“Is that him?”
I look over my shoulder at a guy near the door – dark hair, dark-rimmed glasses, looking around for somebody. “Dude, that guy looks like Elvis Costello.”
I’m sitting in a booth at a swanky, lower east village, Japanese martini bar called Angel’s Share with fellow 2 Walls writer and music fan, Mike Webb. We’re drinking some Harpoon Ale and munching on Japanese appetizers, waiting for the frontman of Dirtywhite Fashion, Feck, to meet us for an interview before he plays a show at the Continental.
“He’s a lead singer,” I say. “You won’t miss him.”
Sure enough, ten minutes later Webb points out a tall, lanky, good-looking fellow, with a black “Fender” t-shirt on, hair past his neck and a couple of locks in front of his eyes, walking our way. He idles up to the table, tipped off by the waitress, and says, “Are you Mike?”
“Hi Feck,” I say, shake his hand and introduce Webb.
Dirtywhite Fashion is one of thousands of other New York City bands caught in an endless struggle of doing what they love and trying to make a living at it. Their first album, titled 13, caught my attention two years ago. (See the review here.) A humble collection of thirteen songs with a happy, feel good lyrical approach, and a melancholy musical undertone – with lyrical themes of friendship, lost love, and life’s observations – a pop effort along the lines of Wilco’s Summer Teeth.
Feck seems every bit the part of a lower east village musician, except for the attitude and the accent. “You don’t have a New York accent,” is my first observation.
“No – I’m from Richmond Virginia,” he smiles. “Came to New York about six year ago, playing guitar with another band.”
Feck and his life-long keyboardist friend, Will Sprawls, were part of Picasso Jones, a successful outfit out of Richmond Virginia. But like most good things, it came to an end. “They were a good band, but not a great band,” Feck says. “So we starting playing with this other singer we knew in New York and we started writing songs – we wrote a ton of material. The problem was, this guy was a great writer, but he wasn’t the greatest singer in the world.”
Sprawls suggested they try their own thing – urging Feck to take the lead vocals. “I was already doing a lot of the writing, singing backup, laying down the instrumental tracks and ironing out the melodies – so I thought ‘why not?’ So we tried a little experiment, and we wrote and recorded 13 in two months – in a little room in Brooklyn.” And Dirtywhite Fashion was born.
When I express how great I think 13 is – Feck politely smiles and shrugs. The type of reaction a painter might give about a compliment to his first painting. To the artist – it’s his first creation, his first try – filled with imperfections and mistakes.
After all, 13 was an experiment, conducted sans a real drummer (Feck played the drums). “All of the songs on the record were recorded in one take – we were just trying to get everything down on tape, see how they flowed, then go back and redo stuff,” he says.
The “redo” would eventually be Reality Music – something that would take two years, versus two months.
When I ask Feck why it took so long to do the next album, he says, “The core idea behind Reality Music was to get a fantastic, organic band to play together and make the atmosphere. A throwback to the good old days when four guys would make great music without the technology being a limit.”
Finding that fantastic, organic band took some time. And once the band was formed, it took some more time to “get that vibe” he says. But now Dirtywhite Fashion’s lineup consists of Feck and Will, joined by bassist Chris Miles and drummer Roman Storch.
“I was also putting together my studio, where I could do the record myself – properly.” Feck’s studio is called “Stranded On A Planet” were he’ll be mixing and producing for other bands, as well as doing his own stuff.
Feck is a perfectionist, maybe even a control freak. He’s striving for that perfect experience, that perfect product. His motivation for making Reality Music was to create an album that he wanted to listen to. “I usually write a song in 10 minutes – then spend forever trying to fix it or make it better,” says Feck. “This time I wanted to write an album that I could enjoy when I listened to it, without cringing at certain parts.” Something he says he does when he listens to 13.
Reality Music isn’t a redo of 13, although two songs did make the journey. “Someday” and “The Sad Light of Morningtime” have been re-worked and included in this sophomore release. But because of the new lineup, there’s a new sound. The music this time is thicker, maybe even darker. Feck’s lyrics have caught up with the music’s tendency for melancholy undertones. He’s still writing about life’s observations – the “what ifs” and “how ‘bouts” – but their subjects are more open-ended and mysterious.
I tell Feck his style is along the lines of Pete Yorn. He smiles and says, “Yeah, I love Pete Yorn. But I only recently found out about him and started listening to his stuff.
There is one element of Dirtywhite Fashion’s style that is consistent – the subtleties. It’s not like there are killer hooks everywhere that immediately draw you in. It’s subtleties that you can’t pinpoint right away – or sometimes ever – that make you like the music.
And it’s those subtleties that Feck unknowingly talks about when he talks about his music. Harping on getting the bridge just right, or hitting a note in the chorus slightly different, or working with Sprawls to get the perfect keyboard sounds for the opening notes of a song. Feck doesn’t talk about his music in a broad sense. As in, “this album is about that” or “this is the message we’re trying to convey.” You also don’t get the feeling of the pained artist when talking to him. “I’m a happy person,” he says. “I like to write about interesting or good things in my life.”
Feck and DWF also have a knack of writing songs that don’t sound like the same song from the first few notes to the last few notes. On songs like “Someday”, “Crash Landing” and “Heroine” the music begins clean and soft, often highlighting Sprawls delicate keyboard work or Feck’s guitar playing. But by song’s end, the music is a swirling tapestry of sound, Feck’s vocals sometimes stretched to a Robert Plant-type level of intensity.
As much as Feck likes to emphasis the human experience in making music, such as the process of gathering a new, cohesive band – I sense his inability to tear himself away from the mixing board in his studio. He mentions several times during our conversation his need to put the “finishing touches” on the album – a slave to the technology, perhaps. Sure enough, a few days prior to publishing this article, Feck sends me a “remixed” version of Reality Music.
The show at the Continental is the band’s first gig in several months, and I quiz him on the band’s lack of live shows over the past year. He blames the aforementioned schedule of rehearsing with the new band and recording in the studio.
But the way Feck hedges on the concept of “playing out” – as if it’s a chore (“lugging your equipment to play for 20 people is sometimes a drag”) or doubting its effectiveness in generating an interest in the band – makes me wonder about the band’s ability to translate their music to the stage. He openly admits their inability to play some songs off the first album, 13, saying, “We could never reproduce some of those songs live.”
This makes me all the more curious to see them play.
It’s getting close to show time, so Feck excuses himself. A little while later Webb and I make our way over to the Continental. Webb, a veteran of the downtown club scene, mentions how tough it is to play a place like the Continental on a Wednesday evening in the middle of summer, with NYU out of session and people’s tendency to stay outdoors on a warm summer evening. At the door the bouncer sees us coming and asks, “Mike and Mike?” I nod and he lets is in. We’re on “the list".
I immediately begin to understand Webb and Feck’s points about playing out. A band is playing on stage, but the place is virtually empty. Most of the tables are occupied, but all total there couldn’t be more then 20 people. Webb and I grab some bar space and order a couple of beers.
Four or five bands are scheduled to play this evening and it’s still early. Dirtywhite Fashion is scheduled for 9:30pm. As I look around I spot DWF bass player Chris Miles (from his photo on Reality Music) and realize that many of this crowd is probably members of other bands waiting to play. A tough gig indeed.
As 9:30 approaches, and DWF are setting up, the Continental suddenly begins to fill up, and I’m glad we grabbed some bar space closest to the stage. It’s an interesting crowd. I don’t want to generalize, but they look a bit more sophisticated then your average East Village crowd. They don’t look like they’ve wandered in off the street into a small, dark and dingy club to catch any old band. They look like they’ve been looking forward to this show for a while. Dirtywhite Fashion has fans. Fans that, like me, don’t get the opportunity to see them play that often – or ever.
Even more interesting are a couple of gentleman sitting at a table, throwing off the demographic curve by being in their fifties and wearing sport coats. Webb elbows me, points and says, “record guys.”
The show starts without introductions, without acknowledgement of the waiting crowd, almost as if it’s just another rehearsal or recording session. But I’m immediately impressed and relieved at the same time, as the sound coming off the stage is the same as the sound that comes off my stereo at home. The music is crisp, Feck’s vocals are genuine and no doubts are left lingering about the amount that technology plays in Dirtywhite Fashion’s sound. This is all human generated music. They are also animated and entertaining. Feck has a good stage presence and seems natural as a frontman and guitarist.
They play nearly everything off the new album, Reality Music, and the show definitely has a relaxed, but polished rehearsal feel to it. They even manage to break into Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown” for a brief moment – as if it were a spontaneous moment between four guys jamming, without anyone around to listen.
The show ends as unceremoniously as it began, the crowd giving them a rousing applaud. The next band pushes their way onto the stage, hoping to grab some of Dirtywhite Fashion’s energy and crowd.
Feck comes over to talk and I tell him I enjoyed the show. “You need to play out more,” I tell him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he smiles. “That was fun. We’ll be playing more, now that the album is done.”
I thank him for taking the time and wish him luck as Webb and I head out.
Outside on the street Webb says, “You didn’t ask him where they got ‘Dirtywhite Fashion’ from.”
“That’s such a cliché interview question,” I say. “Do we know why Coldplay is called Coldplay? U2? Toad the Wet Sprocket? It’s not that important.” After all, when Dirtywhite Fashion finally gets up and over the hump and reaches that level of superstardom, the next interview will probably be with Rolling Stone Magazine. And I'm certain they're not going to ask a silly, amateur question like that.
Truth is – I forgot to ask. So I guess we'll never find out.
Check out this album: https://music.apple.com/us/album/reality-music/79202862
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