Chapel Hill Part Two – Harnessed in the Slums with the Archers of Loaf

With more than a decade of hindsight, it’s easy to lump all of the Chapel Hill groups from the early 90s together into one dysfunctional family unit. Merge Records was undeniably an integral part of the underground community and thus, Superchunk are often regarded as the elders of the Chapel Hill scene. Polvo were the difficult and brooding siblings to the understated and mysterious Seam. Between those groups, the Archers of Loaf were the snot-nosed upstarts: idealistic, gleefully sarcastic and brimming with insatiable nervous energy. Indeed, the Archers of Loaf signature sound as it appears on their early singles could be a portmanteau of the hard rocking Superchunk and the messy, art-damaged Polvo. In truth, the Archers were blissfully unaware of the Chapel Hill scene when the group formed in Asheville, some two hundred miles west of North Carolina’s underground Mecca. The band’s singer, guitarist and songwriter Eric Bachmann was a bespectacled punk-rock Popeye. His snide lyrical witticisms and hoarse everyman voice characterised the group’s sound as much as his incredible interplay with lead guitarist Eric Johnson. If other bands from Chapel Hill had a reputation as being somewhat mercurial in the live arena, the Archers were renowned for hitting the ball out of the park every time they played out, which was very often indeed. This was in no small way due to the band’s wild but dependable rhythm section consisting of bassist Matt Gentling and drummer Mark Price. From 1993-98 the quartet produced an incredible run of records all the while remaining steadfastly independent.

Although the fledgling Archers of Loaf were separate from their Chapel Hill peers, there was still a sense of cross pollination in terms of the band’s influences. Much like Polvo, the jarring, atonal guitar work of Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore looms large within the Archers’ sound but the abrasion is tempered with discreetly anthemic songwriting. Bachmann’s songs were heroically skewed populist ballads delivered in the manner of a fist-pumping, high-kicking bar band. Although his heroes were Tom Petty and Nick Drake, Bachmann’s closest peer in the fertile independent rock scene of the 80s was Paul Westerberg, leader of the permanently inebriated Replacements. Like the Placemats, the Archers struggled to find a wider audience despite near unilateral critical acclaim. When the band dropped their first single back in 1993, they immediately found a deal with Kentucky-based indie label Alias Records. ‘Wrong’ is classic Archers of Loaf from the ground upwards: petulant, raucous and jam-packed with Bachmann’s biting gallows humour. It’s the sort of song you could happily hear on repeat for hours as you contemplate the bitter ashes of a crumbling relationship. One can’t help but feel that even Morrissey would have blanched at the line “No I do not think you could love me anyway because you are inferior to me.” A closet romantic at heart, Bachmann spares his lover the killing blow in the buoyant chorus by admitting that it is in fact her that is “superior in all aspects to me”. If ‘Wrong’ is the ultimate break-up song, the Archer’s next single ‘Web in Front’ might just be the perfect summer crush tune. “All I ever wanted was to be your spine,” sings a forlorn Bachmann over the song’s laconic indie shuffle, which would unfortunately result in many people permanently tagging the band as Pavement copyists. While there is a comparison to be made between the two groups’ self-referential, ironical take on life in a rock band, the Archer’s ferocious guitar tone and balls-out live show set them a million miles away from the self-crowned princes of the slacker ethos. Even the group’s unfortunate moniker was the result of a ploy to deflect any meaning from their name, which unfortunately backfired when it inevitably became the subject of every interviewer’s first question.

As far as debut albums go, there can only be a few that sound as brash and self-confident as Icky Mettle, released on Alias Records in 1993. After a brisk week of recording at Kraptone Studios in Chapel Hill, the Archers of Loaf had their first long player in the can for just under $5000. The remarkable thing about Icky Mettle, aside from how self-assured it sounds to this day, is how unflinchingly abrasive many of the songs are. Following a triumphant rehash of ‘Web in Front’, the superb ‘Last Word’ careens and stomps into life amidst a barrage of feedback. Johnson coaxes a tidal wave of noise from his guitar which engulfs and eventually drowns Bachmann’s impassioned vocals in the mix. The gangly frontman’s voice is the focal point of a rerecorded ‘Wrong’, which transcends mere anthemic status in a tempest of emotional gusto. “I’m just being honest,” he wails amidst the carnage. “It’s the least I can do”. His wordy and expressive delivery is the hallmark of the album’s best tracks. At times Bachmann’s improbable bellowing makes you breathless on his behalf. Even more affecting are the moments when he sounds at the very end of his tether, reminiscent of the breaking point of every futile late-night argument you’ve ever had condensed into a handful of lines. “This isn’t fun any more,” he howls at the peak of the relationship drama inspired ‘You and Me’. Ironically, the bubbly ‘Might’ belies his warning in a touch over two minutes, despite an equally bleak lyrical perspective. As with the oxymoronic ‘Wrong’, Bachmann levels his most stinging criticism at himself. “So full of self-indulgence to think you might like this song,” he reflects during the chorus. ‘Hate Paste’ has a near folky jaunt in its step despite more frantic finger pointing. Following the blink and you’ll miss it ‘Fat’, another instantly memorable track appears in the shape of the deceptively tuneful ‘Plumbline’. One can imagine that the “She’s an Indie Rocker and nothing’s gonna stop her” refrain has ensured that this song has made its way onto a thousand pre-graduate mixtapes, without many bothering to look to far into the lyrics. “You’ve got a great collection of things cos that’s the best you can do,” he chastises his hapless protagonist. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time Bachmann would focus his considerable ire on the vagaries of self-image. The closing tracks are a varied but thorough exploration of harmonious clamour. ‘Learo’ has Johnson and Bachmann engaged in the sort of histrionic clashes you would expect from their colleagues in Polvo but focused behind the firm backbeat supplied by Gentling and Price. One can imagine the average college rocker being scared witless by the post-hardcore detonation that is ‘Sickfile’, while the lengthy and discordant intro to the quirky ‘Toast’ is something of a spoiler for the Archers’ later records. There’s nothing funny about the closing salvo of ‘Backwash’ and ‘Slow Worm’, the latter of which finds Bachmann on excellent venomous form. “Everyone is tired of the noise you make,” he warns in what is possibly the first reference to the indulgences of the music industry at large, a subject he would return to at some length on the band’s next two releases.

Fortunately for the Archers, Icky Mettle was very well received by the alternative press of the time and the band quickly garnered a modest audience on both sides of the Atlantic. Pre-internet, the underground press and college radio were the primary means for an independent band to gain enough exposure to justify touring. The staple of college radio stations across North America was a weekly publication called CMJ, which published a chart of each station’s most played albums. The Archers of Loaf were CMJ favourites from the off, with Icky Mettle remaining in their charts for some twenty two weeks. On the strength of the airplay the group received from their two excellent debut singles, they could attract a reasonable audience in any city with a substantial student population. Since the Archers were such an undeniably compelling live act, converts were a frequent occurrence. The combination of dedicated touring and favourable press enabled the Archers to clear some thirty thousand records, a truly remarkable number of sales for a young band on a small independent label. In the wake of break-out albums by other Chapel Hill based acts, the Archers of Loaf were nearly critical darlings. If you consult the annals of rock music regarding 1994, you won’t find mention of the Archers or their Chapel Hill brethren. The dour and pompous remnants of the Seattle Grunge explosion were being replaced by dayglo imitations masquerading as punk rock, the most notable of which were groups like Greenday and the Offspring. Both groups had multi-Platinum selling albums by the end of the year. To a band as self-contained and independently autonomous as the Archers, the infiltration of such groups into the mainstream must have seemed relatively surreal. Likewise, the band’s virgin experience of touring the fiercely tribal underground coloured and informed their next release; an EP entitled Versus the Greatest of All Time. The deceptive introduction to opening track ‘Audiowhore’ sees the band embarking on some Sonic Youth-esque drone until the song finally arrives after one minute thirty. ‘Song’ is maybe overly-generous since it is in fact one gigantic chorus, flattening everything in its considerable wake. The chatty and tumultuous ‘Lowest Part is Free’ is an excellent music industry diatribe. “Got nothing to say but you say it anyway,” taunts Bachmann, his voice ridden with contempt. ‘Freezing Point’ is a world-weary tour screed worthy of Jackson Browne’s classic Running on Empty long player. The following ‘Revenge’ is a superior take on the ‘Audiowhore’ format, with a rattling guitar introduction building to the point of incandescence. Suddenly, the song lurches to the left and Johnson introduces a menacing surf-rock riff with rusting serrated teeth. The closing ‘All Hail the Black Market’ bites the deepest as Bachmann takes the independent scene itself by the collar. The concept EP was becoming something of a Chapel Hill tradition, with Polvo releasing the similarly caustic Celebrate the New Dark Age EP during the course of the same year. For their sophomore album, the Archers would bring in Polvo’s engineer of choice in the shape of Bob Weston.

Robert Spurr Weston IV is an engineer who figures time and time again in the story of independent rock music during the 90s. Weston is often considered as fabled lo-fi engineer Steve Albini’s Tonto, largely due to the fact that the duo play together in minimalist rock trio Shellac and both were present during Nirvana’s In Utero recording sessions. In truth, although both prefer a no-nonsense approach to record engineering, Weston and Albini have subtly different approaches. Weston studied electrical engineering at Lowell University before moving on to working as a technician at a Boston radio station. In these roles he learned the physical principles of sound recording which would later serve him when he accepted a job offer from Albini to help maintain his home-studio in Chicago. Between an already substantial grasp of the technical side of audio engineering and the tutelage of Albini, Weston developed his skills as a producer throughout the early nineties. His work on Polvo’s seminal Today’s Active Lifestyles attracted the attention of the Archers of Loaf, who were looking for an engineer to capture their frenetic live show in the studio. In late 1994, the band spent a week at Albini’s home-studio in Chicago with Weston, hammering out the songs that would make up what is arguably the group’s finest long player – Vee Vee. Sound-wise, the new record blew the comparatively tame debut out of the water. Expertly placed vintage microphones captured the ambience of the room as the on-form Archers kicked out the jams with characteristic glee. The decision to use Weston paid off with interest and the clarity of sound is astonishing to this day. The analogue warmth of Albini’s studio is coupled with Weston’s subtle organic treatments and every broken string and bloodied hand is there on the tape for everyone to admire. Opening track ‘Step into the Light’ builds from an informal jam into an introductory stanza par excellence, complete with harmonic crooning. The momentary calm is shattered by the introductory riff of the band’s latest calling card. Appropriately lifted from the album as a lead single, ‘Harnessed in the Slums’ is a titan of anthemic populist rock whipped to the point of near-Springsteenian fervour. “The thugs and scum and punks and freaks are harnessed in the slums but they want to be free,” spits Bachmann amidst a riot of rollicking drums and acidic riffs.

Thematically, Vee Vee is a continuation of the ideas broached on the preceding EP. The whole record is a heart-sick, tour-weary love note slipped under the toilet door of every punk rock dive in the north-east of America. At times bitingly satirical and venomously acerbic, there remains a sense of unshakeable compassion throughout. One is left with the impression that despite the occasional grandstanding (“The underground is overcrowded,” moans Bachmann on ‘The Greatest of All Time’) and near-constant disgust at vulgarities of scene politics (‘Death in the Park’ is drowsy with touring detritus; “Of course I can put you on the guest-list” concedes an exhausted Bachmann) the frontman wouldn’t have it any other way. The pivotal song could well be ‘The Greatest of All Time’, a throwback to the previous EP. Bachmann observes the leader of the greatest band of all time returning home in a private jet after a successful bout of touring while his unlucky counterpart is publicly drowned (“Throw the bastard in the river,” screams the band in untidy unison). Bachmann’s account is non-committal and we are left to guess at the implications of his pointed lyrics. Musically, the songwriting is a dramatic improvement to the uneven debut and each song is somehow noisier and more memorable than its counterpart on Icky Mettle. Initially, it is harder to grasp the hooks within each track despite the abundance of shouted choruses because of the sheer raucous fury of the performances. ‘Floating Friends’ and ‘Fabricoh’ are two of the group’s most unabashedly tuneful songs but neither is especially harmonious on first encounter. ‘Underdogs of Nipomo’ is a superb track in concept and execution. Bachmann and Johnson’s guitars create a solid wall of sound on either side of the mix as the rhythm section bounces between the two like an accelerated game of Pong. In the song’s narrative, Bachmann has gone AWOL from touring to sit and booze in an uptown bar, all the while contemplating the difficulties and frustrations of second guessing your audience. “I’m not at home cos I’m going to Nipomo, CA,” he announces during the abrupt secondary chorus. “Just leave my money on the Soundman’s cheque.” Released in March of 1995, Vee Vee was welcomed by the Archer’s devoted fan-base and roundly ignored by the mainstream despite modest success. With hindsight, the band deserves credit for producing a noisy masterpiece in a time when so many bands were taking an increasingly careerist attitude towards their music. Sure enough, soon after releasing their second album the Archers were approached by Maverick Records with a view to signing a Major Label deal. The group politely declined, simply because they hated all of the other bands on the label.

Regardless, the Archers’ relative success had definitely moved them into the same pool as the bigger acts they were so fond of lampooning. This was compounded by an arena tour supporting Weezer, touring on the back of a platinum-selling debut album. The Archers found themselves alienated by the venue staff, road crew and Weezer’s inattentive fan-base. Following the tour, the group started to flounder somewhat in the face of artistic insecurity. For all the distance covered in their brief existence, the grind of touring was undoubtedly taking its toll. The rag-tag Speed of Cattle compilation plugged the gap before the band was ready to venture into the studio for a third album. This time around the band decided that the best way to stoke the furnace of creativity was to switch up the format that had been so successful thus far. These sessions would be held in Seattle with Brian Paulson, who had also recorded Polvo’s excellent This Eclipse EP mere months beforehand. In the 80s, Paulson had played around Minneapolis in the underrated Man Sized Action before hitting production pay-dirt in the shape of the legendary long player Spiderland by Kentucky band Slint. As the years passed and the furor around Spiderland grew to truly legendary proportions, Paulson found himself to be an in-demand producer within the independent community. Although typically a naturalist in the style of Weston and Albini, Paulson was also content to let bands develop ideas within the studio and was also not afraid to embrace digital technology when appropriate. Undoubtedly this was the quality which drew Bachmann to enlist his help recording a set of new songs which were completely atypical of the Archers’ canon. Over an extremely generous three week recording session, the new record was shaping up to a polar opposite to the rough and ready Vee Vee. For the punk enthusiast, All the Nation’s Airports is a step outside of the comfort zone, which is of course the point of such a radical departure. To the average Indie enthusiast of today, this record probably seems approachable and relatively typical in the sphere of alternative music. For long-time Archers of Loaf fans, the strange aural assault of ‘Strangled by the Stereo Wire’ must have seemed very odd indeed. For one thing, the band sounded huge within the mix, multi-tracked and exquisitely layered by the patient Paulson. After just two brief minutes, the title track comes buzzing into the mix in a flux of Johnson’s ATC imitating guitar effects. The absurdist lyrics make it clear that Bachmann has abandoned his position as chronicler of the underground music scene for pastures new. Indeed, track three is gnomically entitled ‘Scenic Pastures’, on which Gentling’s soothing and textured bass playing is something of a revelation. The decision to make all of the songs run in one continuous sonic palette is a brave and interesting idea but makes it very hard to pick out individual songs for the most part. ‘Attack of the Killer Bees’ is a pleasant and rambunctious instrumental set to a hissing sample, which immediately breaks into the consumerist-inspired ditty ‘Rental Sting’ replete with a surprise whistling break. More sampling experimentation dominates ‘Assassination on Xmas Eve’ but the song is let down by a teeth-clenchingly insipid rhyming scheme. Next thing you know there will be a piano ballad, you might tell yourself. Sure enough, ‘Chumming the Ocean’ is the song you were either dreading or will be humming for the rest of the day. ‘Vocal Shrapnel’ is more familiar territory for fans of the preceding records, featuring some excellent squalling lead guitar by the ever-inventive Johnson. ‘Bones in her Hands’ is Archers-lite but fortunately doesn’t outstay its welcome. Far better is the atmospheric and ominous instrumental surf-guitar dominated ‘Bumpo’, which dissolves into the intriguing spoken-word sampling ‘Form and File’. This arrangement is used again to considerable success with the pairing of ‘Acromegaly’ into the appropriately glacial ‘Distance Comes in Droves’, which could well be the most successful track on the whole record. The song swells into a single dramatic peak and the band teeters on the cusp of an explosion of sound, which finally arrives a mere forty seconds from the conclusion. A strange and divisive album to say the least but nothing compared to what was to become the band’s swansong.

Even before recording their fourth and final album, it was clear that the Archers of Loaf were winding down as a group. All the Nation’s Airports was released on Alias Record but had been distributed by the major label Elektra. After another exhaustive tour supporting the album, it became clear to each band member that they were outgrowing the touring band lifestyle. The sound attempted on the varied and ambitious White Trash Heroes supports this theory, since there was literally no way of representing most of the songs in the live environment. The resulting album can hardly be considered a dud though and is every bit as challenging and singular as previous records had been. Recorded between two studios in Memphis, TN and Richmond, VA, this time around the band hardly pieced together the songs sparingly, bit by bit instead of building up ideas from jamming as a group. As a result, the finished article is even more broad and diverse than the previous outing. ‘Fashion Bleeds’ is a clinical burst of robotic rock complete with a sparkling keyboard motif which gradually dominates the mix ahead of the raging guitars. The following ‘Dead Red Eyes’ is a microcosm for the bipolar nature of the rest of the album. On the one hand, it is very obviously one of Bachmann’s finest songs but seems absolutely out of place in the context of other Archers of Loaf records. The song builds from keyboard and synthesizer to full band as Bachmann’s asexual vocal cajoles and pleads at the forefront of the mix. “I held it my hands and now it’s gone,” croons a dejected Bachmann before the Archers roll into the song with atypical restraint. This track amongst others evokes a distant paranoia and inescapable despondency that affects the whole album. The crunching, relentless ‘I.N.S’ is another bleak, near-Orwellian slab of futuristic rock which seems utterly faceless after the oddly touching ‘Dead Red Eyes’. Alternately, ‘Perfect Time’ is a top ten modern rock single that never was. Once again, Bachmann casts a reflective eye on the dour vagaries of a career in music and the result is too depressing to reprint. Similarly, the following ‘Slick Tricks and Bright Lights’ is hardly what you’d call comforting. “So hard to call for help when nobody's at home,” laments Bachmann. Ironically, Luddite paranoia colours the electronica-influenced robotic Armageddon fantasy ‘One Slight Wrong Move’. ‘Banging on a Dead Drum’ sounds remarkably like their Dayton, OH neighbours Brainiac, another band that never found the popularity and acclaim they sorely deserved. The trippy, new wave-inspired ‘Smokers in Love’ is a probable hint to the direction the Archers might have headed next had they decided to continue beyond 1998. ‘After the Last Laugh’ is a fittingly inebriated tribute to the groups’ bar band roots, replete with a closing sing-along. The somber title track is a bed of bubbling keyboards and skittering synthesized drum-beats which would prove to be a clue to the direction Bachmann would eventually pursue with his solo project Crooked Fingers. Soon after the release of White Trash Heroes, Price began to suffer from Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and the band decided to call it quits soon after. Johnson joined the ever-present Superchunk as an auxiliary touring musician and Bachmann focused his attention on the first of several Crooked Fingers albums. The legacy of the Archers of Loaf is one of restless creativity. They never made two records the same and in their short career covered an enormous amount of musical distance. Furthermore, they even had the good decency to call it quits before they ever had a chance to sully their name with a weaker effort. All of their records are still in print with Alias Records and are essential listening for anyone with an interest in inventive independent rock.

Tommy Dski