At a quarter to ten, about 150 hipsters were jammed into the Ridgewood living room of The Silent Barn, a dilapidated warehouse dwelling that functions as an underground music venue on nights and weekends. Moments before, the crowd had just seen a two-piece band employing the use of, among other things, a crash helmet and a half dozen pots and pans. With the last audio cable plugged in and the final sound checked, Crash Diet Crew began their set – fuelled by a mob of synthesized bass beats and an irate series of guitar licks, the band created the sensation of a wave of sound.
Crash Diet Crew is a three-piece band without any vocals – just a guitar, drum set, and a battery of keyboards. The members wince slightly when terms like “psychedelic” or “60’s-inspired” are thrown around to describe their sound, even though it’s sometimes them saying it. According to their Myspace page, they’re a surf rock band. “I like surf rock,” said keyboardist Michi Turner. “I don’t know if that was a joke – I think we always kind of revert back to psychedelic, because it is a kind of catch all.” Michi and guitarist Diego Harris were both obsessed with the Beach Boys in the summer of 2006, when they formed the band. Asking them what else they listen to will produce a whole list of contradictions.
Michi started playing classical music when she was five, and by the age of 18 was so fed up with the genre that she developed a permanent love affair with bands like Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and her hometown favorites, San Francisco’s The Fucking Champs. Diego didn’t really listen to music until he was in high school, likes local band Black Dice and adamantly defends Radiohead’s newest album. David Daniels, the band’s drummer, grew up on acts like Sly and the Family Stone and doesn’t mind listening to Top 40.
One might think that this musical bag of mixed nuts might produce the stereotypical Williamsburg noise band – where everyone is doing something different and the audience is left with the task of sorting out the resulting deluge. Quite the opposite, Crash Diet Crew produces surprisingly simple, dance-friendly beats.
“There are so many times I go and see a band and say, ‘they’d be really good if they just made it more simple,” David said. “I think bands sometimes way over think things. We’ll make things really simple but also really interesting, so that if you don’t get it one way you’ll get it another. I tend to think we’re an updated version of 60’s soundtrack music, [with] more of an aggressive feel. And maybe something that people can get into, dance-wise.”
At the Silent Barn, people weren’t exactly dancing, but the steady, voice-less rhythm created a sea of bobbing heads. Still, without a singer, the band’s sound starts to sound a little monotonous over the course of a set. The choice to be voice-less has been one made out of a general laziness in Diego, David and Michi to go out and search for a singer. They haven’t ruled out the prospect, they just don’t seem to care either way.
“We haven’t really gotten around to it,” said Diego. “At least lately, we’ve been talking about adding vocals … We’re discussing that maybe [the band] needs this other element. We probably will add vocals but they would just be another sonic element, it wouldn’t be about the lyrics.”
“I don’t think we want to sit there and write deep thoughts about unrequited love or something,” Michi added. Diego mentioned Damo Suzuki, the sometime singer of the experimental German band Can as the model Crash Diet Crew would follow in finding a singer.
“I saw him play the other night, and what he sang sounds awesome, but if you actually listen to the music, he’s just saying whatever pops into his head, “Diego said. “It was amazing. I think it helps to be a complete weirdo. Years ago, when I was playing music with some other friends, that was the idea, that somehow we’d happen upon this total weirdo who would just end up singing for us and it would be the best thing. But then you have to deal with a total weirdo in the band.” After Diego said that, a collective shutter swept through the three.
One gets the feeling that another personality might jeopardize the delicate balance that the band has created. The sounds produced by the three blend in an almost painstaking way – Diego’s riffs never attempt to compete with Michi’s sweeping melodies and David likes to say that his drums are “the dumbest” of the three sonic elements.
With an independently-released album in the works and a list of shows coming up in Brooklyn and Manhattan, the band will have to decide fast whether or not to get a fourth member. So far, their reception from the New York concert-goers has been positive – in addition to audiences of several hundred at underground Brooklyn clubs Silent Barn and Monkey Town, they’ve managed to draw crowds at more commercial venues, like Tonic in Manhattan.
“No one’s thrown any rotten tomatoes at us yet,” Michi said. Still, the community of bands in Williamsburg remains The Crew’s biggest support system. Just don’t call it a scene.
“I have bands that I really like in New York, but its weird because I don’t feel like I’m part of any scene, I feel like I’m a part of a circle of friends, but that’s much smaller,” Diego said.
“I feel like a scene is this abstract concept,” David added. “Maybe if you live in a small town, you feel like it’s a scene. New York’s not really the most nurturing city for artists. As far as a true scene, I don’t think it exists in New York. Maybe there are pockets. To seek out other people, it can be difficult. You get into this situation where, the only place you see these people is at your show or their show, and basically it is this back-and -forth of like, ‘well I went to his, so he’s going to come to mine.”
That friend-of-a-friend formula is how Crash Diet Crew began playing shows in Brooklyn in the first place. Diego, Michi and David are good friends with High Places, a band beginning to generate notoriety at warehouse parties in Brooklyn, and through that connection Crash Diet Crew started playing shows at the amphitheater-like Monkey Town stage and the artist-collective gallery and musical free for all known as the Glasslands Gallery. Through the course of their performances, the three managed to meet Todd P, New York DIY’s underground guru.
Todd promotes and hosts about a half dozen shows a week, mainly through his website and Myspace. Todd used to own clubs in Portland and has been putting on shows locally for seven years. In addition, he has a reputation for sticking up for the bands that play his shows and for making sure they get paid. He’ll only work with a venue if they share his beliefs.
“I really think it’s important that a place love what’s going on, love the community, love the music and love the scene,” Todd said. With his ever-gowing list of like-minded venue owners and his army of loyal audience members, Todd is an important contact to make.
At the Silent Barn, Todd introduced David, Michi and Diego to the five owners/residents, let them use his sound equipment and had his hive of hipster interns collect money at the door and the bar. When bands play a Todd P show, they can expect to get 80 percent of the cover charge, a ratio far better than most fledgling bands would get in a more mainstream environment. In Crash Diet Crew’s case, Todd also offered to build a proper stage for their performance. The band opted to play on the kitchen floor instead, at eye level with the audience. It was a wise decision – not only could Todd jam more people into the room, but audience members could then stand in front, on the side or behind the band, a couple of kids going so far as to sit on the washer and dryer. The effect made the band seem like just another part of the crowd, absorbed inside it.
“I liked the vibe of it, it kind of reminded me of basement punk shows when I was in high school – everybody seemed really psyched to be there,” Diego said. “It’s nice to be able to look straight ahead, and you’re on the same level.”
“I think it makes it accessible for both audience and performer,” David added. “It’s kind of this symbiotic thing, where you give them energy and they give it back to you.”
