Nov. 24, 2010 - Issue #788 : Wool On Wolves

Prevue

Multiple Personalities

Wool on Wolves' members swap instruments in the name of the song

Grey Matter, Wool on Wolves' shockingly mature debut, opens with twangy guitar, obviously affected, and quickly joined by piano keys. Moments later a distant glockenspiel makes itself heard, then one voice, then a rush of harmonizing and a lazy harmonica spreading out over the words. At some point an easily strummed acoustic guitar and an energetic drum fill sneak into the mix as well. By the time you get to the end, instruments are cascading over one another, trading off dominant spaces but weaving together a melody of irresistible drive.

As an introduction to the album and the world, it perfectly establishes what the band is capable of doing. Not just a driving folk-pop song that expands from its simple core to encompass a rustic symphony's worth of sounds, it is also a testament to their instrumental chameleon tendencies, their collaborative process and finally their comfort with each other, an ability to play off one another's energy that seems almost in-born. How fitting, then, that the song is called "Thick as Thieves."

Truthfully, there are few better ways to describe the fivesome, made up of singer/guitarist Thomas Reikie, drummer Kevin George, pianist Eric Leydon, guitarist Gordon Brasnett and bassist Brody Irvine. Friends long before they ever started jamming together, it's rather indicative of their collaborative nature that those traditional band labels don't actually mean much. They're really more starting points than anything, the instruments that might most regularly be found in their hands, but hardly capturing the band's full breadth: they trade off with an almost manic regularity, and as "Thick as Thieves" demonstrates, they're capable of throwing just about any instrument you can think of at a song to make it work.

"There are songs where Brodie's got to put down the violin and pick up a bass, and Gord's got to put down drum sticks and pick up a lap steel and Kev's gotta put down the banjo and pick up drum sticks and Eric's gotta pick up a trumpet while he's playing keys," explains Reikie with a slightly admiring tone. "I somehow manage to sneak out of it, but I think all of us are just learning how to do that and learning about how and where to add texture."

Though it's a technique that pays obvious dividends on Grey Matter—something to which the band credits Nik Kozub's assured production—it was never exactly a conscious choice on their part.

Rather, it was simply a matter of them slowly discovering that they wanted more from their songs, and then figuring out how to add it. It's a fairly freewheeling way to build a band's sound, but then feeling comfortable enough to try new things is an essential ingredient in the band's ethos: when they started out, after all, they weren't a traditionally organized band but just a group of friends with the time and inclination to jam.

"A lot of playing multiple instruments—playing any instruments, really—was born out of necessity," explains Irvine.

"I think when it all started we had four guitar players and a piano player," adds Leydon.
"Yeah, Kev basically learned drums for the band," picks up Irvine, in a give-and-take way that could stand in for much of the band's interaction.

"Yeah, I learned the drums playing the songs," chimes in George. "Basically, I had won some money at the casino and bought a set of drums two or three months before we started jamming. So, in their minds, they knew I had a drum kit ... "

"Therefore he was the drummer," interjects Reike, to a room-wide chuckle.
"That's how it worked," finishes George. "I had nights of sweating nervousness, but I think the best way to learn an instrument is playing in the room with other people, because you learn how it fits in with the band."

Make no mistake, fitting in together is of the utmost importance for the fivesome, and they take it far beyond the stage or the jam space. For the past year, the entire band save for Reike has been living together in the same house, and though the phrase "band house" should conjure up images of something slightly more organized than a Bosch triptych, they have managed to keep things smoothly put-together, both physically and psychologically.

For the band, it not only gives them an obvious practice space, but also has removed almost any physical barrier to spur-of-the-moment songcraft. The result, as evidenced on Grey Matter, seems to be songs that can expand and contract assuredly, as they've already been taken through the process enough times that the band has them pretty nailed down.

"Having the luxury of pulling someone off the couch and get them to come hammer out parts is really nice," explains Brasnett. "It helps mature things a lot faster, I think, than most bands can manage."
"As soon as the four of these guys moved in together, the writing process just completely flipped on its head," concurs Reike. "They were coming to me with almost complete songs saying, 'Can you put lyrics to this?' It's been incredibly freeing."

And its effects are still being felt. Truthfully, much of the base of Grey Matter was written while Reike was on an exchange to Quebec and in the semester after he returned, where he admits he had less focus on his grades than on putting together lyrics—"It was really conducive to writing," he admits wryly, "not necessarily for graduating, but for writing."

From stripped-down acoustic numbers that he and Irvine used to play in coffee shops and at open mics, though, the songs on Grey Matter have grown into productions as expansive and atmospheric as a prairie field at twilight while losing none of their emotional core.

"The Distance Between Us" is a slow strummer that gradually builds into wide-eyed crusher whose internal space seems as wide as the physical space Reike is trying to overcome in his heartfelt lyrics. "Red Roses" thumps with drums that almost sound electric, and its slow melange of affected instruments mirror the punishing pain of Reike's voice, creating an effect akin to following a funeral procession down a dirt road. Album closer "Reap and Sow" ends with an extended period of mournful horns and a chorus repeating "You reap what / reap what you have sown" like it's somewhere between a benediction and a curse.

The final effect of the album is something that hits harder in the heart strings than in the head to which the title refers, but the band admits that they're less concerned with the specific effect of the album than the fact it has an effect on someone. It is obvious that for them the entire process is a slow tightening of the ties that bind, and their biggest concern once the process is over seems to be finding people who want to be knotted up with them, whatever brings them to that conclusion.

"There was this really great interview with Jeff Tweedy, where he said, 'When you release a song, it's not yours anymore. Whoever listens to it, it belongs to them,'" explains Reike. "I think that really meant a lot to all of us, insofar as we're not trying to make somebody feel anything in particular, we just hope they feel something, they take something away from it." V

Sat, Nov 27 (9 pm)
Wool on Wolves
With Ayla Brook
Pawn Shop, $15 (advance), $20 (door)  vueweekly.com comments: powered by Disqus