Zach Slootsky
THE DARCYS with AMOS THE TRANSPARENT, GROUNDERS and KANDLE at the Horseshoe (370 Queen West), Friday (November 18). $8-$10. RT, SS. See listing.
I'm in Halifax with the Darcys, watching their Pop Explosion showcase. The sound is spotty, and due in part to the out-of-the-way north-end venue, so is the crowd. But by the time the Toronto band finish their set, an enthusiastic assembly of fans is ready to meet them.
Seated in a row at their merch table, the four members look exhausted after the long drive to the Maritimes. But as they greet the modest swarm, something else creeps into their expressions: relief.
After all, the table is stocked with vinyl copies of their self-titled Arts & Crafts debut album - officially their second LP, but according to drummer Wes Marskell, their "first as far as we're concerned" - and they're sharing it for the first time with the city where they started working on it way back in 2008 as students at Dalhousie University.
To say it's been a long journey here might sound trite, but to me at least, it's more than a metaphor. I've just spent the last three days in the Darcys' tour van, accompanying them on their drive from Toronto. For the past three days I've been granted a front-row (well, really backseat) view of the touring life of an on-the-rise Canadian indie band, sleeping in cities I've never heard of, urinating at highway roadsides and spending countless van hours in between.
If Cameron Crowe has taught me anything, it's that the life of a touring rock band is a long string of groupies, intoxication, near-death ex-per-iences and Elton John singalongs. Though they're happy to recount a few instances of each sort, this trip isn't nearly that glamorous.
Audio: The band on why their new album is the first "true" Darcys record, rather than 2007's Endless Water.
But right now, the Darcys aren't out for glory. They're just happy to be out at all. "When we first got together, we were just a few dudes who played instruments. We were happy to play for beers," recounts bassist Dave Hurlow on our way from Rivière-du-Loup, Quebec, where the five of us have just spent the night piled into one mo-tel room. "Now this is what we live for. We all really want to be here, and there's nothing in the world we'd rather be doing."
That's the kind of resolute statement you sometimes hear from bands who've gone through a lot, but experiencing it first-hand really hammers their sincerity home. It's not easy for the guys to spend their mid-20s away from their girlfriends, rationing drive-thru and crashing on the floors of casual friends, but the Darcys are firm in their commitment to the lifestyle.
After all, there was a brief window last year where it looked like the easy thing to do would be to quit.
They'd already spent an arduous year recording their self-titled record in Montreal with ill-tempered produ-cer Murray Lightburn (better known as the frontman for the Dears) when, with a long-laboured final version finally ready to go, they abruptly part-ed ways with their lead singer, Kirby Best.
Instead of breaking up, the remaining members regrouped as a four-piece, re-recorded the songs, honed their live chops and eventually found a home on Arts & Crafts, Canada's biggest indie label.
"It was one of those cliché moments when it felt like we'd been working so hard for so long that something had to happen," says drummer Wes Marskell over the sound of the appropriately chosen new Feist record. "Either the van was going to explode with us all in it or the record was going to come out and find a home."
That affirmation seems to have strengthened the dynamic, a necessary feat for a quartet forced to spend weeks at a time in excruciatingly close quarters. Though they're a little guarded at first to have a NOW journalist along for the ride ("off the record" quickly becomes a familiar refrain), by the time we've crossed into New Brunswick new inside jokes have already been coined, worn out and become fresh again. It's the farthest east in Canada I've ever been, let alone by car, but by the end of the second day it's all blending into an amorphous blur of window-side scenery.
This is my first tour; these guys have been doing it over and over for the better part of four years. It's a wonder they don't get sick of each other.
"Oh we do, but we've learned how to control it," says guitarist Mike La Riche. "It's like how if you're married, you don't want to go to sleep mad. We make sure we won't play a show if we're mad at each other. We can be pissed off for all sorts of stupid reasons, but by the time we're up on stage, it's like a reminder: ‘Oh yeah, that's what we're doing this for.'"
As an equalizer, the band wields the acronym E.L.E., a sort bickering safe word that stands for "Everybody loves everybody." But since that can only go so far - look what happens to George Costanza when he overuses "Serenity now!" - they've also devel-oped a pre-show routine to blow off steam: two-on-two hockey.
Given their penchant for flannel lumberjackets, beards and denim-on-denim, it seems like an aptly Ca-na-dian band activity, but that's no preparation for the ruthlessness these four mild-mannered art-rockers adopt under the guise of recreation. Using an undersized Darcys-emblazoned equipment case as a makeshift goal in an alley in Fredericton, New Brunswick, the guys seem less interested in scoring than in pushing each other down.
Audio: The Darcys hint that the next record may not be nearly as guitar-heavy.
You'd think they'd be worried about injuries, especially since they're due onstage any minute in a pre-Halifax opening slot for Montreal classic rock enthusiasts Plants & Animals, but by the time they've swapped out their sticks for instruments, their antagonism has been re-placed by a locked-in, well-practised groove.
It's important that they function as a unit, especially given the complexity of the album, the result of years of tweaking, remixing and re-writing. It's one thing to labour over songs in a studio, but they only have so many hands between them to reproduce it all onstage. With help from a crowded pedal set-up that looks like the exploded contents of a guitar shop, they've managed to translate the shifting, multi-faceted compositions to a live setting.
Especially notable is the expanded role of Jason Couse. Once relegated to backup vocals, the velvet-voiced sing-er has assumed the role of frontman, adding lead vocals to a set of responsibilities that also includes guitar and keyboard duties (often both at the same time).
It's an impressive showing, and one that noticeably impresses more than a few Plants & Animals fans, but the Darcy's aren't yet marquee figures. Though they're already speaking to some big-name producers and music video directors, they're still waiting to catch up to the success that potentially awaits them.
At least that's what I make of the girl who approaches me after the set to congratulate me on a great set. "Thanks," I reply. "But I'm not in the band."
"We've been living with these songs for so long that we sometimes forget that not everyone knows them as well as we do," Couse admits as we hit the road the next day. "It's kind of like a first date every night. We're waiting for the day when there's more of an established relationship between us and the audience. That's when a performance can really take off."
The impatience is understandable, especially given the album's long, fraught history. But the cardboard box full of vinyl bouncing around in the trunk of the van is a tangible reward for their patience. By the time we pass the long-awaited Halifax sign, Black Sabbath's War Pigs cranked on the stereo, Marskell is protecting it the way a mother would her car-seated baby.
Although the band name hasn't changed, they're not the same Darcys who once called Halifax home. They're not here to party, but to play an album release show.
That determination is palpable when they take the stage at Halifax's North Street Church. Overcoming an unforgiving sound mix with volume and passion, they're a band that's learned to be professional. At the end, called back onstage for a rare festival encore (declined due to a lack of songs), they look more at ease than at any time on the trip so far.
"That was so rewarding," Marskell says. "Every show in the last year or so has sort of been about reclaiming territory and saying ‘We're still here,' but to be able to do it in Halifax and have such a great response was therapeutic. It almost feels like something we would've worked through with a therapist."
After that release, the rest of the Halifax Pop Explosion weekend is lost in a blur of music, beer and donair sauce, but climbing into the van for the long drive home, the Darcys know they won't get much of a honeymoon period.
After stalling for so long with their self-titled album, they're making up for lost time. To keep the momentum going, they already have their next two releases planned. The first, a "curveball art project," is scheduled for release in January, while the next "official" LP is already being demoed while they search for the right producer. Both will come out on Arts & Crafts within the next year.
"I feel like the story of this record has become ‘Band continues after loss of singer,'" says Marskell, anticipating the album's press. "It's kind of frustrating, because I feel like we're way beyond that, but everyone else is just catching up to the idea that Kirby left. It's like he's not even a factor any more. I love this record and I totally stand behind it, but I'm more excited about what comes next."
For me, the trip is over, but the Darcys have many, many more van hours to look forward to.
More from the interview
The band on why the band didn't just scrap the self-titled record after Best left and start from scratch.
How band dynamic has strengthened since they shrunk down to a quartet.