Deploy the joy

>> They may have traded the gowns of the god-fearing for military gear, but the orch-pop overload of Tim DeLaughter’s platoon-strength Polyphonic Spree remains as life-affirming as ever

BENEVOLENT BATTALION: Tim DeLaughter (front)
and the Polyphonic Spree

by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

Two dozen strong on stage, with a 10-person choir and all manner of instruments, never to mention matching robes and a ebullient joyfulness to their music, the Polyphonic Spree have been assessed by many, particularly the U.K. press, at face value—as a Christian sect or cult of some sort, somewhere between Up With People and the Manson clan.

However, they’re from Dallas, Texas, not nearby Waco, and probably owe more to Jesus Christ Superstar than, say, Jesus Christ. The Spree does have its obsessive followers (Spreebs, they’re called), but no one ever dragged a Deadhead in for deprogramming, and given the explosive euphoria of the Spree’s shows, comparable to those of contemporaries like Arcade Fire and Flaming Lips, who can blame them?

Initiated in 2000 and, with no small degree of exhausting effort, led by Tim DeLaughter, formerly of bubble-grungers Tripping Daisy, the band has just released its third album, The Fragile Army. While the music largely retains the exhilarating beatitude, the gowns are gone, replaced by somewhat more ominous quasi-fascist uniforms, complete with enigmatic insignia.

The Mirror reached Tim DeLaughter by phone to get at the gospel truth of the matter.

Mirror: Previously, the band was presented in, let’s say, a quasi-religious vernacular, whereas now, it’s a quasi-military vernacular. What motivated that decision?

Tim DeLaughter: We’ve never really tried to put out a specific image directed towards religion or anything else. The clothing was always used just to unify the group, and the reason we had robes in the first place is because it was the easiest thing that I could think of to clothe everybody and not have to think about everyone’s sizes. It was just one-size-fits-all, and thought it would be a beautiful image. The religious part is something everybody else kinda came up with.

M: Something I’ve remarked is that the word “God” only ever appeared once in your lyrics, which always struck me more as a nod to Brian Wilson [writer of the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows”] than any supernatural entity.

TD: It was just a simple word choice—I mean, God only knows how you use a word like “God.” (laughs) But you know, I’ve never put out there that this was a religious band. Journalists just put it together—“They’re wearing robes, their music is semi-positive, they must be a religious group”—and that was never the intention.

M: I always thought it was more of a subversion of the idea, that you were offering everything religion did—the euphoria, the sense of togetherness—without the rules and the great expectations.

TD: Well, yeah, that’s true. I can agree with that. At the end of the day, we were just playing music, trying to be a group, and trying to unify the group. My lyrical choices do tend to go to the positive side of life, and I think it’s more for me than for anybody else. It’s just a constant reminder, for dealing with the ups and downs of life. But when you put it in a song and you’re selling music to people, then all of a sudden it becomes something much more global. It’s not for you anymore, it’s for everyone else. I’m kinda just realizing that (laughs)—I know it sounds naïve, but I’ve never put that much stock in my lyrics. It’s always about the melody, the lyrics are always secondary to me, believe it or not. So it’s kind of odd that I’ve built this huge army of positive music, with this lyrical choice of acting like I’m trying to save the human race, when all I’m really trying to do is keep myself above water at times (laughs). I’m just trying to make some good entertainment, especially in the live show.

It’s so weird—once you put it out there, everyone has the chance to put their stamp on it, and a lot of times, they’re way off base.

Irritation in the nation

M: Am I off-base with the military connection?

TD: Oh, not at all. That’s pretty obvious. We are wearing military fatigues, and I do think, for the first time, that wardrobe really resonates with the tone of the record, as far as what the agenda is at this point. It does take a stab and a peek into the irritation of the political climate that we’re in today, which I’ve never done before on any record.

M: I find the music on The Fragile Army more disciplined, and at points more nocturnal—“Mental Cabaret,” for instance, strikes me as a nightclub song, not a daytime-in-the-park song.

TD: Yeah… you know, it’s weird, this whole record was written in about two weeks, and a lot of it was written by various sounds. There’s a song on there called “Light to Follow,” which is different from anything we’ve ever put out there, compared with the rest of the record. That one was just inspired by a drum machine I had, because I didn’t have a drummer around when I was writing the songs. I improvised my lyrics and the melody and all, and that’s what came out.

The rest of the songs are definitely relative to my mental state and my wife’s mental state at the time. It has a lot to do with relationships, and then the title track, “The Fragile Army,” was inspired by watching the state of the union address by Bush. I immediately went and wrote that song right after that. Normally, I don’t sit down to write lyrics, I improvise them and the melody at the same time, that’s how I’ve always written. That’s really one of the first ones I’ve sat down and written out of being affected by something at the time. So I have to say, a lot of the record is really relevant to the period we were in. I did definitely want to make more of an urgent record, an electric record, and a record that was more similar to the live experience of the Polyphonic Spree, because we’ve never really had that before. The records have always been really different from how it is in the live state. We wanted to get close to it, and I think we did. It’s pretty accurate.

Sound affects

M: I’m certainly looking forward to the show—I’ve only seen you once before, many moons ago at the hotel at CMJ in New York.

TD: Oh lord, that was a hideous show! For me, it was (laughs).

M: Really? I absolutely loved it. I fell in love with you guys that day.

TD: Oh, good!

M: If I can come back to religion for a moment, I felt like I’d got religion for like, seven minutes. You know those near-death experiences, where people are technically dead for a few minutes and then come back to life? So I was religious for seven minutes, and then came to my senses.

TD: You know, you’re not the only person. We get that a lot, and that in itself has helped catapult that idea of the Polyphonic Spree being that way. We’ve come by that honestly—there’s something wonderful that happens when we all get together and it’s all working and it clicks. It does affect people that way. I had a band prior to this for 10 years and I never had the sound effects of the crowd coming in to where they’re feeling the way they feel with the Polyphonic Spree. I know something’s special about this group, and I’ve always known that. It was never the agenda, but it’s something we’ve discovered, that people are affected by this band in the live state. It’s pretty wonderful to have that happen at your shows. I think after this group is over, I’ll have time to maybe reflect on it, but as it stands now, I’m just doing my best to keep up with it.

With guests at Le spectrum on Tuesday,
July 3, 8 p.m., $25, all ages