Sonic Evolution: Mogwai crafts a complex, sprawling style of rock & roll.
Rock & roll will never die; it just mutates every decade or so into some divergent iteration, whether it’s psychedelia, punk rock, heavy metal, progressive or—for lack of a better description—what has become known as “math rock” or “post rock.” (Sounds like a post-mortem, but then, rock is no stranger to the undead in some genres.)
Scottish guitarist and vocalist Stuart Braithwaite founded the band Mogwai in 1995, and having been together for more than a decade and a half, their cohesion is remarkable, both sonically and personally, with all the original members still on board.
Unlike Radiohead, with whom they might be most likely compared in their artsy approach to sound, Mogwai hasn’t had major label success or huge album sales. But they have kept plugging away with a workmanlike approach that has garnered them critical nods and a solid fan base.
The band has been influenced by all the genres mentioned above, from the experimenting 13th Floor Elevators and Velvet Underground of the ’60s to punk rock bands Television and Joy Division and later contemporaries like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine.
The common thread of all these outfits is an attention to sound as an artistic medium, and that quality is something featured on every Mogwai album as well. That’s not to say that Mogwai has stood still, but with the addition of synthesizers and keyboards on the last few albums, their sound has evolved. “Musically, our songs are a lot more complex now,” Braithwaite notes.
The band switched from indie flagship Matador Records to the Sub Pop label for their latest release, Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will, but Braithwaite says there was no rock & roll drama behind the decision. They just needed a change and had no ill feelings toward Matador.
“We are aware of the heritage of the two labels,” he notes. “Sub Pop put out some of the most important records to us when we were really young, and Matador has released a lot of incredible material, too. We’re lucky to have worked with them both.”
The band fits into the way Sub Pop has reinvented itself since riding the wave of the ’90s grunge boom and bust with more folk-oriented indie acts like Mark Lanegan and Vetiver. Many of Mogwai’s soundscapes have a pastoral feeling, especially some instrumental sketches without vocals, where they really stretch out a canvas of sound.
The title of the album is a joke from a story Braithwaite heard about an underage kid trying to buy wine, shouting the phrase as an insult to the offending shopkeeper. As with many of their album titles, it was chosen at random. Like their previous discs Happy Songs For Happy People (2003) and Come On Die Young (1999), it seems like an ironic wink at the extreme behavior of youth.
A song like “Mexican Grand Prix” from the new album is titled randomly as well, Braithwaite insists, although its hypnotic rhythms are reminiscent of the sound of a racetrack. Their music is engaging in that way, not overwhelming or bombastic, but subtly, over time, wearing its tire treads into your brain, until you find that it’s somehow unraveled its ribbon of roadway into your subconscious. “You’re Lionel Richie” begins as a lush instrumental in repose, but before the end has turned into an acerbic drone. “How To Be a Werewolf” is a sprawling invocation of sonic wilderness, a wordless escape from the restraints of human civilization, if not necessarily a lupine one.
But their music is also refreshing, if occasionally cerebral, even meditative. They have joined the long tradition of bands they have revered, extending the definition of what rock music can encompass, and thus helping it outlive the cranky old shopkeepers of the world over and over.?
Music for wild rock & roll hearts
Crushed Out
Posted // November 1,2012 - It’s kind of a weird juxtaposition, Crushed Outrecording their beachy, vaguely twangy garage rock with images of
Brooklyn and a snowy or verdant New Hampshire countryside. The music
almost fits hipster Brooklyn. Effingham, N.H.? Not so much. A better
setting would be a backwoods barrelhouse or a shack in some Southeastern
coastal town, with people shimmying and grinding, doing old dances
named for primates and mashed potatoes.
Singer-guitarist
Frank Hoier says some of the duo’s tunes were written while driving
around Brooklyn listening to Link Wray and Dick Dale. “These are very
industrial scenes in my mind,” he says, adding they inspired a “surfy,
yet violent industrial instrumental”
called “Nailgun” (2010 EP Show Pony, recorded under the band’s former name, Boom Chick). Singer-drummer Moselle Spiller wrote Want to Give’s
airy closer “Country Star” while stargazing beside a riverside campfire
in New Hampshire. “Music can be an escape from your immediate
surroundings,” Hoier says, “though it can’t help but be influenced by
the now.”
In fact,
most of the songs were written in a “tiny little practice space” within a
speaker factory in the Red Hook area of Brooklyn. The only New
Hampshire births were “Country Star,” the Everly-esque “Black &
Purple” and dreamily rocking “Firelight.” “I never
noticed that until now,” Hoier muses. “Wow.” But according to Hoier, “We
are never in any one place long enough to have a process.”
Want to Give (Cool
Clear Water) is everywhere music for everyone. It’s spunky and
inclusive, with a heartland-ish, everydude vibe like Mellencamp’s “Jack
& Diane.” The little ditties, however, are pure Frank & Moselle,
the work of a multiple-influenced Brooklyn couple who has seen the
country, read/seen piles of books/movies and seen the colloquial “some
shit.”
“We say
our sound is ‘honky tonk surf’ because we think it sounds funny and
cool, but also shows our range of influence and vibe,” Hoier says. “We
have definitely seen the country, and it has definitely opened our eyes
wide. We’ve seen many a downtown avenue and many a backwoods road.”
He
figures drawing from many wells is “the only way to stay inspired in a
limited setup.” And it gladdens him that the music shows that Crushed
Out “lets ourselves be influenced by everything.” What they do, he says,
is “really like rock & roll folk music.” He and Spiller are
entirely untrained musicians, “just people with [such] an immense love
for music that [we] create our own. We learned it off the record.”
That’s what makes Want to Give
such a fulfilling listen. It doesn’t feel constructed; an easiness
permeates the campfire songs, the surf tunes and the thumping,
swaggering rockers. When you put it on, you let it play and just ride
along, wherever Crushed Out is going. That kind of music endures.
“If
people found our music hundreds/thousands of years from now,” Hoier
says, “they will just think of us as a part of the American rock &
roll of the early 2000s. I see us as always fitting in with the wild
rock & roll hearts, the people who like it sometimes a little too
fast, or want an emphasis on energy.”
Evidently,
that’s the clientele of The Garage, which makes sense. It’s a cool
little roadhouse in a strange part of town—that industrial North Salt
Lake limbo between hip downtown Salt Lake City and suburban,
super-Mormon Bountiful. Crushed Out is making their third appearance
there on Friday.
“The
people that run the place are so cool and appreciative of live music,”
Hoier says. “Great food, too. We’ve never gotten to play outside, which
we are hoping might happen this time. It is a unique neighborhood; we
dig it. Like a slice of industrial Queens right next to a beautiful
mountain.”
