Men of Mystery

There is something about Lungfish. But what, exactly?

For 15 years, the Baltimore quartet has released meditative albums on Dischord Records, the label synonymous with neighboring D.C. Albums sate the band's small, devoted following and probably don't reach too many other people. Lungfish tours doggedly, then vanishes while members play with other bands, write books and work as tattoo artists--only to regroup and do it all again.

If you've seen or heard Lungfish, you know what to expect. Singer Daniel Higgs, a bearded and imposing man, delivers abstract lyrics with a snake-handling priest's intensity. Sparse guitar ("Asa Osborne spends his notes like they were $50 bills," another writer observed) entwines with repetitive, trance-locked drum and bass. That is Lungfish's story, and they're sticking to it.

Remarkably, it doesn't get boring. Instead, Higgs' inscrutable words and the band's serene consistency are weirdly majestic. The rat race governing other bands' careers just doesn't include Lungfish, any more than one might expect a Tibetan monk to start bucking for a raise.

"I think one main reason Lungfish is still a band is because of the sincerity of the music," says Sean Meadows, now on his second tour as the band's bassist. "Another could be the ability of the band to work without allowing outside pressures to dictate what the band does. I can honestly say I don't think the goals have evolved at all. Outside of making songs, making records and playing shows, I don't think there are any goals."

The band's purely aesthetic, art-for-art's sake approach to music may be why some admirers take Lungfish's work with deadly seriousness. Ten years ago, the singer for another Baltimore band described Higgs to me as "the most prophetic man I've ever met." Indeed, Higgs' splintered, surreal poetic imagery draws heavily on medical science and the holy fire of old-time religion (and I don't mean the band from Olympia). It is often hard or impossible to work out what the man is on about, except that he clearly seems imbued with Higher Knowledge.

Heavy, right?

"As far as the band's own perception of itself, we spend so much time spoofing various other perceptions, I'm not actually sure about everyone's individual take," Meadows says, suggesting that perhaps the band does not spend a lot of time in the van studying the Kabbalah. "Without anyone taking themselves too seriously, I think there is a good balance of self-awareness and detachment within the band about the band."

This kind of perspective, of which a lot of younger bands could use a dose, perhaps comes of Lungfish's longevity, or from the busy lives members choose outside the band. Higgs, who has lived bicoastally at times, works as a tattoo artist; he and drummer Mitchell Feldstein have both written books released by small publishers. The band recently completed a new album slated for release on Dischord later this year and is essentially promoting its current tour itself.

Clearly, this kind of collective creative life only works with a certain amount of flux. "There are various periods of activity and inactivity," Meadows says. "That's how it's built, and that's how it operates."

So with its own organic rhythm and somewhat otherworldly vision, Lungfish plows on, apparently impervious to time. Higgs continues to deliver mysterious verse over elemental--maybe primordial--rock and roll. It all comes from a city most Americans think about only when SportsCenter shows Orioles highlights, a city that nevertheless produces a steady stream of fascinating, ambitious rock bands.

"Baltimore is an interesting place," says Meadows. "I think it has an effect on people who write music here. There is a tangible sense of history that implies all the people who've lived and died there before you. It puts a curious person to thinking about the world--the world now, what it was like before, and what it's like behind the fabric of this world. If there was a place to slip through the fabric, then it wouldn't surprise me a bit if it happened to be tucked away in some Baltimore neighborhood."

The Blackbird, 3728 NE Sandy Blvd., 282- 9949. 10 pm Sunday, May 11. $8. 21+.

Higgs and Feldstein will read from their books

and

,

and

, respectively.

Reading Frenzy, 921 SW Oak St., 274-1449. 6 pm Sunday, May 11. All ages.

WWeek 2015