THE distinguishing point between those that will and those that won't in the end comes down to imagination. Despite concerted efforts to prove otherwise — with rare exceptions — soundalike does not spell scorealike. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery — and that's all she wrote.
The Sugarplastic — unknown but could bes — don't suffer from a surfeit of imitation and come up big with the imagination. Their debut major league dabble "Bang, The Earth Is Round" is rather like a large bubble gum machine — what flavour comes out next is anybody's guess. Better though is that most of the flavours stand on their own as the incandescent smoulderings of youthful zeal tainted by a strong sniff of the creative and aware.
Guitarist/vocalist Ben Eisbach [sic] likes the analogy; then again, Ben likes most things. He's still getting used to the sensation of doing interviews with a country thousands of miles away. So he's friendly, excitable, thoughtful, intelligent and unspoiled — although the spectre of Geffen Records hangs over his head, a mixture of friendly pariah and dungeon mistress.
The Sugarplastic are one of Geffen's new breed (that includes the marvellous Eels) and exceed several of their contemporaries by the simple virtue of being neither post-grunge or guitar rock predictable. "No, I don't think we were ever going to be post-grunge," Eisbach admits. "We have different intentions. Melody and harmony are so important to us and our lyrics tend to be just about anything that affects us or we see or imagine. There's been enough angst and to be honest we don't really feel it. Well, no more than anybody else.
"I guess it's correct to say that the Beatles are kind of a meeting place for the three of us (add Kiara Geller, bass, and Josh Laner, drums), musically. The idea of a good, well-structured song, but we like to twist things a bit, as well." The Kinks, Pixies, Brian Eno, Adam and the Ants, Blondie, Gary Numan, all have their place and the entire band test positive for New Wave damage. "We grew up in that era, so it's natural for us that our music is going to be at least influenced by that root." And, in his case — Beethoven. "I still listen to him, too," defiantly. Luckily, his Dad had a large Beatles collection and it rings in Eisbach's playing which at times takes on George Harrison chordal magic as he unleashes a nimble fill or spirals a brief but charmed lead.
"I think we're only just finding out what we're capable of," he says. "It takes several years before you really know and now we're into our fourth year we're really beginning to find all these developing ideas in ourselves. "Bang" is a good statement of the band but don't be surprised if the next record is a bit different. I'm really working on my songwriting and there's some interesting stuff coming through, again."
The Sugarplastic first made a vague impact on the listening universe in 1993 with "Ottawa Bonesaw", a three-single box set on L.A. indie Pronto Records that eventually fell into the hands of Geffen A&R Todd Sullivan who, after several failed attempts managed to see them live, found a relatively mature and established young band, and pulled out the contract and pen. During all of this, their debut album "Radio Jejeune" appeared on Sugar Fix Records early in 1996 by which time they'd become darlings of the LA underground scene..
But, of course, Geffen is another matter. The leap from indie to major is greater than some imagine and Eisbach confirms that if The Sugarplastic hadn't been together so long it might have been harder to handle. "I think a lot of bands imagine once they get on a big label that it's going to be the high life and easy all the way. It isn't, it's even harder. It's starting at the bottom and just working and working and working and there isn't a lot of money ... not much at all," laughter, "but, you know the record's out worldwide and being worked and promoted. The old thing of just touring and touring in vans is the bottom line. Nothing much changes."
But the odds are better and the future has the promise of that cloud with the mythical silver-lining. Eisbach's no fool though, he knows few reach out and actually touch the money tree in the sky, the big fame game. "I'm happy if the record sells enough to build on. We've got our chance, we've got to do the best we can." Fair attitude for a band that confesses a fondest for nursery rhymes: "Simplest form of melody there is — quirky, catchy and addictive. Josh says we're musical interpretations of cartoon animals brought to life. That's cool."
Eisbach calls the record "dry". He knew what he wanted and doesn't blush when he comments, "I came in every morning and turned all the reverbs off because I didn't want it to turn into a psychedelic salad."
Rather than whack up the reverb and fuzz themselves to death, The Sugarplastic stuck to their notions that good pop is about creativity with a left of centre approach that's organic but innovative. Thus, Eisbach, who rather than play predictable lead prefers to hold down rhythm guitar with the odd spiked outburst and delicate phrase, wrung considerable nuance out of his guitar, banging it, clicking its switches, scratching the pick along the strings, using his fingernails, and playing slide courtesy of his Zippo lighter. Novel but it works.
Hooks taken care of, the jag is set with splashes of piano, mandolin, and tambourine and a chorus of whistling — all Eisbach. No synthesisers! Only low-tech natural sounds such as handclaps, coconut shells and a burst of telephone conversation. "Low-fi, hmm, maybe, but warmth is important." Eisbach says. "Umm, it's simply using what is around you. Everything's pretty much in the microphones and the positions of the microphones in the room." Bang, the earth is round, after all.
