A Passion for Math
Lands Farther East’s Josh Goodman on the fine line between innocuous and affecting
2002-12-10
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As a writer, the prospect of stumbling across a band that sounds like a blank
sheet of paper has always appealed to me. Lands Farther East, from the unlikely
home of Bellingham, Washington, has provided just that. Their latest release,
the aptly titled There Goes the Atmosphere is redolent of fellow moody
noodlers Slint, Mogwai and Her Space Holiday, and has managed to up the ante
for an entire genre.
The sound Lands Farther East has cultivated is a veritable paragraph of paradox: it commands your attention without antagonizing your ear, it is larger than life as well as low-key; it is as crisply defined as it is nebulous. Listening to There Goes the Atmosphere, one cannot ignore the suspicion that they are underwater.
Termed "math-rock," they create music characterized by parsimonious clusters of sotto voce singing over tricky time signatures and purposeful, intuitive musicianship. Lands Farther East feels that since most music focuses on vocals so much, they are trying to do something different.
"I'd say the way we make music is pretty organic," says Josh Goodman, one of the group's two singers and guitarists. "A lot of the crazy math-y stuff we do is really natural - it's not academic at all." This has made a world of difference: their sound has garnered accolades from Spin magazine and earned a studio seal of approval from Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla.
"The only problem we found working with him was that he's such a nice guy. We wasted so much time hanging out, we were like, 'We could've gotten 25 songs done if we didn't like this guy so much!'" Goodman laughs. "And from the outside, his studio looks like a disgusting, dilapidated shack - but inside it's amazing."
Prior to working with Walla, the band released their first EP, Das Alte Ende Vom with another producer. "It sounded good," recalls Goodman, "but we felt a bond with Chris."
Much like fellow Washingtonians the Microphones, Lands Farther East have found themselves addressing the issue of nature: where they figure into it, what their place means to them and how it defines them. Almost immediately, the listener begins to embark on the topic of the world's imminent and unstoppable progression, set to unmistakable and fluid textures.
"Our songs aren't necessarily first person - we have a storyteller aspect to our music," Goodman says. Some of the band's songs are love songs, helping to keep their theme from stagnating.
Abandoning the tried and tired guitar, bass and drum setup by swapping the bass for another guitar has produced an agreeably unorthodox, if problematic, sound for the band. "Maybe our music just doesn't work with a bass. A lot of people are like, 'What's up with not having a bass?' They think it's a gimmick, but that's just kind of how it happened. We don't operate that way," Goodman says. "With our music, you can go to a show and be really into it, or you can put on the CD and just not think about it."
It would be fair to say the band thrives on challenging circumstances. "We like playing in houses a lot, to get a community feel," says Goodman, discussing a setting so intimate it would deter many bands from performing. "We prefer to share our music, rather than show it off."
It is this attitude that makes their personal music even more so; Goodman says, "The last time we played a living room was for our record release party. It was almost like a slumber party."
Their Bellingham locale is one that the band finds both stifling and liberating, says Goodman. In a town best known for garage-raunch label Estrus Records, he says he doesn't know if there's another band nearby that sounds a thing like them. "It sucks being the math-rock band in Bellingham - if the term comes up, they're talking about us." But this tokenization has granted the band a monopoly of sorts: if similar bands come through town, they virtually always play with them, says Goodman.
"Bellingham has a really big garage scene and an even bigger bluegrass scene," Goodman adds. "There are two really great bars, but they're on the same street, and we want to play more for the kids. It's a small town, and with venues closing down so frequently it can definitely feel limiting. But as for touring, we always feel great about getting out there and showing other towns what we're doing.
"I think Chico is going to end up being our second home," Goodman continues. "We had such a good response last time, and I'm the most excited about playing there."
It would also be safe to say that Goodman, when joined with the other members of the band, Ryan Soukkala and Mark Detrick, finds an undeniable musical chemistry. This progression was a natural one that took time, explains Goodman.
"They've been playing together since 8th grade, and we all found we wanted to make music the same way. Compared to bands we were in the past, it's like night and day. What we've got now is the thinking man's math-rock," laughs Goodman.
As for the pigeonhole-friendly press, Goodman is inclined to agree with most critics' accounts, with one restrictive exception. "Math-rock is a better term than others being thrown around, but it presupposes that there's nothing pretty happening, and we like to think our music is pretty."
Lands Farther East travels an affecting emotional terrain that's difficult to put your finger on; introspection is all well and good, but there comes a time when the cerebral overwhelms the visceral and all that's left is a big, gaping hole where the zeal should be. When a band shows up that manages to transcend this trapping, it would be wise to pay close attention.
The sound Lands Farther East has cultivated is a veritable paragraph of paradox: it commands your attention without antagonizing your ear, it is larger than life as well as low-key; it is as crisply defined as it is nebulous. Listening to There Goes the Atmosphere, one cannot ignore the suspicion that they are underwater.
Termed "math-rock," they create music characterized by parsimonious clusters of sotto voce singing over tricky time signatures and purposeful, intuitive musicianship. Lands Farther East feels that since most music focuses on vocals so much, they are trying to do something different.
"I'd say the way we make music is pretty organic," says Josh Goodman, one of the group's two singers and guitarists. "A lot of the crazy math-y stuff we do is really natural - it's not academic at all." This has made a world of difference: their sound has garnered accolades from Spin magazine and earned a studio seal of approval from Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla.
"The only problem we found working with him was that he's such a nice guy. We wasted so much time hanging out, we were like, 'We could've gotten 25 songs done if we didn't like this guy so much!'" Goodman laughs. "And from the outside, his studio looks like a disgusting, dilapidated shack - but inside it's amazing."
Prior to working with Walla, the band released their first EP, Das Alte Ende Vom with another producer. "It sounded good," recalls Goodman, "but we felt a bond with Chris."
Much like fellow Washingtonians the Microphones, Lands Farther East have found themselves addressing the issue of nature: where they figure into it, what their place means to them and how it defines them. Almost immediately, the listener begins to embark on the topic of the world's imminent and unstoppable progression, set to unmistakable and fluid textures.
"Our songs aren't necessarily first person - we have a storyteller aspect to our music," Goodman says. Some of the band's songs are love songs, helping to keep their theme from stagnating.
Abandoning the tried and tired guitar, bass and drum setup by swapping the bass for another guitar has produced an agreeably unorthodox, if problematic, sound for the band. "Maybe our music just doesn't work with a bass. A lot of people are like, 'What's up with not having a bass?' They think it's a gimmick, but that's just kind of how it happened. We don't operate that way," Goodman says. "With our music, you can go to a show and be really into it, or you can put on the CD and just not think about it."
It would be fair to say the band thrives on challenging circumstances. "We like playing in houses a lot, to get a community feel," says Goodman, discussing a setting so intimate it would deter many bands from performing. "We prefer to share our music, rather than show it off."
It is this attitude that makes their personal music even more so; Goodman says, "The last time we played a living room was for our record release party. It was almost like a slumber party."
Their Bellingham locale is one that the band finds both stifling and liberating, says Goodman. In a town best known for garage-raunch label Estrus Records, he says he doesn't know if there's another band nearby that sounds a thing like them. "It sucks being the math-rock band in Bellingham - if the term comes up, they're talking about us." But this tokenization has granted the band a monopoly of sorts: if similar bands come through town, they virtually always play with them, says Goodman.
"Bellingham has a really big garage scene and an even bigger bluegrass scene," Goodman adds. "There are two really great bars, but they're on the same street, and we want to play more for the kids. It's a small town, and with venues closing down so frequently it can definitely feel limiting. But as for touring, we always feel great about getting out there and showing other towns what we're doing.
"I think Chico is going to end up being our second home," Goodman continues. "We had such a good response last time, and I'm the most excited about playing there."
It would also be safe to say that Goodman, when joined with the other members of the band, Ryan Soukkala and Mark Detrick, finds an undeniable musical chemistry. This progression was a natural one that took time, explains Goodman.
"They've been playing together since 8th grade, and we all found we wanted to make music the same way. Compared to bands we were in the past, it's like night and day. What we've got now is the thinking man's math-rock," laughs Goodman.
As for the pigeonhole-friendly press, Goodman is inclined to agree with most critics' accounts, with one restrictive exception. "Math-rock is a better term than others being thrown around, but it presupposes that there's nothing pretty happening, and we like to think our music is pretty."
Lands Farther East travels an affecting emotional terrain that's difficult to put your finger on; introspection is all well and good, but there comes a time when the cerebral overwhelms the visceral and all that's left is a big, gaping hole where the zeal should be. When a band shows up that manages to transcend this trapping, it would be wise to pay close attention.
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