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finish a portrait of Barnes she was working on and present it to
him at the band's Mar. 16 Minnesota show. "I knew a boy in high
school (who is now my boyfriend) who would play their music in
Painting class every day. It was so inspiring listening to 'Oslo in
the Summertime' while painting. It's arty music at its finest! I feel
at once emotional and creative whenever I listen to them."
Kelsey is a 14-year-old fan from North Carolina; sffe was just
learning to walk when Barnes was writing his first songs. "I think
Of Montreal's music is very unique," she says via email. "They
really have a unique sound. I've never heard another band that
sounds like them."
Kevin Barnes credits his new, younger audience with helping
raise the band out of the "indie ghetto" and maintains a strong ap
preciation for their commitment, but says that connecting nightly
with a crowd, though always the ultimate goal, can be difficult.
"I have a strange relationship with an audience, because it's
like, yeah, when you're performing, there is a lot of posturing and
you're getting into a persona, but you don't want it to consume
you," says Barnes, "so there's always going to be an aspect of your
real character that's on the outside looking in as part of the audi
ence. So you're watching yourself, and they're watching you, and
depending on how drunk you are or comfortable you are, that's
going to influence the kind of performance you give. Sometimes
the monotony of it, you know... you play a song so many times,
it's kind of weird because you look out in the crowd and pll week
they've gone to classes, they've gone to work, seen TV shows, but
they haven't seen you perform And so they're seeing Of Montreal
perform maybe for the first time ever, maybe the first time in
months, maybe the first time in years, even, or
they're just checking it out, so it's special for
them because it's fresh. But for us, we've done
it so many times that it can't always be as ex
citing as it is the first couple of times.
"So you find yourself in Fayetteville,
Arkansas or whatever, and there's a good
crowd and the people are smiling and hav
ing fun and you feel like it's a Groundhog Day
thing over and over, but, at the same time, it's
new because the people are new and so you
want to connect with them, but sometimes it's
difficult. For example, I've been drinking too
much, and I think that's probably wise, be
cause when you drink a lot sometimes things
feel fresh and exciting while you're intoxi
cated, at least for that moment, and then you
kind of forget. And when you're sober, at least
it's difficult for me to black things out and ex
ist in the moment, y'know, I'm thinking about
bills and my child and such. But performing
has been so much fun and such an important
part of my life for the past 10 years."
A high profile for the band and its music,
however, has not come without a price.
Much digital gnashing of teeth occurred when
two Of Montreal tunes appeared in national
television commercials last year—the melody
from "Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and Other
Games)" was used in an Outback Steakhouse
commercial with steakhouse-specific lyrics,
and in a iess controversial turn, the song
"Everyday Feels Like Sunday" (a feel-good bo
nus track that's almost directly contrapuntal to
Morrissey's downer "Everyday Is Like Sunday)
showed up in a NASDAQ spot.
"Gross and objectionable," is what one
commenter posted on the E6 Townhall, a messageboard devoted
to the Elephant 6 dynasty of bands. "I am fucking disgusted,"
wrote another. Some live performances have even found audience
members chanting "Steak! Steak! Steak!" following performances
of "Wraith."
There were, of course, voices of moderation, but hey, who pays
attention to reasoned and well-stated arguments online? That old
adolescent buqaboo of selling out seems to have slithered from
the suburbs of "punk" to indie-pop. If it's any consolation to those
hand-wringers with shattered souls, Barnes says he worried long
and struggled hard with the decision.
"At my age, I've already gone through the whole 'sell out'
thing," says Barnes. "The whole concept is foreign to me at this
point, I would never call someone a sell-out unless they got^bor-
ing and they were trying specifically to reach a larger audience.
And I don't feel like we're getting boring, and I don't know that
anyone's going to buy my records because they heard them on a
commercial. I still feel like musically I'm still pushing myself to do
something interesting.
"It's weiid," he continues. "I'd never been approached by
ad agencies for my music. It was a really difficult decision, but
once I'd made it, it sort of made me feel more detached from the
world... It's so difficult. I never had any money before and was
struggling, like, 'Shit, how are we going to make the rent this
month?' And then someone offers me enough money to not have
to worry about it for like a whole year, basically. How can I say no
to that? I mean, I could say no to retain indie credibility, but in
die credibility doesn't pay the bills and it doesn't help my daughter
eat or keep her out of a roach-infested house.
"I feel like there are certain sacrifices you have to make, and
inevitably that's going to have ramifications. Some may feel be
trayed or turn their back on us. We've already had that at some
shows, with some people heckling us. Which I feel is not so cool.
You Can't be so critical of people. I have this song in my head
right now that goes: 'Sure it has to be a bit of a shock, but every
one has to suck someone's cock to get by.' And it's like, I had to
suck Outback's cock to get by... and then I also sucked NASDAQ's
cock to keep getting by. I've been doing a lot of cock-sucking late
ly," he says, and laughs. He also suggests that if it'll make anyone
feel better, they can consider Barnes' sale of songs to television a
subversive act, taking money from supposedly "uncool" sources. In
addition to the pressing benefits of an increase in income—rent,
food, etc.—Barnes also says the band is using a portion of the
advertising income to beef up (har har) its stage show, an ever-
evolving production that has reached new heights in spectacle.
N o simple touring band, Of Montreal—Barnes, Poole, Dottie
Alexander, Jamey Huggins, Matt Dawson and a cadre of reli
able Athensfolk to man the stage show—has grown to incorporate
multiple projection screens, live psychedelic videography, giant
flags, enormous lobster claws, costumes, glitter, lights... and on
and on. Poole has taken recently to dressing like some sort of
fantastic pink rock-and-roll angel, and Barnes has performed songs
on a ladder dressed in a 10-foot-long silver dress, towering above
band and crowd. (And then there's the case of a recent Las Vegas
show where Barnes stripped down to almost nothing at all; photos
of his very own Hissing Fauna were online within days.)
"I saw them play at the Flying Anvil in Greensboro last sum
mer," says Kane Graves, the young North Carolina fan, "and I can
honestly say that it was the best night of my life. Myself and three
of my friends woke up at 8 a.m. to find a way to get money for the
tickets and gas, and it paid off. The show was the greatest conc r t
I've been to in my life, their dress and stage presence was amaz
ing. I stayed after and met with Kevin Barnes, he was both charm
ing and down-to-earth. The whole night, though, left a distinct
imprint in my mind."
Alex Rader, another 18-year-old Minnesotan who posted on Of
Montreal's MySpace page, says via email, "I'm going to see them
again on this tour. Their live show is amazing, they throw [out]
crazy extras for the audience. They covered 'Crazy' and it was the
best thing I had every seen. Even after the concert, they stayed
out and talked."
So to generalize about Youth Today for a minute, it seems safe
to say that teenagers in 2007 are rarely concerned with genre
boundaries. They'd just as happily listen to hip-hop as they would
rock as they would pop, and perhaps that's another reason why Of
Montreal is connecting so strongly with new audiences. The band
has always straddled classifications, and while remaining heavily
in the pop arena, Of Montreal has never been afraid to place itself
in the context of international superstar rock or homegrown inde
pendent pop—and most importantly, both at once, as when at a
recent Variety Playhouse show in Atlanta, the band weaved into its
According to Barnes, though, new material may dictate a shift
in approaches, though what that is specifically remains up in the
air. "I want to do something different anyways. I want to bring
in some different people, and bring some people in the band into
the writing and recording. I think things have become a little
claustrophobic with everything coming from one mind. I run the
risk of repeating myself. I already have, actually, since Hissing
Fauna really isn't much of a departure from Sunlandic Twins, but
if I would've brought in some extra people, it definitely would've
been... something else.
"The most important thing to me is my body of work," says
Barnes, whose next big milestone with the band will be to perform
at California's Coachella festival in April, "and that in fift... well.
I'm not going to be that old, but in 30 or 40 years from now, if I
get there, if I have a really strange, varied body of work... Cherry
Peel doesn't sound anything like Hissing Fauna, which I hope
doesn't sound anything like the record I make 10 years from now."
Chris Hassiotis
/ • \
WHO: Of Montreal, Loney, Dear
WHERE: 40 Watt Club
WHEN: Saturday, March 24
HOW MUCH: $12
V J
set brief versions of both Led Zeopelin's "Immigrant Song" and the
Olivia Tremor Control's "Green Typewriters Suite IV."
And putting on a lively show has almost always been essen
tial to acceptance in the American popular arena. "All over the
country," says Barnes, "we're definitely going to something a
little more theatrical and elaborate this time, as far as the stage
design goes." There's even mention online of fans coming to shows
dressed like of Barnes himself. The recruitment drive for Team Of
Montreal seems healthy.
T he write-and-record solo approach, according to Barnes, has
served him well for the past three albums, but it may be time
to retire that tactic. "It's fun. I don't know how much longer we
can continue like this with me writing all the parts to all the songs
and giving them to the band to learn. They're just going to get
bored with it," he says. "I think this is the last record that'll hap
pen like this, because I don't think it's very satisfying for them.
At first, it was exciting to be in a band that was doing well, but
like everything, you're never satisfied forever. Just being in a band
that's doing well is not going to be enough for them, they're going
to want to feel creatively involved. I'm sure the record that follows
Hissing Fauna will have to be different, or the lineup is going to
change."
For his part, Poole says, "Well, that's very nice of Kevin to say,
and I'm glad he's thinking of keeping us interested, but it's not
really an issue for me. I mean, I have my own band with The Late
B.P. Helium, and that lets me get my own songs and ideas out. So
Kevin probably shouldn't worry about it."
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