The Mathematics of Metric America Again Considers the Canadian System of Indie Rock By Andrew Clayman Published in The Nashville Scene, October 2010
Befitting their name, the Canadian band Metric—while embraced as a dance-rock standard bearer in some parts of the world—has yet to completely win over the stubborn American market. The indie quartet’s latest LP, 2009’s dark and new-wavy Fantasies, marked their first appearance on the U.S. charts, peaking at a so-so #76. Meanwhile, just over the border, Fantasies was a platinum smash—the third consecutive Metric album to go gold or better in the North Country.
Even if the evidence would seem to speak to the contrary, there is no cultural divide keeping Metric’s slick, sharp and easily digestible brand of Canuck-rock out of America’s Alanis-loving wheelhouse. In fact, a half dozen of the band’s infectious jams have already infiltrated the soundtracks to many of our most cherished American institutions—be it the tearful end to the latest fling on Grey’s Anatomy or the prologue to Turtle somehow shtupping another broad on Entourage. For a group comprised of thirty-somethings, they’ve even managed to quietly corner the youth market as well, with prominent tracks on both the Twilight: Eclipse and Scott Pilgrim soundtracks this summer.
If there’s a stumbling block in Metric’s quest for stateside name recognition, it may come down to a simple matter of mathematics. In the hierarchy of Canada’s critically acclaimed and commercially viable rock bands, Metric is easily lost in the shuffle—sharing influences, textures, attitudes, and yes, band members, with seemingly every other major outfit in the neighboring provinces. The saving grace-- and quite possibly the quintessential Canadian indie rock figure of the moment—is Metric’s founder and frontwoman Emily Haines.
Back in the ‘90s, Haines was among Toronto’s burgeoning new crop of high-minded struggling artists, palling around with the retro-tuned hipsters that would eventually form bands like the Dears, Stars, and of course, the all-encompassing beast of Canadian indie-rock, Broken Social Scene. In BSS, Haines played the thin, blonde duchess—a little more intense than the similarly baby-voiced Amy Millan and a good deal tougher than the wispy Leslie Feist. Before the first Metric album had seen the light of day, Haines had already displayed her balancing act of vulnerability and guile on the unforgettable “Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl” off of Broken Social Scene’s 2002 record, You Forgot It In People.
A year later, Haines (as lead vocalist and synth player) finally introduced the world to the band she’d been building for several years with guitarist James Shaw, bassist Josh Winstead, and drummer Joules Scott-Key. Metric’s Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? was a game changer of sorts—an album indebted to the ‘80s electro-pop sound that was also informing Millan’s new band Stars, but with an unbridled rock energy more in line with the Brooklyn sound that Haines and Shaw had absorbed while living in New York in the late ‘90s (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, in particular).
By 2004, Haines and Co. seemed primed for their big moment as Canada’s new rock ambassadors. But they were rudely run over by an even more melodramatic bunch from Montreal (led by a transplanted Texan, no less) called the Arcade Fire. Around the same time, a pair of Calgary-born twin sisters named Tegan and Sara came charging across the border with their own synth-heavy pop sound, scoring an American hit with “Walking with a Ghost.” Right behind them were Haines’ old pals Stars (with their breakthrough album Set Yourself on Fire) and Feist with her Juno prize-winning Let It Die LP. Metric’s “scene” had suddenly spread beyond even their sizable Broken Social one, and by the time they released 2005’s Live It Out, their superstardom at home was undeniable, if only a bit tempered by another hazy reception in the USA. Anyone who heard “Monster Hospital” or “Empty” had to like what they heard. It was just a matter of figuring out which of those cool new Canadian bands they were listening to.
After Live It Out, Metric went on an extended hiatus. Haines released two gut-wrenching but beautiful solo albums, Shaw started a production studio, and the rhythm section put together a side band of their own, Bang Lime. By the time the foursome reconvened to make Fantasies, the creative itch was cresting—and the marketing team was on high alert. A year later, they’re still riding out the wave, supporting Fantasies for another American go-round as the band’s TV and movie appearances continue to fan the flames of fan interest. Metric’s Nashville gig is surrounded by a handful of opening slots for Brit-rock giants Muse, and by the winter, the plan is to head back to the studio to get to work on album number five.
“The function of music in my life is to help me understand what the hell is happening,” Haines has said. As to whether Americans will soon understand the mightiness of Metric, a few million Twilight fans is as good a place to start as any.
From AM to VW: Wilco Turns 15 Looking Back on "The Most Important Band in America" By Andrew Clayman Published (with edits) in The Metro Pulse, April 2009
The best kept secret about Wilco has always been the band’s sense of humor. Amid all the dour folk ballads, turmoil-ridden documentaries, and label-thwarting experimentalism, there’s still been an open-door policy-- albeit a subtly cracked-open door-- to silliness and self-deprecation.
“Are those beer cans I keep hearing?” frontman Jeff Tweedy asked the crowd during a solo set at the Bijou Theatre in 2007. When a fan then offered him one, Tweedy smirked and sarcastically replied, “The rehab was in the news. I'm sure you saw it. But thanks for trying to knock me off the wagon.”
As the face and voice of Wilco, Tweedy has been routinely cast, at best, as a tortured genius, and at worst, as a megalomaniac. But as the audience witnessed that night, and on most nights of a Wilco tour, he is also an exceedingly funny and warm person—unafraid to poke fun at his own checkered past. Unfortunately, the media’s more curmudgeonly caricature of Tweedy has gradually informed its view of Wilco, too— consistently overlooking the fun in favor of the soap operas and seriousness. This decade, it’s quite common to see the group referred to as “The Most Important Band in America,” a ridiculous title that implies Wilco is trying to change the world, when all they’ve ever wanted to do is have a blast playing music for anyone who’d care to listen.
The Most Important Band in America: A Look Back
Chapter One: Jeff vs. Jay In 1995, there weren’t many people willing to call Wilco the best offshoot band of Uncle Tupelo, let alone the best band in the country. During the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, the Illinois-based Uncle Tupelo had laid the groundwork for the alt-country movement, led by the combined songwriting craft of Tweedy and the group’s ostensible frontman Jay Farrar. As the dramatic telling of the story goes, Farrar quit the band in 1994 when he felt that Tweedy was starting to usurp too much of his authority. Uncle Tupelo then splintered into two new groups, Tweedy’ Wilco and Farrar’s Son Volt. With a supposed blood feud in the balance, the music press rallied behind Son Volt’s first album over Wilco’s high-spirited debut A.M.—supposedly proving who Tupelo’s true genius had been, and cursing (or blessing) Wilco to a career of severe over-analysis.
Chapter Two: Jeff vs. Jay II In between A.M. and 1996’s stellar double-disc Being There, Wilco added keyboardist/guitarist Jay Bennett to the line-up, setting the stage for another unfortunate power struggle. In many ways, Bennett was instrumental in crafting Wilco’s sunnier, power-pop sound on 1999’s Summerteeth and the superb Mermaid Avenue sessions with Billy Bragg. But once again, the more fun Wilco tried to have, the more their reputation seemed to defy them. As best observed in the 2002 documentary I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, Bennett wasn’t always the most popular guy in the studio, and the band soon elected to cut ties with him. While the critics focused their attention on Tweedy’s now supposedly dictator-like thirst for power, though, they nearly overlooked some of the best—and least complex—music of the band’s career.
Chapter Three: Yankee Doodles Sometimes, a black cloud can sprout a rainbow, and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was certainly such an instance for Wilco. The album would eventually sell more than twice as many copies as Summerteeth or Being There, but it would also seal Wilco’s identity, for better or worse, as “The Most Important Band In America.” The additions of producer Jim O’Rourke and drummer Glenn Kotche led the band in some exciting, experimental new directions on Yankee, making it a more challenging listen, but hardly on a par with Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music. These were still great pop songs at their core, after all. Nonetheless, the execs at Warner Brothers hated what they heard, leading to the very well documented rejection and eventual re-acquisition (through subsidiary label Nonesuch) of what might be the most critically acclaimed album of the past decade.
Chapter Four: Selling Cars Much wealthier but still not interested in being someone else’s vision of “important,” Wilco playfully went even further off the experimental deep end with 2004’s A Ghost Is Born, even adding jazz-fusion guitarist Nels Cline to the lineup. But if the comparisons to Steely Dan didn¹t scare them enough, the Eagles comparisons sparked by 2007’s laidback Sky Blue Sky were likely terrifying; Tweedy grew up listening to punk, after all, and has repeatedly made clear his distaste for ‘70s AM Gold. Along with their first lukewarm reviews in a long while, Wilco also took some heat for selling off half of Sky Blue Sky’s tracks for a Volkswagen ad campaign. As usual, Tweedy laughed off the criticism with simple logic, and nobody listened.
Chapter Five: Wilco, the Band Cooped up in their Chicago loft, the members of Wilco are currently celebrating their 15th anniversary by putting the finishing touches on their seventh album, due out in June. Early reports indicate that it's a return to the cerebral, electro-folk-rock stylings that made Yankee Hotel Foxtrot a classic. Feist is making a cameo appearance, as well, and if the lyrics to new track “Wilco, the Song” are any indication, Tweedy is still funnier than we’re supposed to know.
Are you under the impression This isn't your life? Do you dabble in depression? Someone twisting a knife in your back? Are you being attacked? Oh this is a fact, That you need to know... Wilco Wilco Wilco will love you, Baby!
Seeing Stars Another Indie Buzz Band Claims the World for Canada By Andrew Clayman Published (with edits) in The Scene (Cleveland), March 2008
Their name might seem more appropriate than presumptuous these days, but the Canadian indie outfit known as Stars clearly didn’t put much thought into search-engine optimization when they selected their handle. Type “Stars” into Google, and you might find more info about constellations and Dallas hockey teams than Toronto pop bands.
Then again, that may have been a part of the plan all along. Whether you’re looking for their Myspace page or trying to wrap your head around the tangle of personal and political conflict in their songs, Stars demand a little more attention than your average ‘80s revivalists. And they’ve gotten plenty of it lately, following in the footsteps of their Arts & Crafts labelmates Broken Social Scene and Feist by packing auditoriums across the globe and converting critics along the way.
It’s a level of success that’s been hard-earned for Stars’ frontwoman and rhythm guitarist Amy Millan. In the midst of a sold-out tour of Australia, she still seems in awe of it all.
“I never, ever get used to it,” she says. “When we play, and there are people in the audience singing the songs and spending their hard earned cash on coming to see us, I am blown away. Like right now, we’ve come across the world, and to sell out all these Australian shows-- it feels like a dream.”
Millan, 34, is a Toronto native who spent the better part of a decade trying to find her niche in the music biz. The journey took her to Los Angeles for a while in her early 20’s, but it wasn’t until she found her way back to Canada that things started to fall into place.
In Toronto, she fell in with a community of musicians who would soon be influencing the sound of indie rock the world over—though it was hardly a case of overnight rags to riches.
“We had many empty shows and years of empty pockets,” Millan says, “but we had all these bands-- Metric, the Dears, Broken (Social Scene)—all fighting the same fight. We would go lay in the park, drink cheap wine and find someone cute to make out with.”
Millan is still a member of the Broken Social Scene family, which has seemingly engulfed most of Ontario and Quebec. However, her ship to breakout stardom really came in when singer Torquil Campbell and keyboardist Chris Seligman recruited her to join Stars in 2001. Over the band’s subsequent four albums, her role has steadily grown, both as a dynamic lead vocalist and perfect foil to Campbell’s melodramatic Morrissey croon.
“They are my family and my best friends,” Millan says of her Stars bandmates, who also include bassist Evan Cranley and drummer Pat McGee. “We share a life together. I knew from our first rehearsal it was a special chemistry among us, and I feel very lucky that this group of people has had so much faith in me and my work. I trust them. That can be hard to find. We also know how to fight, which is one of the reasons we’re still a band. And we know how to party.”
It’s safe to assume the parties have become a little more lavish in recent years, as have Stars’ already highly ambitious studio productions. Last year, the band followed up their acclaimed 2005 album Set Yourself On Fire with the dramatic, theatrical In Our Bedroom After the War, which has notched indie hits with the infectious anthem “The Night Starts Here” and the Moz-like rocker “Take Me to the Riot.”
“I suppose it is the most ambitious record we’ve done,” Millan admits, “but I think to make a record of any sort is always a giant leap of faith. If you listen to our record Heart (2003), we didn’t have the budget we did for In Our Bedroom, but songs like “Time Can Never Kill the True Heart” were hugely ambitious, and we only had one mic to record everything on. Sometimes throwing money at something can make it sound bigger, but we always wanted to achieve that kind of sound, even when we had no money.”
As for translating In Our Bedroom’s complexities to the stage?
“We approach the songs from scratch when putting together a show,” Millan says. “They aren’t going to sound exactly like the record, but that’s a good thing. Why pay money to come see it live if it sounds exactly as it would on your couch? I call the live show ‘the ruckus.’ We exude a lot more energy than we do on record. It’s a celebration of all the hard work in the studio.”
While Stars’ sound is deeply rooted in the strangely free-spirited type of introspection that made legends of The Smiths, Millan is the magic bullet that gives them an undeniable style unto themselves. She is the voice and lyricist behind some of the band’s finest songs, including “Elevator Love Letter” and “Ageless Beauty,” and her ability to shift from punk spunkiness to jazzy seductiveness has drawn her favorable comparisons to two of her old Broken Social Scene sisters— Emily Haines (Metric) and Miss 1,2,3,4 herself, Feist.
“I remember meeting Leslie (Feist) working at a bar in downtown Toronto,” Millan says. “She had just self-released her record and wanted to know what to do next. That was ten years ago. What she did was work her ass off. She played and wrote and played and wrote and now she is playing arenas.”
While Feist is the undisputed queen of Canadian indie rock at the moment, her career arch has paralleled that of her friends Millan and Haines in many ways. All three have split their time between bands and solo projects, with Millan releasing her well-received country-folk effort Honey From the Tombs in 2006. Most importantly, all three women are still close friends, and at times, just a little competitive.
“With a grin, I say, oh yah, there’s healthy competition,” Millan laughs. “But it’s good for us. It makes us work harder. Before anyone knew about our bands, we were writing for each other. In the end, when things go well for someone-- like Feist’s four Grammy nods-- we are proud. When things aren’t going well for someone, we worry for them. The pride I carry is for my friends. I am amazed that this crew of gangly teenagers who grew up together, who wanted to travel the world playing music, has found the people out there who support it.”
