Dysfunctional Democracy

[December 8th, 2004] Interviewing most bands is like talking to newlyweds. Without a sliver of doubt in the bunch, band members expound on how wonderfully everything is going and how the only thing standing between them and a long, mutually beneficial relationship filled with tears of laughter and joy is a globe-spanning pestilence. Not so for the gentlemen in Grails.

"I don't trust anybody in the band," says drummer Emil Amos, sitting next to seemingly trustworthy guitarist Alex Hall. Fresh off a successful European tour and the release of their band's sophomore album, Redlight, the two founding members of the instrumental quintet are sipping beers at the Bonfire and trying to explain how the band has managed to gain the attention of labels, musicians, fans and writers while lacking cohesiveness, structure or any element of trust. And, dammit, it's refreshing. Let's hear some more:

"When we got [the band] together, that's when it got depressing," says Hall.

"If something ends up talented-sounding, it's not because we really planned it that way. It's like a photo of five people. No matter when the photo is taken, at least two people are going to look good," says Amos.

"The first three years were spent in total confusion. Everyone wanted to quit the band. It was demoralizing. We didn't know who we were playing for," says Hall.

OK. That's enough.

To be honest, Amos and Hall aren't in fisticuffs with each other, or with anyone else in the band. They say there is just an inherent tension between the members, thanks in part to the democratic leanings of the leaderless band. That is what makes being in Grails slightly annoying. It also might be what makes listening to Grails oddly exciting.

On both its 2003 debut, The Burden of Hope, and Redlight, the band creates music that swings from lilting melodies to car crashes without much warning. The jazz equivalent to the Swords' orchestral indie rock, Grails' music is so beautifully directionless that to guess what comes next is to play the fool. This is music for listeners who wish to drench themselves in the moment, where the destination is as meaningless as the origin--and it's all the result of a group of guys who can't agree on anything. Except, maybe, that their music should be unpredictable.

"We hate all this music," says Amos, referring to a Radar Brothers album playing overhead. "We can't stand something that is built for you to understand."

"Music shouldn't be like that," adds Hall (who, along with Amos, also said some very nice things during the interview). "It shouldn't be camera-ready."