A few hours before their show last Tuesday, I got the email, “You’re on! Peter’s number is … give him a call and arrange the interview.” Wow, I hadn’t expected that one! The Antlers were going to show Chicago what it was like to take a record that was born in solitude, created in the safety of a few conspiring, creative minds, and after its completion, transform it for live audience. I had peered into a small part of that transformation when they came to Pitchfork Festival back in July. Their performance there, under a stormy sky, was exhilarating and completely changed the way I listened to Hospice from that point on. What was a beautiful, haunting album became so emotionally charged on stage. I simply had no idea they contained within themselves the ability to blow those songs up beyond their origins with such force. I definitely wanted to catch them in a smaller venue, one with a roof.
Peter, Michael, and Darby were incredibly honest and open with me about their experience with Hospice, with what it was like at this point for the band to think about the record’s effect and their success. In the 40 minutes I spent with them they made my head happily swim with details on how it was made and what it meant to them that so many people had connected with it. Since March, The Antlers have self-released an album; have gone on a number of tours of the U.S., (including to SXSW, Pitchfork Fest and Monolith Festival, and to Canada with Frightened Rabbit); and have signed with Frenchkiss Records who have re-released Hospice broadening the band’s reach. November sees them heading off to their first UK tour.
They seem to be holding up rather well.
“It’s been a crazy last several months, I think our heads are sorta constantly spinning, but I dunno, I think we manage to stay grounded,” says Peter. And yes, I would agree. They recognize that their music is working some kind of wonderful on people but really can’t explain it beyond the fact that it is honest and real.
I made the mistake of calling them “brave” for putting it out there as a concept album and as somewhat experimental at that.
Michael set me straight in a kind but concise manner, “Ultimately Peter wrote these songs and there wasn’t any outside, forward-ahead thinking about how people were going to receive it. “Brave” or “not brave” I don’t think entered my head at all. Bottom line was they were good songs. It’s very simple. I felt like I had the confidence to record these songs and it ended up being the album that I am by far the most proud of anything I’ve ever been involved in.”
Did you play the songs on the record in a lot in clubs before you recorded it?
“It was right when the record was finished that we pared it down to just the three of us and we started practicing all the time, and then started touring, and that’s when we started playing the songs on Hospice and rearranging them.” This was around the summer/fall of 2008 and it was just them and a minivan, performing and giving away tracks like Two and Sylvia (An Introduction)
I was conscious of the time. I had no idea how patient they would prove to be, and didn’t want this experience to just fizzle out without getting at least one good question in. After all, I had read about forty interviews with them, given in the past two months alone. The Antlers were fast becoming professionals at this game; there was no reason to cover old ground.
They had wrote a very intimate album; I rationalized asking the most intimate and thought-provoking question on my cheat sheet. How does it feel to know that you’re making thousands of people cry when they listen to your record?
A slightly uncomfortable laugh came out of the four of us at that moment. They look around, waiting to see who will answer first. Darby leans in, “I hope it’s a comforting sort of… I mean crying can be a lot of things. It can be a really positive kind of thing and not a really depressing kind of thing, like remembering my past and all the things that have happened.”
“I think that with any record or any piece of art that touches people or strikes an emotional chord, it is extremely flattering to have people react that way” Michael adds.
But it’s Peter, the one whom the spotlight invariably falls upon, as the writer of these lyrics and the singer, who we all know needs to answer to this. “It’s very bizarre actually to be part of a record that is affecting people that much, I mean it’s … I had no idea how to do that, and I have no idea how that happened, and I think it’s what you hope for, to make something that people connect to and not just hear in the background,” he says.
I talk a bit about how I see this album as being for people something like Holocaust literature. It’s a bit of a far-out example, but the same mechanism is at work: dealing with the tragic in life often leads to creating art and finding catharsis in artistic expression. Often at a later date, others who have not in any way experienced the same tragedy also find catharsis in it, in dealing with the issues in their own lives. Their cathartic experience with that art is completely separate from its originating, tragic experience. And yet the object that creates this catharsis is a vehicle for both, it voices a common human expression of pain and the alleviation of it. So Hospice is, or once was, personal for Peter Silberman, but people now use it for themselves in all sorts of ways.
“I think in most ways it has nothing to do with me anymore, it’s so much more about whatever people are turning it into and hopefully they’re just hearing it as a human record, something like Darby was saying, one they can find comfort in. That’s more important than necessarily where it came from.” He says in agreement. I’m reminded of what Scott Hutchinson, of Frightened Rabbit, has said about Midnight Organ Fight, another album that people find to be so personally rewarding. He talks about how it’s not about him anymore but about whatever people need it to be.
Peter adds, “Yeah I gotta say that record has done that as well, it’s a cool thing to see happen. We did some shows with them earlier this summer and it was interesting to see how strongly people who were coming out to the shows were just absolutely in love with the songs. It was like they needed them. It was really amazing.”
I venture to say, “We need these experiences, these collective experiences to feel. That’s what art is, it’s a way of feeling.” They nod in agreement on this statement, so I continue, “So there’s a certain genre of art that needs to make people feel uncomfortable. And maybe that’s part of what you’re doing?”
“I think a lot of people aren’t necessarily comfortable expressing how they feel about anything. Sometimes people need to be kind of pushed a little bit to be more open or be more honest with themselves.” Darby says, and he doesn’t say much in this interview, what he does say is often said shyly, in a low voice. But this statement is clear and not shy at all. Get Darby talking about art and you’ve got him nailed down.
“And you’re ok being the person doing the pushing?” I press him further, with a smile.
“I mean it’s weird, it’s definitely weird. I don’t know if I’m THAT person…” his voice trails off.
Michael adds, “It’s kind of a responsibility.”
Darby comes back to it, “It almost borders on manipulative. Who do you happen to be doing it for? And if you’re doing it for yourself, for your own success then I think it’s manipulative. But if people are hoping to hear something, lets say, at a show, hoping hear a song they’ve connected with then it’s not about us. And if it’s heading in the wrong direction, people notice that.”
“I think there’s an honesty in the record. And that is always at the top of the list of what you want, you want people to call something honest, not contrived, certainly with no manipulation, that’s a very big compliment to have somebody call that an honest record, which is why the reaction is the way it is, it’s not just the flavor of the week” adds Michael.
And this is more than true. From it’s beginning as a self-release to it’s re-release on Frenchdkiss Records, Hospice has been consistently selling. Additionally, The Antlers have been winning over audiences wherever they play.Their re-release party sold out the Mercury Lounge in NYC (nyctaper captured that show and has it here for download.) It appears that the steam is only continuing to build for The Antlers as they work their way to the UK.
I wasn’t completely sure I understood just how this record was created, how it became this multi-layered thing. Hospice opens with such a dreamy intro, throughout, the vocal effects lead into a surreal feel, almost as if the lyrics and music are on two different planes of existence. And emotionally, I think that is very much the way it should be. The words are so painful to hear, they have to be wrapped in haze and layers of musical density. I told them how much I love “Atrophy,” especially the end where it falls off into electronic sounds like a muted helicopter, and then a series of whirls, and little ding, ding, dings. I wanted to know how these layers of melody, lyrics and electronica came to be put together.
Peter describes it for me: ” It’s kind of different for every song. To be honest, I think everything was sort of conceived of separately. Lyrics and basic song structure [were] happening on one side, happening independent of the recording. And then there was a sort of textural blanket that was happening, that was made sort of to live under everything else. And sometimes that would build up to something that, really by the time the rest of the song was put onto it, the song didn’t belong there. And that’s when it had to be at the front. Its like the record kinda lives on an ocean or something (he laughs) it’s kinda always there, it goes up, it comes down. Sometimes it’s the only thing that’s there, sometimes it’s not there at all.”
And that’s exactly how I envisioned this electronic element to Hospice. It weaves in and out of songs, but not exactly in a way that is firm enough to think of it as it’s own entity. The things that make “Sylvia” seem like such a state of madness, or “Thirteen” so achingly lonely, or “Wake” so powerful, are not just Peter’s vocal pauses and range. It’s more than just keyboard, guitar and drums, as well. For me, what stood out on the fifth or sixth listen, were the effects: the wind whistling in “Wake” behind the harmonized “ooohs,” the hollowing of space at the begining of “Thirteen,” and the almost incessant ringing in “Sylvia” that permeates the whole song but which you only really notice at the start. This is not to say that the vocals and lyrics are not what makes the album brilliant, and they understood that as we spoke, but those parts of the recording are also what make this the consummate headphone album of 2009.
I tell Peter how I can’t envision how this all comes together and how that blanket gets created. “I just don’t get it!” I say in frustration, with a smile. I reach this point with every musician. They can never explain the creative process, who can?
“I’m not sure I get it!” he laughs out loud, “I know what you mean, I’m thinking about what you’re saying and I think, yeah that does make sense, I’m not sure that was intentional or not though.”
“No, it’s not really intentional. And I think it’s very subconscious. It’s almost like a zeitgeist through the album.” They nod in agreement. We leave it at that. I’m no musician, I’ll never understand these things. I resign myself to the fact.
I am curious, however, as to what comes next for this group. Many songs on this album has been with them since 2006, afterall. I ask if they’ve been able to write on the road.
“We’ve been trying to” Peter says. “Well there’s definitely a formulation of ideas we’re kinda thinking about. We’re looking forward to the time when we’ll have a little block [of time] in the studio and I think the floodgates will kinda open cause it has been awhile since we’ve been able to take the time to do it” adds Michael.
And even though I’m resigned to not understanding how they actually write music, these guys are very intent on explaining it to me. Looking back on this interview now, it’s a little more than amazing, actually.
“A lot of the writing” Darby says, “the most important writing is not actual song structure. It’s just playing and seeing where something starts, and you get to a point where…. ideas, well, forming ideas is a big part of it.”
Michael adds, “Look at it sort of like a sculptor has a block and the sculpture is in there and you have a bunch of ideas and you have a bunch of sonic landscapes and whatever. We’re not writing a typical pop song, so if you have a whole bunch of ideas like that you have to sort of whittle away, or sort of see what fits and what doesn’t, you do a sort of jigsaw puzzle thing. And for us it’s the layering of a lot of things on top of each other. And that makes it interesting and a little bit ear candy, but more than just that.”
“Right now we’re kind of verbally writing the next thing,” explains Peter. “I think we’re kind of all, sitting in the van or not able to sleep, and sitting around talking about it. And we kind of go down this rabbit hole a little bit where we see this next thing going.”
I try to pin them down to a maybe an idea or topic. That is completely the wrong way to go with this.”It might never have a topic! That limits you.” Darby declares, he feels quite strongly about this. Michael adds, “Wherever the new record and other new records fall in that arch, it could be a concept record but we’re not like a “concept record” band.” They’ve been tagged with this label lately and seem to chafe at it, understandably. Darby continues, “Yeah even to call something a concept record, even if it is, I just feel like it’s not necessary to term it that. That’s my personal thought.”
I ask my traditional last question: If you can be an instrument which would you be and which virtuoso would you like to play you? Again, they look around the circle at one another, seeing who will go first.
Michael jumps in, “I would go backwards from the virtuoso to the instrument because anytime, I’ve seen him in person, I’ve seen Issac Perlman play the violin is, I mean you talk about people crying when they listen to our record, like weeping…, it’s pretty intense. Seeing his emotion come through, him as a person. And for the instrument, i’d pick singing. So I would say that.”
Darby answers next, “For an instrument I’d say a big, giant church organ, but I don’t know any organ players. I’d rather say an artist, that would make sense in an abstract sort of way. Pollock or something, something that’s expressionist, improvisational.” We all just look at him blankly, a little bit wordless at this idea, to be honest.
“I was going to say the Hurdy Gurdy,” says Peter, at last, “but …. (we all laugh) but I won’t. I think maybe an accordion, I really like the way they have to breathe as an instrument. We don’t have to breathe, but they do. But if not an accordion, cause I can’t think of anyone I’d want to play the accordion, I would say the player piano that plays itself. Maybe I’d be a Simeon, it’s this crazy synth. It’s this huge fucking thing that didn’t work very well and he gets mad at it and pours beer on it.”
I’m obviously looking at him in disbelief because at this point Michael jumps in, “Do you know that band Silver Apples? You should google and check it out, they were way ahead of their time, late 60s electronica and this guy played these ossicilators, cool sounding stuff. They were sort of the first, before Kraftwerk, way ahead of everything.” And indeed, I did look them up and the band featured a really cool, home-made, proto-synthesizer, consisting of a “1940s vintage audio oscillator…[which] eventually grew, according to their first LP liner notes, to include ‘nine audio oscillators piled on top of each other and eighty-six manual controls to control lead, rhythm and bass pulses with hands, feet and elbows’” (wiki), see picture here. The things you learn from guys in indie bands!
I sneak one last question in before walking out the door. “What do you think of bloggers? Love them, hate them? Something in between?”
“What’s to hate? We’re here because of them!” Peter says, right off the bat. Michael adds, “Anything you read, you can respond to if you violently disagree with it. And otherwise, just don’t read it if you don’t like it. And people who are that excited about music, whether you play it or don’t, there’s always gonna be room for that. It’s like Peter said. I don’t think we would be here without them. I know we wouldn’t. With all the support, they’re the ones that are shouting from the rooftops and everyone else looks up.”
I hope people do look up, as we certainly are shouting about The Antlers, and I think rightfully so. They are a band that have touched tens of thousands of us and will only continue to reach more. Don’t be surprised if they make you cry, and they probably won’t feel all that bad about it either. xoxo
P.S. Oh, they performed that night as well, to a full house at the Sub-T! It exceeded my expectations, of course. The sadness of the record only fueled the tenderness with which Peter sang into the mic. Darby was a master at the keyboards and I couldn’t help but envision him up there at the helm of the largest church organ in the world, striking chords that would shake the Earth. The intensity of the final number, “Cold War” left all of us breathless. And Michael, well, his drumming is about the timing of it. No, not the timing of the beats like you’d expect that last sentence to read–the timing of when to actually drum and when to sit still and let Peter’s voice or Darby’s keys take the song. He knows just when to sit back and wait. His talent is immense and you wait, seeing him poised, to be thrilled by the off-beats and the rush and then fall back-ness of his work. There were more than a few of us singing along to The Antlers’ songs that evening. I feel confident in saying that Chicago gave up a pretty good audience that night!
Setlist: (as written)
Bear
13
Sylvia
Atrophy
2
Shiva
Wake
Epilogue
——
Cold War
buy
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