1. Native Tongues poster children Black Sheep have a new release dropping next month after hibernating for the past 12 years of the rap game (Dres’ solo joint Sure Shot Redemption (1999) didn’t make many waves, despite being somewhat decent). I’d like to say I’m excited – A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing (1991) is easily my favorite hip hop record of all time – but after listening to a few forthcoming tracks on their MySpace page, I just can’t muster the enthusiasm. Dres sounds hungrier than ever, still retaining the sharp wit and clever lyrical puns of yesteryear, but the production is a tired re-hash of those stock “neo-soul” beats (“Be Careful”, “Sunshine”). Prediction: I’ll buy it anyway, of course, then chide myself for my unrealistic expectations.

2. There are a number of jazz records that are perfect sonic representations of this time of year in New England, when a blanket of bracing cool air sweeps across the city every evening, the traffic slowly dissipates, and the comforting glow of the streetlights subdues the neighborhood. Oliver Nelson’s “Stolen Moments” resides here, epitomizing the inherency of the word “cool” and achieving an additional measure of timelessness with each passing year.

“Stolen Moments” – Oliver Nelson 8:46 (Blues and the Abstract Truth, Impulse! 1961)

3. With all the buzz surrounding the new season of HBO’s The Wire, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and see what the fuss was all about. I just finished the first season completely floored; “visual novel” really is the best phrase for it. How the writers skillfully managed to develop over 30 distinct and multi-dimensional characters over the course of 12 episodes is beyond my range of comprehension, but rarely have I viewed something so rewarding as this. I also love the lack of any kind of musical score for an additional facet of realism (ironically, being a film scoring major, my favorite cue is usually silence).

4. Mark Prindle has my vote for The Best Way to Kill Time at Your Desk and Laugh Your Ass Off. The man’s in-depth analysis of the Steppenwolf catalog alone is the stuff of legend.

5. While shopping at the otherwise satisfactory Eastside Marketplace the other day, I heard the following three atrocities piped through the store speakers, in order:

• “Set the Night to Music” – Starship
• “True Colors” – Phil Collins
• “A Little Bit of This, a Little Bit of That” – Carolyn Dawn Johnson

This is simply unacceptable. Who is responsible for this sort of programming? I can’t imagine a demographic that wouldn’t be, at the very least, slightly irritated by this kind of forced exposure to undoubtedly the disgraceful nadir in the history of popular music. If you haven’t had the pleasure of acquaintance with the third one, it’s notable for containing the most disgusting, maggot-infested, steaming mass of a guitar solo ever committed to tape. I had paid for my groceries and was out of the store before the next torrent of aural waste was dispensed.

6. Is it too early to start thinking about holiday gifts? Instead of my usual list of records this year, I’ve decided to make it easier. Please note that it must say “di Parma” somewhere on the package.

7. I love getting all riled up by sites like the ridiculously-named DigitalDreamDoor.com, which has one of the largest collections of absurdly amateurish, grossly uninformed music lists on the web. My favorite is the “100 Greatest Hip Hop Producers” list, which throws criteria such as innovation and influence out the window for old reliables: safety and popularity. Pete Rock holds a disgraceful #13, Diamond D is slapped in the face at #49, and Madlib, Large Professor, and J. Dilla are even lower than that. Dr. Dre, unsurprisingly, holds the #1 spot.

8. Suddenly I wondered aloud, “Where the hell did the last two hours go?”

9. Anita Baker has always been my girl, and Rapture (1986) has been sounding really good lately in between spurts of Mastodon and Carcass (still not out of my metal phase just yet). Combine 2 parts husky voice of seduction, 1 part watery bassline, 2 parts original songwriting, and 3 parts sultry sexiness and you’ll get “Been So Long.”

“Been So Long” – Anita Baker 5:10 (Rapture, Atlantic 1986)

10. I was glad to see that John Zorn was one of the recipients of a MacArthur Fellowship this year; as one of the hardest-working musicians today, the man certainly deserves it. What I’m not looking forward to is the forthcoming surge in the amount of Zorn product unleashed to the masses, courtesy of Tzadik, for which the term “quality control” has no meaning. Thus, I can reasonably expect the following treats within the next year or so:

• The Explanations, Vols. 1-4. Four discs worth of behind-the-scenes studio commentary, where John Zorn divulges the secrets to deciphering his unreadable scores! Listen to Zorn spend over 45 minutes explaining the complexities of a six-bar movement in his Adagio for Hamster Wheel Quartet!
• The Take-Out Orders of The East Village. Listen to John Zorn describe his favorite Thai eateries in his neighborhood, along with actual phone orders placed to said restaurants!
• Filmworks, Vol. XXVII. Having completely exhausted all contacts for film work, John Zorn turns to the medium of malfunctioning televisions, composing cues for various types of poor reception and deafening static! Featuring Yamantaka Eye on vocals/screams, Jamie Saft on white noise, and Mike Patton on bowel movements.

Let me begin by saying that I’ve always had issues with the phrase “guilty pleasures.” Why should I feel some sort of shame or answerability for liking, say, the new Beyoncé single? And to whom am I confessing this horrid accountability? I ceased worrying about what others thought regarding my tastes ages ago. No, the only time I feel actual guilt when enjoying a piece of music is when the accuser is my own conscience. I strive to be as open-minded as possible, but there are certain kinds of music for which my revulsion runs bone-deep, and when I happen upon myself taking pleasure in something that swims against these principles, I can’t help but feel a little icky inside. I have certain expectations and assumptions regarding my tastes, so when I discover that I have developed an interest in a band that sounds like, I don’t know, Spin Doctors, it’s a tad discomforting. Each of the following three records has more or less left a sour taste in my mouth. Except, you know, a good sour taste.

While not the sole catalyst, they are one of the prime culprits for the wretched rap-metal movement that plagued the latter half of the 90’s. On the surface, their music has all the angst-fueled aggression that a 14-year-old kid has at his dad for confiscating his skateboard for a week. They have a “turntablist.” Based on the evidence, I clearly should loathe the Deftones. Yet there was always an artier, intellectual edge to them that belied the company they kept: vocalist Chino Moreno has released a spoken-word album, and guitarist Stephen Carpenter has loudly professed his adoration for My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. When a friend dragged me to a show of theirs back in ’98, I was baffled when the band immediately extinguished the mosh pit with a straight-faced cover of “El Scorcho.”

The group’s debut seems too self-consciously aggro for me to enjoy, but I find more and more to like about sophomore release Around the Fur (1997) each time I listen to it. Drummer Abe Cunningham has a refreshingly restrained, intelligent approach to the kit, Moreno avoids sputtering rap-rock hooks in lieu of frail and vulnerable falsetto lines, and there are somber moments of chilling quietude that still surprise me. The shoegazey heaviness of “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” is actually kind-of pretty; subtract the ripping guitar distortion and the Terry Date production and what’s left is a pleasant little slice of dreampop.

“Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” – Deftones 5:08 (Around the Fur, Maverick 1997)

For a few years I was a member of BMG Music Club, devising variations on my full name to open multiple accounts and pay next to nothing for twelve CD’s. Evidently their warehouse ship wasn’t that tight, because I was constantly receiving the wrong discs in the mail. When Finelines (2001) by a band calling themselves My Vitriol mistakenly arrived one day, my curiosity got the best of me and I popped the disc in my stereo. I found myself pleasantly taken aback at the Ride-like drum pattern and dreamy, Cure-like chorus effect on the guitars. Suddenly the song exploded into pitch-shifted noise, a restless tom pattern cued a wall of ringing guitars followed by a nasty pick slide, and the band began tearing into a ferocious current of sound, causing me to promptly forget what I had originally ordered. “Yes!”

No. This band is just awful, and I had been duped. Had my Bullshit Detectors been up and running, I would have immediately identified My Vitriol as shameless hacks whose music is so painfully obvious it stings the ears. What does it indicate when the best descriptors for a group are all other band names? Had I heard this in my younger, greener teenage days, I would have been an easy victim: “My God! A band who has managed to combine the breezy melodicism of the Smashing Pumpkins, the moody atmospherics of The Cure, the noisy haze of My Bloody Valentine, and the balls-to-the-wall energy of Foo Fighters!” Yet without the meekest shred of originality. Touché, My Vitriol. You may have won this time, but I’ll be onto you for your sophomore release, which is, what, going on five years now? Stumped as to which bands to brazenly, criminally thieve from? Gutless bastards. In the meantime, I’ll be sneaking secret listens of Fineless when have full confidence that no one else is around.

“Alpha Waves / Always: Your Way” – My Vitriol 5:58 (Finelines, Epic 2001)

Man, was I disappointed when The Rising Tide (2000) was released. Despite the subtle hints of pomposity Sunny Day Real Estate nestled into How It Feels to Be Something On (1998), I was in a grim state of denial with this record. I began to absorb it with a dull resistance, and dozens of knee-jerk criticisms pinballed throughout my brain. Is that orchestra really necessary? That is such a trite progression. What’s with all the suffocating compression, on a drumless track, no less? What is that, a vocoder, for Christ’s sake? This is so emo; I’m feeling nauseous. Hey! That’s exactly the same as the coda to The Police’s “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic”! Why is that synthetic piano necessary? God, do I miss Diary (1994).

Just as I was about to file the record away forever, regretting the $12 that could have gone toward that Talk Talk import disc, I listened one last time. By the time the shimmering chords of the closing title track made their appearance, I knew it was too late. I was sweating in the sickly, comforting pool of addiction, and The Rising Tide was my drug of choice. My feelings perfectly echoed a key lyric in “Rain Song”: “You are the devil, they say, and it’s candy.” I knew that this wasn’t the Sunny Day Real Estate I fell in love with, but rational thought was long gone by then. When they came into town I was one of the first in line at the venue and relished every moment of the show, joyously singing along to the blue-light saccharine bliss of “The Ocean.” It wasn’t until the vomit-inducing The Fire Theft (2003) that I snapped out of it, and I now keep a cautious distance from The Rising Tide, entirely aware of my weakness and firmly clutching my sobriety.

“Rain Song” – Sunny Day Real Estate 4:03 (The Rising Tide, Time Bomb 2000)

Atlanta-based quartet Mastodon (guitarists Bill Kelliher and Brett Hinds, bassist/vocalist Troy Sanders, and drummer Bränn Dailor) has been quickly ascending the ranks as the best metal band in North America for the past five years, and new release Blood Mountain (2006) will likely solidify their position at the top. Situated as an alternative to the tedious snooze-metal of bands like Isis and Cult of Luna, Mastodon are furiously intense, brilliantly technical without being overly mathy, and capable of writing intelligent concept albums with subject matter ranging from obscure mythological creatures to Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. Musically, Blood Mountain is almost too good to fully take in one sitting: not a single riff is wasted, Dailor’s drumming is still unbelievable, and the production is more polished and varied, yet complements the music tremendously. Even if metal isn’t your teacup, you have to at least listen to why hundreds of thousands of metal fans are shitting themselves into a frenzy and haling the band as the second coming of (the anti-?) Christ.

There is a caveat, of course, which keeps Blood Mountain from being a perfect album, and it’s colossally significant. It isn’t my intention to swim against the tidal wave, but Mastodon seems to be hopelessly lost when it comes to the vocals. No longer content with the violent roars that characterized Remission (2003) (of which I loved), Sanders and Hinds mine from Ozzy power-balladry on “Sleeping Giant” to distorted, filter-swept Mike Patton yelps on “Bladecatcher.” One problem: neither has any vocal presence whatsoever. It could be chalked up to a sad attempt at broadening their fanbase or an unsuccessful yet passing effort in the name of experimentation (let’s hope it’s the latter), but it’s undoubtedly the most frustrating aspect of the record. There’s also little here that matches the searing intensity of “Island” from Leviathan (2004), but by no means is Blood Mountain sedated or toned down in any way.

Put simply, each song here (save the psychedelic closer “Pendulous Skin”) has at least one riff that absolutely slaughters most metal bands’ entire catalogs. Dailor has tightened up his kit work into something resembling a mechanized octopus; the maelstrom-like flailing that dominated past albums has been streamlined to lock into perfect time with each successive riff that the guitarists fire at him. For an example, feast on “Capillarian Crest,” which takes the average, say, King Crimson tune, injects it with amphetamines and steroids, grinds it to a pulp, then reassembles the remains with jaw-dropping levels of execution. Play this track for any metalhead and you’re guaranteed to get a frozen pause from the headbanging for the calm utterance of two words: “Jesus Christ.”

“Capillarian Crest” – Mastodon 4:25 (Blood Mountain, Reprise 2006)

“Siberian Divide” softens the texture slightly with some ringing acoustic guitars in 7/8, but is still dominated by thrash metal riffing and phenomenally complex drumming – my God, just listen to Dailor’s fill at 2:33. Cedric Bixler-Zavala from The Mars Volta drops in for some otherworldly operatic vocal shrieks, and at 4:14 the guitarists break into a demonically badass riff cribbed directly from the Slayer playbook.

“Siberian Divide” – Mastodon feat. Cedric Bixler-Zavala 5:32 (Blood Mountain, Reprise 2006)

Perhaps the best description of the lyrical content of “Siberian Divide” comes from Dailor, whose comments in an interview had me geekishly grinning from ear-to-ear:

“[The character is] caught in a blizzard where [he] becomes frostbitten and frozen and [he’s] starving and starts to hallucinate. [Then] this snow queen appears before him and tells him it’s okay to start eating his own flesh. And then he starts to do that. Then an aurora borealis appears, and he thinks it’s God, and it starts affecting this crystal skull he’s been toting up the mountain, and it starts to warm his body. That, coupled with the knowledge of the aurora borealis being God, gives him the strength to start to carry on again.”

And an army of prog-metal fanatics, looking up from their secret weekend Dungeons & Dragons tournament with handfuls of 20-sided die, nodded their collective heads in approval.

While metalheads are frothing over the new Mastodon record released last week (which I’m still digesting – thoughts coming soon), the pre-release hype and jittery anticipation surrounding Blood Mountain (2006) unfairly blinded another notable long-player released last month on Prosthetic Records, Gojira’s From Mars to Sirius (2006). I happened to stumble upon this record while numbingly surfing eMusic last week, and it was actually the striking cover art that initially drew my attention. A short disclaimer before critiquing: over the years I’ve grown incredibly fussy and picky about my metal, thus I purchase maybe a dozen metal records a year. I’m nowhere near an authority but I certainly know what I like, and this previously unheard band managed to pique my excitement in all the right spots.

Here’s what I found out: Gojira (Japanese for – you guessed it – “Godzilla”) are a four-piece originating from Bayonne, France and have been bludgeoning eardrums for onwards of ten years now. The players are brothers Joe and Mario Duplantier (guitar/vocals and drums, respectively), guitarist Christian Andreu, and bassist Jean-Michel Labadie. From Mars to Sirius is their third full-length (and first domestically) and continues their thread of punishing, environmentally-conscious records with some impressive home-studio production. Which would mean naught to me were it not for a few significant Good Things that caught my attention.

To begin with, as much as I love crazed, cracked-out hyper-metal, there are times when I just want to be repetitively pounded with huge, oceanic riffs, and Gojira delivers in spades. To wit: the vocals remind me of Max Cavalera’s early-Sepultura material. The guitar tone is similar to Justin Broderick’s on Godflesh’s Hymns (2001), with a metallic, slightly under-distorted warmth. There’s a song about dragons. And most impressively, the guys have no qualms about playing the same slow, lumbering riff for upwards of four minutes to prove their point. All Good Things; only album-closer “Global Warming” falters, but by then, the thirst for uncompromising heaviness has been satiated.

Opener “Ocean Planet” does everything right, beginning with a few seconds of a haunting whale song before detonating into a monstrous riff of open-string chords and pinch harmonics. At 1:57, a brusque “Go!” signals a complex stop-start drill that reveals the band’s more mathematical tendencies. At 3:05 is a gutsy descent into a chunky, one-note declaration that few bands would have the stones to attempt, then the skies open up for a glorious progression that is, daresay, quite beautiful. The track closes with a thumping riff that incorporates an abrasive pick scratch into the equation. My heart is stolen – bravo, fellas.

“Ocean Planet” – Gojira 5:32 (From Mars to Sirius, Prosthetic 2006)

“In the Wilderness” is one of the epic-length tracks on the record and features some fine kit work from drummer Duplantier, whose double-kick timing is precise enough to set a watch to. The opening riff is the sonic equivalent of a furious sea storm north of the Arctic Circle, the machine-gun snare rolls battering the raw skin like stinging ice pellets. Another riff utilizing that cool-as-shit pick scratch technique enters at 3:02, and a minute later all that remains of the storm is a frozen wind. The song concludes with some dual-harmonizing octave runs that expand across the horizon during the extended fade-out.

“In the Wilderness” – Gojira 7:47 (From Mars to Sirius, Prosthetic 2006)

This is one of those records that fainly hints at an indication that it will get better over time, and I’d be surprised if From Mars to Sirius doesn’t make my top list for the year.

There are certain groups for which my praises can’t sing high enough, and one of them happens to be the now-defunct Minneapolis collective 12RODS. Theirs is a classic tale of misplaced stardom: band signs to major, band is too smart and clever for the masses to digest, band is unceremoniously dropped from label, band then self-releases the best record of their career before calling it quits. Comprised of core members Ryan Olcott (vocals, guitar) and multi-instrumentalist brother Ev Olcott plus a shifting cast of local musicians, the group released three stunning records around the turn of the century: Split Personalities (1998), the Todd Rundgren-produced Separation Anxieties (2000), and Lost Time (2002). All three are hallmarks of quirky, energetic guitar pop, enhanced by Ryan’s warped, self-deprecating lyrics and Ev’s splendidly tasteful keyboard work.

Since disbanding, Ev has been occupying himself by providing keys for Halloween, Alaska, manning the boards at his own Integral Studio, and becoming a new father. He recently took some time away from his schedule to chat with me, and was kind enough to indulge in some of my more unrepressed tech-geek questions.

Floodwatchmusic: Firstly, congratulations on the new baby, which I’m sure has been occupying most of your time. How’s work on the new Halloween, Alaska record coming along?

Ev: Thanks for the congratulations! Babies do take up time, for sure – but it’s really just enhanced my love of the work I do.

The Halloween, Alaska record is slow going, as it usually always is; (drummer) Dave (King) is usually on a tour, James (Diers, vocals/guitar) is living in Madison, WI now, and both Matt Friesen (bass) and I have our self-employment to cover. However, we’ve made strides in getting things done faster and more instinctual than usual in the studio. We don’t spend a lot of time “in” the studio, but we think about the music “outside” of the studio then bring the ideas in and apply them quickly, and don’t think too hard about them. We’ve set up a system with James (in Madison) where we can send tracks to him, he can work on them and add to them over there, then send parts back and we can work on them here in Minneapolis. It’s kind of a luxury, generally – it helps to take time on these kinds of things; and that we have access to Integral Studio that’s basically unlimited, though it’s not really consistent like most projects.

We have three songs that are fully formed and recorded at this point, and at our last impromptu rehearsal folks presented about five or six others, so I think we have the material now. Who knows how long it’ll be before it’s really done, but it’ll be something to be proud of, to be sure.

FWM: I really enjoyed Too Tall to Hide (2005) – the atmosphere on that record is remarkable, and that LL Cool J cover was a total surprise. Who came up with that idea?

Ev: That was something that sort-of fell into our laps, though I will credit James first, then myself. James had been on an LL Cool J kick for some time, and was listening to a lot of the records. We were playing a show in town, and when it came time for the second encore we didn’t know what to do. James had this riff we had played with in rehearsal and I had some chords, but no words yet. Kind of on the spur of the moment, James combined it with the LL Cool J tune, just for fun – I mean, second encore, at this point who’s really nit picking?

So we had that idea, then we decided to flesh it out a bit more and make it a concept – not really a throwback or a reference like “State Trooper” (a Bruce Springsteen cover) was, as much as a “longing for the past” sort of thing. “That’s how things used to be when we were kids, now look how things are,” and at our age we’re just beginning to experience those sorts of emotions. We felt, as things took shape, that this was something that was worth expressing, so we had to ask Dr. Cool J himself (not us, but our publisher), and he didn’t seem to mind.

FWM: I’ve always enjoyed the fact that your keyboard work was less about pomp and flash and more about color and texture. Were there any particular influences there?

Ev: Totally. I was a big fan of Prince when I was in high school, and I realized that there was a “pad” of sound behind a lot of what Prince was doing, not to mention very thick, rich chords. Once I found out that this was Lisa Coleman’s work, I was hooked. She’s a big influence, to be sure.

Most of the other influences came from particular records, not artists so much: Miles Davis‘ Tutu (1986), Scritti Politti’s Cupid & Psyche ‘85 (1985), Thompson Twins‘ Into The Gap (1984), and pretty much every Prince record from 1999 (1983) through Lovesexy (1988). Some of the great “texture” keyboard players never get the recognition they deserve – another one of my favorites was the keyboards in early 80’s Foreigner records (probably Mick Jones, but it’s hard to tell), and a good handful of Hall & Oates’ 80’s work.

I always considered rock to be best when it’s layered and rich and thick chordally; initially, I had a deep hatred for Bruce Springsteen (especially Born In the USA (1984)), but after listening to the lyrics as I’m getting older, I can appreciate it more now. I don’t agree with the British technique of mixing where “everything has to be heard and with the finest of detail” – I agree with that to some degree, but there are times when things should be “felt” and not “heard.” I always considered myself best as “the curtain behind the dancing,” or something like that.

FWM: I can hear a lot of Lisa Coleman in your work, actually. When you were playing and recording with 12RODS, what were some of your favorite keyboards/modules?

Ev: The only keyboards I ever really used in the ‘Rods were the Kurzweil modules. It started out as a rack-mounted 1200 model, then when we got the money I updated it to the K2500RS, which had the sampler in it as well. It’s not a real easy machine to program, but I got used to it and was able to get around like I needed to. The keyboards were all cheap MIDI keyboards, usually not worth more than $100-150.

As the years went on, we were shaping and developing our keyboard sounds in software, then trying to use the Kurzweil to make something sound like it on stage. Lots of programming there, and to favorable but not perfect results. We also had a fairly complex stage rig going on in general, simply because of all the keyboards and samples and all that – and we had come across basically every stage failure possible in our time, so we had made some of our own hardware and cabling systems to counteract that. By the time the ‘Rods were finishing up, our system was pretty foolproof. But after all that, I was ready to move on to more software-based sound shaping.

FWM: I can imagine that would be a logistical nightmare to get used to; I always wondered if you incorporated any software into the live setting. So was that a MIDI keyboard that you threw into the audience after a show?

Ev: Oh yes. It broke (I probably broke about two to three keyboards in my time with the ‘Rods), and when those things break, it’s just not worth it to try and fix it, usually. They’re inexpensive, they don’t have any sounds of their own – they’re just glorified buttons. So tossing that out was no love lost, shall we say.

I had a keyboard go out just before SXSW, which I had to fix on stage just before we went on (that show ended up as a disaster), and I had one keyboard (of two) go out at CMJ – nobody noticed that one, and I had one die at a festival show in Connecticut, as I recall. It was always at the “important” shows that stuff would go wrong.

FWM: I recall reading about the SXSW incident on the site. How much guitar did you play (in a live context) when there were no keyboard parts?

Ev: I think there were only two or three songs that didn’t have any keyboard in them, so most of the time my focus was keyboard. But the majority of the time I was playing keyboard and guitar at the same time. Some of the more complex tunes (”The Stupidest Boy,” “One Thing Does Not Belong”) had me playing guitar, keyboard and singing simultaneously, or had me playing two keyboard parts and singing backup, switching around very quickly. Almost all the time, though, I had the guitar slung over my shoulder.

FWM: Compared to your contributions to 12RODS, what was your side project Dot Dot Dot like?

Dot Dot Dot was simply myself and Ward Harper working on a computer (his PC running Cakewalk and an AWE32 sound card), making stuff up with a sequencer. He would throw down some song ideas (most of the time they were older songs he wanted to redo) and I would come over and add more stuff to them and flesh them out together. We really didn’t have any “rehearsal,” so to speak; it was just a computer project when it came down to it.

Recording it got a little complex, and our live show started out as very complex and ended up very simple and concept-y, but generally it was just a “use the computer together” kind of thing.

FWM: Based on what I’ve read in interviews and such, would it be safe to assume that you prefer the studio to touring?

Ev: Absolutely. I hate touring; it’s one of the worst things I can do to myself. Long hours getting somewhere, 45 minutes of playing while most of the audience stares at us with confused looks, get underpaid if anything at all, then do it all over again. Not to mention being away from friends and loved ones for long periods of time. At this point in my life, I’m done with it.

I’ve always considered myself a “sound shaper” kind of person, and there’s no room to do that in a live situation. The studio is where I work best, and thus the reason for Integral Studio. I’m much happier there.

FWM: A few questions about some individual 12RODS songs: one of my favorite moments on Lost Time is the bridge during “Twenty Four Hours Ago.” Who was responsible for that beautiful chord progression and keyboard melody?

Ev: Basically, anything musical about 12RODS was always Ryan. Ryan wrote everything. Only in rare occasions did I write a part, or someone else came up with an idea. Ryan had all the songs fully formed as a demo by the time he played them for the band – a lot of the demos in the unreleased records are just Ryan playing everything.

“Twenty Four Hours Ago” – 12RODS 4:02 (Lost Time, self-released 2002)

FWM: I don’t want to get too geeked-out on the topic of gear, but I love how the drums sound so huge on that record; it almost sounds as if they’re layered with a thin coating of warm distortion, which sounds phenomenal. What microphones or techniques did you use to record them?

Ev: There are pictures of how Ryan mic’d them up, but there was nothing too special. A few of the tracks were recorded with Ryan’s North drums (look those up on Google), which recorded great. We did “overdrive” the drums a little, or at least compressed them a certain way with a technique we learned in Boston mixing Split Personalities; something we were always big fans of once we heard it. Also, note that Dave King knows what to do with a drum kit!

FWM: I thought it might be a compression thing; they sound spectacular. “Chromatically Declining Me” is easily my favorite 12RODS track – I still have yet to hear anything that sounds remotely like it. What are all of the bizarre sound effects in there? Are those just samples that you’re triggering?

Ev: Yup, generally those are samples Ryan made with his guitar and edited, and then we were able to put them in the sampler and use them live.

“Chromatically Declining Me” – 12RODS 3:55 (Split Personalities, V2 1998)

FWM: How often do you go back and listen to the ‘Rods? Are there any songs or moments in particular on the three records that stand out as favorites to you?

Ev: I haven’t really listened back to it in a long time – I was so involved in it, I have no objectivity with it when I listen. I hear things nobody should really care about. At this point, they just take me back to “that time in my life” which was so dramatic. I mean, there’s so many stories behind each song, how they were recorded and stuff, none stand out because they were all unique.

If I were to pick one, one song that never made it to a record that was one of my favorites: “Everybody,” which is on one of the unreleased albums.

FWM: What was the last record you purchased? Are there any artists or bands that you’re impressed by at the moment?

Ev: Well, the last cool CD I got was the Karl Ristenpart recordings of the Bach Brandenburg Concertos. I grew up with those recordings and they’re fantastic.

Artists/bands that I like right now? Well, besides the obvious plug for “whatever Ryan is doing,” because he’s a genius (Food Team and Mystery Palace), not really. I’m too involved in “making music” everyday and referencing stuff that I’m given that I’m kind of numb to it. I feel I can recognize good-quality stuff much more than I used to, and I can also recognize bullshit, and most of the stuff I hear is bullshit.

To me, that’s the real reason to make music on your own – “invention by necessity.” We make the music that we want to hear and that we can’t find anywhere else.

FWM: Thanks for taking time out of your schedule to chat. I’ll be looking forward to the new Halloween, Alaska record, and give my best to the new baby and the wife!

Ev: Thank you! Glad to do it.