Thursday, February 20, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Music: Going the distance

Further Seems Forever embraces the emo clique

By Mike Prevatt

It seems as if Jason Gleason was not destined to finish his interview today. Barreling through the most desolate portions of the country--an Oklahoma-to-Arizona trek with his band, Further Seems Forever--the singer can't go more than five minutes without either his or his manager's cell phone cutting out.

It's about the only thing going wrong for Gleason and Further Seems Forever. They started a headlining tour Feb. 7, just a week before the release of their second album (and first for Gleason), How to Start a Fire, and they've been ecstatically received since the start. "It's been excellent so far," says Gleason. "It's sold out so far, lots of kids--it's really good."

This, on top of the praise from initial reviews on How to Start a Fire, a high-profile release thanks to the band's associations and maturing approach toward melodic indie rock. Rolling Stone bestowed it a four-star critique, and Billboard was equally kind. Those are quite the milestones for a little band from Florida that hasn't cracked radio yet. But when you've got the audience this band has, commercial broadcasting isn't so important.

Further Seems Forever benefits from alliances with the emo clique, perpetuated more by its followers than its players. Though the band's sound--postpunk with alternating tempos, dissonant verses, soft/loud seesawing and often anguished wailing--is comparable to the other diary rockers, it's not a flag waved by the band.

Emo fans, on the other hand, have christened them gods of the subgenre, mostly because of its legacy. You see, before Gleason accepted mic and songwriting duties, the band was fronted by Chris Carraba, who would leave in late 2000 to begin his one-man act, Dashboard Confessional. Carraba is now the mainstream-broaching face of emo, having sold hundreds of thousands of independently released albums on the strength of an ever-growing legion of fans. Those same adorers know about his old band, and so FSF has a natural fan base. Throw in genre-obsessed fans who lump the act in with emo and Christian indie rock circles, and the media that talk up those cult followings, and, for better or worse, there's a whole lot of interest.

"If kids want to check out Chris Carraba's old record and buy it, or a bunch of kids think we're a Christian band and buy it, and if kids are into emo...I guess it would leave things open for a broader audience," says Gleason. "If it pigeonholes you...it gets a little annoying, but it hasn't been something that's affected us. We just write music we like.

"I think it's a good thing, definitely," he continues. "I think the fact the people don't want to be force-fed the same crap, and explore other avenues in music--whether it's music that sucks but is still different, or is good and different. The breaking out and being more conscious about what they are listening to is a good thing."

Then there's the opposite phenomenon, the celebration of the mediocre and the familiar. That's essentially what FSF did when it covered N'Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" for an indie compilation called Punk Goes Pop. Originally, the band was going to remake Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire," which didn't jibe with the conditions of the producers (they wanted modern pop songs). But listening to the boy-band cover, FSF has done the otherwise pop-overload anthem some justice. Just don't ask it to put the one-off in the setlist. They're still a little embarrassed by it.

"It's pretty kick ass, but we never played it live, and never plan on it," says Gleason, after a long sigh. "We figured it would suck and be goofy, and it turned out good, which is surprising. People have said it made them actually like the [N'Sync version], which we don't, but it's funny--not to be taken seriously."