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If you could paste together a dream band, the collage would probably look as awkward as an amalgamation of the perfect woman. Christy Turlington's eyes, Drew Barrymore's lips and Gabrielle Reece's legs sound awesome, but stuck together the result is as unappealing as Arafat's head on Chelsea Clinton's body. It's hard to describe ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead without portraying it as an equally fantastic cut-and-paste disaster: the white-funk base of the Make-Up; spooky Slint rasps alternating with earnest Fugazi vocals; beautiful Rex pop chords and livid Neil Peart/Keith Moon drums. Don't clear your kindergarten nephew's art project off the fridge to make room yet. Instead of yielding an overdone, icky pastiche, Trail of Dead melts down each cool part, seamlessly welding them into joyful, nonderivative hardcore music. The Austin, Texas, quartet's guitarist/drummer/vocalist, Conrad Keely, says he's "loving but not peaceful." It's a veracious description of his band as well. Like most American rock groups, Trail of Dead is caught in a bind over politics. Bands that disassociate with the world at large often seem vapid; bands that overtly align with an issue become annoying and forget to practice. Either way, it's a vicious cycle of boringness. Although Trail of Dead accepts that a couple of white 25-year-olds from Austin don't have the same raw material as Indonesian student bands performing a memorial for friends who have been shot by the police, they hope to elicit a similar energy and would like to tour politically volatile countries. Keely's one political stance is that if enthusiasm ever gets party standing, he'd register. During shows, he and co-founder Jason Reece trade off on guitar, drums and mike, tag-teaming the equipment like rotweillers locked in the bathroom with a link of sausage. Neil Busch and Kevin Allen brutally shoulder the rear on guitar and bass. The pandemonium is arresting and funny. When Trail of Dead whirls instruments, it's cocky rather than macho. "We have to swing them around to get the right sounds," explains agile-as-a-monkey Keely, who would be at home swinging through the rainforest in green satin trousers. Extreme stage presence has gotten the Trail in trouble. At a recent show in San Antonio the band members refused to turn down the volume, and Reece continued playing the drums as the stage manager attempted to disassemble his kit. The police showed up to escort them out of town. Before Keely and Reece moved to Austin and became a four-piece, they were living in Olympia, Wash., where getting physical brought them another set of problems: Keely felt inhibited by a judgmental environment in which confrontation was considered unintellectual. "Being in the Northwest was miserable," he says. "People were so passive that they went behind each other's backs. Physical conflict, even on stage, was considered primitive." Living in Texas, the musicians have gotten in a few fistfights, which they find preferable to Olympia's passive-aggressive pettiness. After a few years playing clubs in Austin, the Trail was signed by King (Butthole Surfers) Coffey's Trance Syndicate label and recently put out its first full-length, self-titled album. Signing locally has made it easier for the band to get studio time and advice. "You get so much support," Keely said. "Coffey comes to our shows even when we forget to tell him about them." Echoing vocals on the recording suggest that Reece and Keely are at opposite ends of a cement hall straining to communicate with each other. In the live show, some of this ethereal quality gets blown over, replaced by profuse drums and raw sessions of songs with titles such as "Richter Scale Madness," "Fake Fake Eyes" and "When We Begin to Steal." Humor factors in when you notice that such intense music is being played by four fresh-smelling boys with mod haircuts. So if you'd rather feel sinister--without any implications of violence--than cynical, you are guaranteed a gleeful show. Break your New Year's resolution to stay away from Satyricon on weeknights. Clear your throat and cough a lot at work on Monday, though--you might miss the bus Tuesday morning. |
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