by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

For the better part of a decade, the band now known as Supersystem was a very different animal. The at-the-time Washington, D.C.-based line-up was different—prior to drummer Josh Blair joining guitarist Rafael Cohen, drummer-turned- bassist Justin “Destroyer” Moyer and electronics guy Pete Cafarella. Their label was different—they’ve ditched Dischord to sign on with Touch & Go. Their sound was different—improv and difficult-listening antics were loaded into the proto-emo Dischord template. Even their name was different—the previous El Guapo moniker was lost to a Latin bar band from Chicago.

No comment on the new geographical arrangements that find the band split between D.C. and Brooklyn, or on the label change, but the other alterations have been for the better. The name Supersystem suits them perfectly. That’s not only because they’ve got a super system for formulating music, arranging angular indie rock, snaky disco, Afro exotica and buzzing electro into amazing amalgams. It’s because lyrically, they speak from a wide-angle, high-altitude vantage point of the human animal’s patterns and processes, in tones both philanthropic and frightened, engaged and resigned.

What this all adds up to is, in this writer’s opinion, the best album of last year, Always Never Again. In eager anticipation of the band’s delayed Montreal debut (their show here last April was cancelled at the last minute), the Mirror got Moyer on the horn. Part of the reason was to decode some of the less obvious lyrics, which it turns out Moyer himself is still tangling with.

Mirror: I noticed the NME referred to you as the band’s “chief dance commander.”

Justin Moyer: I think, in my memory somewhere, that that is the case. I don’t know how I feel about that (laughs)—it seems like a lot of responsibility for one man. I guess, at least in my younger days, I had a lot of crazy on-stage moves. I may have to make a New Year’s resolution to tone it down a bit. But I do like to get the crowd moving, as it were.

M: The rest of the band is too wrapped up with their instruments?

JM: We’ve actually discussed this a bit, within the band. I think it’s important to engage the audience, be in people’s faces and make a show, a spectacle. There’s a reason a show isn’t called a listen—you don’t go to the listen, you go to the show, to see something. At the same time, someone’s gotta be worried about the sound, about the actual presentation of the material—not to be too pretentious, but that it’s consistent with some sort of standard of quality.

M: I love the way Supersystem uses elements of world music. What I’m hearing in Rafael Cohen’s guitar playing is very African—picking, not strumming.

JM: Yeah, he doesn’t play very many chords—you know those Éthiopiques records? When they came out a few years ago, he was right there. Ever since then—it’s funny, I’ll go into a record store and buy any record by any obscure old blues guy. Rafael will do the same for any kind of quote-unquote world music, music from Indonesia or Iran or Vietnam. He’s been listening to it pretty steadily for three years now and it seems to have gotten into his fingers.

Sick cities

M: Lyrics can go in two directions, a little too dear-diary or too soapbox, too overt and political. You guys have a beautiful balance, stuff that’s idiosyncratic and abstract enough to have a real poetic beauty, but concrete and grounded enough to offer the listener something to chew on. I come away from the songs with ideas churning in my head—at least with “Six Cities,” “Everybody Sings” and “Defcon.”

JM: Thank you. I guess, just because we’d been on Dischord and maybe because we were from Washington—half of us still are—people seem to think we’re this politically active band. It’s not like I don’t appreciate the work political bands do, but it’s not my thing. I don’t think I’d be very good at it. If you’re gonna sing a song about politics, it has to be shrouded in some kind of abstract idea or humour, something more than “I wanna kill George Bush.” That’s something we’ve always shied away from. Rafael’s “Six Cities” has a lot of beautiful imagery, but I don’t really know what it’s about. It’s really abstract. Sometimes, when we’re playing it, I’ll think about the song and be trying to puzzle it through. Because it’s like a weird puzzle—the city made of stone, the city made of wood, it’s almost like a little game.

M: Could I give you my rough interpretation?

JM: Yeah! It’s certainly as legitimate as mine.

M: Actually, there is a line to be drawn to “Defcon.” They both have an apocalyptic feel. “Defcon” is very explicit—when the bombs fall, where are we gonna go? Whereas “Six Cities” is about how people like to think that our civilizations, the ways we live, are going to last indefinitely. The fact is, they just don’t. People die so that they can be replaced by others, societies do likewise. That’s what I’m picking up off “Six Cities”—the oceans, the mountains, they’ve always been there and always will. But these cities, no matter what they’re made of, will all fall. It’s a sort of resigned apocalyptic vibe—a broader sense of history and the future. But that’s just me.

JM: Oh, no, it’s interesting to hear! I wish Rafael were here, I think he’d be interested to hear that.

Pornographic abstractions

M: There are a couple of songs, “Click-Click” and “The Love Story,” which I don’t have such an obvious take on. Maybe you could tell me what you think they’re about.

JM: “The Love Story”—now which one is that? First song on side two. Oh, man. (sings to himself) “Long live the vibrating string/long live the roller coaster wave”—(pauses) no idea. To me, it’s about—music or something? That’s a Rafael song, you’d have to ask him. “Click-Click,” though, that’s about Internet pornography. The first line [“Big naturals for the declassé monsters”] is about this Web site, bignaturals.com. It’s about women with big tits, basically. The line is about big tits for the unclassy, monstrous men that would want to see them. See, now you’re getting too much information, because I wrote the song, so I could talk about each line.

M: No, now it all falls into place. You nailed it down for me.

JM: I’m very proud of that song. That’s a real team effort, that song.

M: A standout on an album of standout songs. But how are you guys going to top yourselves? What are you working on now?

JM: It’s just so premature. We have one kinda rockin’ song, one that sounds like Dr. Dre, and this weird Africa jam that kinda sounds like Phish—

M: Uh oh.

JM: Honestly, I wish I knew more, especially since theoretically the next album’s supposed to be done in four months—or three, actually.

With French Toast and Blktyger at
la Sala Rossa on Monday, Jan. 16, 9 p.m., $12

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