June 1–8, 2000

music

Through the Echo Chamber

A peek inside the strange world of The Echo Orbiter.

by Brett Burton

A few too many beers into our interview, Justin Emerle reaches across the table, commandeers my hand-held lecture recorder and lays down some impromptu melodies.

"Hello, hello, I’ve got my lager. Yeah, gonna take a sip now," warbles the 23-year-old frontman for psychedelic-pop hooligans The Echo Orbiter.

The lyrics, Tom Green-like in their sophomoric simplicity, are just the kind of stuff you’d expect from a band that’s made a habit of making a spectacle of itself. At last year’s Philadelphia Pop! Festival, an annual congregation of Philly’s pop and rock scenes, they smashed a giant cardboard robot head to bits on stage. The stunt drew some sneers, but mostly excited the all-ages crowd. They won’t let anything out of the bag, but The Echo Orbiter assures me they have something even better up their sleeve for this year’s festival.

Their tomfoolery isn’t confined to the stage. For this interview, they’d hoped to take me to an amusement park. Hectic schedules and press deadlines forced a more sensible meeting at Northern Liberties’ Standard Tap, but the band does their best to provide a carnival-like atmosphere. Over the course of the evening, the jokes spin out faster than a Tilt-A-Whirl. But even their incessant, almost studied goofing around is a constant reminder of how purposefully they practice their craft.

While Justin extols the virtues of Yuengling during his moment of alcohol-fueled inspiration, bassist Colin Emerle gets serious, if just for a minute, to talk about the record the band is currently putting the finishing touches on. They recorded The Echo Orbiter Presents: Laughing All the While in three four-song sessions. The process began back in September, just weeks after keyboardist Bryan Michael joined the band. With studio time already booked at MinerStreet Recordings, Michael had to play a quick game of catch-up. Recording engineer Brian McTear was a big help, acting as the band’s sounding board and helping them achieve the feel they were striving for: swirling multilayered psychedelia cut with hooky popisms. Lilys frontman Kurt Heasley also lent a hand for one session, bringing microphones and expensive equipment for the band to experiment with.

"He gave us a lot of technical help, a lot of advice. But more than anything he just created a vibe," recalls Michael. Heasley, a walking encyclopedia of music knowledge and esoteric trivia, also provided inspiration and oddball humor. "He did impressions of different drum machines for like an hour," remembers Colin.

But after listening to the new tracks — like "Song of the Missing Forest" on which Justin sings, "At the moment the rain ceased/ conducting the choir of oak trees/ The old granny who loves to eat/was consuming her diet of oak leaves" — it’s difficult to tell who weirded who out.

"I don’t write songs the way the typical songwriter would," says Justin of his down-the-rabbit-hole approach to songwriting. "I don’t say, ‘OK, I’m gonna write a song about a girl who’s been broken up with.’ Usually there will be four or five things that I’m pulling from. There is no set theme or subject, things just come in and out."

He swears he knows what the songs are about. After all, he wrote them. But you’d never guess the meanings by listening to the words. After careful study, a theme of insanity pops up a lot. Justin assures that it didn’t happen on purpose. Maybe it’s all the Camus Justin’s been reading. He likes books… among other things.

"We just got our beer," Justin announces. "Want to interview the waitress?" he suggests. He’s adept at playing the Mad Hatter. Colin and Michael are slightly steadier. Drummer Jeremiah Steffen is friendly but less talkative. But onstage, they explode in an intoxicated mixture equal parts experimentation and rock star showmanship. Justin writes all the lyrics, but Steffen and Michael both get turns on lead vocals too. The band enjoys mixing things up. Eschewing the cliché trickery of psychedelia, they prefer to put twists on melody and arrangement rather than rely solely on trippy sounds for their experimental edge. Aside from the obvious Pink Floyd and Elephant 6 comparisons, there are hints of early Ride, jangly guitars reminiscent of Lois and even some classical music flourishes.

The spirit of experimentation carries over outside the band. They’ve established an artist collective called The Looking Glass Workshop. Based in New Jersey, a stone’s throw from the appropriately surreal backdrop of the Clementon amusement park, its stable contains five bands: The Echo Orbiter, The Edison Proposal, Hiroshima Lemon and Nagasaki Lime, Flying People and the Three Penny Eggplant Symphony. But it isn’t a record label. Michael refers to it in more ambiguous terms, merely calling it an outlet. It’s a way for the bands to cross-promote and share ideas.

Being from outside the city, many of them find it difficult to gain recognition. "There’s a lot of things going on in Jersey that people are closing their eyes to because it’s Jersey. Jersey has a reputation and it’s not totally unfounded," says Michael.

"Bon Jovi and tomatoes," Colin jokes. Along with bands, Looking Glass promotes a group of visual artists who call themselves the Shiver Bones Group, who created the cover art for The Echo Orbiter’s new album. "There’s an underground thing going on," enthuses Michael. "We’re trying to expose people to that stuff."

Having absorbed more than my fair share of this exposure, I end the interview and signal the waitress for another drink.

The Echo Orbiter plays Sat., June 3 at the Trocadero, 10th and Arch Sts., 215-922-LIVE, as part of the third Philadelphia Pop! Festival.