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| FRI., JUNE 06, 2008 | ||
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In This Feature
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Austin-based outfit Shearwater began as a collaboration between frontman Jonathan Meiburg and Okkervil River's Will Sheff but, over the last seven years, it's slowly evolved into an outlet for Meiburg's meditations on passion, nature and loss, with gorgeous, soaring melodies that are undercut by a quiet ferocity — like a lamb with teeth. It follows that Rook, the band's fifth album (not counting an EP and Matador's polished, two-CD reissue of 2006's stunning Palo Santo) is no flight of fancy. It engages Biblical themes of decay and rebirth, and our very human need to recast the world in our own image with potentially catastrophic results. And then there's the birds: Meiburg, who wrote his Masters' thesis on the carnivorous Johnny Rook, looks to birds for much of his lyrical inspiration. (Smog's Bill Callahan once accused Meiburg of having a birder's form of Tourette Syndrome, due to his habit of yelling out the names of birds as he spots them.)
eMusic caught up with Meiburg as he was setting out on a long van ride from Texas to New York to play his first major show, accompanied by a string quartet, woodwinds, a harpist and Shearwater mainstays Kim Burke (bass) and Thor Harris (percussion). Your New York showcase sounds like a major production. How did it all come about? I had been sort of obsessive about not letting Matador hear Rook at all [until it was finished]. So I set up this thing where I mastered the record in New York, and that night met with people at the label and played the record for them. I thought that would be a really good idea, until I was taking it over to this apartment where we were going to listen to it and I thought, "Am I crazy? If they don’t like it, I will have to just sit there, it will be awkward and horrible." I was just clutching this glass of red wine as the record came booming out of this awesome stereo. But I was so relieved as I listened to it — for one thing I loved it, which almost never happens to me. Usually I'm really sick of a record by the time I'm finished with it. And it was pretty clear they liked it, too. They said I should perform it with all the players I have on the album. I'm really excited about it. I've never done anything on a scale like this before. You've played in New York before. I saw you at the Knitting Factory, and at the Mercury Lounge. And read a review of one of your shows — in the Times! — at a tiny venue in Brooklyn called Goodbye Blue Monday. [Laughs] We couldn’t believe it. That was such a strange time. I think we found out two things the same day — that we were getting dropped from our label [Misra], and that this tiny little show in Bushwick, Brooklyn, was being written up in the New York Times. We were sort of baffled. What happened between your last album, Palo Santo, which originally came out on Misra, and now? You were effectively label-less when real interest in your band seemed to ignite. How did that happen? There were some strange things that happened. I never thought such things would happen to my little band. I'm glad that time is over. Why? It was stressful. I don’t want to go into it in particular. But we just got really, really lucky. A perfect storm of coincidences happened, and then suddenly a lot of people were interested in [Palo Santo]. But then we were in this strange situation where we didn’t feel our performances on that record were what we wanted them to be. So we rerecorded half the record and remastered the whole thing, and made a version we were all happier with. That’s the one that Matador put out when they rereleased it. It sounds more like the band playing it, if that makes sense. It has more power, is more spacious and aggressive where it needs to be. The dynamic range is wider. Kind of the black and white version versus the color version. |