Phantom Planet: The happy ending

Phantom Planet develops an identity of its own

By Mike Prevatt

In the age of Clear Channel and the gross homogenization of mainstream broadcast radio playlists, artists and record labels have had to devise alternative, non-Internet outlets for exposing music. Some have had to get creative, and some have gone through traditional routes once likened by purists as a major artistic compromise--such as selling songs to television.

Phantom Planet, a 10-year-old, Los Angeles-based quintet, has benefited from what was once likened to signing rock's Faustian pact and is now considered a respectable way to break new music. Exposing its music to an audience--that mighty 12-to-24 year-old demographic--that might've never heard it, the band agreed last year to allow the Fox serial "The O.C." to use its dreamy "California" track as its theme song. As a result, airplay, album sales, concert tickets and general interest in the band rose.

That doesn't mean the band is comfortable about it. "In that sense, it's a great way to promote bands," says bassist Sam Farrar. "I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It's better for bands to stay out of that realm. We've had a lot of issues with acting and TV and movie stars in our band, so I have a different point of view on it all."

Coming close behind "California" for things most associated with Phantom Planet's popularity surge was the fact that it boasted some famous faces in its lineup--specifically, former drummer Jason Schwartzman, star of Rushmore. But it has been given essentially a clean slate for 2004--a new drummer (Jeff Conrad), a new, self-titled album and a new sound.

Its 2002 sophomore effort, The Guest (featuring "California"), was an exercise in summertime power pop that had more character than a radio band like Maroon 5, but wasn't as sharp as, say, Fountains of Wayne. But its recently released follow-up is anything but bright and upbeat. It's a considerably darker and dingier effort, without being too morose or sonically raw. In actuality, the new songs--from big beat opener "The Happy Ending" to the closing, Rapture-esque jaunt "The Meantime"--are more aggressive than they are bleak or sinister. But while substance hasn't been too threatened by style, sunny harmonies have largely given way to disaffection, and the occasional snarl from vocalist Alex Greenwald.

"[It] was definitely intentional," says Ferrar. "Before we went in to record, we all said to ourselves that we wanted to make a record that gives off the energy we put off live. Everyone has told us for years we play live better than play on our records. We made a point to record the record, literally, the four of us around the drums, just like we play live, no isolation, just singing it and playing it the way we do it [live].

"As for the songwriting...that anger and intensity of some of the songs are just bad days that Alex just wrote down. But the intentional aspect of it was trying to get something that sounded aggressive and raw and exciting, and I think we did that."

One of the album's most exciting moments is "Big Brat," the first single. A boisterous pop song marked by spastic boogie rolls, suction cup digi-beats and near-apathetic chorus chants, it is the band's anti-anthem answer to its former SoCal idealism. It's also one of the most flippantly enjoyable singles on rock radio. Early indications are that programmers and listeners are still warming up to the tonal shift, but as for the details, ignorance is bliss for Phantom Planet.

"As far as I can tell, our label's done a great job of getting ['Big Brat'] out there, and hopefully people have heard it," says Ferrar. "I think a lot of people are having trouble getting adjusted to the new sound. I'm not quite sure how the business is run with the labels, and I kind of enjoy that I don't. It would really depress me."