When These Arms Are Snakes got together in 2002, they weren’t out to redefine genres or take over the world; they simply wanted to play something other than the crap they heard on the radio. Ironically, other than being found (cough, cough, created) by a big marketing-machine label, that’s exactly how a band redefines genres and takes over the world. The release of TAAS’s debut EP This Was Meant To Hurt You (Jade Tree) had people calling them the second coming of the post-punk Christ and led to their first few shows selling out. “Mostly it was a reworking of our demo,” says guitarist Ryan Frederickson (in between sips of hefeweizen). “It’s the most eclectic thing we’ve put out, but shows how well it all comes together, despite our varied influences and backgrounds.”
While their backgrounds may be varied, none are without merit. Former bands-of-note pop up on their resumes like absent days on Ferris Bueller’s permanent record. Vocalist Steve Snere, for example, joined hardcore übermensch Kill Sadie at 17, headed out into the wicked world for a 48-state tour and soon after moved to the West Coast. “I joined the band in the Midwest — where we were selling out show after show — and then we moved to Seattle where nobody knew who we were,” Snere reminisces. “It really got me into the idea of DIY touring and recording and totally makes me appreciate what the Snakes have going for them.”
Aside from a vast well of past experience — other members’ projects include indie welterweights nineironspitfire, Botch, and Roy — These Arms Are Snakes also have a new drummer. Though Chris Commons has been playing with the band for two years, Easter (also released on Jade Tree) is the first TAAS record to feature him on the drums. On top of this, Commons produced, engineered and mixed the LP at his studio, Red Room, in Seattle. “The extra responsibility was stressful. I mean, every pro should doubt themselves a bit,” says Commons, regarding the extra hours in the control room. “I was worried about what the band thought, and also about getting the best sound available. By the end, I was a little numb. [Easter] came out just how we wanted it: well-knit, but unlike an MTV or radio recording, it still sounds raw.” 
While every band dreams of having unlimited access to a studio, few actually get that luxury. “Chris’s involvement at Red Room was great for us,” says Frederickson. “There was a point where I had to change two sections of a song while we were recording. It completely changed the feel of the song, and led to other parts being rewritten. There’s no way we could have done that otherwise, without spending hundreds or thousands of dollars.” These Arms Are Snakes definitely capitalized on the availability of this extra studio time, making their most dynamic and technically superior album to date.
Their sophomore effort, Oxeneers or The Lion Sleeps When Its Antelope Go Home, dealt with the mundane lives of people immured in the 9-to-5 racket, whether because they don’t know any better or because they can’t afford to cast it off. “When people have to do these things in order to survive,” muses Frederickson, “it can be really depressing, especially when it’s friends who we closely relate to. Friends who’d opted not to form another band, or follow their creative dreams.” While living vicariously through their friends’ pedantry may have sufficed for Oxeneers, TAAS delved a little bit deeper for Easter. It turns out that painted eggs and chocolate were further from their mind than the more spiritual issues of resurrection, religion, and the epic struggle between virtue and vice.
“Thematically, we were a bit more expansive than the last album,” says Snere. “There’s more of a unique, frantic flavor to Easter from anything else we’ve done.”
The melodies also conjure images of desolate landscapes fraught with aimlessly wandering ghosts. Whether these wraiths are literally or metaphorically linked to the myopic subjects of Oxeneers is up for debate. “I have a fascination with desolate places and those who dwell there,” answers Brian Cook (bass and keyboards). “There’s no mystery to big cities where thousands of people may walk over the same spot daily.” Whether or not dragons lurk nearby, These Arms Are Snakes sail directly off the mainstream map.
The new album also uses religious imagery as a tool to criticize the blending of church and state, as well as the growing dominance of the religious right. Take some of Snere’s lyrics from “Perpetual Bris” for example: “Praise be Thomas / For fingering the wounds / ’Cause if he has doubts / Then perhaps you should too.” Nevermind the fact that, very lightly, sounds of Galaga (or some other old-school video game) can be heard in the background. It only helps to further the idea that clinging to religious aphorisms is a silly business to begin with. Commons is quick to philosophize a bit, saying, “This record creeps onto the idea about how religion and mainstream punk are becoming fused, much like church and a supposedly secular government, and how the marketing aspect of the music industry comes in and tries to make every band sound like Fall Out Boy.” He continues, “I think it’s sad that money’s taking over originality and art in music. Easter‘s reflective of all that’s not right with the way things are right now.”
These Arms Are Snakes have been called a lot of things in the last few years — hardcore messiahs, noise-inspired math-rockers, post-hardcore elitists — but their originality has never been called into question. Cook cites their early influences and Darwinian sensibilities as key elements in keeping things interesting while maintaining a unique style. “All of us came from a common background and didn’t want to just regurgitate stuff we’d already been doing,” he says. “In the ’90s, hardcore was fresh. It stagnated pretty quickly, leading anybody searching for new ideas into more esoteric venues. I’m interested in bands that were pushing the envelope; bands that were palatable but distant from mainstream sounds.”
The need for change is the backbone of these reptilian appendages. Says Snere, “Art has to constantly evolve or it grows stagnant. I’ve been lucky to be in a band that doesn’t stick to the same three chords all the time. Sometimes, I don’t even want to play old songs at a show, though I think I’m alone on that one.”
While finalizing a playlist may be an exception, These Arms Are Snakes have an exceedingly congruent ethic as far as making music goes. “It’s a trying experience getting to know whoever you work with,” laughs Frederickson, “but individually we chose to work with people who had the same mindset as us, both within and outside of the band. When it’s said and done, we all have the same idea.” This trust permeates Easter, where unwieldy hooks work in tandem with quixotic melodies (see “Hell’s Bank Notes”), serving as distant anchor points over an aural rope-bridge.
Cook agrees, stating, “Growing up in similar scenes lends itself to having convergent musical sensibilities. We’re not trying to fit in a particular mold, but we’ve all listened to seminal records in similar genres. When you write music (as with anything), you’re building off material that’s impacted you.”
As for Cook, who grew up in Hawaii and later moved to Seattle, finding that scene was a bit difficult. “The only bands that would come through were big acts, so it wasn’t about ‘who was playing in town’ because nobody was playing in town. I got into DIY and hardcore by finding a band and searching out other bands on their label, or what other bands those members had been in.”
Consisting of both émigrés and natives to the area, These Arms Are Snakes are perfectly at home. According to Snere, “Seattle’s like the hip-hop of indie rock; there’s so much going on and so much cross-pollenization. It’s easy to help out with friends’ projects and still remain focused on the band.” Indeed, with the fluctuating ratio of noteworthy bands to talented musicians in the Pacific Northwest, there’s evidence of an ever-growing musician support network. “Seattle has a ton of bands doing something notable,” says Commons. “It’s not really competitive; [the band] feels more like a family. These guys are like my brothers: we fight like brothers, and it wouldn’t be like that with anybody else. I’d get worn out playing the same sounding music all the time, and I know the rest of the band feels the same way.”
Touring can still prove tricky, even for a band with a combined tenure outdistancing some labels. “As much as I hate working up an insane amount of debt,” says Snere, “it’s awesome to see your name up on the marquee.”
Monetary tribulations pale in comparison to other pitfalls, though. “We were held up in London during the August terrorist scare,” recalls Frederickson. “Every flight was cancelled, and we had to drive 21 hours to our gig at the Sant Fleiu Festival in Spain. As nasty as that got, there’s no way I’d get a chance to do so much if I wasn’t in a band.”
It’s still up for debate as to whether or not These Arms Are Snakes would find themselves in so much trouble at karaoke bars if they hadn’t formed a band. “Sometimes,” says Snere, “we perform extreme karaoke and terrible things happen.”
“It’s reflective of our stage presence,” defends Frederickson (who once played a set mere hours after having his appendix removed). “I’m usually so out of it by the end of a show, it’s hard to make my eyes focus.”
Easter shows what that kind of energy can accomplish when given ample time and direction, blending each member’s subtleties with an all-encompassing assertion. TAAS pulls off the onerous task of crystallizing each member’s singular talents, while still maintaining a unified voice. “With Easter, we weren’t worried as much about structure,” says Commons, “but it ended up being our most technical record to date. It’s hard to tell other members of the band how to lay a particular track, or when to defer to their judgment, but it came together really well.”
These Arms Are Snakes have certainly found an esoteric wedge of post-punk hardcore; the question is how long they’ll decide to keep it. “We’ve got a style,” insists Frederickson, “just hopefully not one people will recognize and dismiss. Bands that put reverb all over their songs, for example, have already dated themselves. It’s a tried and true tactic for sounding melancholic or spacey, but as soon as one band gets acclaim for ‘bringing it back,’ there’s a dozen more trying to do the same thing. That’s exactly the kind of thing we’re trying to avoid.” They certainly have that part of the equation settled, and will most likely be sending a postcard when the rest is figured out. One thing’s for sure: These Arms Are Snakes will be attacking the future and squeezing every last drop from it.
www.thesearmsaresnakes.org |
