Greg Laswell
Elizabeth and the Catapult
Wed, June 20, 2012
Doors: 8:00 pm / Show: 9:00 pm
The Bowery Ballroom
New York, NY
$17 advance / $20 day of show
Tickets
This event is 18 and over
http://www.boweryballroom.com/event/106955/
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Greg Laswell
I didn't realize that I had started an album though. It was when I aimlessly fumbled into the fourth or fifth song that the momentum and theme slightly pivoted with the track "Do What I Can", adding enough momentum and purpose to finish an album. You see, my family was beginning to worry about me so I wrote them a lullaby of sorts to let them know that I was going to be okay, a sentiment that I wasn't quite sure of at the time to be honest, but the very suggestion of which had a way of restoring me. People ask all the time who the "Lady" is. It's my mom. I've called her "Lady" since I was very young (fun fact #1).
I grew up in Long Beach, California where my parents enlisted me in everything from baseball to magic classes at the public library until they finally bought me an alto saxophone when I was in middle school. I was instantly taken. A few years later, my na-na would buy my sister a piano for her 13th birthday. She hated every minute of it. I didn't. In my senior year of high school I joined choir with a few friends as a joke, however, the joke was me when I fell in love with singing. I wrote my first song "Friends For Life" and sang it at graduation later that year (fun fact #2). Google if you must, but it is no where to be found, thank the almighty God.
Then I moved to San Diego to seldom attend college and start a few ill-fated bands, the last of which was called Shillglen. When we took a break for a few months in 2002, I used the time to start recording what would be my first solo record, "Good Movie". It won me a 2004 San Diego Music Award for Best Recording (fun fact #3) and bolstered my then-new production studio, 20 Inch Records. I was working full-time out of my house and got my dog Shep Proudfoot.
Cut to the title-track "Through Toledo". Two dear friends of mine decided to move to Toledo in order to augment their chances of ending up in New York or LA. They were quite comfortable in San Diego with a wonderful circle of friends, great jobs, and a beautiful house and moving would prove to be a risk both personally and emotionally. I remember them saying "we need to go through Toledo to get where we want to be." I immediately asked myself what my "Toledo" is. I wasn't sure for a while. I think I am now.
I grew up in Long Beach, California where my parents enlisted me in everything from baseball to magic classes at the public library until they finally bought me an alto saxophone when I was in middle school. I was instantly taken. A few years later, my na-na would buy my sister a piano for her 13th birthday. She hated every minute of it. I didn't. In my senior year of high school I joined choir with a few friends as a joke, however, the joke was me when I fell in love with singing. I wrote my first song "Friends For Life" and sang it at graduation later that year (fun fact #2). Google if you must, but it is no where to be found, thank the almighty God.
Then I moved to San Diego to seldom attend college and start a few ill-fated bands, the last of which was called Shillglen. When we took a break for a few months in 2002, I used the time to start recording what would be my first solo record, "Good Movie". It won me a 2004 San Diego Music Award for Best Recording (fun fact #3) and bolstered my then-new production studio, 20 Inch Records. I was working full-time out of my house and got my dog Shep Proudfoot.
Cut to the title-track "Through Toledo". Two dear friends of mine decided to move to Toledo in order to augment their chances of ending up in New York or LA. They were quite comfortable in San Diego with a wonderful circle of friends, great jobs, and a beautiful house and moving would prove to be a risk both personally and emotionally. I remember them saying "we need to go through Toledo to get where we want to be." I immediately asked myself what my "Toledo" is. I wasn't sure for a while. I think I am now.
Elizabeth and the Catapult
“I’d hope there’s humor to both of our albums, but they’re actually quite different from one another,” says Elizabeth Ziman, the singer/songwriter/keyboardist behind Elizabeth and the Catapult. “While Taller Children has the sarcastic lightness of a Woody Allen film, the new record’s more in the vein of Kubrick or Lynch. It’s a bit darker, a bit more tongue-in-cheek – another side to who we are.”
The reason for this shift isn’t as simple as a sudden breakup or breakdown. The dissonant strains are lurking between the lines, from the clanging chords and galloping groove of “The Horse and the Missing Cart” to the hopeful but bitter contrasts of “Thank You For Nothing,” a heartbroken ballad that channels the Buddhist teachings of an old Leonard Cohen poem.
As it turns out, Elizabeth read Cohen’s Book of Longing collection from cover to cover while working on the Lincoln Center song cycle – performed last spring for a commission from NPR’s John Schaefer – that gave The Other Side of Zero its title and a handful of tracks. As the pages sunk in, one particular theme stood out: Cohen’s struggle to meet Buddhist goals in a monastery, which Elizabeth felt paralleled her own coming-of-age struggles while living and growing up in New York City.
“Once I finished the book,” she says, “I realized that reaching this zen state wasn’t a realistic goal. Not for Leonard, and certainly not for me. It’s more about the intent of letting go, and being able to laugh after you fall.”
Cohen’s book also helped Elizabeth see parallels between the pain and growth in relationships and the gestures of balance in Buddhism. Songs about taming the extremes, finding similarities between opposites, and accepting the moment. While “Thank You for Nothing” sounds pretty self-explanatory, it does more than pull the plug on a flat-lining relationship. It exposes the blurry line between gratitude and ingratitude, and how they often feed off of each other. (“I’ll just keep saying it/Thank you, thank you/Thank you for everything/Thank you for nothing at all.”) Meanwhile, “The Horse and the Missing Cart” is a cautionary tale about seizing the day; about actually doing things, rather than worrying about whether or not you should act.
Which brings us to why The Other Side of Zero is Elizabeth & the Catapult’s rawest set of recordings yet. Unlike their thoroughly-demoed debut – an album that took two years to complete – the Zero sessions boiled down to a month of recording with producer Tony Berg (Peter Gabriel, Phantom Planet, Jesca Hoop) and such respected sidemen as guitarist Blake Mills and Tom Waits’ longtime touring keyboardist, Patrick Warren.
The result was rough but refined, bruised but beautiful, as if Berg had placed a mic in a room and walked away, letting Elizabeth and drummer Danny Molad do their thing. Or as Elizabeth puts it, “This record’s more abrasive, more blatantly honest – perhaps even rude at times. Maybe intentionally so.”
Rude isn’t the right word. More like scrappy and spontaneous, with Elizabeth’s film score skills – for a while there, she wanted to be a scene-stealing composer – coloring each song like a Technicolor movie print. Take “Go Away My Lover,” a dagger-drawing duet that brings a couple to its close alongside speaker-smacking drums, demented whistles, and a call-and-response chorus that races to put all of this – the memories, the longing, and ultimately, the regret – to rest.
And then there’s the title track. Led by a lean, winding piano line, it builds to a spine-tingling crescendo alongside the honey-dipped harmonies of Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings – a collaboration that was completely unplanned. Not that you’d notice, considering how seamless it sounds.
One thing Elizabeth made sure to write down months in advance were her lyrics, which often take months of intensive editing. And even then, it’s hard to let them go without poring over every last word. Especially in this case – a highly personal examination of love and loss, and growing older.
“Even the happiest sounding pop songs on this record have a tinge of regret and darkness to them,” explains Elizabeth. “And thank goodness for that. Ultimately that’s the only way I’d feel comfortable singing them. I’m drawn to the ambiguity like a menacing smile.”
The reason for this shift isn’t as simple as a sudden breakup or breakdown. The dissonant strains are lurking between the lines, from the clanging chords and galloping groove of “The Horse and the Missing Cart” to the hopeful but bitter contrasts of “Thank You For Nothing,” a heartbroken ballad that channels the Buddhist teachings of an old Leonard Cohen poem.
As it turns out, Elizabeth read Cohen’s Book of Longing collection from cover to cover while working on the Lincoln Center song cycle – performed last spring for a commission from NPR’s John Schaefer – that gave The Other Side of Zero its title and a handful of tracks. As the pages sunk in, one particular theme stood out: Cohen’s struggle to meet Buddhist goals in a monastery, which Elizabeth felt paralleled her own coming-of-age struggles while living and growing up in New York City.
“Once I finished the book,” she says, “I realized that reaching this zen state wasn’t a realistic goal. Not for Leonard, and certainly not for me. It’s more about the intent of letting go, and being able to laugh after you fall.”
Cohen’s book also helped Elizabeth see parallels between the pain and growth in relationships and the gestures of balance in Buddhism. Songs about taming the extremes, finding similarities between opposites, and accepting the moment. While “Thank You for Nothing” sounds pretty self-explanatory, it does more than pull the plug on a flat-lining relationship. It exposes the blurry line between gratitude and ingratitude, and how they often feed off of each other. (“I’ll just keep saying it/Thank you, thank you/Thank you for everything/Thank you for nothing at all.”) Meanwhile, “The Horse and the Missing Cart” is a cautionary tale about seizing the day; about actually doing things, rather than worrying about whether or not you should act.
Which brings us to why The Other Side of Zero is Elizabeth & the Catapult’s rawest set of recordings yet. Unlike their thoroughly-demoed debut – an album that took two years to complete – the Zero sessions boiled down to a month of recording with producer Tony Berg (Peter Gabriel, Phantom Planet, Jesca Hoop) and such respected sidemen as guitarist Blake Mills and Tom Waits’ longtime touring keyboardist, Patrick Warren.
The result was rough but refined, bruised but beautiful, as if Berg had placed a mic in a room and walked away, letting Elizabeth and drummer Danny Molad do their thing. Or as Elizabeth puts it, “This record’s more abrasive, more blatantly honest – perhaps even rude at times. Maybe intentionally so.”
Rude isn’t the right word. More like scrappy and spontaneous, with Elizabeth’s film score skills – for a while there, she wanted to be a scene-stealing composer – coloring each song like a Technicolor movie print. Take “Go Away My Lover,” a dagger-drawing duet that brings a couple to its close alongside speaker-smacking drums, demented whistles, and a call-and-response chorus that races to put all of this – the memories, the longing, and ultimately, the regret – to rest.
And then there’s the title track. Led by a lean, winding piano line, it builds to a spine-tingling crescendo alongside the honey-dipped harmonies of Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings – a collaboration that was completely unplanned. Not that you’d notice, considering how seamless it sounds.
One thing Elizabeth made sure to write down months in advance were her lyrics, which often take months of intensive editing. And even then, it’s hard to let them go without poring over every last word. Especially in this case – a highly personal examination of love and loss, and growing older.
“Even the happiest sounding pop songs on this record have a tinge of regret and darkness to them,” explains Elizabeth. “And thank goodness for that. Ultimately that’s the only way I’d feel comfortable singing them. I’m drawn to the ambiguity like a menacing smile.”
