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August 22, 2004
And the Band Went On and On and On
By ALEC HANLEY BEMIS
The New York Times
LAST March, Tim DeLaughter stood in a desiccatingly hot Texas afternoon with two dozen members of his rock collective, the Polyphonic Spree. They were preparing to be interviewed by MTV, and the 38-year-old Mr. DeLaughter stood out like a standard-issue charismatic frontman. He wore a red and white checkerboard suit that could charitably be described as theatrical. Underneath he wore a pale green shirt only a shade or two less intense than Kermit the Frog's skin.
Before MTV's cameras were set to roll, though, he cloaked his eccentric outfit beneath a featureless, white V-neck gown. A moment later, the collection of shaggy twenty- and thirtysomethings milling about did the same, donning white robes identical to Mr. DeLaughter's. The band now looked like a church choir for born-again hippies, which is why the MTV host's first question did not seem out of bounds.
"Is viewing the Polyphonic Spree a religious experience?" he asked.
Deferring to a bandmate, Michael Turner, Mr. DeLaughter asked: "What do you think, Michael? Do you concur?"
With a smirk and a mock sinister Texas drawl, Mr. Turner answered: "Well, sometimes it is. And sometimes it isn't."
Suddenly, a bystander darted between Mr. DeLaughter and the camera, looked straight into the lens and yelled, "It's a sick cult!" before running off down the street.
The producer yelled cut. The host turned to him and asked, "Should we pick it up from the last question?"
"Don't worry," Mr. DeLaughter said as the stranger, still running, faded into the distance. "He's one of us."
Mr. DeLaughter and company were standing at a dusty intersection, in front of a mid-size rock club. They were in Austin for the annual South by Southwest Music and Media Convention, a festival and an industry schmoozefest â?? and a rite of passage both for bands that aspire to be big, not huge, and for the young people who love them. Two years ago, the Polyphonic Spree drove the two hours that separate Austin from their Dallas hometown and played six times in five days. They were an undeniably large group when they arrived, but by the time they left, as the festival's rising stars, they were becoming big in the other sense.
In 2004 they returned as the group most embodying the hopes and dreams that feed the communities that feed the festival. Their symphonic, vaguely psychedelic choral music has become so ubiquitous you've probably heard them even if you don't realize it. They were featured in commercials for Apple's iPod and Hewlett-Packard computers and on the soundtrack to the film "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." They played a central role in an episode of "Scrubs." Earlier this summer, the group completed a stint as the hand-picked opener on David Bowie's North American road show, the highest-grossing tour of 2004. They will visit New York this week, with performances at Irving Plaza on Tuesday and Wednesday and an appearance on "The Late Show With David Letterman" on Friday. Next Sunday they will perform on the MTV Music Video Awards telecast, a national showcase that has provided innovative bands ranging from Nirvana to the White Stripes an early career boost.
Music, however, isn't the only reason the Polyphonic Spree is so beloved. Its popularity has as much to do with its form and modus operandi, both of which differ in crucial ways from that of the usual rock band. First, there is the group's size. The membership has fluctuated over the group's four years of existence, but recently it's stabilized at 23. The members continue to refer to themselves as a rock band, though it should go without saying that most bands â?? especially not-yet-successful ones â?? have historically tried to restrict their lineups to about five, if only for financial reasons. Currently the Polyphonic Spree features more than five members singing back-up and further augments the usual alignment of guitar, bass and drums with timpani, French horn and a 6-foot harp.
Indeed, the appeal of the Polyphonic Spree has as much to do with the thin line that seems to separate performer and spectator as it does the music itself. Audiences fall in love with the way the collective reflects the Platonic ideal of being in a band. The group seems like a large, joyous group of friends assembled as an improbable yet uplifting choir. With so many people packed on stage, it's often hard to identify individual members. No superstars or divas are tolerated.
The Polyphonic Spree's odd personnel decisions would seem even more unusual if it weren't for the fact that a host of similar ensembles have formed in the last few years, including some of independent music's most successful up-and-coming groups. A modern rock band from Toronto called Broken Social Scene contains upward of 11 members. Omaha's Bright Eyes, led by the folk-rock songwriter Conor Oberst, has toured in iterations of 15 or so. A Sacramento octet called !!! (pronounced chick chick chick) specializes in dubby, repetitive funk and off-kilter political statements. (Last year, reflecting half the band's move to New York, it released "Me and Giuliani Down by the School Yard," a nine-minute single inspired by the city's restrictive, anti-dance cabaret laws.) Two interrelated Montreal groups, Godspeed You Black Emperor! and the Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra, feature 7 to 15 members and make instrumental music that's been likened to an enigmatic film soundtrack.
Most of these collectives have sold a small number of records by the standards of the corporate record industry, but they are colossal successes for the independent labels they are affiliated with. The Polyphonic Spree, which last month released its second album, "Together We're Heavy," on Hollywood Records, a well-financed major label, is the most idealized and crossover-ready illustration of the phenomenon.
The group's background begins with a typical rock 'n' roll story. In the early 90's, Mr. DeLaughter was part of an alternative rock band from Dallas called Tripping Daisy. It built up a following through local touring, signed to a major label but burned out after a minor hit and a major tragedy. The band's guitarist, Wes Berggren, died of a heroin overdose, an event that coincided with the birth of Mr. DeLaughter's first child. Tired of the rock scene's more debauched side, Mr. DeLaughter officially retired from music and opened Good Records, a boutique record store on the fringes of Dallas's arty Deep Ellum neighborhood. He still had vague notions that he wanted to make music, but had none of the contacts to make it a reality
"The Polyphonic Spree was kind of a wish list band," he said. "I wanted symphonic instrumentation but didn't know anybody that did that. I just knew rock people." The search for members was fairly comic. At one point he found himself approaching a cellist he'd seen at the local mall. After a first performance with a 13-person line-up, though, the group took on a life of its own.
"People came up after the first show," Mr. DeLaughter said. "They'd say `I know someone that plays the French horn' or `I would love to sing in the choir' or `Can I be a part of this?' "
Ringers were recruited from the nearby town of Denton, home to the University of North Texas's conservatory program, but the qualifications for joining were minimal. "We would ask: `Can you improvise? Do you have the spirit for something like this?' If someone said yeah, I'd go, `All right, come on in!' "
Many of the initial members were drawn from the bohemian community surrounding his music shop, so the aftermath of their initial South by Southwest appearance came as a shock. The media attention led to a 2002 booking at Meltdown, a high-profile British festival organized by Mr. Bowie. A recording made only three months after the band formed, which was intended only to help book shows, was made commercially available and sold a quarter million copies worldwide. For several members, subsequent tours in Japan and Europe marked their first trip outside the state of Texas, much less on an airplane.
Initially, the songs were based on "comfortable mantras" that Mr. DeLaughter enjoyed singing over and over. Conveniently enough, they were so simple it was easy to teach them to untrained musicians. The sun was a frequent topic, as in their most oft-played song, "Light and Day": "You don't see me flyin' to the red/ one more you're done/ just follow the day and reach for the sun." These lyrics were set against the sound of an amateur orchestra gone amok. Though the British press quickly landed on the phrase "happy-clappy' to describe the sound, it was both bombastic and melancholy, a happy kind of sad. Imagine the gravity of a zen chant and the earnestness of the church-group standard "Kumbaya" folded into a summery rendition of the Beach Boys' "California Girls."
Four years into its career, the group has grown more professional, its music more polished. For example, it now employs a French horn player who has worked with Elton John. Touring is still a break-even proposition, though, subsidized by the group's record label.
"I think in the future it may get to the point where people can facilitate their lifestyles and have a career at this," said Mr. DeLaughter, bristling at the suggestion that a two-dozen-member band is impractical. He maintains that there is a long future ahead. "This roadshow gives me tools to be able to operate for my next agenda," he added. "I think I've applied the foundation of the Polyphonic Spree to everyday life and my interactions with other humans. It involves compromises, learning how to handle certain situations, and being sensitive to other human emotions."
He has a bit of the cult leader about him, and when he utters nebulous thoughts like this, it's easy to imagine that the group is too peculiar to expect a long career. Just then he revealed an odd yet plausible ambition.
"We'll play at a theater like five days in a row, and just set up shop and camp there, and that's where we are," he said. "We'll be more of a touring performance art show, like when `Stomp' or `Rent' comes to town." The idea seems crazy until you consider that the group has the business relationship to make it a reality. Hollywood Records is owned by the Walt Disney Company. It's not unreasonable to imagine them joining "The Lion King" and "Beauty and the Beast" on Broadway, as a non-denominational "Godspell."
