The House of Leaves Biography

This Is For You:
Delmar, 2004.

So here I am in a Paris gentleman's club called Stringfellows of all places.  Some East Indian junk is doing tricks for me like a bunny digging up carrots from dirty earth. Then I hear my mobile. Blessed Lucifer... It was the band. They wanted me to come states side to do another biography. Fucking madness.

So now I'm in a New York pub, face to face with the reclusive genius before the show. Nat tells me they are no longer the band known as the Effluent. "What's yer name then?" "House of Leaves," interrupts Enrico. "Motherfucker!" Mike carefully sips his White Russian while criticizing the music blasting from the PA. "I don't understand, in theory we should'a made it five years ago." "In theory, insects shouldn't fly," adds Jeff. Mike orders another White Russian. 

Meet the band House of Leaves, name lifted from the title of the outrageous book. I've read the book, just plain silly, and so is the band. Enrico, the reluctant genius, casting away each day from the mainstream, trying to secure a pedestal within the elite avant-garde community, dismissing the concept of "audience friendly" altogether. Mike, some rock-n-roll purist asshole, who still insists that nothing worthwhile came after 1969, except for the Clash. Jeff, a shallow leftist prima donna, who bothered to learn every instrument, except for the one he plays on stage. And let us not forget Nat the drummer, who keeps time like a German dancing hip-hop. He single-handedly keeps all the drummer jokes fresh and acceptable. 

I had the pleasure of meeting these lovely lads five long years ago, when they were still fresh faced pucks in college. Back then they played mostly arty garage rock (well, at least Enrico gets the "arty" claim), to a bunch of drunken frat idiots. Now they play a more evolved arty garage rock (think G'n'R meets Bjork) to a more evolved fratboy (think Jets fan meets Maxim subscriber).

Regardless, I've listened to this music and it's good. The best I've seen them do in years, really. Formed in 1996, they were known under many different names (the Effluent is most recognizable). Often times becoming more comfortable with the rock-n-roll lifestyle and petty bickering (rather that the music itself), this reckless behaviour cost them dearly. However, in the past months this carefree culture was replaced by the looming threat of going nowhere. The boys saw the err of their ways, and sought redemption. So they returned to a familiar basement in Jersey City USA, sat down with a guitar in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. "It took eight hours, but I think we got something good," tells Jeff. And so on rolls the revolution for another day.