From Indie to Outtie What Made What Made Milwaukee Famous Famous By Andrew Clayman Published in The Nashville Scene, July 2008
It’s not easy to sympathize with bands that saddle themselves with unreasonably long and silly names. But halfway through an interview with What Made Milwaukee Famous frontman Michael Kingcaid, I realize it would be downright rude to ask him why a rock quintet from Austin, TX, would choose a seven-syllable, Midwestern beer slogan for a handle. After all, nobody asks Ben Gibbard why he settled on “Death Cab For Cutie” anymore, and that should always be one of the perks of success—transcending your own ill-conceived name.
Perhaps by no coincidence, What Made Milwaukee Famous has been following the Death Cab career blueprint to a tee thus far; signing to the latter’s former indie label, Barsuk, and gradually extending their reach into mainstream markets.
“We’d certainly love to follow that path,” says Kingcaid. “We’ve always wanted to reach as many people as possible, and when you get to that kind of status, like Death Cab, instead of just being an indie band that sells 8,000 records, you’re number one on the Billboard charts. At that point, it’s just a whole different canvas. We go out and cruise around the U.S. and make little splotches, but those guys are global now. We’d love to get there at some point.”
Kingcaid is refreshingly open about his interests in mass appeal—an attitude that’s still readily frowned upon in the world of indie rock. As a result, WMMF’s new album, What Doesn’t Kill Us, has met with mixed reviews. Some critics have called it a “safer” record than the band’s explosive, 2004 debut Trying to Never Catch Up. Even Kingcaid admits it may have a more “accessible” sound, but What Doesn’t Kill Us still delivers a well-crafted blend of power-pop, New Wave, and indie that recalls everyone from Elvis Costello and the Cars to Spoon and the Strokes.
“I think the primary reaction we’ve gotten is that people really like the album and understand it,” Kingcaid says. “I mean, you always kind of worry about how people are going to react. But for the most part, when you’re writing and recording the songs, you already believe in it yourselves. So as long as we, as a band, can convey our belief in it, then I think we can always get the message across to people. And in this case, I think it’s coming across-- hopefully.”
One of the key factors in the more fleshed out sound of What Doesn’t Kill Us is new guitarist Jason Davis, who joined Kingcaid (vocals, guitar, keys), Jeremy Bruch (drums), John Farmer (bass), and Drew Patrizi (keys) in 2007. The re-energized quintet has been touring extensively, particularly on the festival circuit, with 2008 stops at Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza and back home at the Austin City Limits Festival.
“It’s an automatic audience,” Kingcaid says of the festival gigs. “When you play a small club show, there’s at least a 75 percent chance that everyone there has come to see you or the band you’re on tour with, so you’ve already got a connection with them. At a festival, it’s up to you to catch peoples’ ears as they’re walking by. I mean, they’re music fans and they’re there to hear new music. So, it’s easy to vibe off them, and it’s made for some of our best shows.”
As a Barsuk band with a weird name, What Made Milwaukee Famous (a reference to a Jerry Lee Lewis song, for those who didn’t know) is all too easily categorized as “indie-rock.” Kingcaid, however, has a very different perspective.
“I don’t necessarily like to think of us as an indie band,” he says. “I’d rather be called an ‘outtie’ band. I’m totally game for being an outtie band! We want to play to as many people as possible, and in order to do that, you have to be willing to put yourself out there. There are some bands that don’t want to do that, and I applaud them for their artistic merit, I guess. But we’re trying to make a living. We’ve got credit card bills piling up. So, I’m kind of fine with going outtie. And I think we have the means to get there.”
The Opposite of Selling Out Reborn as an Indie Band, Nada Surf is as 'Popular' as Ever By Andrew Clayman Published in The Cleveland Scene (Village Voice), June 2008
Thanks to some selective nostalgia, the ‘90s are generally remembered as “the grunge era” these days. In reality, though, the last whiffs of teen spirit were already gone by 1996, leaving four more years of “alt-rock” so faceless and forgettable, that it still makes up about 93 percent of the world’s used CD inventory.
It was during that time, in the midst of a herd of Spacehogs, Verve Pipes, and New Radicals, that Nada Surf first emerged—a band way too good for its radio neighborhood.
“You could never predict anything like that,” says drummer/vocalist Ira Elliot, referring to Nada Surf’s 1996 smash single, “Popular.”
“The last thing we expected was to have this radio hit for Elektra Records. It was really pretty bizarre and fantastic.”
In the grand scheme of Nada Surf’s career, though, “Popular” would prove to be a blessing and a curse. The New York based trio of Elliot, singer/guitarist Matthew Caws and bassist Daniel Lorca had hit it big with their appropriately titled debut High/Low, but when the suits at Elektra frowned on the band’s 1998 follow-up The Proximity Effect, Nada Surf’s stubbornness got them unceremoniously dropped.
For many of the era’s so-called one hit wonders, the story would have ended there. But for Nada Surf, it simply presented a welcome challenge. Though they fell off the radar in America for a while, the band remained hugely popular in Europe and wholly confident that their homeland would embrace them again. In 2002, Caws, Lorca, and Elliot reconvened to record their third album, Let Go, and found a much more amiable partnership with the respected indie label Barsuk. When Let Go was released, seemingly out of left field, it was hailed as a heartfelt pop classic, and Nada Surf was suddenly transformed from ‘90s afterthoughts to contemporary indie rock heroes.
“To have the early success, and then to rise from the ashes, in a manner of speaking— I’d say we’re all very proud with the arch of our career,” Elliot says. “It’s really improbable. But it’s nice to know that good songwriting will always find its fans over time. I think that’s why we’re in the position we’re in.”
Elliot admits the band still seems to have an underdog appeal with its fans, despite having released two more acclaimed records for Barsuk; 2005’s The Weight Is a Gift and their newest effort, Lucky—which may or may not be appropriately titled.
“Deciding on the name of this record actually turned into one of the biggest internal fights we’ve ever had,” Elliot laughs. “Just because the word ‘lucky’ can be interpreted in so many different ways. You could say there’s no such thing as luck where there’s perseverance. But yeah, I suppose it’s fair to say we’ve been a little lucky. Sure.”
Remindful of the best efforts by beloved bands like Big Star and Teenage Fanclub, Lucky runs the gamut from pristine power-pop anthems (“Whose Authority”) to thoughtful slow dances (“Are You Lightning”). It also continues the general approach Nada Surf first established on Let Go-- big hooks, tight harmonies, and no frills.
“Our last few records go together almost like a trilogy,” Elliot says. “They’re not wildly different at all. For some people, that would be a negative. But I think for us, it’s a plus. We haven’t gone out of our way to experiment with incredibly weird production or anything like that. We’ve just recorded our songs the way they sound right to us. I think when you’re emotionally open and honest in your music, people will identify with it.”
It doesn’t get much more honest than Lucky’s leadoff track, “See These Bones,” which serves as a cautionary tale to younger bands.
“Look alive, see these bones,” Caws sings. “What you are now, we were once.”
“Occasionally, young bands will approach us looking for advice,” Elliot says. “Usually, there’s no answer you can give. You know, I try to put myself in their position. What if the three of us were starting out today? How far would we get? The odds always seem astronomical, and with Myspace and things like that, it’s hard to tell if it actually makes it easier or harder. So there’s not much advice we can give aside from ‘watch your ass and try to have fun.’”
It’s safe to assume that Elliot and his bandmates have shared similar wisdom with their friends in Death Cab For Cutie, a former Barsuk band that has become one of the biggest pop acts on Atlantic Records.
“We were actually on the road with Death Cab at the time that they were starting to take meetings with major labels,” Elliot says. “And we realized that we were on sort of opposite career paths. We were the older guys who had been on Elektra, and here were these kids who had only been on indie labels and now were getting bigger and bigger. So when they were taking meetings with Atlantic and Elektra in New York, we were happy to hear these stories. We thought it was hysterical that they were meeting with the same people we’d been dealing with just a few years previous.”
Thus far, Death Cab’s major label experience has gone much smoother than Nada Surf’s, but Death Cab also had the benefit of swimming in friendlier indie waters for many years before jumping to the big show. For Nada Surf, success meant leaving a major label for an indie—the opposite of selling out, in a way. Still, it poses an interesting question. If a major label came calling again, how would the older, wiser Nada Surf react?
“It would have to be a deal so ridiculously in our favor,” Elliot says, “because we have a great deal with Barsuk. But yeah, we’d love for someone to come up to us and be like, ‘Hey, we here at Polyglot Records would love to have you, Nada Surf, you rock hipsters of the highest order, come back to our major label!’ It would be really funny to hear that pitch.”
