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A curious boy in a shadowy library nook stares transfixed, mouth agape, into the sunken eye sockets of a human skull. Surrounding the boy are relics from ancient civilizations - a Chinese dragon, a Buddha statue, an assortment of exotic vases. Dusty timepieces are everywhere, from a pocket watch to a grandfather clock to a slowly bleeding hourglass. The beady-eyed glare of an owl perched on a nearby easel adds yet another harbinger of death to this eerie den of antiquity.
The artwork described here was drawn by Conrad Keely, the lead singer of …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead (or TOD for short). Keely's evocative sketch graces the cover of his band's triumphant new album, The Century of Self. The densely layered image conjures up the potent air of menace, mystery, and mortality that has been the hallmark of TOD's entire musical catalogue.
Since the Austin-based band unleashed its first ferocious blast of punk-tinged rock 11 years ago, the music industry hasn't quite known how to classify its sound. Critics initially cited Sonic Youth and The Who as reference points, but there was always an elusive, strangely haunting undercurrent to TOD's fury that defied comparison.
It was clearly more than just a punk band, but was it post-punk? The sound was progressive and rocked harder than most, but was it prog-rock? Perhaps not all bands should be pegged.
In 2002 TOD released its magnum opus, Source Tags and Codes, which to this day is considered by many rock critics to be one of the standout albums of the decade. The notoriously stingy folks at Pitchfork Media rewarded it with an unprecedented 10.0 rating, and word quickly spread. Whether they were post-punk or prog-rock or something else entirely, the guys in TOD clearly had a bright future ahead of them.
Then reality set in. Faced with sky-high expectations from their financiers at Interscope Records, TOD made several valiant encore attempts in the years to come. But the band soon realized that Codes was a tough, maybe even impossible act to follow. Critics picked apart each new album, looking for signs that the band had sold out its punk roots or succumbed to the trappings of fame. As a result of this critical backlash, TOD's hype dissipated and record sales gradually dwindled.
With each album, Interscope frantically plundered the track list for a catchy single that might turn a profit. But the band has never written a song with that goal in mind. TOD albums have always been replete with prologues, epilogues, literary motifs, esoteric samples, orchestral interludes, and densely layered three-act compositions. Some of TOD's best songs have clocked in at more than six minutes long, or less than two. To say the least, pop radio is not their natural habitat.
Drummer/guitarist Jason Reece recalls the dissonance between TOD's artistic integrity and Interscope's bottom-dollar mentality. "[We felt] like we were part of some sort of machine where everything's being cranked out and numbers are being crunched, and it's all about making a dollar and a hit," Reece says. He goes on to describe the pressure of being expected to "whore out songs" that the band had meant to be understood only in the context of a seamless album.
TOD's power struggle with Interscope reached a crescendo after the release of So Divided in 2006. So divided they became, in fact, that in 2007, the band severed all ties with Interscope, just months after labelmate Nine Inch Nails had done the same. In a venomous rant on the band's Web site, Conrad Keely blasted Interscope for its negligent handling of the band, alleging that "their idea of marketing [was] keeping it a secret that we'd released a record." TOD's emancipation from the machine had begun.
In light of a subsequent TOD press release referring to Interscope as "prison," it seemed only fitting that the band ended up signing with Justice Records, a boutique label with the slogan, "Freeing the slaves, one master at a time." Justice even gave them the freedom to create their own imprint called Richter Scale Records. The moniker was a nostalgic reference to "Richter Scale Madness," the pummeling first track of TOD's 1998 debut album.
So what is it like to venture out from under the canopy of a major label? "We definitely feel…more refreshed and rejuvenated," says Reece. "The thing about being on our own is that we have a bunch of people we're working with who actually like what we're doing," he adds with a chuckle.
But Keely insists that even if the band had no such supporters, its desire to create art would still run just as deep. He explains that, while he is grateful for TOD's loyal fanbase, the band has never gauged its success by the opinions of its supporters or detractors. "If our motivation was just to make money or have mainstream success or be in People magazine, then yeah, we probably would have to care [what people think]," Keely says. "The freedom that we have is basically that we can be as self-indulgent as we want to be."
Keely tosses this line off with an ironic laugh, well aware that self-indulgence has long been his band's greatest fault in the eyes of its critics. Never content with a straightforward rock or punk approach, they constantly toyed with odd textures that might angle a song into the realm of psychedelic.
So the real irony with the band's new album is just how powerfully direct it is. Not since Source Tags and Codes has the band's raw energy been so viscerally felt. While an assortment of bells and whistles are always to be expected from TOD, on The Century of Self these adornments never detour the listener away from the album's careening, breakneck momentum.
As is so often the case on a TOD album, the journey begins with a tantalizing prologue ("Giant Causeway") that bleeds into a gigantic anthem ("Far Pavilions"). But this time, rather than going on to experiment with a dozen identities in the course of as many tracks, TOD opts to stay the course. They simply do what they do best, which is to create fast and furious arena rock for poets and punks.
The gem of the album is "Bells of Creation," a chiming piano-rock epic that perfectly illustrates TOD's knack for meshing classical beauty with punk intensity. And Keely's vocals have never been as buoyant as they are on "Fields of Coal," an intoxicating romp that showcases the band's newfound sense of freedom. Even the album's uneven third act does little to blunt the cumulative effect of the first nine tracks.
TOD has always had ambition, artistry, and adrenaline to spare. What has occasionally been lacking was the discipline needed to harness together all three. In that respect, The Century of Self is a towering achievement.
…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead will be brutalizing eardrums at the Bluebird on March 9. Tickets are on sale now.
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