Too Much Beauty

Buried Beds dig themselves out and unleash a big, fun rock album.

by Patrick Rapa

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Published: Jun 23, 2010

Neal Santos BED FELLOWS: Brandon Beaver and Eliza Jones in Clark Park. Not pictured, but represented in paper, are their bandmates' Tommy Bendel, Hallie Sianni and Dave Hartley.

[ rock/pop ]

Buried Beds had a problem.

It seemed like every time Eliza Jones and Brandon Beaver got together to make music, they'd come up with something hopelessly stark and sad. They were all somber tones, shy instrumentation and the pretty ways their voices could blend and fill a room. They did this one heavy-hearted folk ballad called "Camelia" that would just knock the wind out of you.

Their sound was, in a word, beautiful.

And it kinda bored them.

"We love music and we would have all this fun seeing our friends play in these awesome bands," recalls Beaver. "And we'd get up there and be like 'and ... cut your wrists.'"

Even as the duo became a full band, and let its early Appalachian folk leanings recede into the background in favor of a more traditional rock 'n' roll approach, they felt stifled. Is this really what it sounds like when Eliza Jones and Brandon Beaver — who became friends at a hippie-ish boarding school, who used to rock out to spunky punk bands like NoMeansNo, who still laugh at each other's jokes and finish each other's sentences — make music together?

"We've known each other since we were teenagers and I think pretty much everybody would classify us as the goofball kids," says Jones.

"We wanted our music to match our personalities," says Beaver.

And so, not long after making their full-length debut with 2006's Empty Rooms, a four-year brainstorming session began. They describe it as a long, difficult hibernation period. Off and on they'd still play shows, of course, but behind the scenes they were overhauling everything.

Beaver's guitars got plugged in and turned up. Jones' keyboards were given a starring role. The banjo slinked away into the darkness. Wednesday-night practices — featuring the full band: Tommy Bendel on drums, Hallie Sianni on viola and Dave Hartley on bass — became upbeat and engaging.

Where previous efforts had been studio recordings, they decided to lay the next one down on the computer in Jones' living room. The goal there was total control, with a strong emphasis on experimenting and arranging and getting things just right. The two gave, and still give, each other writing assignments and deadlines.

"There was never a moment where we were like, 'Let's just do a simple album.' It really was, 'Let's get all of the ideas in our head on the computer and then filter,'" recalls Jones. "It was weeks of taking the piano and moving it. And putting the mic here, and then moving the mic like 2 inches and being like that's the sound!"

And now, after great internal struggle, comes Tremble the Sails. It's a big, dreamy rock album. It's catchy. It's ambitious. It's wonderfully, unabashedly lush.

"A lot of that is Nick Krill from the Spinto Band," says Beaver of the man whose job it was to mix all those hours of recordings into Tremble's 11 songs. "He's amazing."

"He took a beast and wrangled it," says Jones. "Turned it into something that you can listen to and you could hear all of what's going on."

What's going on is a statement. Tremble the Sails is thick with bold solos and hummable melodies. Sianni's viola and Bendel's drums practically prance together on a Mamas and the Papas-esque track called "Grandma's Bow." Choruses charge forcefully on "Heroes and Liars" and "Your Modern Age," two E.L.O.-ish tunes with Beaver on lead vocals. Jones' voice takes the reins on "Mother," where mere charm and gracefulness gradually give way to a spectacular, pleading crescendo.

Yes, this is a rock band now.

"I love old Buried Beds and I think it was really enjoyable and satisfying to play music that was beautiful," says Jones. "But like, Beav and I are not beautiful, calm, mellow, tranquil people. We wanted to get up there and have a good time, and be kinda rock 'n' roll, play electric instruments and let out some other impulses. It was hard to do that in the sort of band that we had built."

"Once we locked in, it was like we had really found our footing," says Beaver. He struggles to sum up the band's newfound comfort zone: "We weren't, really, kind of putting on strange pants."

"Strange pants!" laughs Eliza.

"It felt like we'd found our place. And it was much easier to write."

"His pants were making him extremely unhappy. Which caused a lot sad songwriting."

Goofballs.

(pat@citypaper.net)

Buried Beds play Fri., June 25, 9 p.m., $10, with BC Camplight and Scott McMicken, Johnny Brenda's, 1201 N. Frankford Ave., 877-435-9849, johnnybrendas.com.

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