NICHOLAS HARMER
Model students (from left): Nick, Chris, Mike, and Ben.
Related Content
More About
IT'S EASY TO BE CYNICAL about indie bands. There's just too many of them. It's difficult to know who you can trust. But the guys in Death Cab for Cutie are skeptical about the cynics; they're kind beyond normal friendliness; and bassist Nick Harmer's as comfortable discussing Byron as he is that dumb sock puppet from PetStore.com. Quick to assert reality and cleverly aware of the dangers of waxing philosophical, the Death Cab boys are as smart as you want your favorite bands to be.
Death Cab for Cutie
Crocodile, Friday, April 14
When I meet with Nick, guitarist/vocalist Ben Gibbard, and guitarist/gadget guy Chris Walla (minus drummer Mike Schorr, who lives in Portland) in the back room of Wallingford's Green Lantern, we drink a couple beers and politely pretend that the noise emanating from the bright fluorescent lights isn't too bothersome—and that a Lethal Weapon 3 pinball machine makes a perfect backdrop. The Death Cab guys talk less about early influences and indie rock ephemera and more about their friendships and the opportunity to make music.
When I ask for juicy details about their genesis, they comply and say that the first time they played together, it felt supremely right. Finding their new drummer elicited the same enigmatic aura of correctness. But as Nick is quick to add, not in a "weird, psychic, goose bumps-on-your-arm kinda way." They speak sweetly of the good ol' days in Bellingham, where they wrote and recorded their 1998 debut Something About Airplanes, and they reminisce about an impromptu acoustic show held in a friend's living room. The closest they get to slipping into any kind of esoteric mumbo-jumbo is when they simultaneously mention the fresh-picked blackberries that were passed around and how much they enjoyed that night—sharing their songs for the first time with the people who had inspired and supported them in their postindustrial college town.
THIS STRIKINGLY NATURAL approach to living translates to Death Cab for Cutie's music. Recorded on what Chris describes as a "sort of weird 16-track" borrowed from Portland band Sunset Valley, the new We've Got the Facts and We're Voting Yes (on Barsuk) is full of the bright and distant sounds of pick-'um-yourself guitar chords, high-hat chatterings, wraparound lyrics, and warm room noises. Instruments fade out and cut in without a moment's notice—like youthful indecision, like a high school sweetheart. Except this time it's wonderful and it works.
Ben carefully crafted the songs on the new record, coaxing melodies from insistent rock songs or reflective, painstaking ballads. Meanwhile Chris, never content to merely play guitar or sing backing vocals, did most of the production. He half-jokingly refers to the album as his "recording class final project," the culmination of his years at "Death Cab for Cutie College." He assumes a look of dead seriousness, then adds, "I'd give myself a B-, or a C+."
"Keep in mind as you talk to Chris—" Ben hurriedly cautions, explaining his talented friend's tendency toward understatement, "Chris is the perfectionist of the group, I'm 100 percent fine with it."
What does one learn at Death Cab U? "It's just letting things happen," Chris says, relaxing a bit. "See, because I'm a total control freak. I get real crazy about whether or not every sound is exactly the way it's supposed to be. And every sound is not the way it's supposed to be. It gets to a point where you just can't fuck with it anymore."
"I think that the performances are all really strong," he goes on. "Even with some occasionally mediocre sounds, the songs do what they are supposed to do emotionally. And that's the most important thing."
That is the most important thing. The music of Death Cab for Cutie is not designed for those without feelings.
Before we leave the bar I ask them what it's like to consistently play sold-out shows for their hometown audience. Chris fields the question: "It's cool . . . and it's terrible. I want to connect with everyone who cares about me and who cares to say, 'Hey, I'm here.' That's cool and it's not lost on me." A knowing look of agreement slides around the table.
We walk outside and say good night at the corner. The street's glowing with the traffic-colored lights of sold-out shows, upbeat fanzine reviews, impressive record sales. The sky, emboldened by the onset of daylight savings, burns blue even at 11pm. It makes me think of some words from their song, "For What Reason"—"This won't be the last you hear from me/It's just the start." I tell the guys I'll see them on Friday night at their show, and I say that it's OK if they don't have time to stop and talk.
For more on Death Cab for Cutie, check out this fan site and the Barsuk Records site.
