Rhombus: The Shape of Things to Come
Wednesday 20 November @ 10:09:57 |
 by P.J. Morel
All right kids, time for today’s geometry lesson: a rhombus is a figure composed of four sides of equal length in which each of the opposite sides is parallel. This generally results in a pair of acute angles and a corresponding pair of obtuse angles, but as each pair of opposite vertical angles converges towards 90 degrees, the result is the special case of a completely orthogonal equilateral quadrilateral. In conclusion then (and to wit): a rhombus is kinda square, but it ain’t.
As a concrete example, let’s check out the local band by the same name. Rhombus is the project of longtime Twin Cities musician Steve Roehm. Rombus’ music, like its namesake, is bold and angular. And yeah, it can be kinda square—but square like Devo, square like Weezer. Rhombus wears its abrasive personality on its sleeve, cranking out bad-attitude anthems like “You Stink” and “Buttonpusher.”
Musically, Rhombus likes to blend stark punk simplicity with odd, sometimes dissonant chord voicing. There’s no jangle in the guitars, no lilt in the drums; Rhombus keep things tight, with only a predilection to lurching rhythms to break up the steady drive of the songs. At the front of the mix, manic synth leads are a foil to Roehm’s sing-song, somewhat nasal vocal delivery—it’s a combination that can’t help earn the band Devo comparisons.
Ditto for the lyrics, which riff on a spectrum of social grievances. “I get all my lyrics just driving around in the car,” says Roehm. “I’ve got a little thing like that [he gestures to my tape recorder and mimes talking into it], ‘People drive like such knuckleheads! Why don’t you wait your turn, buddy!’ Half my stuff is just whiney complaining.”
Well, complaining, but with an edge. Rhombus is shot-through with a scrappy sort of aggression, an attitude of ‘what makes you so big?’ Take “Buttonpusher,” which could be something of a theme song, as an example. “Now you see my contemplation / Mechanized subscription / to you exasperation / Oh your pretty lights / they flicker red and green / Your frustration’s so easy / it’s elementary.”
The result is a unique sort of energy. It seems that most aggressive music comes from other places in the emotional spectrum—be it careening hardcore anger, dour metal angst, or hyperactive pop-punk mirth. None of those really apply here. Rhombus is certainly fun, but their vibe feels born of...well, irritation. It’s like that riff that gets under your skin and plays through your head all night. Rhombus has found a way to make nervous energy sprout wings.
That it should be animated by such a precocious attitude might seem odd at first, since Roehm is something of an old hand in the Twin Cities music scene. He got his start playing drums with a national outfit called Billy Goat in the early ‘90s, then made a reputation playing locally with the Matt Wilson band. But that’s a whole different scene for Roehm, who’s been a professional musician for most of his adult life. Rhombus is his first band, his first project that isn’t first and foremost a source of income.
It’s been a long time in the making: “I kind of formed Rhombus back in ‘95, and it lasted for about half a year. I’d never sung before. I was like, ‘I’m not going to play drums, I want to try and front a band.’ But it just all fell apart.” Since then Roehm has stayed active as a vibraphone player, of all things. (“I played in [Matt Wilson’s] rock band as a vibes player. I’ve got like these Jimi Hendrix vibes. I run them through like a Big Muff and a ring modulator.”) He still plays a regular gig at the Gay ’90s with a jazz combo called Your Neighborhood Trio—as well as weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, the usual.
He also gives drum lessons, a unique source of inspiration for Rhombus material: “I work out a lot of my music material on my students—6th, 7th, 8th, 9th graders,” he says. It’s also a chance to get to the kids early, make sure they’re on the right musical path, musically. “You’re like, ‘what’d you listen to this week Johnny?’ ‘Uh well, uh, my little sister was listening to the Lion King soundtrack...’You’re like, ‘what? Here, let me dub you some Medeski Martin and Wood. Here, this is Semisonic.”
Rhombus finally got started in earnest a few years ago, when Roehm began working with keyboardist Corey Eichen. Since then, the band has built up a distinctive sound that gives voice to Roehm’s compositions. Roehm plays bass in the band, and he keeps close to the guitar work of Schoen Oslund and drummer George Marich. On stage they’re a tight rhythmic unit. Buttonpusher, the band’s first full-length, showcases their skill: it was mostly recorded live-to-tape, a necessity born of the high cost of working at a first-rate studio. But the results speak for themselves: bright and punchy, it turns a car stereo into a Friday night at the Entry.
For his part, Roehm is guardedly optimistic about Rhombus’ prospects this time around. He’s paid his dues, he’s been around the block, and he has some sense of what works. Now he’s just looking for a kind ear or two to help get things moving. Listening to him talk about it, you get the upbeat flip side of his biting lyrics: “I think what you do comes back to you. You never know when your life’s gonna end. When you’re gonna die in a car crash on the way home, and people say, ‘Aw that dude was all right,’ instead of, ‘He never waited his turn.’”
Rhombus plays this Thurs., Nov. 21 at the Fireball Esprersso Café with The Crooks and The Blind Snake. 7 p.m. $5. All-ages. 1532 W. Larpentuer, St. Paul. 651-645-6800.
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