always just bummed space off of friends, we’re not the kind of band that spends our time practicing together every week. We’re all really supportive of our musical endeavors outside of the band. Nick [Harmer] was on tour with Postal Service and if Chris needs a hand working at the studio or with another band I’m usually ready to help him out. We all want to see each other succeed. For me, the band has become so much more than just four people making music. We all want to be active, creative people and keep growing musically, and we realize that as much of that happens working outside of the band as working inside it. Chris will come back from producing a different band’s record and be like, “Oh man, you’ve go to see the guitar sound effect I found, it’s amazing.” I’ll be like, “When I was working on music with Jimmy, I learned how to use this crazy loop-box—let’s slip it in on ‘We Looked Like Giants.’” That’s a huge part of what drives our band. There have been times that Chris is like, “Maybe I should move to L.A. I could get a lot more recording jobs there.” I’m totally encouraging him on that idea, we’re way past the point that we all need to live in the same city to be able to work together. We’ve played some of these songs so many times together we’re not in any danger of forgetting how.
Pulse: It’s interesting that you mention Chris’ and your work with other bands as being one of the main influences on the creative process in the band. Judging from the various groups you guys have toured with extensively in the past and the number of records you’ve guest spotted on, it seems like you’re one of the more well connected people in the independent rock community. How much of the fun and excitement for you in being a musician is related to your friendships with other musicians in the larger independent rock music community?
Gibbard: That’s really like the greatest reward I think. Chris will call me and be like, “Dude, the new Vanderslice record is so fucking good you won’t believe it.” And then John will pick up the phone and say, “Hey come in and play on it, I’ve got the perfect song for you to play on but I won’t play it for you until you get here.” Or a moment like right after I got the new Long Winters album and was driving down to see their show in L.A. and the most beautiful part of the record came on just as we were cresting over this hill and it was so damn beautiful that I had tears in my eyes and had to call John right then and tell him how great he is. Everybody is inspired by the Beatles, but it’s a lot more exciting for me to get to hear great music all the time being made by my friends. It just floors me. Nothing can compete with inspiration from people in your immediate circles. The excitement I feel when I hear the new songs from the guy downstairs in my apartment building is hard to top. He’ll come up with an amazing song and it just fires me up. I have to try and come up with one to equal it right then. When you have that kind of interaction and can get the chance to play with other artists, it’s a driving force and nothing can be equal to it and it’s awesome.
Pulse: Death Cab for Cutie has had a really successful run so far by independent standards with a large amount of press and college radio airplay, but from the times I’ve seen you play live and the chances I’ve had to speak with you over the years, it’s pretty clear that none of the attention has changed the way you approach making music or relate to your audience. Is staying level-headed in the face of increased attention something you guys ever consciously think about in the band? How important is all the success for you guys?
Gibbard: Selling records isn’t something that we ever really see as a marker of the quality of the record that we made. When we finish a record the only standard is if we can put it on and say, “Hey, we made a good record.” The sense of accomplishment that I get when I finish a song on my four-track in my room is never going to be matched by any amount of record sales. Hopefully that will remain the case if we’re selling five million records or five. That being said, I love playing in front of large crowds. It’s total bullshit to say that you don’t want to and long for the old days when the room was pretty much empty. Everybody wants to have an audience. Why else would you bother to play out? It’s a great time to interact with people who like your music and buy your records. The feeling of being at First Avenue in front of 1,000 people is amazing, but it’s fleeting. That hour and a half is completely thrilling, but you can’t put that in your pocket and walk around with it in your daily life. It’s not going to make you a better person. You still have to go back and live your life and deal with the same things other people do. Being somewhat successful doing music is my dream, and it’s great. But I think, like, anyone who achieves their professional goal, whether it’s in accounting or whatever, you realize pretty quickly that that achievement alone isn’t going to make you happy. Happiness is something that comes from a whole different place.
 Pulse: You seem to have a lot healthier attitude than many of your contemporaries about these kind of issues. It’s interesting to me that it tends to be the musicians who’ve actually achieved a measure of success, like Superchunk or Guided By Voices, who are more modest and reasonable about what their music means in the larger scheme of things. At least from my experience talking to people anyway…
Gibbard: If 15-year-old Ben could see 25-year old-Ben he would be freaking out like, “This shit is crazy! You really get to make records for a living! You get to play shows!” I always try to keep that perspective. The other night my girlfriend and I went to see Evan Dando [from early ’90s Buzzbin band, The Lemonheads] play and it was just the saddest shit, there were about 40 people there and he only played 12 songs and just burned through them. You could tell he was disappointed with the turnout and didn’t even want to be there. I mean this is a dude that has had gold records in the past and now he’s playing to smaller crowds and just pissed off. I honestly would be happy if I could be in his position, if 15 years after I started doing music I could be playing a show on the opposite side of the country from where I started and still have people who were really interested and cared. His attitude was just so poor, one fan was videotaping the show and Evan didn’t see it until near the end, apparently, and he just stopped right in the middle of the song and berated the guy, demanded his tape from him and then went right back into the song. To be so cynical about your audience and fans is just depressing. It’s nice to have those examples of things not to turn into. As much as I never want to be the rock star that wouldn’t sign my album or give me the time of day when I was 15.
Pulse: Yeah, it seems like some people labor under the illusion that if they “make it,” then everyone will be in awe of them, when the reality of it is that even the most successful independent bands still draw a blank in terms of any recognition from 99.9 percent of the public.
Gibbard: I was at a Mariners game the other day and had the realization that there were more people seated in the ballpark for this one game than bought our last record. Our band is just a drop in the pool of music in terms of numbers and that’s just a perspective issue. I think it’s beyond awesome that people have an emotional response to what we do and that wouldn’t change if it were a hundred people or 100,000, but it’s crazy when you meet people at our level of success, or even slightly less, who carry themselves like Robert Plant. There are some people around like that and it’s just a total joke. The example you gave of Mac McCaughan is perfect—I’ve always loved Superchunk and bought all their records. I remember seeing them as a teenager and it was such a huge moment because I realized, “Hey, I can do this. I can be in a band, and music can be played by normal people.” I really thought when I was 13 that you couldn’t be in a band unless you played ripping guitar solos and looked a certain way. I really thought that. It was all hair metal around when I was growing up.
Pulse: The way the music industry used to operate, this would have been the time when Death Cab for Cutie signed with Sony or something and made the grab for the brass ring. It seems now, though, like there’s been a really huge schism put in place between indie-labels and the majors with very few people crossing over anymore. Both sides of the table are content to just live in totally separate worlds. What are your thoughts on this issue as a band at the fore of the indie community? Do you envision a day when Death Cab would be recording for a major label?
Gibbard: I think that the music industry as a whole, both independent and major labels, is in a really crazy state of flux and change right now. From talking to my friends who work at different labels, the one thing they all say in common is that nobody knows what the fuck is going on. We as musicians are in a very interesting position now. I just get this sense that something incredible is starting to happen in music again. It seems like I’m starting to see bands kind of from the same world as us start to make some moves. Bands like My Morning Jacket [are signing with major labels] and it seems like labels are making interesting deals again. It’s no secret that majors have a certain inherent evil to them, but I think the creative record deal is maybe not that far off again. I don’t know what that means for this band or other bands. We’ve never closed the doors on any opportunity, and we’ve never slammed the door in anyone’s face who wanted to present us with an opportunity. We’ve never been the kind of band to take on the “indie forever and major never” position.
To quote Cex [an indie rap artist]: “Why would you want to make a record that you only want 2,000 people to hear?” I’ve never heard a band say “I don’t want to sell anymore records.” Every band is out there trying to get heard. Why are you on tour if you don’t want people to see your band? I want as many people as could possibly like our music to get the chance to hear it. You would be a fool not to. Granted, there are a lot of concessions that we’re not willing to make as a band for the sake of record sales and that probably hurts us in the grand scheme of things commercially. But at the end of the day, I want people to know this band, I wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t have some kind of ambition.
Death Cab for Cutie are (L-R) Jason McGerr, Nick Harmer, Ben Gibbard, Chris Walla
The Pulse of the Twin Cities and Radio K are proud to present Death Cab for Cutie Thur., Oct. 9, at First Avenue with opening act The Long Winters. 7 p.m. $12. All-Ages. 701 First Ave., N., Mpls. 612-338-8388.
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